February 2010

A day off for Detective Kate Beckett usually meant catching up on chores, seeing her father, maybe even watching a movie. It rarely, if ever, meant wandering around downtown, laughing at the options that lay before her. At least, she'd started off laughing, but now the crowds were driving her crazy.

This was what Castle had reduced her to, a faux tourist rubbing shoulders with a combination of camera-laden folk and well-dressed business people. It didn't help her patience that all the tourists seemed intent on walking as slowly as possible, and as she squeezed past a crowd on the sidewalk she had to bite her tongue and refrain from tapping her shield and requesting they move the hell out of her way.

She reached her destination - finally - opening the front door and stepping in off Wall Street, asking herself again why she was so set on this. The drawl of the accents in front of her was a reminder that not everyone had grown up in fast paced New York and she shook her head as the group of - family? friends? - laughed and guffawed at the key chains and pointed out the t-shirts to one another.

What the hell had she been thinking, coming here?

She ducked down one of the aisles. The little plastic NYPD police cars were in front of her now - thank goodness they had them, because she didn't think she could stomach making her way into a store purporting to heart NYC - and she rolled her eyes, selecting one. She marched over to the postcards, forcing herself to choose one without over-thinking it. The New York City skyline was a classic and really, how long did she want to spend in this part of town?

Making her way to the counter, she spotted one more thing, the sight of it bringing her to a stop as she bit down on her lip, considering.

Ridiculous.

But the whole thing was ridiculous. A lengthy diatribe from Castle last night about Reese's Pieces had warped into something stupid, so she snatched up the final offending object, dumping everything on the counter and handing over her credit card. A sign behind the counter offered discounts for NYPD employees, and she raised her eyebrows at it, declining to show her ID as the shop assistant wrapped the purchase up for her.

Beckett thanked the young man, taking the bag and exiting as quickly as she'd come, the damage done. Next stop, the post office, and she strode another block, reaching the building and scanning the shelves for the appropriately sized box.

Her phone chirped and she grinned as she opened the message.

Bonjour, Detective, the message read. Alexis and I are on our way to the Louvre this afternoon. Talk later?

She typed back, a smile on her face. Have a great time… Hope it's a beautiful day!

Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she selected a box and made her way to a counter. She packed everything in, picking up the pen that was chained to the desk, printing his address in block letters.

The sharp current of regret that tore through her as she wrote London was unexpected, and she dropped the pen, her fingers curling around the edge of the table as she stared at the word in front of her.

Why the hell had he taken the Bond offer instead of staying and writing more Nikki?

The vehemence with which the sentiment stormed through her veins was shocking in its intensity, and she swallowed, trying to get her breathing back under control as she sorted through the emotions that were threatening to engulf her.

She wouldn't cry.

She wouldn't.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she frowned, trying to make sense of it.

They were friends. But they were just friends, nothing more, and he had every right to take whatever book deal he wanted. He had every right to live in whichever country he chose, and he had the right to shadow whichever department or organization was stupid enough to put up with his crack theories.

At that thought, she bit back a grin. No doubt his MI6 contacts were less than welcoming whenever he offered up a CIA theory.

It was okay to miss him, she reminded herself, but the notion rang hollow. She shouldn't miss him because they talked more than ever. When she'd worked with him they'd almost never spent their personal time together, yet these days it seemed like every free moment was spent calling, or messaging.

So there was no reason to miss him.

This weekend, though, he was in Paris with his daughter, and would probably be off the grid for the most part. But all she had to do was get through the rest of today, and then tomorrow and Sunday, and by Monday she would be back at work, and he would be back in London. They would resume their daily phone calls and-

She clapped a hand to her forehead.

This was absurd. She reached for the pen again, pinching it between her fingers as she wrote England below his address, carrying the package to the checkout to pay for its postage. With any luck he'd have it as soon as next week. In the meantime, she had a rare three-day weekend ahead of her, and the sun was shining.

Maybe she needed a change of scenery. Clear weather meant clear roads and an easy run up to the cabin. It had been a long time since she'd ridden her bike further than the precinct.

"Kate came here after she finished her semester abroad, for a weekend," he told Alexis, and her head bobbed, her attention still on the menu in front of her.

"Yeah? Do you know if she speaks French?"

Huh. Castle shrugged, frowning as he considered the fact he didn't know that. Probably. And if she did, well... The thought of Beckett speaking French was hot. Almost as hot as Russian Beckett. Or more so, perhaps. He grinned. After all, French kissing was a thing, and-

"Dad?"

He cleared his throat, shaking the images from his mind, because Beckett was his friend, nothing more. "I, uh- I actually don't know."

"Really?" At that, Alexis looked up, surprise all over her face. "How can you not know?"

"Why would I?" He eyed his daughter. "I don't know everything about her."

Alexis let out a sound that sounded awfully like a snort of derision. "Right. You just talk to her every day, but you don't know everything about her."

"I don't," he defended. 'I don't know everything about her, and I don't talk- what do you mean I talk to her every day?"

Alexis' eyebrows drew closer together as she stared at him. "Are you kidding?" she asked at last.

"I- Alexis, what do you mean? I don't talk to her every day."

"Text message then," she dismissed, turning to smile at the waiter as he approached. "Un café et un sandwich jambon fromage, s'il vous plait," she said in her best schoolgirl French. He grinned at her, their discussion about Beckett temporarily shelved as he took a moment to bask in Alexis' own language skills. He regretted nothing about the education Marlowe Prep was providing. "Dad?" she asked again, indicating to the waiter, and he nodded.

