6th February

When Castle offers to drive her home, staying atypically late while she finished off all the paper work, she doesn't refuse. It has been a long couple of days dredging through all the paperwork related to the case, even interrogations had been tiring – having to gently lead in that they knew the whole story, that she herself had followed its winding, twisted tail back to their guy. He'd looked shocked as she gave him the final few twists, a few sneaky deviations, to point them at other colleagues, friends and even a relative then twisted it to show it only made all paths lead to himself his shoulders slumped and she knew she had him, she had her confession.

"It's too late for you to get on the subway," he informs her. Then he smiles, knowing she's already agreed. He'd already had an argument prepared.

"My gun and badge kind of make that a pointless argument, Castle," she offers her own argument. Plus she's done it enough times before to recognise some of the regulars, knows which cars they sit in, which to avoid. But he probably doesn't realise that, and even if he does he won't dare vocalise it.

He opens his mouth, then closes it. It's true, with her armed everyone else should be the ones concerned for their safety. But possessing a gun, a concealed weapon, won't protect her from everything. But he can't tell her that. He cannot share his fears for her safety, his concern for her well-being in the way she travels to work. She would not like to know he's been concerned for years, but wouldn't say anything, couldn't say anything. But now he realises she'll let him, on nights like this when they've been here since seven and worked a solid twelve hours, she won't argue. Not anymore.

He decides honesty is his best option.

"I don't want you riding this late, especially when I'm still here to drop you home," he offers it quietly, as though the detectives who usually occupy the surrounding desks are leaning over, listening to his every word. What he doesn't offer her is that he would leave his loft to drop her home. He would cross state lines to drop her home. But he doesn't say that, that is certainly too much. But he suspects she would have some inkling, that she would not consider it a wild assumption with no truth or substance.

She just nods and continues to gather her things.

She smiles that tight-lipped smile as she sinks her hands into her pockets, depositing her phone and checking for her keys, shoving her wallet into her back pocket.

He exhales, audibly and realises she didn't miss it. She didn't miss that little sigh. Normally the hum of the bullpen, the sound of business, phones and computers and conversation drown out such noises. But not tonight. Every other person has left. The night team were called to a scene almost as soon as they arrived. The only other person on the floor with them is nestled over in the corner, asleep against his desk, surrounded by a stack of paper. At least no one is there to bear witness.

"No witty little gift today, Castle?" she asks him as they step into the elevator and she buries her hands into her pockets, remembering. Sticking her hands into her pockets probably won't be the same. Her hands twitch every time she comes into contact with her keys, like she's expecting something else. Realistically she knows he wouldn't use the same hiding place twice. He would be well-versed in the protocols of hide-and-seek.

She shouldn't be asking. This is the first time she's even vocalised this. The first time either of them have vocalised it. The first time either have made any mention at all of what he's been doing, even in passing it hasn't been discussed.

The way he looks across at her, darting his eyes to her makes her instantly suspicious. She missed it.

Damn it.

She'd thought she had been so vigilant with it, keeping her eye out, she'd even scanned the coffee he'd brought in this morning for any sign of something. But there had been nothing. And he'd been at her side all day so he would have seen her find it.

He knows she hasn't got it yet.

'"I already gave it to you," he says softly, vocalising her exact thoughts, again. It must be the fifth time today. And that doesn't even include when he'd deduced she needed another hit of caffeine. If ushc realisations are included the number would be approaching fifteen, if not surpassing it.

Maybe she really is addicted to coffee. She knows it's not unusual, but it doesn't make it any healthier.

At least she'd eaten meals along with it though, absorbing some of it so her blood composition wasn't purely caffeinated.

She's stalling, deviating from the point, trying to school her features into impassion and force a response from her mouth that isn't some horrid collection of what, where, when and how's.

She has a feeling it's not really working, so gives up trying.

"When?" she asks softly, turning to face him in the elevator, leaning her shoulder against the elevator wall instead of her back so she can watch him, study his expression for any hint. But he won't give anything away, at least not enough for her to understand. It isn't an excuse to just watch him. Really, it's not.

She's not even fooling herself.

But she's too flabbergasted, too off-balance to care. She's staring at his shoulder as she retraces the day, remembers every coffee, every smartarse comment, every time he's even spoken but there was nothing. He didn't say or do anything, so what can he possibly mean.

