AN: So, I'm posting another chapter today because I probably won't have the chance to do it tomorrow as I'll be spending much of the day driving – apparently typing and driving aren't mutually inclusive activities, who would have thought? Anyway, I'm slowly working on longer chapters. I'm curious to know, what are your thoughts on Alexis? I've always liked her, but her character has undergone a lot of development in Season 4 and I've noticed she tends to be painted in fics as anti-Caskett. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Four

Where the hell was Richard Castle?

Beckett fought for composure. Despite the burning increase in her heart rate, she won. "Alright Alexis," she placed her hands on the girls shoulders as she spoke. "You know your Dad, he could be up to any number of ridiculous things. It's not worth worrying until we know for certain that there's something to worry about."

"Yeah," Alexis' eyes lit up briefly. "I mean, if he knew you were coming for dinner he's probably off organising some sort of outlandish surprise…" she broke away as Beckett's expression faltered slightly.

"Uh. Well, he did invite me, but I didn't really give the most decisive response. I tried to call, but I figured he wouldn't mind if I came, and…" she mentally chastised herself. She should have just said yes to his face. For a strong independent women, she sure could be weak at times. Pathetic. Really, really pathetic. She sighed. Alexis mirrored her.

"Yeah. He wouldn't have minded. Ecstatic is the term that springs to mind," she paused, her resolve slipping, the spark in her bright blue eyes dulling. "Not that it matters now. Where is he? Something isn't right, I just know it, I just…" she broke away, sighing again. Beckett couldn't take it any longer, watching Alexis Castle slowly begin to crumble in front of her was not the way to find him, Castle. The girl's father, her family and Beckett's – best friend, partner – the terms didn't even begin to encompass what he was to her, he was her person and she needed to know where he was, now.

"Okay, Alexis. Is there any evidence to suggest he's been back to the loft since leaving the precinct?" she turned the girl round and manoeuvred them both through the door, shutting it gently behind her. "Can you see anything he took with him this morning? Anything that wasn't here this morning, like groceries for that experimental dinner of his?"

"I'm not sure," Alexis took her hand and steered her towards the kitchen. Opening the fridge her expression dropped once again. "Ah, there's no new groceries. Or any less for that matter, like he's had a snack or anything." Beckett nodded briskly in acknowledgment, preparing to send the girl to her father's bedroom next, when a key turned in the lock and both women startled. "Thank goodness," Alexis exhaled and moved towards the door.

Beckett remained in the kitchen, she would let them have their moment, although the urge to run to him and wrap her fingers around his neck and never let go was overwhelming. She closed her eyes, taking in the imagined sensation, how he would grip her to him and lightly kiss the crown of her head. How she would slowly bring her lips to his and simply breathe each other in before moving to deepen the kiss. She was pulled from her thoughts, hell fantasies, as Alexis let out a disappointed moan. Oh god, was he hurt? Her eyes shot open and she was greeted with the sight of a second redhead entering the room.

"Hi kiddo's," she grinned as she swept in. "Detective Beckett, always a pleasure." She took in the expressions of her greeting party and the smile faltered. "What's wrong with you two?" she glanced around the room, "what has Richard done? Where is he? Was the food really that terrible? I was late for a reason you know." With that she chuckled and deposited her coat on the couch.

"Mart…" Beckett started as Alexis shouted rather than spoke –

"Gram!" Martha looked round in surprise confusion clouding her face.

"So not the food," she murmured. "What on earth is it now? Is Richard alright?" Alexis and Beckett looked at each other, not sure who should begin this time. Beckett almost didn't feel it was her place, who was she to the Castle family anyway? But she should be in cop mode, and cop mode meant taking control of the situation. It seemed Alexis read the hesitation in the detective's expression.

"Gram. When was the last time you heard from Dad?"

"This morning. Now will someone please tell what is going on?" The dramatic flair was lost from voice, only concern for her son echoing in her every word.

"No one's heard from him since he left the precinct and that was hours ago," Alexis admitted with a sigh.

"Oh. But if his dear detective is here," she winked at Beckett, "he's probably off organising some grand gesture or what not." She aimed for flippant, convincing she was not, worry still the overriding feature.

"He didn't know she was coming," Alexis interjected.

"Oh," Martha raised her eyebrows at the detective. "Well, let's just say he's going to be awfully disappointed to see he missed out on this surprise." Beckett couldn't help the blush that rose on her cheeks.

"He invited me," she added softly. "I just didn't exactly say an outright yes at the time."

"Nothing to worry about, detective," Martha winked again. "Apart from Richard's whereabouts at this hour that is," she frowned, extracted her phone from her handbag. "Can't hurt to try – again, I'm sure." Beckett forced a small smile at Martha's words. She internalised a groan, what if Castle was just pissed at her about something, she didn't think Alexis had tried to call him yet. He could just be off somewhere blowing off steam – on a date – anything, because of something she had said or done, or more likely a lack of what she had said or done. She desperately hoped that was it, Castle was mad at her and she could simply bring her lips to his and fix it. He would be here and safe, and they would be happy. She was so used to holding back though, that even if he walked through the door in that instant her body would flood with relief and she would remain rooted to the spot unable to casually throw her arms around him. She pulled from her thoughts at Martha's voice, "Richard, darling. We're all at home waiting to try this eccentric meal of yours. A certain NYPD detective has even stopped by to join us and I know you wouldn't want us to send her home unfed. Hurry home."

X-X-X-X-X-X

The madwoman – who he certainly was not going to refer to as Mrs Castle, in his mind anyway – was crooning over him, mumbling some nonsense about fate, true love and soul mates. Castle fought for at least the semblance of paying attention. His stomach grumbled, it seemed the sinking feeling in the pit of it had not completely depleted his appetite. The madwoman trailed off midsentence and looked down at her captive.

"Oh honey, you must be hungry. I'm being a terrible fiancé," she giggled as she admonished herself. "No, no, this won't do. Wait here," she chuckled again, the sound was wretched, like the cackle of a witch. With that she brushed her hand along his jaw and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "I'll be back in a minute, baby." She waltzed from the room and Castle let out a long moan. He fell into silence, revelling in it. Never had the quiet stillness been as breathtaking as it was now. He needed to leave before this delusion progressed, fiancé, seriously?

After minutes – that felt closer to seconds than an eternity – had passed she was back. In her arms, a picnic basket, overflowing with candles and food. She placed it on the ground, grinned at him and turned quickly from the room once again. She was back in a matter of seconds, dragging an ugly faded-floral armchair behind her. She situated it opposite him, so close that he knew their knees would be brushing the moment she sat down. He was proved right as she sat, invading his personal space once again. She pulled the candles from the basket and gently placed them on the floor surrounding them, lighting each as she did. The soft glow the candles emitted made the whole experience seem even creepier to Castle. Her face was basked in their eerie glow, and it shadowed her expressions, somehow enhancing the lovesick look on her face twofold. He did his best to control the shudder that emitted from him. Somehow, this was the least romantic dinner ever, and he was forever going to shudder at the thought of a candlelit dinner. The only place he could tolerate to think of candles was surrounding Beckett's bath, as she slipped into it, with a glass of red wine and him at her side, reading one of his novels together. Now that was a fantasy where he wanted candlelight, where that flicker of candlelight would only serve to make Beckett more enchanting. The likelihood of that fantasy was slipping further from his hands with each moment he spent captive at the power of this madwoman.