Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.
A/N Oops, this turned into a three-shot.
Well, that had gone well. Kind of terrifyingly well. The Mayor ("Bob, it's Bob, Kate. Especially after what you just told me") is on board. So on board that she's afraid that he might be getting out pom poms and megaphones, having letter sweaters made. He's the self-appointed Head Cheerleader, which she'd never have expected from him. Had she given it any thought, which clearly she hadn't.
There's no backing out now. My God, she did this stone-cold sober. Imagine what she might have signed up for if she'd actually had some of the champagne? Castle lives his life this way; he's a seat-of-the-pants guy, and how does he do it? Maybe it's because he's so disciplined in ways most people don't know about. When she saw his closet for the first time she nearly fell over in a dead faint. Not the closet she hid in that first morning when Martha burst in on them, but his walk-in clothes closet. It looks like some elf from Brooks Brothers comes in every night while everyone is sleeping and tidies up, makes sure that everything is perfect. Like the shirts, which are lined up not just by patterns and colors, but by shades. The blue ones begin with deepest navy on the far left and proceed in incremental gradations until the one on the far right, which is such a pale blue that it could be taken for white. Except by Castle, of course. He'd never make that mistake. Maybe that kind of organization and attention to detail make it possible for him to be spontaneous in other ways. Hmmm. Hmmm.
So here she is doing something in the heat of the moment—oh yeah, the heat's on, baby—for virtually the first time in her life and look where it landed her. Her shrink would probably applaud if the news didn't shock him so much that he couldn't. She can hear the conversation, "Hi, Doctor Burke? It's Kate. Guess what I just did!" Then she'd tell him and the unflappable man would flap right into a heart attack.
She's startled to see that she has been down here for more than fifteen minutes. Someone's bound to come looking for her. Castle and The Hood Ornament had ridden back to the precinct with her, but she has no idea if they're still here. Not sure if she wants to know, either. But she has to go back up now, if only because she really, really, needs to speak to Gates before she does anything else. She pockets her phone, takes as deep a breath as possible in that skirt, and returns to her floor. Sure enough, Castle is there, deep in conversation with Ryan and Esposito. She can't see Serena, but she can smell her. That perfume might have permeated every porous surface in the place. Beckett hates to admit it, but she actually loves the scent when she can divorce it from its wearer. She knows what it is and what it costs. Paid for with ill-gotten gains. The hell with it. Time to talk to Gates.
"Sir?" Beckett asks, after knocking on her boss's door. "Do you have a moment?"
The Captain looks up. "Yes. Come in, Detective. What can I do for you? I see that you and Mr. Castle survived the reception."
"Yes, we did, thank you. Um, Sir, I know that I've haven't been back from my suspension for long, but I actually do have some vacation days saved up from, you know, before, and I, well I have some and I know it's terrible that I'm not putting in a proper form and asking way ahead of time but I really need to take the rest of the week off and it's just three days and I think Ryan and Espo can manage if you think it's all right and I'm really sorry to spring this on you but I didn't know that I'd, well, I'd need the time it just happened and I really do and I can't explain just yet is that okay?"
Gates looks inscrutable again. "Detective? I'd ask if everything is all right, but anyone who can deliver that request without stopping to breathe is probably all right. So, yes. You may have the next three days off and the weekend schedule is such that you won't be called in then. I'll expect you back next Monday morning, however."
Beckett is so relieved that she almost throws her arms around Gates. But not quite. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much. I'll be leaving now then. My shift is over unless there's you know, did you need. Uh."
"I don't need anything, Detective, except to see you getting on the elevator now and not coming back for the next five days."
Oh, my God, she could really kiss the woman, but she won't. "Thank you, Sir. And, see you Monday."
She doesn't want to tip her hand by sprinting to the elevator, so she walks to her desk at a reasonable pace, shuts down her computer and gets her bag from the drawer. "Night, boys," she says airily.
"Night, Beckett." That's Ryan.
"Night, Beckett." That's Espo.
"Beckett? Wait up." Right on cue.
She turns and looks at the three men. "You want to carry my books home from school or something, Castle? Because I don't live in your neighborhood, you know."
"Right. Yeah. I know. But can you wait a sec, anyway? I need to ask you something."
"Fine. Just get a move on, please. I have a lot to do." Oh, if he only knew.