He just smiles at her, chuckles quietly to himself as she looks up from her intent examination of his deltoid, the lint on his coat or maybe just the breadth of it. She doesn't even realise he's basically laughing she's so focused on retracing the day, their day, every movement and word that has occurred.

"This morning," he answers, smiling widely and openly chuckling as the furrow of her brow deepens.

"What?" she asks almost stupidly. He knows she has made the leap at least somewhere in herself but she hasn't consciously realised yet that it was before he arrived at the precinct.

"But you… You came in like twenty minutes after I did. I told you to get moving." He sees it. The moment she realises he can see it physically cross her face. She sent him a text checking he was coming in, telling him she was on her way now and that, from their plan the previous evening, they would be headed out almost immediately – if he wanted in on it, he better roll out of bed.

She had given him his opportunity to place the gift.

He watches her swallow, the rise and fall of her throat shows how fearful she is, but the defiance of her jaw makes him shudder as he watches her, studies, committing every response to memory. He's never really watched her respond to these before, sure he was there when she discovered that silver heart, he had to have been, but her back was to him and she didn't let on, all day. The cupcake was before she realised what this was, how serious this was. Maybe she hasn't realised just how serious this is. But now she's brought it up he doesn't care, it means she's been intrigued, snared by his trap.

He hadn't even been planning to tell her about this one, just content to let her walk into her apartment; relax after what he knew would be a horrible day to find it. But she brought it up.

She played the card so he raised the stakes. How could he not have seized the opportunity to watch her find out about a gift? A gift she can't even respond to properly because it's not with him right now, nor is it with her.

The elevator doors open and he steps forward, expecting her to follow, but she doesn't. It's like she's rooted to the spot.

"Kate?" he asks softly, prodding her into movement.

She looks up at him, eyes a little wide, shocked. But she does follow, falls into step beside him as they head through the foyer and out onto the street into the cold.

He gives her until they've climbed into the car, give her a couple of minutes to process, give her a couple of blocks to clear her head. Plus he's content to walk with her in silence.

"I left it in your apartment." He speaks softly to her as she slides into the passenger seat beside him, quickly closing the door and wrapping herself in the security of her seatbelt. It doesn't escape his notice that she crams her hands back in her pockets, whether its habit or warmth or security he doesn't know.

"Why?" Her question isn't unreasonable but it is so quiet he barely hears her. He turns down the radio a touch, it hadn't been loud but just above conversations in whispers.

"Not really suitable for the precinct. It's a little too… personal." He doesn't have to turn back and glance at her to know she's nodding as he turns on the car, shifting it into gear. She's confused but she is grateful. He knows once she finds it she will certainly be grateful. "Plus I had to check on the cactus. Those things need watering you know." He has to keep it lighter if she's going to gain control of her thoughts. He hopes he hasn't crossed some boundary by going into her apartment, but that doesn't look like what she's shocked about. He's had a key for quite a while now, in case of emergencies, since her apartment blew up actually, since she found her new place. But he's never used it.

He glances at her, catches the tail end of her eye-roll. "Castle, I know how to look after a plant."

To anyone else it would sound like she was lividly mad, steeling herself and biting her response back at him. But he recognises that tone from other times. Times she's been trying to catch-up, force her mouth to say words her mind hasn't computed yet, hasn't fully understood. She's just processing. If she was mad he would have faced a barrage of accusations or an onslaught of insults.

But he hadn't.

"I know but I had to check. For my own peace of mind." He doesn't mention he wanted to check she had actually accepted the gift. It was a little different to coffee-beans, cupcakes and chocolate hearts, however laced with meaning they may be, all she has to do is pop them into her mouth, force herself to chew and swallow. They can be forgotten, erased like they never happened. He had to check the cactus hadn't suffered a similar fate. He needed to know she could deal with the reminder, if it hadn't been there he would have reconsidered his next gift. A far more daring leap forwards that would rattle her a little.

When he'd brought the cactus, and considered she would keep it, he'd only considered three places she would put it. No four, there had been a fourth.

