Disclaimer: Think they might have fired me by now.
What If…?
Chapter 7: Everything That Defines Us
They are both a little quiet on the car ride over to Cristobal Santiago's address. Nervous glances are exchanged every few blocks and the radio plays unnoticed in the car, the announcer warning of Midtown traffic snarl-ups around construction on Broadway and a possible jumper on the tracks delaying the two-train over at Lincoln Center. But neither of them takes any of it in, completely lost in their own thoughts.
At one stoplight, Kate takes the opportunity to brush her fingers lightly over Castle's thigh, just needing to reconnect with him for a second.
"No regrets?" she asks him, smiling wanly.
Her hair is drying in a wavy corona around her bun and the nape of her neck, and her face looks younger than usual without the dark definition of liner on her eyelids and lashings of seductive mascara.
"Regrets?" Castle coughs, "Are you kidding me? Kate, last night was amazing. Never mind last night, this morning was beyond my wildest dreams. And I know we haven't talked about…well, anything really. About how this is going to work or…"
"Castle, relax," she tells him, patting the back of his hand when the traffic begins to move again and she has to put her hands back on the wheel.
"There's no rush to define this thing. I just wanted to make sure that we were both on the same page, that's all," she says gently, giving him another quick look before signaling to turn right and change lanes.
He nods blankly at her, feeling something incredibly heavy settle on his chest, threatening to crush him.
'No rush to define this thing?'
Her words run round and around his head on a torturous loop for the rest of the short trip over to an closed down, illegal gaming club that sits on the corner of Pearl Street and Saint James' Place in the shadow of a red brick Housing Authority tower block.
Define it? He'd get down on one knee and put a ring on it right now if he thought there was any earthly chance of her saying yes. Hell, he'd do it if he thought she'd say 'maybe'. He wants to define this so badly, and quickly. He's done with casual and meaningless and for god's sake, he loves her.
And then it strikes him that she maybe, quite possibly, still does not know this. He went into last night certain of how he feels about her, he already took the risk and gave voice to his feelings a long time ago, and so in his mind, she gave herself to him already knowing this and hopefully feeling the same.
Suddenly his doubts are back, and he's not sure how she feels. Clearly, she cares about him. He can feel it in her touch, her openness, her tenderness, her teasing and small kindnesses. But as for love, he likes to believe that he sees it in her eyes at odd moments, can read it in her face, her smile. But he has no further proof than that.
"We're meeting the guys over there," says Kate, capturing his attention once more, as she steers the car over to the curb a block from the building their target has been living in, along with a couple of henchmen and a vicious looking dog, if the early reports they have are accurate.
She spots Ryan and Esposito's unit facing towards them a few cars up on the opposite of the street when Ryan flashes his headlights.
"I'm gonna call them, figure out the plan. Four cops out on the street's gonna look too suspicious in this neighborhood this early in the day. So we'll sit tight for now."
Castle hears her say 'four cops', an innocent mistake born of tiredness and adrenalin now that they're in position. But he lets it go, doesn't correct her or look for some kind of validation as he usually would. He feels flattened and has to keep reminding himself of what they just did, how she drove them forwards last night, to buoy up his spirits.
"Hey, Espo," she says into the phone, leaning against Castle's shoulder so that they can both hear the call. His heart starts to thunder having her this close.
"Yeah, he's here with me," she tells him, eyes scanning the quiet street, not yet alive with much activity in this area of Manhattan; down on the Lower East Side, in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge and the government housing projects, where unemployment is high and the need to join the crush on MTA every morning to get to a job is a luxury few people get to have.
"What? All night?" she asks, giving Castle a quick glance. "And nothing so far? They're certain no one's in there?"
Kate looks over at the target building, watches a couple of pigeons mindlessly peck and bob their way around a storm drain, before she turns her attention back to the call.
"And we have no other possible addresses for this guy? Dario Santos was sure this was where he runs his operation out of?"
Kate sighs in frustration, and then tucks a tendril of hair behind her ear where it has sprung loose from her bun as it dried.
"Fine. Look, okay. Yes. Let's leave the detail in place for now. There's…uh…there's a coffee shop a couple of blocks from here, over on Madison Street. Capaldi's. Yeah, that's it. We'll meet you there and figure out our next move."
Kate hangs up the call and fires up the engine, raising her hand to Ryan as the other two detectives cruise past them.
"What's happening?" asks Castle, watching Kate pull out into the near empty street and immediately pull a U-turn to follow the boys.
"Cristobal's digs are empty, apparently. Gates had someone sitting on his place since Santos gave the address up last night. No one's home right now. So the guys have stood down our backup for the time being. We're gonna leave surveillance on this dump while we grab a coffee and figure out a new plan."
