Disclaimer: Don't own
A/N: This is it. Last chapter. The end. Thank you for reading! Thank you even more for leaving comments; it made this such a pleasant experience. I'll take this opportunity to wish you all well and thank you for having me. It's been fun.
ps. I wanted to give you guys an honest ending, and I think this one befits season 4 ... what say you?
pps. Thanks for 'favouriting' this story, those of you who did. You're my favourites, too!
The Art of Living 8/8
Kate knocked on Castle's door, giving herself a little pep talk as she waited. Not that it was doing her much good.
The door swung open to reveal a grinning Alexis.
"Hey, Alexis," Kate smiled in greeting.
"Kate!" she welcomed. "Come on in. Dad!" she called out before Kate could get a word in edgewise. "You have a visitor!"
Castle exited his office with a spring in his step. "Which of my adoring fans-"
He stopped abruptly when he saw her. She couldn't tell if he was more mad, surprised or worried at finding her on his doorstep.
"Beckett."
Mad, she decided.
She forced herself to meet his gaze.
"Hey, Castle. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he replied. "Considering."
Kate fidgeted awkwardly. "We made an arrest in the Crombie case."
"Who was it?" he asked, anger replaced by his more natural curiosity. "The assistant?"
She liked it better like this, she thought; when he wasn't mad at her. He walked to the foyer, where she and Alexis were standing.
"The agent, actually."
"It was the agent?" Castle exclaimed in surprise. "The one who was undressing you with his eyes during our first interview?"
"Who was what?" Kate said, taken aback. She glanced uneasily at Alexis, who was standing right there. "He was not," she protested.
"Please," Castle scoffed. "I would know. I'm an expert on the subject of undressing y-"
"Dad!" Alexis' tone was one of longsuffering patience. "Really?"
"Right," he looked at his daughter, hands raised in apology. He then turned back to Kate. "He was so smooth during that interview. I didn't suspect a thing."
"Me neither," she agreed. "According to the FBI, though, he's been dealing in forged art with the Chinese triad for over two decades. Leading a double life for so long offers a lot of practice at being a skilled liar. He probably would've kept it a secret for decades more, if Crombie's off-medication paranoia hadn't led him to discover the truth."
"Where does the blackmail letter fit?" Castle asked, getting drawn into the story. "Red herring? Oh!" he exclaimed eagerly. "I got it! Crombie wasn't being blackmailed – he was blackmailing Fitzwilliam!"
"Better than that," said Kate, "The letter was from Rocky. He was blackmailing Fitzwilliam over his double life behind Crombie's back-"
"-but Fitzwilliam thought Crombie was the blackmailer, a man he loved like a son!" Castle filled in the blanks, his mind working double-time. "So he went to confront Crombie."
"Exactly," Kate couldn't help but smile.
"It was a risk on Fitzwilliam's part, though, to say that Crombie was the one being blackmailed," Castle said thoughtfully. "We were bound to discover the truth."
"Actually, he thought it was a pretty safe lie to feed us," Kate said. "Even with his head held under paint, Crombie didn't give up Rocky. Fitzwilliam figured no one but Crombie was making the threats, so no one else could know about the blackmail. Rocky admitted to everything though – including his knowledge of Fitzwilliam's involvement in dealing forged art – in exchange for being put under FBI protection. Fitzwilliam has a lot of friends in the Chinese triad," she explained.
"How did you crack the case?" he asked.
"Actually," here Kate turned to smile at his daughter, "It was something Alexis said about it being safer to lock you up in your apartment, rather than release you into the wild."
"Funny," he said, looking from her to Alexis, his tone indicating it was anything but. Alexis shrugged.
"It made me realize that maybe Crombie hadn't reactivated his alarm at 10PM the night before because he'd left the studio, but because he was hunkering in for a night of painting. Which means it was possible the killer left at 3AM, rather than arrived then. I had CSU check the back door and the skylights. They found holes in the wall outside the back door that matched Fitzwilliam's climbing gear. It all fell into place after that."
"Ooh," he said, face lighting up, "Nice detail. It completely changes the timeline for the murder."
"I thought you might enjoy that," she was still smiling. Couldn't help herself, really. Bouncing ideas back and forth with a mind as sharp and creative as Castle's was immensely gratifying.