On her bookshelf nestled between some of her books, just out of sight unless you stopped to stare at it. He'd noticed the blaring gaps in her collection in the past, wondered why she didn't fill them with more books or even trinkets. The next, was her kitchen table or on counter, central so it would be seen. He knew it had been a less likely option, but it could then be passed off as generic then, something she'd just picked up one day on a whim. He thought she might have put it in her study, out of sight, guarded by an extra wall, an extra door and hidden away with many other things. Then he realised that would be quite poetic, something he would include in his books as a literary reference to her mother's case and her inabilities to let herself go, to put him away on a shelf and deal with it when she had the spare time, as she was ready. He hadn't even considered she'd have it in her bedroom, it had been the last room he'd searched, he'd even scanned the bathroom, just in case, ruling out every other possibility before reaching the inevitable conclusion – there was nowhere else.

She's been silent for so long he realises she's got her eyes narrowed in a threat, staring straight ahead out the windscreen at the road ahead, more focus than if she herself was driving. Either she is blocking it out and forcing herself to focus on the passing pavement, the cars moving in the opposite direction, or she is so deep in thought that she doesn't even know which way she's looking, what she's looking at or which direction is up and which is down.

The light ahead changes in front of him. He eases to a stop and leans across, nudging her elbow gently. "You in there?" he asks gently.

He watches her jolt into awareness; clearly her attention had not been fixed on the road, not on distraction. He smiles.

"Sorry," he offers softly.

She shakes her head, turns to face him, leaning back in the seat, a shoulder against the window behind her and one pressed deep into the soft leather of the seat.

He's relieved to see the tight smile gracing her features, like she knows she's been staring off into space and doesn't mind being brought back to reality, back out of the possibilities. He wonders what she was considering, so deep in thought.

"Are you going to drive", Castle?" Now it's her turn to challenge him, return a little normalcy.

He quickly turns back to the road, already pressing down on the accelerator, shifting the car forwards.

.

He touches her hand as she tells him she'll see him tomorrow sometime, just skimming his fingertips over the back of her hand as she unclicks the seatbelt. She suppresses the shiver which surges through her body. He is getting bolder and while it is terrifying, it isn't by any means a bad thing. She realises now she's bolder too. Hell she asked him, almost too expectantly, about the gift.

"Until tomorrow," he says softly as she lets herself slide from the SUV onto the pavement. She fights the shiver again, the promise, the heavy meaning that statement now carries.

"Night, Castle," she manages. A body will drop and they'll get a call, it'll just be a few specifics that impact upon how long she has to wait.

He returns her tight smile with one of his own, much wider more open. She can see from the glint in his eye he's nervous, kind of excited for her to go upstairs and discover it. She has to wonder if he would have had that same look if he hadn't just given away the fact he's been upstairs, in her apartment without her, depositing a gift somewhere in her apartment. She suspects he would have.

She doesn't wait for him to drive away before she heads inside, but she does register the noise of his SUV as he accelerates up the street. She relaxes as she steps inside the elevator, conveniently waiting on the bottom floor.

She forces herself to relax as it climbs the few floors to her apartment, holds her breath as she moves across the hall to her door. She turns the key and shift the door forwards in the frame, takes another deep breath and braces herself against whatever this is going to be.

She's not too concerned it will be horrifying or startlingly or too much too soon, but still. It is unknown. A suspect lurking in the shadows, or possibly out in the open, equally as terrifying, it doesn't matter. She doesn't spy it as she slowly opens the door, scanning everything as it is revealed to her, searching for some hint of it.

He'd said it was too personal for the precinct.

What the hell was it?

And how far into her apartment had he gone. She couldn't see anything on the coffee table, or on the table.

Then it strikes her. Just as she's shrugging off her coat, slipping the shoulders into the corners of the hanger.

He said he had checked on the cactus.

She slams the hanger back on the rack, it wouldn't do her coat any harm being half dangling from it. It wasn't like it was on the floor – there are enough coats in that closet that it will be held steadfast between them.

She huffs out a breath as she catches sight of it on her bed. It is most certainly not an appropriate gift to deliver to the precinct. That doesn't mean she would encourage him to barge into her home, he could have at least told her he was coming.

But that's not his plan.

Whatever his plan is, it doesn't involve informing her of his next move.

A small teddy bear, settled against the pillow on other side of the bed, it's legs slipped beneath the covers like its lying in the bed waiting for her.

It was cute sure.

But she was a grown woman, why would he give her a teddy bear?

Why would he slide it beneath the sheets?

There has to be an explanation. He hadn't offered one in the car, but he also hadn't even been planning on telling her there was a gift today. That wasn't how this worked.