"The same, please," he said. "A coffee and uh- a sandwich."

The waiter departed, and Rick turned back to Alexis.

"I don't message her every day," he said, and she raised her eyebrows, her eyes wide and skeptical. "I don't!"

"Really? When was the last time you went a day without contacting her?"

"Oh, well…" He trailed off as he tried to figure it out. There had been that day last week - except, well, he'd sent her an email - and yesterday he'd been packing and she'd been slammed at work, so they'd only exchanged one or two quick messages, so it wasn't like they'd really been in touch…

Okay.

He made a face at Alexis. Maybe she had a point.

"Mmm-hmm."

Alexis dropped her gaze from him, focusing on the coffee that had just been placed in front of her, and he did the same, welcoming the opportunity to avoid her knowing expression as he sipped the hot beverage. Beckett would love this. A coffee in France. Had she been as much of a caffeine fiend when she'd come here as a college student?

He huffed out a laugh, disguising it as a cough when Alexis glanced back up at him, reaching out for his baguette and taking a bite.

He wasn't thinking about Beckett. Or, if he was - because he was thinking about Beckett, that was kind of clear - it didn't mean anything. It was innocent. He was preoccupied with her just because the chapter of Nikki that he'd been working on last night was almost ready to be considered a first draft and-

"Ow!" He bit down on his tongue instead of the cheese, swearing as he tasted blood.

Yeah. He wasn't meant to be writing Nikki. That tongue-biting thing… Probably the universe trying to kick his butt into gear so he would give Bond his undivided attention like he was supposed to.

"You okay?" Alexis shot him a sympathetic look, and he nodded, trying to refocus.

"Fine. Are you? I mean, are you having a good time? In Paris?"

"Of course. It's Paris. What's not to love?"

A shadow passed over her face and he gazed out of the window, giving her a moment. Pedestrians - marked as tourists by daypacks and sneakers - hurried by, racing to get out of the cold, and he smiled. This cafe had been a real find. After lunch they would have to brave the winter again and make their way to the Eiffel tower, but the lunchtime respite from the icy February day was a welcome interlude.

"I just keep thinking about how I came here with mom when I was a kid. And I know she didn't mean anything by it, but I remember being scared."

Alexis' unhappy words hung over them for a second before he reached out, cupping her face in his hand. "To be honest, that's one of the reasons that I wanted to come here," he admitted. "I know your chart system with its stars and ratings put Paris pretty far down the list, and I won't deny," he looked out at the street again, "that a weekend in sunny Spain had its attractions. But your mom got to bring you here, and I just wanted to have some father daughter time in Paris too."

He pulled his hand back, running it through his hair as he considered. At age four he'd lost Alexis in a department store when he'd been distracted trying on Fedoras. Until she was nine and Meredith had taken the liberty of pulling their daughter out of class for a lunch time excursion, he'd never been so scared, but the terror that had laced his veins when Alexis had failed to appear after school with her classmates was something he never wanted to repeat.

"Does that make sense, pumpkin?"

Alexis was gazing at him with a softness to her expression, and for a second it wasn't his teenage daughter before him, but his nine year old as he'd stroked her hair and sat with her until she fell asleep after Meredith had returned her to New York. "It makes sense," she whispered at last. "Thank you. For being… well, for being you."

He beamed at her, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Well, who else could I be?" he asked, and she laughed, nibbling on her sandwich. "So, I was thinking. You're not actually old enough to drink yet, but I might try a couple of wines later, see if I can't find a nice bottle of red to send Beckett. What do you think?"

"I'm sure she'll love it." If the roll of her eyes that accompanied her statement was anything to go by, Alexis was tired of hearing about Kate, and he brought his coffee to his lips, the heady aroma of his drink rich and delicious. "And, Dad?" she continued. "I'm know I said you were talking a lot, but I'm really okay with you and Detective Beckett, I swear."

"There's nothing to be okay with," he reminded her. "Because there's nothing going on."

"Sure." Alexis hid a smile. "But you know, next time you want a weekend away from London? Maybe I'll go to Spain with Emma and her family in March, and you can just invite Beckett along wherever you go. That way you can talk to her in person instead of just talking about her, and checking your phone every ten minutes."

"There's nothing going on!" he said again, tapping his fingers against his jeans and resisting the urge to pull his cell from his back pocket because he did not need to check it. "Wait. What? You're going to Spain with Emma?"

"Her family invited me. I told them I had to speak to you first." Alexis pushed her plate aside, draining her coffee and shot a look out the window. The weather hadn't improved - if anything it had become worse, gusts of sleet blanketing unlucky pedestrians - and she wrinkled her nose. "You want to go out in that?"

"Maybe later? I mean, we could have another coffee? And I need to meet Emma's family properly first, before you go anywhere with them."

Alexis nodded, pulling her purse from where it was hooked around the back of her chair. "Sure. While we're here we could write postcards?" She extracted the cards she'd purchased this morning, handing him a few and keeping some for herself.

He took the pen she offered, choosing the image of the Eiffel Tower illuminated against the night sky, bringing the Biro to it. Alexis would no doubt laugh, but if he was going to send Beckett a bottle of wine the least he could do was write a note in the form of a postcard to accompany it.

Thank you guys. I do like to reply individually, but sitting hurts so I am minimizing my time spent at my desk. But I appreciate your reviews like nothing else. :D xox