They pull up to the small Italian coffee shop several parking spots behind Ryan. Castle makes to get out of the car, but Kate stops him with a light hand on his arm.
"Be prepared for them to…to…" she falters, frowning, searching for the right expression, the right words.
"To what?" asks Castle, still preoccupied with her comment about not needing to define this new thing of theirs.
"To spot the difference in us," she finally settles on, looking at him nervously. "They're detectives, it's what they do," she offers with a shrug, when Castle stares at her.
"And what exactly is that difference?" he asks, really pushing his luck, since he can see Esposito already walking towards their car.
"You are kidding, right?" asks Kate, flicking her eyes to her approaching colleague and then back to Castle.
"I just want to be clear on what this means…" he halts, biting his lip, "…for us. What it means for us, Kate."
"Castle, he's coming over here right now. This isn't the time."
"Fine. Then give me a time and we can talk about it."
"We just spent the night together. Doesn't that say enough for you?"
"I'm a writer, Kate. What can I tell you? I like words, I like labels, I like def-i-ni-tion," he says, giving weight to every single syllable.
"I am not having this conversation with you right now, while Espo and Ryan hover outside. Not to mention there's still some drug dealer on the loose, that we have an open warrant to bring in."
"Great. We're having our first fight and it's not even…" he looks at his watch, "…forty minutes since we got out of the shower. That has got to be some kind of record, even for me."
"Why are you being such a jerk about this?"
"A jerk?" he gasps, sucking in a breath. "I just want to know where things stand between us. That's all. Is this a onetime thing for you or some 'partners with benefits' arrangement, or…" he shrugs exaggeratedly, suddenly at a loss, and hating this flare of anger that's surged up between them and is actually more about his own fears and insecurities.
Kate narrows her eyes at him and crosses her arms over her chest, squeezing the car keys in the palm of her hand until it hurts. She can still feel the boys hovering nearby, so she waves them into the café after holding up five fingers to indicate that they'll be right in, that they just need a minute.
"Partners with benefits?" she snorts, smiling for the first time since they left the loft. "What are you Chandler Bing, all of a sudden?"
"Kate, I am terrible at this part," he says, faltering. "Last night, and this morning, meant a lot to me, in case you haven't figured that out already. I don't want to mess things up between us by making wrong assumptions and pissing you off, and…I couldn't stand to watch you walk away this time."
"I'm not going anywhere, okay," she says, taking his hand. "And I'm pretty sure you're no worse at this than I am. In fact, I'd put money on it. What do you need to hear from me? Hmm?" she asks, more gently this time.
"That…" Castle sighs, wracking his brains for an elegant solution to this age-old Manhattanite problem; one that won't freak her out or scare her off.
"That we are both officially off the market," he tells her, focusing on the feel of her hand in his while he waits for her reply, holding his breath.
Kate drops his hand and opens the door to get out of the car.
"If you take out an ad in The Ledger, I am never speaking to you again," she tells him, grinning as she exits the vehicle and then slams the door.
His grin is even broader as he follows her across the sidewalk and into the café.
"Never aim lower than the New York Times, Detective," he grins, opening the door for her. "Always knew you were a classy gal."
Kate pauses in the doorway to the café, something left to say.
"Look, when we get inside, Castle, just act normal. Okay? If that's even possible for you," she jokes.
"I can do normal," he protests.
"Then take your hand off my ass," she smirks, staring over her shoulder.
"New normal," grins Castle, leaving his hand where it is.
"Rick," hisses Kate sternly, digging her elbow into his stomach.
"Fine," he sighs, dropping his hand and following her inside.
Meanwhile...
Inside the café, Ryan and Esposito are seated by the window watching their two friends talking in the car outside.
"What d'you suppose has got mom and dad so jazzed this morning?" asks Esposito, sliding his shades up on top of his head.
"Jazzed? What do you mean jazzed?" asks Ryan, peering out through the glass past a Peroni Nastro Azzurro Italian beer sticker.
"Just look at them, faces so intense, way they're turned towards each other. They've got to be talking about something important."
"Maybe he's telling her about his kid's graduation?" suggests Ryan. "She was giving a speech. Pretty big deal if you're a dad like Castle."
"What? Anointed?" snorts Esposito. "That girl practically raised herself by all accounts. In fact, I think she raised him too."
The two men chuckle, fist bumping each other when the young waitress brings their coffee over.
"And last night," continues Esposito, like a bloodhound on a scent trail, "I could have sworn Beckett was with someone when I called her."
"Like that's any of our business," says Ryan, flicking a packet of brown sugar against the tabletop to break up the lumps.
"Yeah, well, I figure it is, if that guy is our man, Castle," says Esposito, pointing out of the window at Beckett's car, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Ryan snorts derisively, tipping the sugar into his cup, and then he turns around to look over his shoulder at Kate's car while he stirs his coffee.