So there has to be a note or something.

She kneels on the bed, regarding the bear a little wearily. But it's just a stereotypical teddy, light tan fur and extremely soft – a child would love it, cuddle up with it and go to sleep. Then she realises that has to be the message. What other message could there possibly be?

It's position and his comment about it being a little more personal, glare at her now, defiant and apparent.

That had to be his message. There were just no other plausible options, at least not ones in the realm of possibility.

But she needed proof, confirmation.

She scans the area surrounding the bear, finding nothing to accompany it. Nothing on the bedside either. Maybe there isn't supposed to be a message, not an actual hand-written piece of paper.

Then her phone goes off in her pocket and she jumps, her whole body jerking as she slides off and stands, her hands already moving to her pocket.

With the cactus, is all he's written. Damn it how does he do that, how would he know just the right moment to prod her in the right direction, guide her in his search, seek out an excuse to speak to her again, make himself a part of the discovery.

Sure enough, a small piece of paper is in front of the cactus, holding itself upright like a place card at a dinner party, it's message apparent on the face.

She can't see it, she's too far away to read his black scrawl.

Just some company

She gives half a chuckle, filling the silence of the room, breaking the tension she herself created within herself, about the gift, about its meaning and then what was going to be written in his message, on the card and on her phone.

She flattens the paper, nestling it under the saucer of the cactus, just in view but mostly out of sight.

She wonders if he noticed the others beneath it, wonders if that is why he chose to set the card over here and not on the bedside. Who knows how his mind works, he certainly hadn't given anything away about this. When he said he'd been in her apartment she hadn't even thought about the fact he would have been in her bedroom, beside her bed, at her dresser. Not even when he mentioned the cactus.

She realises she missed a golden opportunity to give him a decent thwack.

But she doesn't want to.

She doesn't mind that he's been in here, granted, she would have liked to have been aware he was planning an uninvited visit. But that would have ruined it.

He couldn't leave a bear nestled between the covers of her bed and the pillow, as a gesture meaning everything she isn't letting herself consider.

She responds to his message quickly before she sets the phone on the dresser to change.

She better not snore, its short enough that he'll know, but doesn't give much away.

Just as she's tugging the pyjama bottoms up over her hips her phone slides across the wood in a violent protest, chirping once indicating she doesn't have to speak into it. Another message, a response.

You better check his name tag, is all he's written.

She furrows. Then realises, bears like this, those ones from gift shops given to small children, are generally named.

She slides beneath the cool sheets reaching and slipping the bear from between its share of the sheets, which stay noticeably upright, caught in its shape, it it's form is still there. Looks like Castle tucked it in.

She shakes the mental image from her mind as flips the bear, leaving him balancing him on his head as she seeks out the tag.

Alex? she types quickly. Gender neutral. I say female. She isn't going to say anything at all about its name or his own. Or anything that stupid psychic said.

If you insist, his response comes back so instantaneously she hasn't even clicked out of their conversation or locked the device.

She's clicked to respond, gotten half way through saying that she does insist, when it goes off again. She flicks her attention to the other message, agreeing to save the draft.

Until tomorrow. PS – no snoring in my presence, she reads it and clenches her fist around the bear, burying her fingers deep into the soft fur, contorting the stuffing beneath her fingers.

She reads it again, just to be sure. In his presence, she wasn't mistaken. What does he mean? She sets the bear back in the sheets, tonight she'll indulge it, indulge him.

She decides she can't form a coherent response to his message, she can't push the joke further, make another suggestion. Not tonight, but soon.

Admitting to sleeping beside it, him joking like its already shared his bed is enough for tonight.

It is enough of a step forward for it to be significant, to prove to him she isn't discontent with his intrusion into her bedroom, into her apartment and that she isn't discontent with these intrusions into her personal space, into that area she's closed off from so many people. The area she's starting to want to let him into.

He is after all standing on the edge, shifting loose its crumbling façade.

Next weekend she is suspecting he'll completely drop himself in, either jump down or wait for her to extend a ladder. But she's certain he'll find his way off the top and never let her forget he's there, inside.

What she's not certain of is how long she will keep holding the ladder in her hands. How long can she wait before she takes a final few steps and lets him in. He's so close now that he may not even have to wait that long.

She suspects he has no idea how close he truly is.