"Are you guys going to let everyone know that Crombie was Cranker?" asked Alexis, who had been listening intently to the conversation.
"We have no reason to," Kate replied, "since it's not relevant to the case. But someone has already leaked it to the press."
"Who?"
Kate shrugged. "There's no way to know for sure, but I suspect Marcus Titshaw-"
"Titshaw," Castle said, chuckling. "Ha. Bet the kids at school loved that."
Kate glanced at him fondly, while Alexis rolled her eyes.
"Marcus has quite a few of Crombie's paintings and sketches in his possession," Kate continued. "With Crombie's death and the truth about him being Cranker coming out, the value of his works has shot up almost exponentially. His stuff is a hot commodity at the moment, and Marcus is going to have a slew of legal bills to pay."
"Slew," Castle nodded with approval. "Good word."
"Wait: so Marcus gets the money he wanted in the first place?" Alexis asked in dismay. "He's the one who started this whole mess! That's not fair." She frowned at Kate. "You said Marcus was put under FBI protection for being a witness against Crombie's agent. Does that mean he won't get any jail time? He hurt Dad!" her voice raised in frustration.
"Alexis," Castle said, half in worry at her anger, half in warning for raising her voice at Beckett.
"Actually," Kate silenced Castle with a quick look. "Fitzwilliam offered to testify to everything he knows about the forged art ring he is involved with, in exchange for a reduced sentence in solitary followed by witness protection. He knows a lot after twenty years' involvement. With Fitzwilliam's testimony, Marcus is no longer needed as a witness, so the offer for WITSEC is off the table. The feds get to keep Fitzwilliam and use him to reel in the big players, while the mayor gets to make an example out of Marcus, right here in New York." She offered a reassuring smile to the young girl. "So it all worked out. I wouldn't make a deal that would give Marcus a free pass." She gave Alexis a meaningful look. "I made a promise, didn't I?"
Alexis broke into a relieved grin.
Kate winked at Little Castle.
"This is the second case you've solved in a week," Castle said to his daughter, but the warmth in his eyes was directed at Kate.
"It was actually a lot of fun. I can see why you're hooked," she told her dad, beaming. He beamed right back. Kate looked between the two, sensing that there was some deeper meaning hidden behind those words between father and daughter.
"At the rate in which Alexis is helping us solve cases," she said, causing them both to turn to her, "she'll get that honorary badge long before you do, Castle."
Alexis laughed, and Castle looked wounded.
"What can I say," Alexis teased, pretending to buff her nails against her shirt, "the student has become the master."
"I don't know whether to be proud or insulted," Castle said, looking like he was seriously debating the two options.
Alexis walked over to her father and gave him a tight hug. Still clingy, Kate noted.
"I'm off," she said. "Ashley should be calling soon. He has to stay up late tonight writing a term paper, but he's due for a study break in ten minutes."
"Goodnight, pumpkin."
Alexis pulled away from her father's embrace and turned to look at Kate. There was that cautious affection in Little Castle's eyes, Kate thought; though a little less cautious. She saw something else too, and it looked uncannily like hope.
"I owe you a rain cheque on coffee," Kate told her, "or, in your case, peppermint hot chocolate."
"Any time." Alexis said brightly. "And you know where to reach me if you need help with a case," she joked.
"I might actually take you up on that," Kate said with mock solemnity. "We do like you better than this guy," she gestured towards Castle. "You're more useful and way less annoying."
"Insulted," Castle nodded decisively. "I definitely feel insulted."
"Thank you," Alexis said to Kate. "For finding who hurt Dad. And for having coffee with me and ... for the other thing."
"I should be thanking you," she replied. For more than helping us solve a couple of cases, or getting me coffee, or letting your dad come back to me, she added silently. Who would have thought she'd take the scariest step of her life after chatting with a teenager?
"Goodnight." Alexis gifted Kate with another tight, brief hug.
"Night, Alexis," Kate replied, watching her go. That warm tug on her heart was getting stronger. She took a deep breath. Now for the real reason she'd come here: to talk to Castle.
This, she thought, was not going to be easy.