"Dude, you'd better hope that glass is tinted."
"The way they're going at it. They wouldn't notice if Cristobal and his ugly-ass dog walked right up to that car right now. Wait. Is she holding his hand?" yelps Esposito, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look.
Ryan's view is obscured, so he ignores this last observation in favor of a little interrogation.
"So, uh," he says a little shiftily, lowering his voice, "what makes you think it might have been Castle?"
"Thought you weren't interested, bro?"
"Well, if it's Castle…" he shrugs, as if this is obvious.
"My point exactly," nods Esposito, with a grin and a raised eyebrow. "So, she was going over there last night for a John Woo double feature after Little Castle's graduation. Stop our boy out there from gettin' all depressed or somethin'."
"What about his mom?"
"Martha's in the Hamptons," declares Esposito, showing off now.
"Dude, how do you know all of this stuff anyway?" asks Ryan, licking his teaspoon.
"Lanie might have…said somethin'," he confesses with a smirk.
"Ah, the lovely Dr. Parish," nods Ryan sagely. "So we know where you were last night," he grins. "And Beckett left us when?"
"After half past eight."
"Hmm. And you called her at…what? Twenty to midnight?"
"Mmm-hmm," hums Esposito, nodding his head slowly.
"How'd she sound?"
"Like she was sleeping and I woke her up."
"So, maybe she was home sleeping? You ever think of that?"
"She said she wasn't."
"What, you asked her?" squeaks Ryan in surprise.
"Her voice was all funny. Scratchy, like when you first wake up or somethin'. And she put me on hold," he adds, as if this is proof positive.
"Oh, on hold?" nods Ryan sagely, as if this means something important. "Why didn't you say that before?" he adds sarcastically, rolling his eyes to mock his partner.
"Y'uh-huh. And when she came back on, she told me they would both meet us here this morning, as if she'd just spoken to Castle," he says triumphantly, holding up his hand to high-five his partner.
"Hey, come on. That's a pretty big leap. Wasn't it just a couple of weeks ago that Castle was running around with that Slaughter guy and they were through for good?"
"Lot can happen in a few weeks, bro. You saw how they were working that zombie case together, all flirty little glances, like she thought he was hot in all that freaky make-up or somethin'."
The door to the café opens before Ryan has a chance to argue a rebuttal. Beckett and Castle walk in rather close to one another. Kate's cheeks are pink and Castle has a real shit-eating grin on his face; like the cat that got the canary.
"Shut up. Here they come," warns Esposito, when Ryan opens his mouth to argue back.
"Hey, guys," says Kate, trying for breezy and natural, but coming off sounding so tightly wound that it's quite possible her head is about to fly off at any second.
She slides in beside Ryan on one side of the table, meaning Castle is forced in beside Esposito on the opposite side, so that they end up facing one another.
And if being side-by-side in a booth would have been awkward this morning, what with body heat and Castle's wandering hands to contend with, sitting opposite the person you just slept with for the first time after four years of suppressed sexual tension and angst is somehow way worse.
Kate can't meet Castle's eyes at first, fearing one look will give them both away, and so when he stands to take off his coat and offers to take hers to hang them both on a nearby hook, she startles so badly that her knee hits the underside of the table, sending Ryan's coffee cup dancing and rattling a few inches away, the muddy looking coffee sloshing around the sides of the white cup like the water in Hugh Hefner's hot tub.
"You okay, Beckett?" asks Esposito, with a smirk that is too knowing by far.
"What?" asks Kate distractedly, smoothing her hands down the front of her jeans to steady herself. "Oh, yeah. Fine," she says, flicking her eyes to her partner when he slides in opposite her again.
"Are…are you guys wearing matching shirts this morning?" sniggers Esposito, looking at the pair of them afresh and instantly alerting his partner to do the same.
They're both wearing the Henleys they had on the night before, since they got dressed in such a rush this morning after their extended shower. Kate's white shirt is still hanging in Castle's laundry room drying, so she's wearing Alexis' dark grey cotton shirt, and Castle plucked his black Henley off a chair and threw it over his head without thinking, his mind still on…other things at the time.
Kate is mortified but tries to hide it with a sharp rebuke.
"What are you Tyra Banks now?" she asks tartly.
"Just sayin'," smirks Esposito, completely unaffected by her tone. "Team colors. No, I like it. Yo, Kev! We should do that, bro," he tells Ryan, kicking his partner under the table.
The café is a daytime cop-hangout, since it's less than a block from One PP, and at this early hour there are several tables taken up by uniforms fresh off the nightshift; young, fit men, tucking into platefuls of eggs and bacon, grunting to one another over the sports pages of The Post and arguing about the Knicks or the Yankees, overtime, and nagging girlfriends.
