Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.
Beckett and Pretzel had left an hour ago. He had driven them to her apartment because it wasn't just the dog who was leaving, but the crate, beds, bowls, toys, balls, puppy gate, food, treats, blanket, sweaters, halters, leashes, and the all-important box of poop bags.
When he'd kissed her goodbye at her door, he'd said, "I wish I'd done this years ago."
"I wasn't ready years ago."
"For a dog?"
"For you or a dog."
And then he had kissed her again, and gone home.
Now he's lonely, rattling around the empty loft. He goes to his office, sits at his desk and looks at the empty space where one of Pretzel's beds used to be. He's thinking: who knew? Who knew that something so small, something that cost him next to nothing, could change everything? Although, now that he considers what he carried into her place, he realizes that "cost him next to nothing" is perhaps inaccurate. Especially since there was also air fare, the rental car, the vet bill and the donation to an animal charity. But it was worth every penny. He'd have paid ten times, a hundred times more, to see her joy, her transformative, overwhelming happiness.
He's wondering how to deal with the odd combination of sadness and euphoria that he's experiencing when his phone pings with an incoming text.
"Hey, Castle, are you awake?"
"Of course I'm awake."
"Can you come over?"
Can he come over, is she kidding? "Of course."
"Good."
He stops texting and calls her. "Beckett? Is everything all right? Are you having trouble with Pretzel?"
"Everything's fine, he's perfect. It's just that—just come over, okay?"
"I'm coming. Bye."
The gods are kind: the elevator is on his floor, and there's a taxi in front of his building, so it's only a few minutes before he's ringing her buzzer.
She opens the door, dressed in an NYPD tee shirt, leggings and socks. He makes a mental note to buy her some dachshund PJs. Surely they exist somewhere. Or he could have some made. Would that be going overboard? Nah. Even it were, she'd look adorable in dachshund PJs. That settles it.
But before either of them can speak, Pretzel flings himself at Castle, who picks him up and welcomes licks all over his face. He feels Beckett tugging on his sleeve. "Come in."
"I'm in, I'm in," he says, still laughing at the squirmy puppy but sensing a change in the air.
"Oh, Castle," she says, stopping a few feet away from. Just three small syllables, but they seem to bear more sorrow than a ten-minute lamentation.
He transfers Pretzel to the crook of his arm. "What?" he says, matching her sorrow with his worry.
"He really loves you."
"Yeah." He smiles. "He loves you, too."
"But look at you, Castle. You. I can tell how much you miss him already. I've known him for about four hours and I'm already so attached. But you? You had him for days and days and you bonded. It's breaking my heart to see how much you miss him."
"Is that what this is about? Here," he says, drawing her close and then wrapping his arms around her so the dog is contentedly trapped between his chest and hers. "See what we've got here? A Pretzel sandwich. I bet I could market it. But let's go sit down for a minute."
They settle on the sofa, with the dog in between them. He looks at her, unwavering. "Can I tell you something, Beckett?"
"I think you can tell me pretty much anything, Castle."
"I know we've been together for only a few days, I mean together together, but I feel as though it's been that way for a long time. Working up to it, anyway. So unless I do something really unspeakable, you're going to see me a lot, right? Not just at the precinct a lot. I mean after-hours a lot, weekends a lot, mornings a lot. And that means I see Pretzel a lot, too."
"Um, yeah."
He reaches out and tugs off the soft elastic that's holding her pony tail, and lets her hair spill into his hand. "I wish that I'd taken a picture of you when I put him on your lap. Your face. It was as if everything fell away, all the terrible things in your life just disappeared right then, and you were nothing but joy. It was incredible. I would do anything to see that happiness in you every single day."
She tumbles into him, burying her face in his shoulder. He feels it getting damp.
"Beckett? Are you crying?"
She lifts her head up, and presses the heels of her hands against her cheekbones. "Yeah, but just because I'm happy. You know what's funny?"
"What?"
"It's because of a book. Just like before."
He's not entirely sure what she's saying, so he asks. "A book?"
"Our working, uh, relationship began because of a book, or books. And then you started writing books about us—sort of about us—" She stops and chuckles. "You know, maybe we should reenact that scene from Heat Wave."
"You don't have to ask twice."
"I won't. But then there's Pretzel. The book, I mean. That's really what got us here, isn't it?"
"I guess it is." He leans down and kisses Pretzel on the top of his head, and then stands up. "I'm going home now."
"Home?" She looks horrified. "You just got here."
"I want Pretzel to get used to this place, too, so I'm going to leave you two alone. Just until tomorrow morning."
"You promise? You'll come over before work?"
"I promise."
True to his word, he's back the next morning at 5:30, carrying two cups of coffee and two cinnamon buns. She doesn't have to leave for the precinct until almost seven, so they can have breakfast here. When he gets to her door, he sees that it's cracked open, so he walks in. It's very dark, the only light given by a dozen small candles that are dotted around the living room. "Beckett?" he says. "Beckett?"