Castle watched Beckett as Alexis said her goodbyes. With another hug for the detective from Alexis, he couldn't help but note. His daughter, he realized, was crushing on the detective. How cute was that? Alexis had stayed mum on the contents of her coffee chat with Beckett – and he'd learned the really hard way not to pry – but whatever had been said had done his daughter a world of good.
He wondered if he too could get away with hugging Beckett whenever he felt like it. After all, he'd had a crush on her for way longer.
But then he saw all pretence fall away from Beckett's face once Alexis was safely upstairs, and he realized that might never be the case for him. He couldn't help the sudden pounding in his ears. She turned to face him, and the pounding in his ears crested to a dull roar.
"Thank you, by the way," she said, surprising him.
"For what?" he asked, now even more off-kilter.
"For having Ryan bring me coffee the other day."
He shrugged. It was small thing, really, compared to what he would do for her if she let him. But he stopped himself from thinking such thoughts. Silent romantic declarations weren't getting him anywhere, and he had yet to come up with a worthy plan of action where she was concerned. Suddenly, he was angry again. Mad at her for discarding him so easily when he'd tried to give her every reason not to.
"Rick." She straightened. There was that freaky Zen-like determination again. "Can we talk?"
His palms started sweating as soon as she spoke the fated words. She was going to kick him to the curb. She was going to crack his heart wide open and tell him that what she saw inside wasn't worth the effort. Now he was angry and upset.
"Sure," he said. He gestured towards the living room, and followed her to the couch. Instead of sitting on the couch, though, she perched herself on the coffee table. He sat across from her, sinking into the soft leather.
"I'm not sure I want to hear this," he told her frankly.
She looked at him with warm, nervous eyes. "I wanted to apologize for the other night. I … got emotional. And I let those emotions get the better of me." She watched him for a reaction, but he wasn't sure how he was supposed to react.
He was still mad though.
"What happened in that alley," she continued, "brought back a lot of memories."
He listened carefully. As was always the case when she talked about her mother's death, he wanted nothing more than to hold her the way he held Alexis when she was sad.
"You remember what I told you on the swings that day, when I came to your book-signing? And what you told me about getting consumed by mom's case?"
He nodded.
"I … I listened to you, Castle. I went back to the therapist who did my psych eval, who cleared me for duty."
His eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't known. Another layer to the Beckett onion.
"I needed to get a hold of things, to figure myself out."
He wasn't sure where this was going. He found himself hoping even though he'd told himself he would stop doing that.
"And I thought I was seeing him to get things under control, to find my focus, find my feet so that I could go back to my mom's case without losing my balance. Without falling. But after my first session I realized that wasn't the reason I went." She paused, and he watched as she rallied her resolve. "I went to try and become the kind of person I want to be, and ... have the kind of relationship that I want."
He held his breath.
She looked down at her hands. "The truth is the only reason I realized I had put a wall up is because you keep running into it. Over and over again." Her eyes met his, saying so much. "I wasn't lying when I said you make me feel like my mother used to. Happy. Safe. It terrifies me. But," she took on the steely determination he'd always admired, loved, "but being afraid isn't a reason to give up. Maybe ... maybe it's a reason to try harder."
Her eyes flicked away briefly in embarrassment. "I'd come over two nights ago to tell you as much, but then seeing you … and remembering … I just, I reacted badly and I needed to get away, to deal with it, get some perspective, some space."
He leaned forward on the couch, their knees almost touching. She had his full attention now. Hope was getting harder and harder to crush.
"I wanted to do it alone, though. I thought I had to do it alone. The thing is, I'd forgotten what it's like to not be alone, to have someone's unwavering, unequivocal support. I thought I'd lost that when I lost my mom, so I didn't recognize it when I found it in you." She paused, her focus on him unwavering. "I told myself I needed to get away, when maybe I needed to do the exact opposite. I'm sorry for that."
He was not sure how to believe this was really happening. Not sure, actually, what was happening. The emotions in him were overwhelming; they gathered in his throat and pinched at the back of his eyes and squeezed tightly around his heart.
