5th February
They haven't stopped all morning. She'd called well before what was considered respectable on a Sunday. But he hadn't made a comment, too morbidly happy with the death of a New York citizen to mind too much. When he had grunted in greeting she had given a soft chuckle, not even needing to say anything and he was telling her he would be ready in ten as he already dragged himself from the bed.
"I'll be downstairs," she said quickly before she hung up, a door shut, like she was just getting in the car.
She had been downstairs when he'd arrived in the foyer of his building, content to stay out of the bitter cold of the morning, but finding there was no need. She was hunched slightly in her seat, curled a little around herself, leaning back on the door, like she does when she's on her cell. He didn't hesitate, just moved out into the cold New York morning and slide into the warmth of the car beside her. She glanced up at him, tight smile playing on her lips.
"Espo and Ryan just arrived," she informs him as she spins back in the seat, taking a mug from the holder between them and passing it to him.
He nods in thanks, taking a long drag.
As she shifts the car into gear, spinning the wheel to drag the tyres against the asphalt, she smiles across at him again, a little wider. Something he can't place is also glinting in her eye. If he didn't know better he thought it was teasing, it's that look she gets as she makes a comment, hurls half an insult at him, or when she realises she's just won some argument. He brushes it aside. Who knows what's going through her mind sometimes.
But then she does it again, steals a glance at him barely a minute llater.
Then again as they get stopped by a red light.
"What is it?" he asks. "Do I have toothpaste on my face?" He rubs the corners of his mouth, touches his chin.
When she doesn't respond, just shakes her head and smiles a little wider. The change in the light causing her to look away again as the cars around her begin to move.
"On my shirt?" he continues as he cranes his neck and tugs the shirt from against his skin.
She gives a light chuckle, not hesitant but soft.
Now he's smiling with her, wanting to laugh with her too. But first he needs to know why.
"Beckett, what is it?" He's starting to worry and she finds it even funnier. He worsens the situation, running his fingers through his hair, a clear sign he's nervous, a little self-conscious – something she will never get seeing in Richard Castle.
She raises an eyebrow in response as she changes lanes, feigning distraction by the road, like she's trying to concentrate and can't spare a second to answer him, to put him out of his misery.
"Serious, Kate, what is it?" Now he's using her first name she lets her shoulders shake with the chuckle, stealing another glance at him, her eyes carefully scanning his whole face, giving nothing away.
"Did you look in the mirror before you left, Castle?" she teases, finally giving him something concrete.
He touches his nose, his chin, the corners of his mouth again and even runs his tongue over his teeth. "What is it?" he asks as he slides his fingers to his ears, tugging on the lobes, checking there too. Why exactly, she has no idea.
"Your hair, Castle," she says, not looking at him. But she doesn't miss the flash of dark material as he raises an arm to his head, almost simultaneously craning across to look in the rear-view mirror at himself, almost bumping into her in the process.
"Jeez, Castle," she admonishes.
"Sorry," he says softly, leaning back across the car, still attempting to smooth some of the wayward strands.
"There is a mirror on the visor," she dismisses, waving at it, shooing him away. She waits until he's settled in with the smoothing and twisting and… Is he flicking his hair? She isn't going to ask. "I don't know that it'll do much good, Castle," she says softly, flicking her eyes at him, finding him watching her in the mirror. "It seems pretty wayward."
He sighs heavily. "Yeah." He'll just have to wait until they get back to the precinct.
He leans back heavily in the seat, drinking more of his coffee in large gulps.
"Seriously though, didn't you look in the mirror before you left?" She steals another gaze at him as she turns the last corner before she has to start scanning building numbers, checking if she's headed in the right direction down the street. She is. The buzz of the crime scene can be seen further ahead, luckily she doesn't have to head back around the block this time.
He didn't really bother to look in the mirror. He'd be too hurried rushing around trying to put himself together with enough time to make them both a cup of coffee, pour it into a travel mug and give her today's gift. But when he'd brushed his teeth, swiped the back of his hand over his mouth he had discovered he desperately need to shave. So he'd abandoned the plan, for now, and would have to do it later, make it work with what he could find at the precinct.
If he was honest he'd also hesitated with doing it straight away, at an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning. She wouldn't suspect him handing her a coffee would be too out of the ordinary, but he hasn't seen her for a little too long. It's too hard to gauge her reactions to these gifts so-far. Sure, she hasn't called him in a fit of rage to yell and swear and order him no more and never again, but she hasn't mentioned them either, not even in passing so he isn't sure. And she sure as hell isn't giving anything away right now, steeling herself for the crime scene, focusing her breathing and her attention on nothing else.
But when she pulls up, reaches for her coffee and gathering her phone to clamber out of the car, he catches her eye, nods in readiness. He doesn't miss the controlled smile, her lips pressed tightly together, just quirking a little in the corners. She may be carefully in control, but that hint of a smile gives her away completely. Today is the right day to do this.
