Doomsday

"What are you doing?" she gasped, coming up on Castle and her father sitting close together on the couch.

Castle flushed and tried to hide his phone, but she snatched it out of his hands and looked at the screen.

Tiffany's.

Diamond engagement rings.

"There's an app for that?" Castle said hesitantly, but the humor didn't carry through.

There was an app for Tiffany's diamond engagement rings. Oh holy hell.

She stared, then felt her eyes drawn up to her father's as if by force. He was looking as thoroughly caught out as Castle. But he'd been having fun, she saw; he'd been having fun looking at emerald cut diamonds in platinum settings with her - her -

Shiiiiit. Castle was her fiancé. How had that happened?

"You're doing this without me?" she asked, waving the phone.

They both stared at her, drop-jawed, and she turned around and sat down between them, wriggling to get some room, one hip in Castle's lap, the other wedged into her father's thigh.

A hand from each man went to her knees, one in a soft pat, the other in a squeeze, and oh holy shit she had them on either side of her, looking at her in almost almost the same way. Castle's had lust behind it, her father only relief. Trapped by them on the couch. Voluntarily trapped.

She rubbed her thumb over the touch screen phone and dismissed the princess cut diamonds right away.

"Okay, let's do this."

Sapphire inlaid in sterling silver? "Really?" he asked and squinted down at the screen. Kate had quickly abandoned his cool Tiffany's engagement ring app for the actual website, but she was still picking . . . cheaply.

"It's my choice, is it not?"

"But it's like three hundred dollars."

"Is that too much?" she asked, and he could tell by the ice in her voice she knew exactly what he meant.

"Come on. Look at these again-" he started, browsing back to the hideously expensive diamond encrusted-

"That's hideous," she muttered. "Both of those. And that one. No. Castle. No. I don't want that."

Her father sighed, gave Rick a pointed, conspiratorial look. "We need reinforcements. Lanie!"

Kate jumped at her father's yell, but then her friend was sauntering in from the front bedroom where she'd disappeared to with Javier. She looked . . . smudged.

"What's going on?" they both said, Kate and Lanie at the same time, each with narrowed eyes.

"Kate asked me to marry her," Castle supplied quickly. "But now she won't pick a good ring."

"Pick a ring?" Lanie stared at them. "You got engaged? Do not mess with me. Kate Beckett, you best not be messin' with me."

"Best not be messin' with me," Castle muttered.

"Where were you?" Kate asked. "This is old news. Help me foist these two off. I don't want a sparkly, heavy thing that feels like an iceberg."

"Because you are insane," Lanie said vehemently.

"Not you too. Come on. It's not practical."

"That is the least romantic thing you've ever said to me," Castle sighed.

"Oh yeah? Just wait," she promised, glaring at him.

"Girlfriend, this boy has serious money. And he seriously - aww, look at that face - he seriously loves you."

Seriously.

"That doesn't mean I need the Titanic on my finger."

"Well that's optimistic," he groaned.

She elbowed him, shooting him a look, and then turned back to her friend. "See what I'm dealing with here? Apparently if Castle spends under a thousand dollars, we're doomed."

"And your theory is that. . .?" Lanie asked, raising both eyebrows as she loomed over them.

"That the Titanic was hideously expensive and look where that ended up. Not functional, not practical. I want to want to wear it."

Castle melted a little, soft and fuzzy, and slid his fingers around her elbow at his side, squeezed. Okay, okay, that was better; he could handle I want to want it.

But still. "I'll be the laughingstock of Page Six if I buy you a ring that only costs three hundred dollars."

She froze. Lanie shot him a look that said, Stop opening your mouth, you big fat idiot.

"Ah. I - uh-" Castle tried to look in her eyes, but all he was getting was a blank slate.

But then she turned her intense gaze on him, her mouth in a thin line before she spoke. "If you love me, then it's a small price to pay."

"Entirely too small," he grumped, but then he got what she meant - page six - and sighed. "This is your compromise for marrying me? I get trash-talked for not buying you the ring you deserve and you wind up in page six?"

She raised an eyebrow.

He sighed again. "So long as you're marrying me . . . I'll take it."

She had a ring. Well.

If the world survived today - if she survived today - then she had a ring. It was subtle. The stone was inlaid, blue sapphire, he'd convinced her to get diamonds on either side (compromise, again; this marriage would be filled with not-quite satisfactory compromise). She had a ring.

A ring other than the plastic thing she currently couldn't get off of her finger. She twisted it again, grunting, but nope. Not coming off.

Kate squirted a dollop of liquid soap onto her palm and lathered it up with a little water, standing at his bathroom sink trying to get the damn thing off. It was turning her skin green, and her fingers were so swollen because of it that she might never get it off.