He reached out to touch her, but stopped halfway there. His hand trembled. This seemed … surreal. Things like this happened in his books. He'd so far refused to admit it to himself, but he'd started despairing, especially as he'd made no progress in solving her mother's case. He hadn't realized how close he'd come to no longer believing.
It's your own fault, Rick, he thought ruefully, happily. For underestimating Kate Beckett.
She looked at his hand which had stilled between them, and then at him. "Come on, Castle. I won't bite." She paused, mischief glinted behind the tears in her eyes. "Unless you want me to."
He laughed. To be honest, he felt a bit lightheaded.
"You might not believe me," he said. "But I don't know what to say."
"You're right," she laughed through her tears, enrapturing him. "I don't believe you."
"So…" he hesitated, "what are you saying exactly?"
She looked at him with a heartbreaking bravery. "I'm saying that I want to meet you halfway."
She could meet him one hundredth of the way, he thought. He'd gladly cover any distance for her, just knowing that she wanted him even just a little. Halfway was the deal of a lifetime.
"I'll take it," he said immediately, almost tripping over his words in his haste.
She slipped her hand into his still outstretched one. An eyebrow arched. Your move, it said.
He grinned in nothing short of delight as the tangible reality of this settled into place. Happiness tingled over his skin, made him feel brave and reckless and secure. If he jumped off the roof of his building right now, he'd be able to fly. He was convinced of it.
"C'mon, Kate," he tugged her closer, his grin widening. "Meet me halfway." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her onto the couch next to him. And he kissed her.
She came very willingly.
He kissed her with the full tenderness of his love, the marvel of it. Her lips were soft, her body warm. This, he thought, this would forever be enough for him. But then her tongue slipped past his lips and slid against his, her mouth opening under his, and he realized that nothing would ever be enough. Everything she gave would leave him wanting for more, thirsting for it. He slid a hand through her hair and the other around her waist, going in deeper, asking for more. She met him touch for touch, want for want, unfurling under him.
It took him a moment to realize the kiss had ended. She was resting her forehead against his, eyes closed in sweet, silent pleasure, in sated warmth. It was the expression she wore when she sipped those vanilla lattes he brought her in the middle of a tough case or a long day. It took him another moment to realize he was holding his breath. If he kept forgetting how to breathe after kissing her, he wasn't going to survive beyond the week.
"Wow," he said, and because he'd never been able to help himself when it came to teasing her, he added: "that was still amazing."
She laughed, joy was sparkling in her eyes when she pulled back to better look at him. He kept his hands on her waist and couldn't stop staring at her. So beautiful.
"Castle," she said, trying to get his attention.
"Hm," he replied absently, too busy staring.
She gave him an affectionate eye-roll. "Is this just going to make the creepy staring worse?" she asked fondly.
"You have no idea," he replied. He smiled at her. "I can't help it that when you're in a room, nothing else is worth looking at."
The warm green of her eyes darkened; the copper flamed. "You and your words, Rick." Her fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt, knuckles grazing his neck.
His face went slack. He swallowed heavily. That felt really, really good. It occurred to him how much … fun he was going to have being touched by Beckett. He'd fantasized, sure, but the reality of it shook his bearings loose. He let his forehead drop lightly against hers. His eyelids drifted shut and he concentrated on enjoying her touch, on memorizing how it felt to be caressed by this woman. His hands spanned firmly around her, holding her in place. He wasn't going to let her get away.
Then her thumb caressed his jaw and a sudden quiet overtook his thoughts. His always-active imagination settled into an awe-filled stillness. He only ever felt this way with her; that the reality of the moment was better than any story he could come up with, any plot he could devise, any moment he could capture in the permanent trappings of ink.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"For?" he asked quietly, still immersed in feeling. Would every touch of hers, he wondered, feel like a gift? It would be like Christmas every day. How awesome would that be?
"Giving me something I'd stopped believing in."
He opened his eyes, surprised. She looked so serious as she watched him.
I love you, he wanted to say.
"That's what magic is all about," he said instead. She smiled, warm and soft and … enthralling.
In that moment, he could've conquered the world. He'd just conquered Kate's heart after all – finally – and the world was small fry compared to that.
"This was totally worth getting stabbed for." He had to say it.
She punched his arm. Hard.
He was too happy, elated, delighted, ecstatic, exhilarated to feel a thing.
