Chapter 10 – The Campaign

It starts off with little things – a note stuck to the front of her locker bearing little more than a smiley face and a scrawled letter R that could well be passed off as a smudge; a bouquet of flowers left outside her front door at home, no card, just the bright scarlet faces of a posy of freesia grandiflora peeping up at her from the shelter of their brown paper wrapping. The flowers would have to have been specially imported at this time of year, their color and presence designed to lift her mood, or so she surmised. Either way, he gets points for being thoughtful and sweet and original as far as choice of blooms go. A few days after the flowers came a bunch of colorful balloons tied on to her mailbox in the lobby of her building, bobbing Mylar heads bearing the slogan "Be Happy" on their shiny, metallic faces, as he continues to try to wear her down or maybe just make her smile.

She does smile but otherwise resists the temptation to get in touch.

He inveigles his way into her life via surrogates, colluding with people suddenly prepared to take an interest in her happiness now that he's hanging around. He plays the famous writer card, she assumes, introducing himself around her home stomping ground and her work, which he now seems to know like the back of his hand. These people, who never bothered much with her before, thank God – her super; her neighbor from down the hall, Mrs Pickwick; the young male barista at her local coffee shop who she suspects has a crush on her, along with every desk sergeant in the Twelfth Precinct by the looks of it - these people now aid and abet with impunity because we're talking Richard Castle here: the rich, successful author with a regular spot on Page Six. Yes, a little fame goes a long way if you're setting out to commit infractions, no matter how big, how small or how sneaky.

Sergeant Halliday's shift pattern suddenly changes. It changes to align mysteriously with Kate's…though some (Kate) would say suspiciously.

Even her own partner has a hand in things, she realizes one cloudy Friday afternoon while riding shotgun in their RMP, when she opens the folder on her lap on the way to that day's assignment and a page torn from one of his novels falls out. The extract has been ripped from Storm Rising, she notices, after a quick scan of the action, and the words: have - dinner – with - me are circled in red pen at random intervals across the page to make up the simple message. How he even found such a page is beyond her. "Neat trick", she murmurs inside her own head, giving him points for creativity with this latest, more direct attempt at wooing her into meeting up with him again.

So, yes, it starts off with little things and then it escalates.

And then things mysteriously go quiet.

For a week or more there are no further clues, no gifts, no prompts or requests for her company or her time. When three more days go by and she hears nothing further, she begins to worry. He said he was patient, would wait as long as it took, but maybe her silence was just too deafening, her lack of response too discouraging, even for a man as persistent and imaginative as Richard Castle has shown himself to be.

Maybe he finally gave up.

This thought nags in and around the edges of her brain at the oddest of times. Morning roll call is one. He showed up twice, only twice at the precinct, before she sent him away with a flea in his ear, right before this little campaign of his kicked off, and yet roll call for her is now inextricably linked to the writer in her mind. She pushes open those heavy swing doors of a morning half-expecting to find Richard Castle lounging up against the wall with that infuriatingly smug look on his face. The look that says "I know you want me and I'm just going to keep showing up until you cave." Well, she didn't cave and now he's gone, and she couldn't be more glad about that.

Except she isn't.

She lies in bed at night, lights out, her cell phone screen illuminating the ceiling with an ice-blue flare as she stares at his phone number. She added it to her contacts the night she had to call him after he left his cell phone in the back of the taxi, no idea why at the time. She'd be embarrassed to admit to anyone that she saved his details in her phone at all. But she stares at it now, willing something to happen – a text, a phone call, a flash of ESP – something that will take her future out of her own self-destructive hands. Because she doesn't want to bear the responsibility for this: for starting something with a grown man who has a successful career and a child, a man who lives at least some of his life in the public spotlight, when she might screw it up in record time and end up running away again, leaving a trail of broken pieces behind her.