She's so buried in the financials for their latest victim, his company's records, trying to follow a money trail so complicated it is doing his head in so much that he needs a coffee. He leans forward to grab her cup, normally she snatches it and passes it across to him, but she's so buried she doesn't even blink as she leans as far back in her chair as she can, tilting it on that hinge she shouldn't trust, allowing him to steal it for himself. He could have stepped around her, moved to her other side, but why not seize an opportunity she's giving? Even if she doesn't realise it.
He heads back to the break room, after rinsing them out he puts them on the almost empty shelf, hiding them away a little so no one grabs them by mistake. He flicks his eyes to her as he heads back out into the bullpen, careful to avoid her very narrow line of sight before ducking in front of a crowd of detectives as they move through the large room. He doubts she'll even notice he's gone, this will only take five minutes.
Kate blindly gropes for her mug, sliding her fingers across her desk as she flips to another page, hunched forward over her desk, her other hand supporting her protesting neck, her boggled mind. it's not there.
She blinks at the realisation Castle took it away, to refill it at least. She flicks her eyes quickly to the break room, doesn't catch sight of him, but that isn't uncommon. He's probably leaning back against the table as he waits his turn; someone else is hunched over the machine after all. She forces herself to keep track of the trail, if she misses something she's going to have to start again, it's already headed into the late afternoon and she doesn't fancy a late night spent chasing her tail as she tries to follow the evidence.
She catches another sign of it, streaks her highlighter across the line (so she can find it again later). She's just resettling in as she hears him move beside her, sit heavily in his chair and rest his elbow against the edge of her desk, crinkling some of the mess of paper. She lifts her eyes to chastise him, tell him to slide it across if he wants to put his arm on the desk, if he needs more room when she realises, it wasn't his elbow he set against the desk. It was a large cup of take-away coffee, from the shop downstairs.
She eyes him curiously, a little cautious. Nothing he is doing lately is an accident.
He smiles, tipping his own large cup back and drinking deeply. He doesn't break contact with her as he does it. She watches the line of his throat as he swallows, the abrupt rise and fall of his larynx making her swallow as well.
"It's bigger," he offers as he lowers the cup, seeming curious about why she's watching him.
"I-" She stops, realising she doesn't know what she was about to say, not wanting to find out. "What?" she asks, finally reaching and grabbing hold of her cup.
"You're going to need coffee. That machine's amazing and all, but you're going to need more than a puny mug to get through this paper trail." He shrugs like its no big deal he is being thoughtful, yet again. Does this man ever stop? It's little things like this that make her glad she persevered with him in the beginning when he was infuriatingly annoying, albeit helpful.
" I've got a feeling its going to be a long night," he says softly, breaking her thoughts to just reinforce them again.
"Thanks Caste," she says, raising her cup a little in his direction, a sort-of toast but a definite thanks.
She buries herself in the paper again, keeping the coffee cup beneath her hunched form when it's not in her hands. As it empties, she starts to toy with it, not even paying attention as she spins it in front of herself, resting it on its edge as she rocks it back and forth. It's not until that it's almost empty and she's basically pulling it apart that he says anything.
"Something on your mind?" he asks quietly.
She startles a little at his voice, too wrapped up in the paperwork to have noticed him watching her intently, until now that is. She doesn't flick her eyes up to him. "This trail is insane," she exhales, turning yet another page.
He stays silent a moment. Then he speaks, his voice breaking her concentration more forcefully this time.
"Are you just going to keep pressing divots into that cup or are you actually going to finish it off?" he teases softly, low enough so neither Esposito or Ryan turn to glance at them, both too absorbed in their share of the legwork to already be paying attention.
She glances at him, rolling her eyes then darting them down to the cup beneath her. She's depressed the hard ridge of the lid, squashed the bottom out of shape (she's surprised it isn't leaking) and just about flattened the corrugations in the cardboard slip adorning the walls, serving to protect her against the heat of the cup, its basically slipped down the cup it has lost almost all its shape.
She flicks her eyes back to him, gives a quick shrug before she downs the last of the coffee, letting the extra piece of cardboard remain on her desk while she takes the last two gulps. The luke warmth makes her cringe a little, but coffee is coffee. Plus this was a nice gesture on his part. She sets the empty cup down in front of him, raising her eyebrows, daring him to comment.
But he doesn't, just flicks his own eyes to the remnants of the cardboard on the desk in front of her.
She follows, realising she left it discarded in front of her, she moves her hands as she moves her eyes back to it. except she stops just as she's about to touch it, takes a second to read the message scrawled on the inside of the jacket.
Dinner, next weekend. Just us.
Yes / No / I'm too busy Castle ask me again later /
She swallows.
He's asking her to dinner.
Asking her on a date?
Who knows?
Probably is.
But he's doing it subtly, not forcing her into a direct conversation about dinner in front of everyone else.