Kate sat cross-legged in the wide leather chair in her therapist's office. She'd always found the warm sepia tones of the room soothing, but right now her heart was too happy singing to worry about being soothed.
"You look happy," he observed.
"Rick and I are giving it a try." She tried for a small smile, but could offer nothing short of a full-fledged, beaming grin. She hadn't been able to offer anything less to anyone since Rick had kissed her on his couch. She'd beamed at the idiot who'd driven recklessly around a corner that rainy morning and absolutely soaked her with dirty street water. She'd grinned widely when Gates had ordered she take overtime to get her paperwork under control. She'd even given a beaming smile to the suspect who'd called her all kinds of inappropriate things when she'd thrown him into a holding cell.
Nothing could touch her today.
Her therapist grinned back, as though he had no choice against the intoxicating infectiousness of her smile.
"What made you change your mind?" he asked.
Ah. Her smile dimmed. She worried her lip. Nothing could touch her today, except that.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I feel, here," she put a hand over her heart, "that I'm doing the right thing. It's here, though," she tapped her head, "that I'm worried I'm not." She was trying to let her heart overrule her head, but her head was so damn persistent.
"What worries you?"
"I wanted to … be ready. I wanted to be open." She looked out the window. Even through the euphoric giddiness that possessed her over the thought of doing this terrifying thing with Rick, the sharp bite of worry kept nagging. "I'm worried that … I'm not ready yet. That maybe I'll end up selling us short. Maybe I rushed into this."
"Kate," he began gently. "Have you considered that perhaps by focusing on all that you are not, you forget all that you are? It could be that taking this step with Rick is a step on your path to becoming that person you want to be."
She looked sceptical. She wanted to believe it, though. She really did.
"I told him I was seeing you," she said.
"How did you feel about telling him?"
"Good, actually," she answered after a moment of consideration. "He's the reason I came to see you. I was getting lost in my mom's case, in that … obsession. And I could see it in his eyes. That worry. It made me worry too, about myself. About what I was becoming. I didn't want to be that person again."
He watched her as though she'd said something very revealing. "Have you told him that you remember what happened when you were shot?" he asked.
She hesitated. "I don't think we're ready for that." She hesitated again. "I'm not ready for that."
He watched her silently.
"You think I should tell him," she said, slumping back in her chair. Worry went from nagging to gnawing.
"Why aren't you ready?" he asked.
She was back to looking out the window. Why wasn't she ready? What wasn't she ready for? She thought of her mom, of what that nameless, faceless, elusive bastard had done to her. How could she let that go? Could she give it up, forget about it? Who was she without that drive? Castle said she was that same person she'd always been, the one who found justice for victims, closure for their families. But were the two so separate? Weren't they just two sides of the same coin?
Maybe she had rushed into this. Maybe she had been taking too long to get to where she wanted to be. Maybe she was doing this just right.
"I just want to take it slow," she replied, looking at her therapist. "One step at a time. I will tell him," she added, perhaps a bit too quickly. She took a levelling breath. "Just not now."
In the glowing evening light that buttered his office, Castle methodically put away all his work on Kate's case. He collected all the papers, and organized them into their respective folders. He stacked the folders neatly. He arranged photos by date and slipped them into envelopes. He uploaded Kate's case from his high-tech murderboard onto a flash drive. Kate's case; Kate's mom's case. One and the same, he thought. Kate was a victim from the moment her mother was killed. It just took 12 years for the bullet to find her.
"What are you doing?"
Castle glanced back at his mother, who was standing at the entrance to his office.
"Putting this to rest," he replied.
She raised an eyebrow.
"For now," he felt obligated to add.
Saying that, however, didn't alleviate his guilt. He sighed.
"Kate's been seeing a therapist," he told her.
He saw a glimmer of admiration in his mother's eyes, and had to agree with her.
"She went to see him after … after I talked her down from running headfirst into her mom's case, when she came back from leave," he elaborated.
"Well," his mother said with no small measure of surprise, "she really does listen to you."
Castle tried not to feel offended by that. "I wasn't just saying it, you know. I meant it. Beckett values what I have to say." And why, he asked himself, are you getting so defensive. What are you trying to justify.