When Castle pushed, it felt great because she could push right back and have it mean nothing, or she could let him push some more until he got what he wanted, making it all his fault when things went south, as they inevitably would, and they imploded. But now he's stopped pushing and she wants him even more, and she hates herself for being so weak and so fickle. A contrarian, that's what her mother would call her…had called her in the past. Always wanted the boy once he'd moved on to chase after her best friend, only wanted the ice cream flavor that had just run out.

But she's not twelve anymore and just how long is she going to let her past run her life?

The door to the loft swings open and she blurts out the words that have plagued her for days, immediately. No hello, no preamble, no "sorry I didn't call first", in fact no style to her approach whatsoever.

"It wasn't a guy."

Castle looks stunned, and then his face softens towards a smile, before his brain catches up with the words she's just said and he frowns.

"What wasn't a—" His frown remains until his confusion begins to clear, and she watches his brow smooth a little. "Oh! Uh, right," he says, glancing back over his shoulder into his home.

He may have company, something she never even considered before embarking on this folly with all the panache and impulse control of a thirteen-year-old boy.

"Anyway…I just thought you should know," she says, chewing her lip, realizing just how dumb an idea this was. She turns to walk away, getting only halfway down the hall before he catches up with her, sliding to a stop by her side in his slippers.

"Kate, come in?" he says gently, catching her elbow but letting go instantly when she turns to look at him, wide-eyed with embarrassment. "Please. Won't you come in?"

"I should have called. I don't know what I was thinking. So stupid…just turning up like this. Sorry. This is so rude."

"Hey. It's not rude and you're here now, so…please…come inside."

She looks at him for a second, drawn to the eagerness and the sincerity of his invitation, considering for a moment the facts. If she turns around now and goes home without saying anything more, what does she have? An embarrassing scene to join her frustration in the dark of night is all. At least she can thank him for the gifts if she stays, maybe attempt to explain her silence. So she nods, and he leads her to his loft, throwing quick glances over his shoulder to make sure she's still following, as if he can't believe that she's even here.

Once over the threshold of his warm, inviting home, she looks around with a kind of childlike wonder that might be more appropriate were she visiting the Guggenheim for the first time, instead of just standing in the middle of his SoHo living room while he watches her stare. He forgets sometimes how far he's come from his life as a child; from the tiny rented apartments he shared with his mother as they moved around wherever her acting roles took her, and then the shared hovels of his early adulthood, before he made a dollar or two and ranked privacy and working plumbing among his number one priorities.

"I got your note and…all the other stuff," Kate admits, giving him a slightly embarrassed smile when she finally turns back to face him.

"Yeah, might have gone a little overboard with the—"

"The balloons, yeah," they both say at the exact same time, and then they stare at one another, eyes growing wider, Kate's cheeks becoming warm with the effect of his heated gaze focusing upon her like a spotlight.

"I liked the freesia," she adds, stiltedly. "Red…very…yeah," she nods, trailing off to look down at her shoes.

Castle finds some manners and the presence of mind from somewhere to snap out of this Kate Beckett-induced-trance and take action before things completely go south.

"Take a seat. I'll get us something to drink. Would you prefer beer, wine…coffee maybe?"

"Uh…beer is fine," she nods, watching him leave for the kitchen. "You have a nice place," she says, taking the opportunity to look around some more.

"Thanks," Castle replies, scanning the ground floor area of his loft across the kitchen counter, trying to see his home as Kate sees it.

"Have you lived here long?"

"Few years…must be almost seven now. I bought it when Alexis…when Alexis was on the way."

"Oh."

Her "Oh" is loaded with the weight of his own messy history, the parts of it that he shared with her in the bar she took him to, the only time they've been out together since she arrested him. He feels the phantom of his ex-wife hovering over this conversation, and he feels the urge to dispel the myth that there might be anything left on that front by making sure she knows their relationship is as dead as the Pharaohs.

"Yeah, but look. You don't want to hear about my issues. That's all ancient history. Why don't we sit down?"