"Did you want to order something?" asks Esposito, looking at the empty table in front of Kate and Castle. "We weren't sure when you guys would be comin' in," he says pointedly.
"Didn't want your coffee going cold," Ryan adds, trying to smooth things over, giving Esposito a look.
The waitress appears at this point: a pretty, dark-haired teen with huge brown eyes and eyebrows to match. When she smiles at Castle, she opens her mouth wide, only to display an unfortunate array of orthodontistry that must be costing her parents a small fortune.
They both order coffee, and then settle back in the booth to await their delivery.
The air is heavy with the weight of everything the partners are not saying and everything Ryan and Esposito are thinking, but not saying.
"So, eh, how'd Alexis' graduation speech go over, Castle?" asks Ryan, trying to ease the tension a little.
"Great. Thanks, Kev," says Castle, his face lighting up for a moment. "My girl did me proud," he adds, looking at Kate's shirt and wishing he could just imagine her naked, instead of seeing his little girl wearing the Henley his partner currently has stretched over her seriously hot body.
Their coffee arrives, and the noisy, clattering fuss of the cream and sugar ritual breaks the silence for a little while. Castle strokes his day-old growth while he stirs his coffee, and Kate feels her skin start to prickle at the rasping sensation of his fingertips over his own jaw, finding herself wishing it was her tongue and teeth slowly working their way over the shaggy dark scruff.
"Beckett, you okay?" asks Ryan this time. "Y-you look a little tired," he qualifies.
Castle coughs, pulling out a handkerchief to pat his mouth and Kate stares at him wide-eyed.
"Left my mascara off this morning. Conjunctivitis," she mumbles, tapping her spoon against the side of her cup, as if this vague offering explains everything.
They start to talk about the case and this morning's setback. Ryan and Esposito begin arguing back and forth over who got the DA to sign off on the warrant so quickly.
"Stop smiling so much," hisses Kate, leaning forwards over the table and nudging Castle's foot with her own.
"Can't help it," he hisses back, shutting up when he feels the other two detectives' awareness shift back to the table.
"We need to lean on that punk, Santos, again. Tell him the deal's off the table unless he comes up with better intel this time," suggests Esposito.
"You think he's lying?" asks Castle. "With everything that's at stake?"
"Eight years inside instead of fifteen to life?" says Kate, looking Castle in the eye for the first time since they sat down. "Strong incentive not to lie, unless he thinks some of Cristobal's men are gonna get to him on the inside for giving up their boss."
Esposito gets a call, and while he and Ryan are sufficiently distracted, Castle gets up to use the restroom. He leans over Kate before he leaves the table, one hand resting on her shoulder, and whispers in her ear, "Might want to fasten another button."
She shoves him away, and her eyes drift closed at the immediate wash of heat from his body and fresh, heady scent she can smell on him. But she does as he suggests anyway, her fingers feeling stiff and uncoordinated as she quickly tries to fumble the little grey fastener closed.
"That was Peters. He and Velasquez just caught some activity over at Cristobal's crib. Looks like our boy just rolled in from a long night on the tiles. How about we show him a nice, New York welcome," suggests Esposito, pulling on his jacket.
"What about backup?" asks Ryan, with Esposito and Kate already out of the booth, fastening their coats.
"No time," says Kate. "We can call it in on the way," she promises, handing Castle his coat when he arrives at her back with a blank look on his face.
"Target's back in play," she tells him discreetly, when she notices the young waitress showing just a little too much interest in their group.
Kate pulls a few notes from her wallet and drops them on the table, thanking the girl for her service.
"Let's roll," mutters Esposito, leading the charge out of the café and onto the street, the Javi-swagger back in full force, shades pulled down over his eyes as he heads for the car.
"Oh, brother," he sings to his partner, once they're safely inside the car and Ryan starts the engine. "They are so doin' it, my man," he grins, slamming his hand on the dashboard in triumph. "Whoee!"
"You think?" asks Ryan, not exactly sure what he thinks, but stalling for time and bowing to his partner's superior radar for this kind of thing.
"Dude, how could you miss the giant hickey on Beckett's neck? The guy hasn't even shaved this morning. And the tension between them…? Hot damn! They could barely look at one another."
"Maybe they had a fight?" suggests Ryan reasonably, before adding, "But now you mention it, Beckett did kinda smell of Castle's soap."
"See! Open your eyes, Choirboy, and face reality. 'Cause mom and dad are doin' it, whether you like it or not."
A/N: So this was delightfully awkward, I hope. Thanks for the funny comments and reviews to the last chapter. You're keeping me smiling from one day to the next. Liv