He almost bounces over to join her. She thinks, not for the first time, that it's something of a miracle that he hasn't given the game away. To counteract his eager behavior, she glares, making sure that everyone can see her.
They step in to the elevator, which has no other passengers. "Are you mad, Kate?"
"You mean because of Serena?"
"Of course. It was nothing. Seriously, I was just trying hard to look, you know, single."
"Well, as I said earlier, you did a great job of it Castle."
"So you're still mad."
"Not exactly. But let's not continue this conversation until we get out of the building, okay?"
He slumps against the elevator wall. "Okay."
They walk two blocks in silence and turn left. "Castle."
"Yeah?"
"I don't like being jealous. Especially of that woman."
"You shouldn't be. You needn't be. You know that. C'mon, you must know that. In fact, if you come to the loft right now I will show you in every way possible that you're the only woman for me."
"Nope."
That stops him mid-stride. "Nope? You don't think that you're the only woman in the world for me?" He looks so bewildered and upset that she needs to calm him down a bit.
"The nope was not about that, Castle, though I am relieved and happy that you think I'm the only woman in the world for you. The nope is that I can't come over to the loft tonight."
"It doesn't have to be night. It could be now. Still afternoon. Nobody's there. We'd have the place to ourselves."
"Sorry, I really do have a ton of things to do. A list as long as a gibbon's arm."
"A gibbon?"
"Longest-armed mammal, Castle."
"Can I kiss you in the street?"
"No."
"But that's so adorable. And sexy. That you know that, you monkey."
"A gibbon is an ape, Castle, not a monkey. Visit to the Bronx Zoo when I was in second grade." She taps her forehead. "Excellent memory, as you should know."
He grabs her hand, completely enclosing it in his own. "I'm sorry about Serena, Beckett. Really, I am. I am. I am."
"I know, and I'm glad to hear it, but I still have a lot to do. Gotta jump in the subway. Talk you later."
She goes down the steps to the train, but halfway there she turns to give him a smile and a wave. He's still standing at the entrance, waving back but looking mystified.
In fact, she doesn't have a list yet, but she's about to. Now. She gets her phone out and starts making one, arranging it by category and date. By the time she's in her apartment, shoes, restrictive skirt and seductive blouse swapped for one of Castle's T-shirts, it's set. She sits down, opens her laptop and executes a few searches. She follows those up with a few phone calls, all of them ending not just satisfactorily but happily. Every hour on the hour her phone pings with a text from Castle: What are you doing? How's your list coming along? Do you know I'm sorry? She replies: A lot. Fine. Yes.
She's just about to get in bed when the doorbell rings. She walks to the door. "That better not be you, Castle."
"Ma'am? Sorry, ma'am. I'm looking for a Katherine, uh, Bucket?"
She looks through the peephole. A very short, very young guy—probably a terrified kid working his way though college—is standing a few feet away. "Yes?"
"I have a delivery for Ms. Bucket? From Richard Castle."
"Hang on a minute, please." She grabs her coat, throws it on over her decidedly unsexy nightwear, and opens the door a crack. "Yes? I'm Kate. Katherine. Bucket."
The kid leans down and retrieves from the floor an arrangement of flowers that's the size of the average prison cell. "I need you to sign, please?"
She gulps. "Right. Oh. Do you have a pen?"
"Yes, ma'am," he says, putting the flowers down again to find his pen, which he passes to her.
She scribbles her signature, hands back the pen, and stoops to get the flowers. As does he, though he has less distance to cover since he's probably only five two on a good day, which this is not. Their heads meet with a crack.
"Oww!"
"Shit! Ouch!"
"Sorry, ma'am. I'm so sorry."
They're both clutching their foreheads. "No problem, it's okay. Hold on a minute. You need ice?"
"No, ma'am. I'll just be going."
"Please, just wait a minute." She steps back in, finds a crumpled ten-dollar bill in her wallet, and pokes her head out the door. "Here. Thank you. If you back up, I'll get the flowers. Thanks." He does, and she does.
Everything is in that basket. Every single flower is some shade of purple, including at least four dozen roses, never mind all the others. How did that little shrimp even carry this thing? She should run after him and give him a twenty, except he's long gone and probably glad of it. She manages to heave the basket onto her coffee table, and takes a photo which she emails to Castle, her only comment a string of xoxoxoxo. Then she turns off her phone and is asleep before she can consider everything she has to do in the next day.