Kate pauses and then nods. "Thanks."

He hands her a bottle of beer and then sits a respectable distance away. "What did you mean earlier…when you said that it wasn't a guy?"

"Did you give up on me?" she counters, immediately horrified by her own runaway mouth, revealing her hand and her thoughts as transparently as if her forehead were made of plate glass.

Castle reacts instantly, horrified. "What? No! What makes you say that?"

"When things went silent, I just assumed…"

"I promised I would wait," he insists, fighting the powerful surge of hope he feels welling inside him like a geyser, despite how sudden this turnaround seems.

Kate nods slowly before speaking again. More care taken over the words this time. "It wasn't a guy. That's not why…why I'm so…so messed up."

"Okaaaay," Castle murmurs, watching her face intently.

She looks stormy and somber, like a damp day in February when you can't wait to get out of the house but the wind just won't stop blowing and the rain is lashing the windows, and so you're trapped, stuck inside with your miserable thoughts, longing for spring.

"It's kind of a long story."

"I like long stories. Kind of goes with the day job."

"With a sad ending."

"Endings lead to new beginnings," he offers, with this trademark side of optimism she's beginning to recognize as a part of who he is.

"I think I'm still waiting for my new beginning," she admits, soberly.

"I see."

"I don't mean to be so gloomy. There's just no way that…" she draws her brow together sharply until a crease forms in the middle, as if someone took a pen and drew a line down her forehead.

"No way that what?" he encourages.

"There's no way to spin this so that…so that I can make it sound any better."

"In case you've forgotten, I write crime fiction for a living. Things generally take a dark turn by page three if not before. Just…tell me."

"I…I'm not used to sharing this with anyone. I don't even know where to start."

"How about at the beginning?"

"The beginning," she repeats, her eyes growing cloudy and unfocussed.

He can see her struggle, and it's painful to watch, no matter how much he wants her story.

"Kate, you don't have to do this, you know. We can just sit, have a beer and talk about the weather for all I care. I'm just glad that you're here. So…you don't have to tell me."

She smooths her hands down over her jeans and straightens her spine, as if she just came to some kind of decision. "Yes, I do. I want to. Or rather, I think I need to. God, I'm not making much sense," she admits, running a hand through her hair, sending it spiking up in places, leaving him with a deep urge to smooth it back down.

She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth.

"Daddy?"

Castle leaps to his feet when a little face appears halfway down the stairs, the sleepy eyes of a tiny girl peering through the glass balustrade, her elfin body dressed in pale pink pajamas and with feet that are bare. "Hey, there sweetheart," he singsongs gently, beckoning to her as she comes down the last of the stairs slowly and carefully. "Did we wake you, pumpkin?" he asks, catching her when she jumps into his arms from the last three steps.

"I flew, daddy. Like in the airplane. Did you see me fly?" she squeaks, as he spins her in a circle, legs stretched out behind her while he holds her at arm's length, as if she weighs no more than a feather.

Kate is already standing stiffly by the sofa, waiting for a good point to interrupt, wishing she didn't have to. "I'm sorry. I'm interrupting. I should…go," she says, thumbing towards the front door.

"No. No, please stay. It's the jetlag. She's out of sorts. I'll put her back to bed. This'll just take a second," Castle insists, having set his daughter back on her feet.

Alexis sways unsteadily by his side, like a little drunk Leprechaun, a crazy, intoxicated grin on her face as she surrenders herself to the childhood high of dizziness. Kate remembers that high with a pang. Her father pushing her higher and higher on the swings while she closed her eyes and flew, stomach dropping with every rush back and forth through the air, defying gravity.

She swallows and blinks. "When did she get back?"

"I flew out to L.A. a few days ago. Brought her back with me this morning. Long flight," he says, arching his eyebrows knowingly.