He's written her a note like a sixth grader, with little tick boxes for her response. So all she has to do it make a mark on the cardboard and slide it back to him.
She swallows again. But other than that, she stops moving, stops breathing, stops thinking.
She wants to meet his gaze, but she can't not here, not under the ever-observant gaze of her colleagues, all trained to notice things, all keen to gossip and tease.
She makes the decision then that she'll do it later, answer him later.
She folds it in half and slips it into the pocket of her slacks. It doesn't have a weight like the chocolate, but it certainly has sharp corners. She won't be forgetting that's in there, even as she sits at her desk, every time she leans forward she will be reminded.
"Take as long as you need," he says softly, a promise, a soft assurance. He'll wait.
She just flicks her eyes to him briefly, gives half a nod, a subtle shift in her head starting from her chin. She knows he understands so she buries herself in the paperwork again. Let's herself forget for a second what's happening.
Castle smiles when she returns from an unusually long trip to the bathroom with two more cups. He should have known she'd get another cup, the only way to respond. Sneaky little messages hidden in the shadows of lids, on the base of cups, wrapped just beneath the rim. It doesn't matter, he's used to this. She's used to this.
That's how he'd know this would be the best way to ask, the only way to ask. Especially in such a public place. So it only fits that her response is the same, subtle and controlled, carefully concealed.
He doesn't miss the fact she still has the corrugated piece of cardboard from her earlier cup in her pocket. He'd expected her to slip that one over this cup.
He just watches as she continues to drink her cup, settling herself back into her paperwork, stealing glances at him every-so-often, then glaring when she finds him still watching. It's like she can feel his eyes on her. She probably can. He knows when she's watching him, those rare times he's not already watching her.
They're insane.
"You going to drink that?" she mocks after a moment as he toys with the cup.
He swallows. She's mocking him, deliberately restarting their previous conversation.
"Yeah I am actually," he says with a confidence he's not really feeling, an attitude he can't muster.
She just scoffs softly at him and goes back to her paperwork, but he doesn't miss the slight roll of her eyes as she turns away from him, drinking deeply from her own cup.
He leans forward in the chair, sliding the cup forward on the desk, then leaning his body back. a thinly veiled attempt to get a better view of its sides, its lid. Any place she might have responded. But she's not stupid, she knows he'd look in the obvious places.
But he also knows she wouldn't have even considered putting it anywhere other than the inside of the cardboard. And he can't get until that until later.
She doesn't bother to watch him toy with the cup, search for her answer. She knows he will, she knows how long it will take him to find it and she also knows that once he does he won't say anything. She is finally making some headway on the paper trail when he clears his throat. She startles a little out of her ravine as he pokes her elbow.
She hums in a 'give me a sec' kind of way before she sees movement in the corner of her eye. He's stealing her empty cup from her hunched form. She turns and gives him a smile in thanks and wants to laugh at his expression. He looks like the cat who got the canary.
She realises, in a way, he kind of has.
She rolls her eyes at him instead and eases back a second so he can grab her cup and toss it in the wastebasket at his feet. She forces herself back to the paperwork, she's almost completed the circle, she can tell. It's just an instinct but she doesn't doubt it. She's done this enough times to know she's about to catch a break. So the possibility of cramming around the table in the break room with her team, eating out of a bunch of Chinese take-out containers, as she fills them in on the path and lets them debate with her their plan of attack for the next day is oddly appealing.
He'll still look like the cat who got the canary then too. She just hopes he can contain himself if either of the guys get suspicious. She doesn't doubt it. she's still quivering at the thought herself so she can't imagine what he's feeling. She's finally agreed to some forward movement in this tangled dance. She doesn't think its too serious, he did ask her like a sixth grader so he can't be intending to take huge leaps. But just asking is a leap enough.
She flicks her eyes at him as she crams her highlighter into the drawer, stacking up the papers.
"Chinese?" he asks her, dangling his phone for her to see he's ready to order.
She nods, flicks her head to the others and begins to go over the path again quickly, check she hasn't missed something and refresh her mind.
Except her mind becomes fixed on one thing, he's basically just verbalised her thoughts. Like he's inside her head, reading everything. She flicks a gaze at him as he hunches over speaking to Ryan and Esposito about their selections.
Then it hits her. He never even bothered to ask what she wanted.
He really is inside her head.
He just hopes he hadn't heard her internal monologue as he drank the coffee she gave him. Her monologue as she repeated the mantra of 'yes' and considered all their options, all likely outcomes. All the reasons why and why not.
But 'no' had never been an option. Even if 'yes' is still terrifying, she is way past saying no. As for the too busy option, she'd considered it, but it was a thin excuse. They both know she would find the time, stall a case and go home early one night if it came to it.
He wouldn't ask her to, but she'd want to.
Then she realises. Now she's smiling like the damn cat who got the canary. Worse yet, she's still watching him hunched over the desk, talking on the phone now.
She needs to focus, now.