The following morning, Castle turns up at the precinct at eight, far earlier than usual. Standing in front of her desk, holding two coffees, he looks around. Clearly she's not here, and it looks as if she hasn't been. "Ryan?"
"Oh, hi, Castle."
"Where's Beckett?"
"Dunno."
"She coming in late?"
"Captain told Espo and me she's out for the rest of the week."
"What? Is she sick?"
"Don't think so," Espo says, appearing from the break room, an espresso in hand. "Cap'n just said she's taking vacation time. Coming back Monday. She didn't tell you?"
"Uh, no. Didn't mention it. Guess, I'll. Guess maybe I'll go home then."
"Okay, man. We'll call you if a body drops. We're down one with her out."
"Right. Yeah, do. Uh, great. Not great if somebody's murdered. You know what I mean."
"Got it. See ya."
"See ya." Halfway to the elevator he turns back. "Either of you want a latte? Grande skim? Two pumps sugar-free vanilla?"
Espo makes a face. "Girl's drink, man. Don't tell Beckett I said so."
Ryan looks indignant. "Thanks, Castle. Some of us aren't too proud to embrace our feminine side. I'll take it."
"Good man," Castle says, handing over the coffee. "Later, guys."
What the hell? He's going to her apartment. Right now. Not calling first, either. How mad can she be, anyway? She loved the flowers, sent him a hugs-and-kisses email. Despite it being the height of rush hour, he finds a cab in half a minute. Good omen, he thinks.
Except ten minutes later, when he's outside the door, he has to revise his thinking. She's not home. He knocks. He rings. He phones. He texts. He puts his ear to the door. Nothing. Maybe she's gone for a run and is ignoring her phone? He sits down in the hall and waits. At ten, he's still there and she's not. Now he's anxious. He calls again, and gets voicemail. "Beckett? Call me back, please. I'm worried. Been at your door for an hour and thirty-six minutes. You don't have to talk to me, just let me know if something's wrong." He's willing to wait half an hour and then, he swears to God, he'll have a guy he knows hack her phone, tell him where she is. Seconds later, his phone rings.
"Hi, Castle. Sorry, didn't mean to make you worry."
"Well you did. You're on vacation?"
"What? No, I'm not on vacation."
"The boys said you have the rest of the week off."
"You went in?"
"Of course I went in. Ryan drank your five-dollar coffee, by the way. Where are you?"
"Doing errands. I'm not on vacation, just doing some things."
"Can I do them with you?"
"Not today."
"What about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah, tomorrow. Your not-vacation day."
"Definitely. You can definitely do things with me tomorrow. In fact, I'll insist on it. Gotta go, Castle. Bye."
He doesn't know, right? He can't possibly know. She walks four more blocks and she's there. Inside, she goes to the second floor and stops at the first counter. "Good morning, I'm Kate Beckett. Mr. Billings said he would have an order ready for me?"
"Oh, yes. He called ahead. I have it right here. If you could just wait one moment."
"Of course." God, this place really oozes money. Beautiful, though. And Henry Billings was unbelievably accommodating.
The saleswoman is back, carrying a small shopping bag. "Here you are, Ms. Beckett."
Beckett takes out her credit card and extends it to the saleswoman. "Here you go."
"Oh, no. It's already taken care of."
What? Not possible. Not possible. Castle found out. Goddammit, he knows and he beat her to it. "I don't understand, Ms.—"
"Rosenbloom. Stacy Rosenbloom. There's no charge."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. No charge?"
"It's a personal gift from Mr. Billings. When he phoned earlier he told me in no uncertain terms not to accept your credit card. It's his gift."
"Seriously?" She'd been prepared to cough up almost two weeks pay and now she's getting this for nothing?
"With his blessings. That's what he said."
"Oh, wow. I mean, thank you. Thank him. Of course I will. Thank him, that is. And thank you."
"You're welcome," Stacy Rosenbloom says, picking up the bag from the counter and holding it up. "Don't forget this."
Beckett smiles, and takes it. "Believe me, I won't."
She wishes it weren't 10:20 a.m. She could use a drink.
TBC
A/N Thank you all for the reviews, follows and faves. One chapter to go. Tomorrow, I promise.