"I know, darling," his mother soothed. "But Beckett is … determined. It seems you had more faith in her than I did, and she proved you right."
"If I've learned one thing," Castle replied, "it's to never underestimate Beckett."
"So you think she's put this behind her?" Martha waved a hand to indicate the folders on his desk.
"I think she's ready to try."
"What changed?" she asked, curious and a bit disbelieving.
Castle grinned. He raised a rakish eyebrow, "I was too persistent and charming and ruggedly handsome to resist."
"Really," Martha watched him with a wary amusement.
"Really," he confirmed. "And now she wants to start living."
His mother's eyes widened in delight. "Does that mean what I think it means?" She was practically giddy.
Castle's glee, the sparkle in his eyes, said it all.
"Oh, darling!" she wrapped him in a hug. "I am so happy for you! Your persistence – and patience – really paid off! Unlike that time you decided you could write a play on par with The Mousetrap."
"And thank you for reminding me of that," he said, returning her hug. In truth, his happiness took all the sting out of her remark.
"It's just as well," Martha added. "You've been wallowing in the single life for far too long."
Castle refrained from rolling his eyes.
"So," Martha glanced at the murderboard. "I take it Kate knows about that?"
Castle shook his head. The grey clouds of guilt were once again floating overhead.
"Richard," she warned.
"I can't." He donned his cloak of impenetrable certainty. "I tell her this, I lose her. And she's so close to crawling back out of her mother's death. She's not ready yet. I won't lose her to this."
"This is quite a corner you've written yourself into." The damning concern in her eyes was hard to hide from.
"If I was the one doing the writing," he said ruefully, "you can rest assured the story would not have gone this way."
"We have all read Nikki Heat," his mother replied. "We know how you'd like this story to go."
He didn't say anything. There was no denying that back-stories like Kate's made for great fiction. It had been one of the strongest pulls he'd felt towards her, way back in the beginning. Now, he knew better: back-stories like Kate's may have made for great fiction, but they made for terrible realities. Brave, righteous, noble crime-fighting heroes were such tragic figures. Behind the comic panels, after the last page had been turned, they were left to pick up the pieces of a shattered life, of a broken heart, without an audience. He didn't want that for her.
Fate, he reminded himself. He and Kate Beckett were fated. Their story was not meant to be a tragic one. It was meant to be one of hope and redemption and love and the good guys winning in the end.
"Do you think she'll just forget about her mother's case?" Martha persisted, unconvinced.
"I think she'll realize that putting aside her mother's case is not the same thing as forgetting about her mother," he replied with conviction.
"Richard," her voice was heavy, serious. "What you were doing here," she indicated the now-blank murder board, "trying to solve her mother's case: who were you doing it for?"
Castle stilled. The gunfight between his frustration with his mother's continued pestering, and his conviction with the road he'd chosen came to a sudden ceasefire.
It was a good question. One he hadn't given much conscious thought to.
Who was he doing it for? For himself, so he could have Kate? For her, so she could let herself try for happiness? For Johanna Beckett, so she could have justice? For the truth?
He leaned back against his desk, suddenly not sure what he was doing anymore.
A knock sounded at the front door, drawing both their attention to the foyer, just visible from his office.
"That's her," he said, standing up and looking around to make sure he'd put away any and all incriminating evidence. "Can you get the door," he asked his mother. "I'll just put the files in the safe and lock up."
"Richard," his mother said, "I do hope you know what you're doing." With a final worried glance, she left his office to let Beckett in.
Me too, he thought. He really hoped he was doing the right thing.
He would tell her one day, he resolved. Just not now, when things were fresh and new and she looked at him like he held the world in his palms.
Once she'd exchanged greetings with Martha, Kate walked to Castle's office. His back was turned to her as he locked up his safe. She watched how his shirt slid over his broad shoulders, how the light glinted off his hair and came to rest on his smoothly shaven jaw. A bittersweet contentment settled over her. She wished her mom could've met Rick.
"Hey," she said, leaning against the doorway.
"Hey!" He looked at her over his shoulder, grinning like it was going out of fashion, and there was that sparkle in his blue eyes. Clicking the safe shut, he walked around his desk and stood in front of her, pulling her loosely into his arms. "How was your day, beautiful?"
