Disclaimer: I don't own Castle. The only profit being made is my own amusement (and hopefully yours).
August
In August, she finally finds a place with affordable rent that isn't some cranky old lady's guest room. She's just started assembling her new bed when the doorbell rings.
She opens the door to discover Castle, holding a large box under one arm and a tray containing two cups of iced coffee in the other. "What are you doing here?" she demands.
"Esposito mentioned that you were moving. I thought you could use some help."
She's never been one to ask for favors and she's still uncomfortable with the thought of him weaseling his way into her life, so her first instinct is to snap I don't need your help at him. Still, she knows he's been making an effort to be more serious when the situation requires it, so in return she feels compelled to accept his gestures of friendship. Stepping away from the door to let him in, she says, "Yeah, thanks. You could give me a hand with setting up the bed."
"And then we could put it to good use," he suggests, with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
"In your dreams, Castle," she replies, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks because it has happened in her dreams—more than once. She's pretty sure that he's perceptive enough to sense her embarrassment, so to distract him, she clears her throat and asks, "What's in the box?"
"Some of the finest pieces of literature ever written," he announces, as he lifts the lid of the box.
"I don't remember studying Derrick Storm or Nikki Heat in my literature class," she jokes, reaching for one of the coffee drinks. It's prepared just the way she likes it. She's not surprised at all.
"No, real literature," he insists, pushing a volume into her hands. She glances at it. Shakespeare. He continues unloading the box. Dickens. Tolstoy. Hardy. "I got them at a used bookstore," Castle says. "I'll take you there sometime."
"Wow, thanks," is all she manages to say at first. "This is one of my favorites," she tells him, picking up a copy of Pride and Prejudice.
"Aw," Castle teases. "Detective Kate Beckett is a fan of something containing"—he lets out a dramatic gasp—"a love story?"
"Dirty little secret," she says. "I'm actually a sucker for a good, old-fashioned romance."
For a minute she half expects him to say something along the lines of well Beckett, my idea of a dirty little secret is you telling me that you were a stripper back in college. Instead, he murmurs, "That makes two of us," in such a low voice that she's not sure whether he's talking about literature or real life.
"Oh, really? Richard Castle, a hopeless romantic?"
"Sure. Used to be, at least before I met Kyra." He pauses, looking thoughtful, as if he's never analyzed his thoughts about love before. "Then she left me and I decided that I wasn't going to get my heart broken again. So I decided to go out and just have fun. Enjoy lots and lots of deep-fried twinkies."
"Gina's not a deep-fried twinkie," Beckett muses.
"No, she's not," Castle agrees immediately.
"So what were you looking for with her?" She realizes how demanding she sounds, but she needs to know; if she doesn't understand his motivations, she'll never understand him, and she needs to understand him if she's ever going to be able to trust him with her heart.
"The first time, we got along really well when we were dating, so I thought by getting married I would set a good example for Alexis. I was pretty good about keeping all the deep-fried twinkies away from her, but Mother was always around talking about her boyfriend of the month, and I wanted to show her that normal people do settle down and live happily ever after." He laughs then, sounding less merry than remorseful. "So much for setting a good example. I didn't know how to be mature, how to compromise."
"And the second time?"
He thinks for a while before saying, "I think it started when you got together with Demming. I started wanting what you two had. I know you broke up and everything, but you get the idea. I wanted another shot at it. Being happy. Being with someone for more than a day or a week or whatever." He shrugs. "The possibility of being with them forever."
It's the first time he's ever spoken candidly to her about what he wants in a relationship. And in that moment she doesn't see the playboy, his two divorces, and his countless flirtations and flings. She sees the father who stopped visiting his favorite bar to take care of his little girl, the friend who ran into a burning building to save her, and the man who just might want the same thing she does. She's so lost in her thoughts that when her mind finally returns to their conversation, she realizes he's been saying something.
"What about you?" Castle repeats.
"What about me what?"
"What are you looking for?"
"Someone who makes me feel alive," she says, and she hopes that he knows what she means.