"I'll bet," nods Kate, wondering how he copes so easily in so many different spheres, moving from one setting to another without missing a beat. The trip to L.A. also explains his silence for the last few days, calming her further.

"Who's the pretty lady?" whispers Alexis, tugging on the leg of her father's jeans.

They both look surprised to find the little girl in the room, so absorbed in each other that they've forgotten she's even there.

"Alexis, I'd like you to meet Kate. Kate's a good friend of mine."

Castle smiles at Kate, hoping she won't refute this description of their status – one of a solid friendship - when they only met such a short time ago and under such unusual circumstances.

"Hi, Kate. I'm Alexis Harper Castle and I'm six and a half," announces the little redhead in a self-important, yet still modestly shy manner.

"Hi Alexis. It's lovely to meet you."

"Thank you. It's lovely to meet you too," she beams, so proud of herself and her pretty manners.

They smile at one another from the trough of an awkward silence. Alexis stares unabashedly at Kate, seeming to take in every detail of the young woman's appearance with poise beyond her years. From the studied, methodical manner of her gaze, it's almost as if she's trying to memorize her. The short, dark spikey hair, the red slash neck sweater, dark jeans and black boots that add to her considerable natural height: all of these features seem to fascinate the little girl despite how tired she must be.

"Kate's a police officer," Castle announces, with a clear note of pride in his voice that makes Kate blush.

Alexis emits a tiny gasp of wonder at this exciting piece of information. "Do you have a gun?" she whispers, staring even harder.

Kate looks to Castle for guidance on what to say. He simply nods for her to tell the truth.

"I carry a gun when I'm at work, wearing my uniform. But after work, I leave it at home."

"Have you ever shot anyone?" she asks, white-faced and with eyes as big and round and aquamarine as ice holes cut into a frozen lake.

Castle moves to interrupt. The question is a good one, even a great one. In fact, he wishes he had asked it himself. But the look of naked alarm on Kate's face tells him there's a story for another day.

"Right, I think that's enough questions for one night, young lady. Say good night to Kate."

The little girl pouts at her father, but doesn't otherwise make a fuss or protest. She steps towards Kate with her arm outstretched, a solemn look on her face, thrusting her tiny little hand out for the cop to shake. "I'm very glad to meet you, Officer Kate. I hope we can talk some more sometime," she adds, pushing her long curtain of coppery hair out of her eyes with the back of her other chubby little hand.

"I would really like that," Kate replies, giving Alexis' hand a firm shake. "Sleep well," she adds, stepping back towards the sofa when Castle picks Alexis up and carries her off to bed.

"Be right back," he promises, throwing Kate a look that's hard to pin down over his shoulder.

She wonders if he thinks she will flee as soon as he leaves the room or if it's just that he's still so amazed to find her here that he's slightly in awe of her presence. Either way, she gives him a smile meant to reassure and sits down on the sofa so that he can see her commitment to staying, as he glides along the upper floor landing with his sleepy, charming daughter draped over his shoulder.

When he comes back downstairs five minutes later, a small pink teddy stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans, he looks relieved and almost surprised to see her still sitting there.

"Hey," smiles Kate. She drops the magazine she was browsing onto the coffee table, watching the pages flutter closed.

"Hey," yawns Castle, stretching in a manner which is entirely too sexy for the tender, parental task he just performed: muscles bulging, his shirt riding up to expose a couple of inches of tan, toned stomach above the waistband of his jeans. His sexy pose is slightly negated by the reappearance of the plush toy he has to yank out of his pocket before he can attempt to sit down.

"Everything okay?" she asks, lifting the teddy into her lap, toying with the satin bow around his neck before meeting Castle's eye.

"Yeah. She's just out of sorts with the time change and the excitement of her trip. She was asleep before I put her in bed. Probably won't remember anything in the morning." He yawns again and then shakes his head. "Not that you don't make an impression, Officer Beckett. I know you did."

"I feel terrible now, barging in here when you're just back from L.A. and everything."