He hears them before he sees them, the noise of a pair of stiletto heels and the toenails on four little furry feet. They emerge together from the bedroom, she wearing nothing but killer heels and a lacy, bright red miminalist bra and matching thong. She's holding one end of the leash while Pretzel prances at the other.
"Morning, big boy," she says, oozing her way over to him. "Did you just call me?"
He thinks he might be strangling, and not just around the throat. "Uh, what?"
"I thought I heard you call my name." She begins to wind herself around his back, pressing her breasts against him.
"What are you doing, Beckett?" he says, more or less choking.
"Well, I thought it was obvious. I'm walking the dog."
He swallows, hard, one small part of his brain wondering how she is managing to keep Pretzel from leaping up while a much larger part is wondering how long it will take him to get that lingerie off her. "Hey," he says, his voice dipping down an octave. "Let me change places with the dog and you can walk me."
The lingerie? Off in less than a minute. Remarkably, she gets to work on time.
They get giddily through the rest of the winter, through spring and summer, and halfway through fall. It's late in the morning on Beckett's birthday. Castle and Pretzel, who is now a year old, went out a while ago and she is still in bed reading and rereading Pretzel and the Puppies, the long-out-of-print sequel to Pretzel about the adventures of Pretzel, Greta and their litter of five pups. She hadn't even known it existed until Castle gave it to her this morning with her coffee. She hears the loft's front door close, and a few minutes later Castle comes in.
"Where's Pretzel?" she asks.
"Oh, he got really soaking, so I dried him off and put him in the crate for a little bit. You know, so he won't get our bed all soggy."
"You planning to get back in her?" she asks, patting the spot next to her.
"I want to take you on a birthday picnic."
"It's raining, Castle."
"I know, but I got a basket all ready and I thought we could have a picnic in bed instead. We can be naked. You can't do that in the park, at least not without being arrested, as I know from painful experience. Besides, it's your birthday and I want to see you in your birthday suit. What do you say? Can I go get the basket?"
"There good stuff in there?"
"Are you really asking? Please." He turns and goes out towards the kitchen, returning a minute or so later carrying a wicker basket with a heavy lid. Pretzel is at his feet, leaping around and barking.
"What do you have in there, anyway? He's going crazy."
Castle picks up the dog and holds him tight, then places the basket carefully on the bed. "Well, it's your birthday, so why don't you open it and see?"
She gives him The Look, but puts down her book and tentatively raises the lid of the basket. "Oh! Ohhh! Ohhhhh!" She reaches in and brings out, using both her hands, a tiny black-and-tan dachshund puppy. "Oh, Castle! Who's this?"
"Don't you know?" He puts Pretzel on the bed and lets him greet and sniff the puppy whom he had first met yesterday and who has been staying at Alexis's for the last 24 hours.
"No," she says, pressing her face into the puppy's neck.
"No idea?"
"A puppy," she says, her lips against the dog's ears.
"True. A nine-week-old puppy. She's Greta. You know Greta," he nods his head at her book. "She's the black-and-tan dachshund who Pretzel fell in love with and eventually won over. They had five puppies. Look in the basket, see the little collar?"
Beckett peeks in and finds it, with a heart-shaped tag that says GRETA on one side and has two cell-phone numbers on the other, hers and Castle's.
"She's for me?" Beckett is smiling like a kid. "For my birthday?"
"Yup, for you. But for Pretzel and me, too, I have to admit. In fact, if you look in the basket again, you'll find something else for you."
"It can't be better than this Castle. This is the best, she is the best. Aren't you, Greta, you little sweetheart." She kisses the puppy, who licks her on the nose in return.
"Okay, since you're so absorbed with her, I'll get it out. Hope you won't be disappointed." Kneeling on the bed next to her, he lifts out a box, about eight inches by eight inches, and passes it to her.
"What's this?"
"You know I don't tell secrets. This is a secret for you. Just open it. Give Greta to me so you can do it."
With some reluctance, she relinquishes the puppy and takes the box. As usual, she coils the ribbon—this one in deep purple satin—and then sets it on her nightstand. He grinds he teeth as she slowly removes the paper, then takes the lid off the box and raises her eyes to his.
"Another box?"
"Keep going."
"Are there a lot of these? Are you torturing me with this?"
"Only fair, seeing that you torture me by taking forever to untie a bow and get the paper off. At least the rest of the boxes aren't wrapped."
The sixth, which is very small, is the last. "This is it, right, Castle?"
"Oh, that's definitely it," he says.
She opens it. "Oh." Her hand has, of its own accord, gone to her cheek, which is already pink. "Oh. It's beautiful."
He takes the ring out and slips it on her finger. "Will you marry me?"
"Yes. Yes."
"Can we have five kids?"
She kisses him soundly. "Maybe." She kisses him again. "But not all at once."