She bit her lower lip. All this time she thought she'd developed some immunity to his charm. Little had she known.
She slid her hands up his chest, fingered the button on his shirt.
"You seem nervous," he said, a fond affection softened his smile.
"I talked to Gates today," she replied, not quite able to look at him. "She has one condition for your return."
"So I can come back!" he said excitedly.
Leave it to Castle to focus on the positive.
"She tried fighting it," Kate felt the need to say, "but the mayor was insistent."
"Remind me to buy the man the most expensive bottle of scotch on the market for Christmas."
"She doesn't want you there, Rick. She'll probably make your life even more difficult," Kate paused. She could give it one more try: "So if you want to reconsider—"
"Ha!" he said, amused. "Nice try. You can't get rid of me that easily, Beckett." He frowned in what could've passed as an intimidating glare if she squinted really hard, "I eat scary captains for breakfast."
"You eat kid cereal for breakfast, Castle," she replied, laughing.
He leaned forward to kiss her.
"Wait," she pressed a hand against his chest, slid it up his neck and let it rest against his cheek.
He stopped, looking for all the world like he was going to die of anticipation. It was disarmingly cute.
"You have to take self-defence classes," she said. "Gates' orders – otherwise you will not be allowed out of the precinct and into the field. It's non-negotiable."
"What?" he pulled back with a frown, no longer hovering enticingly over her lips. "That is…"
Kate watched warily as he processed the news, concerned this would be the final straw, the one to make Castle crack under the weight of Gates' antagonism.
"…So. Cool!" he finished enthusiastically. His frown cascaded into excitement. "Ooh! I choose Mok'bara, the Klingon martial art. It's great for hand-to-hand combat," he informed her.
She would love to hear Castle try and explain that to the captain. But then, teasing him was significantly more fun than watching Gates' glare at him. She liked it better when she was the one to make him squirm.
And she had just the thing to tease him with.
"Qo', ashalik," she said in a near-growl, "You can't."
He stared at her. She could literally see his synapses fry. He blinked.
"You speak Klingon" he said, awed, looking down at her with an intensity that made her fingers tingle. "So. Hot." His voice was low and deliciously gravelly. "Speak it again."
"yIDoghQo'," she toyed with the collar of his shirt, looking into his blue eyes, so heatedly fixed on hers. "You will take basic self-defence," she leaned up on her toes, and let her lips brush against his ear, "ashalik. Yaj'a'?"
He captured her in a hard, swift kiss. His arms tightened around her as his mouth and his and tongue and his hands engaged in a thorough, heated exploration of her. He pulled away, breathing hard, and she was left dazed by the passion of it.
She blinked, taking a moment to regain her bearings. She had something else to tell him ... something important...
"I have my own condition for your return."
He studied her, instantly wary. But his arms still held her tight.
"Next time," she spoke firmly to convey just how strongly she felt about this, "if the choice is between the suspect getting away and you intervening, you let the suspect go. You are there to observe and to think, you are not there to throw yourself at suspects. Am I clear?"
He hesitated.
"If it's the difference," he said, "between you getting hurt or not …" He shook his head. "I can't make any promises."
She stared at him long and hard.
"Meet me halfway, Kate" he said seriously. "No stupid risks."
"I don't take stupid risks."
"Says the woman who jumped across an alley."
"Hey, I made that jump," she protested. "And it was not a risk: I still hold my high school's record in the long jump."
"You do?" he asked, impressed.
She nodded.
"I still hold my high school's record for the most detentions in one week," he bragged, and added, "I guess we're both at the top of our game." He paused a beat, eyebrow quirked, "and you know you can be on top of me anytime."
"Castle," she warned, before he drifted too far off point.
"Right," he said, chastised. "Sorry. We were having a serious conversation. You were saying?"
"I was saying it wasn't really a risk, Rick, jumping across that alley. It was a calculated move and one I'd make again."
"I love it when you talk semantics," he grinned with a carefree happiness. "Super Becks."
"Don't call me that," she warned. Goodness, he really couldn't concentrate right now, could he?
"Why," his eyes glinted with devilish delight. "Will you punish me if I do?"