"It's fine. Honestly, I'm…I'm just so pleased to see you, Kate," he says with a sincerity that scorches right through her.

"Yes, but…you have a child," she stresses, suddenly noticing the bear she's half-strangling, setting the poor thing aside on the coffee table.

"You don't like my kid?"

Kate's head shoots up and she opens her mouth to rebut the question instantly, only to find Castle grinning at her, confident and relaxed. She picks up the teddy and throws it at his chest instead. He catches it midair, a quick raise of his hand and the bear all but disappears inside the span of his meaty palm. It's impressive.

"You know your kid is cute. You probably had her come down here on purpose, like one of your other little campaign tricks."

"Are you accusing me of underhand tactics, Officer Beckett?" he teases, the glint in his eye chipping away at her flinty exterior. "When the flowers, the balloons and the chocolates don't work I bring out my six year old like she's some—"

"What chocolates? There were no chocolates," insists Kate, drawing him up short.

"Oh, believe me there were. There were chocolates in abundance. A great big, heart-shaped box from—"

Kate holds up a hand. "Don't tell me…Jacques Torres?"

Castle nods and Kate slumps.

"That crafty old…"

"What? What just happened? You look like someone stole your lunch money."

"No, but someone stole my chocolates and it doesn't take a detective to figure out who."

Castle shrugs and shakes his head. "Give me a clue."

"Hips like a Mack truck and just a little too invested in this whole enterprise from the get-go."

"Hardass Halliday stole your candy?" he squeaks, starting to chortle.

"Yup. Even switched her shifts so we're on the same rotation. Must have known she was onto a good thing. I knew there was something creepy going on with her."

"I left that box of candies with a card. She promised she'd put them in your locker. Did you even get the card?"

"Our lockers are locked, and for good reason, so I don't know how she was ever going to accomplish that. And no, I didn't get a card. Just a post-it note with a smiley face and a scrawled initial."

"The crafty crone!"

"You didn't write that?"

"Does that sound like me? A tiny scribble next to my initial? No, I'm way too verbose for such a paltry gesture."

Kate laughs at this news, starting to feel some of the tension drain out of her shoulders.

Castle takes a swig of his beer and settles down in his corner of the couch looking more relaxed than he has all night.

"What'd the card say?" asks Kate, arching one eyebrow, and then hiding the curve of her smile around the mouth of her Peroni.

"Don't know if I should say without the chocolates to soften you up."

"You think chocolates were going to soften me up?" she grins, drinking more of her own beer. "Was there hard liquor inside?"

"Don't tell me you don't like chocolate?"

"No, I like chocolate. But that note had better have been something."

Castle looks shifty. "Do you think Halliday would stoop to steaming it open?"

"What did you write?" asks Kate, a trickle of fear running down her spine.

"Well," Castle begins, drawing out the moment of torture.

"Well what?" laughs Kate, picking up the teddy bear again and aiming it right at his face this time.

"Hey! You have a great aim," he tells her, lobbing the bear straight back into her lap.

"I visit the range at least once a week. You'd better believe it."

"So…have you?" he asks, surprising her with this segue into a question she doesn't understand.

"Hmm? Have I...?"

"Ever shot anyone?"

Kate laughs, dispelling his earlier assumption that a dark story lurked behind the answer to Alexis' innocent question. "What are you six? That's what all the little kids ask when we go into school to teach them about Stranger Danger and drugs and how to cross the street by themselves."

"Stranger danger, huh?" Castle grins, giving her a slightly salacious look, letting his eyes drift to her moist lips and then slide back up to lock with her own.

"Yeah, you'd think I'd know better than to show up at your door at ten at night...unarmed."

"But I'm so glad that you did," he admits, rearranging his expression to match the sincerity of the sentiment behind his words.

They remain staring at one another until the air in the loft feels supercharged with heat and electricity both, positively crackling with energy as if it might explode at any second.