Finally the ring shot off her finger and circled the drain with a clatter; she scooped it up quickly, unwilling to lose it. She placed it on the counter, rinsed her hands, and shut the water off.

Shaking her fingers out, sliding them along her jeans to dry, she picked up the ring again, the stupid movie-tie-in trinket, but she couldn't seem to let it go.

Not just yet.

Kate pocketed the ring and stepped out of his bathroom only to find Castle hard at work. Laptop on the bed, his shoulders hunched over it, typing furiously.

"What are you doing?" she asked, half afraid he was going back to Tiffany's to buy her that infinity pendant that she had paused on - so very briefly, and really, no, she didn't need it, and it was only a pause to gather herself - and then she sank down on the bed next to him.

(And already, a small voice in her had already claimed it, the bed, as hers just like the man sitting on it.)

"I'm making a list," he said.

"Never thought of you as a list-maker," she said dryly, reaching out as if possessed and brushing her thumb along the lines at his eye, curling her fingers in his hair.

He looked over at her, clearly startled, snagged her hand in his. "Ryan pointed out to me that this wasn't exactly big. And I think you should get-"

"I don't care what Ryan thinks," she huffed, sliding her feet up under her to get closer to him.

"No, okay. I know. But-"

"You don't like the way I proposed to you?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow at him. She had intended to make it into a joke, but then she wondered, she actually had the thought that maybe that really wasn't the story he wanted to tell.

But no. He was grinning now, eyes alight. "I love the way you proposed to me. Clearly, you didn't intend to."

She pressed her lips together, but that was enough of a tell.

"My story startled it out of you. You proposed almost against your will. I love that."

"Hm, well."

"No, I'm making a list of the things I love about you. That proposal is on it, for sure."

Oh.

A list of things he loved? That was - sweet.

"Want to hear the first thing on the list?"

"Sure," she murmured and leaned her cheek against his shoulder.

"Number one. Your smoking hot body."

She groaned, and he laughed out loud, so very delighted. "No, no. Kidding. That's not number one. I put that way down the list."

"Only because you thought it wouldn't look so good if it was number one?" she prompted, kneading her thumb into his thigh.

He jerked, let out a breathy laugh. "Touché."

She shook her head against him, slid her fingers over his knee.

"You should read it," he said, suddenly quiet. "Without me looking at you, staring like a lovesick idiot. Which I am, but we don't need to keep reminding you of that, do we?"

She laughed softly, lifted her head to look at him. "I like it. For now."

"Okay, noted. Will not continue to act like a lovesick fool. Can you give me a date, a time table? Is this like when the milk goes bad? It's stamped clearly with an expiration date, but we never pay attention until it's too late?"

"I pay attention."

"No, you don't. Alexis pays attention. You just bum milk from me. You use me for milk."

True. "What's that saying, Castle? Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free?"

He gasped, but he was laughing too. "You saying I'm a cow? Guess what, Detective? You're buying me. I can be bought."

She grinned back, pressed her mouth to the line of his laughter. "So an expiration date on lovesick? Sure. How about Decemeber 22nd?"

"That's too soon!" he moaned, hand to his heart even as her eyes strayed to the computer screen. And that list. She wanted to read that list.

"I thought you'd be rushing to get me down the aisle," she teased.

"Wait. No, not - wait. You're - I'm not sure which I'm more excited about. That you're talking to me about dates for our wedding or that I get to be lovesick throughout our engagement. It's just - too good to be to true. Best gift ever."

"Merry Christmas, Castle," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Speaking of. Read your list. I'm going to - uh - corner Alexis."

Oh. "Should I-?"

"No, no. It'll be fine. I just think I should explain," he said quickly. But she heard the seriousness in his voice and she wondered.

"Be sure to tell her that it's her fault," she said, trying for a smile. "If she hadn't grounded us."

"I'm sure that will go over well."

She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Really not good. "Do I need to do something? Should I have done that differently-?"

"No. You, Kate Beckett, get to propose to me however you like. I perhaps should have broken the news differently."

"It's news that has to be broken? It can't just . . . be?" She swallowed hard, drew her knees up to her chest and felt the LOTR ring in her pocket dig into her hip flexor.

Castle reached out and wrapped his fingers around her forearm, tugged her off-balanced enough to fall into him. Where he could push a kiss onto her mouth, heated and reassuring and with just enough tongue that it made her want to unfurl against him, push the laptop off the bed and see what happened.

But he broke it off and swiped his thumb over her cheekbone. "You think about a date, Beckett. Read my list. I'll work on my kid."