She decided to just roll with it. Maybe cuffing him to her bed until he saw things her way would be the best strategy here. Who said she had to play fair, if it meant the difference between keeping her promise to Alexis and breaking it?
"You like being punished, don't you?" she dropped her voice to a velvety whisper. "When you're a bad boy."
His eyes glazed over.
So easy, she thought.
"It's getting really hot in here," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again.
"Hm," she hummed her contentment, not too surprised that Castle was so tactile. She slipped her hands around his waist, and down the curve of his back. He was such a good kisser, she thought. It was like his whole heart was invested in every touch. Like...
His lips were no longer on hers, she realized belatedly. And he was speaking.
She looked up at him in confusion.
"I was just saying," he grinned with something near pride, "that I won't take unnecessary risks." The look on his face was one he'd given her countless times before, when ... She raised an eyebrow at him. She wasn't born yesterday.
"I am not falling for that innocent act," she poked a finger in his chest. "Define 'unnecessary'."
"And there you go talking semantics with me again." His eyes danced, even as they darted to her lips.
"I'm serious."
"If you're in danger," he said honestly, "then getting involved is a necessary risk. It's one you cannot stop me from taking." The finality in his tone told her all she needed to know.
Fear started mixing water with cement and baking bricks. She tried to fight it. Meet him halfway, she reminded herself. This was the guy who'd slept on her couch because he thought he could protect her. Even though she was the one who carried a gun and was trained to protect.
"Final offer," he said firmly, though not without a hint of worry.
Kate took a deep breath.
"I'll take it," she said.
He grinned. "Good. Now if you'll excuse me," he stated playfully, "I have a more important matter to tend to."
"And what might that be?"
He dipped his head, his attention zeroing in on her mouth. "I have to reclaim my high school's record for the longest make-out session ever."
"By all means," said Kate, caught between amusement and anticipation. "I'm sure you have a reputation to maintain."
"Hey, Dad. I'm starving," Alexis said, entering the office. "What's for dinn-" she stopped suddenly at the sight of Castle and Beckett standing with their arms around each other. "Kate!" Her exclamation was accompanied by a smile that would've put the sun to shame. She looked at her father with such unadulterated, infectious pleasure that Kate found herself laughing.
"Hey, pumpkin." Castle's expression was a perfect mirror's of Alexis'. He turned his attention to his daughter, an arm wrapped around Beckett's waist.
Father and daughter just kept beaming at each other, exchanging enthusiastic, silent high fives with their eyes.
"You were saying something about starving?" Kate felt the need to remind them. At this rate they would just spend the entire evening grinning like idiots at each other.
"Huh?" Alexis said. "Oh yeah," she said, remembering herself. She looked eagerly at Kate. "You're staying for dinner, right?"
"Definitely," Castle answered for her. He led the trio out of his office and to the kitchen, pulling Beckett along with him. "Kate's staying for dinner. And," he winked at Kate, "if I'm lucky, for a sleepover."
"Dad," Alexis protested. "I'm right here. I can hear you. TMI."
"The girl's right," Martha chimed in from the kitchen. She shook her head in scolding disapproval as they neared, "and you could at least try for some romance." She glanced at Beckett. "Some wine, dear?"
"Thank you, Martha," Kate accepted the glass set out for her.
Martha handed a second glass of wine to Castle and a barely-filled third one to Alexis.
"You're old enough," Castle said when Alexis looked doubtfully at the glass.
"And I'm off duty," teased Kate.
"Come on, kiddo," Martha said, filling her own wine glass, "tonight calls for a toast."
Alexis gave in. She grinned, raising her glass, and the others followed suit.
"To justice being served," said Alexis, coming to stand next to Kate.
"To happy endings," Martha raised an eyebrow at her son.
"And to new beginnings," Castle put an arm around his mother's shoulders.
Kate met Rick's eyes and rested, for a moment, on the love she found there.
"To following your heart," she said.
"I'll drink to that," Martha said warmly.
"Here, here," Alexis and Castle agreed.
As they clinked glasses and sipped the dark, rich wine, bittersweet contentment again blanketed Kate. Her mother, she thought, would have approved.
the end.