"This feels…" She looks away uncomfortably, still turning the pink bear over in her hands, like he's on some kind of spit-roast.

"What? It feels what, Kate? Tell me?" cajoles Castle, sensing some important breakthrough.

"I don't…" she shakes her head, looking lost or stricken.

"Hey, you can tell me anything, okay? Absolutely anything."

"I barely know you."

Castle looks at the floor, disappointed maybe, and then he searches out her face again; ready to fight her reticence with his own firm belief. "Doesn't feel that way to me. Not at all. And I think maybe you feel the same," he adds boldly. "Maybe you're just not ready to admit it."

Kate appears to deflate, like she's giving in. "This feels too…too much…too soon."

Castle's heart leaps in his chest. "That doesn't make it wrong. Not if you trust your own judgment."

"No. But it makes it…" She pauses, floundering for an appropriate, honest word, and yet one that won't make her look weak.

"What? Makes it what?" Castle nudges gently.

"Terrifying."

This might be the only time in Richard Castle's entire life when "terrifying" equaled the best outcome he could possibly hope for. Aside from coming up with a devil of a plot for one of his novels designed to grab the reader and have them on the edge of their seats, and maybe a trip he once took to the Six Flags Great Adventure Park in New Jersey with some friends to ride the newly opened Medusa attraction: a steel, multiple looping roller coaster whose floor separated and disappeared at the beginning of the ride before each car made a super-fast drop from the 132 foot peak – aside from these events, this is definitely the best use of terrifying he's ever heard.

Kate continues to speak before Castle can share his Six Flags story with her. "I have a painful past."

"You should meet my ex-wife."

"I'm not a cop by choice."

"And a cop isn't who you are."

She stares at him before slumping back against the cushions. "You're not going to give up, are you?"

"Now you're here…now that I've seen you here? Not a chance, Kate Beckett."

Kate sighs, but it's a happier, relieved and more contented sigh than when she arrived. "I should go. It's late. You must be exhausted."

"We have a guest room upstairs," he offers, hopeful of delaying her departure from his home. But it's half-hearted at best. He knows she needs her space, that she must come to him for a change, that chasing after Kate Beckett…well, he's done enough of that to show her he's interested and that he won't let her go without a fight.

"I have a bed at home and it's calling me. But thank you anyway."

They don't linger on his threshold. He leans in close to kiss her cheek, pulling back almost immediately to watch her lashes rise and curl when she opens her eyes again, looking as tender and vulnerable as he's ever seen her allow herself to be in his presence.

"I had a good time tonight."

"You're pretty low maintenance if an imported beer and a night on the sofa is all it takes."

"It's all about the company for me."

"Ah…then in that case you have excellent taste."

Kate laughs.

"Can I text you?"

"Sure. Just…no more gifts at work, okay?"

"Damn straight. Not with Halliday around to poach them."

"Great. That'll help my reputation no end."

"They still calling you The Horse Whisperer?"

"No, thankfully. Life moves on." Kate blushes, realizing the trap door she's just opened for herself.

"So…what is it now?"

"Eh…Pretty Woman," she winces, giving him a wan smile and a raise of her eyebrows. "Complete with Roy Orbison soundtrack wherever I go."

"Oh god, I am so sorry."

"It's okay. Just…stop the gifts, and they'll lose interest pretty quickly."

"I'm no sugar daddy, Kate. I promise."

"You're not? I'm so disappointed," she grins, watching how his face reacts to her teasing.

"You're funny."

"I try. It's just...any angle, any weakness, and the guys tend to exploit it," she shrugs. "I'm a big girl. Don't sweat it."

And with that thought she turns to leave, throwing him a wave and her most dazzling smile as she enters his elevator and disappears from view.

It's only once she's gone that he realizes she never told him her secret. If it wasn't a guy who made her so cautious, so walled off, who or what was it? One thing is for sure, he intends to find out.

TBC...