Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop
He had locked himself into his study, lights off, music on. The only thing that shed any light was the glow from the laptop screen, illuminating his face. It was the soundtrack from one of the James Bond movies that set the mood for the scenes that were forming in the Word document; he had always needed music to write by.
And Castle had been at this for almost a day. Wake up, grab a cup of coffee and half a bagel, write, skip lunch, take a nap, and write some more. Which was where he was at the moment. The middle of an action scene that was working so damn well with him.
Martha drifted in and out of the apartment and Castle could see that she was slowly, steadily feeling better. Still a little broken, her showtune choices definitely on the melancholy end of the spectrum, but her voice had gained back some of the old strength she had used to sing to him when he was a child. It made him feel better to hear her feel better.
He felt bad about not going to the coffee shop to write over the past week. Kate had definitely made sure the guilt of letting down Al was heavy during that night in the precinct. The night Castle still wasn't entirely sure had actually occurred. The few hours spent, still a little tipsy from his foray into vodka-tasting, in an incredibly uncomfortable visitor's chair eating pizza with a woman that smelled faintly of cherries and vanilla under the spice of the pizza. Her eyes kept tossing him glances that hovered between concerned and merely curious. And he had managed to get personal information out of her, unsure if he contributed the late hour or a relaxation with her daughter around or a desire to simply amuse him.
Whatever the case, he had actually enjoyed the night, minus the whole nearly-arrested thing in the beginning. Could have done without that.
Stretching his interlocked fingers over his head, twisting side to side to loosen the muscles that had tightened up during the last three hours of writing and plotting, Castle got up, saving the document with a quick punch of his fingers over the keys. Habit after losing chapters and hours of work to computer crashes and electrical outages.
Martha was just coming down the stairs as he walked around the couch to the kitchen.
"Don't let me get in your way, kiddo," she said with a small smile, opening the refrigerator and taking out the pitcher of water on one of the shelves.
Castle placed a hand on either of her shoulders, drawing her eyes up to his. "You're not in the way. Ever. I'm happy to have you here until you want to find a place of your own or until my publisher kills me for not having a manuscript done and you inherit the loft yourself."
She laughed, patting his cheek just once before pouring out a glass of water for both of them. "Let's hope it's not the second one," she said, toasting her glass before clinking it against his. "But seriously, Richard. You didn't need to let whatever happened with Meredith happen because of me."
"It wasn't you, Mother." He leaned against the countertop, the glass of water held against his chest. "To be honest, we'd been drawing apart for a while." The actress only raised a brow, speaking in gestures. "She doesn't want kids. Thinks they'd get in the way of her auditions and acting and be trouble. You know how she is." Martha nodded and Castle continued, walking to one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and sitting, one foot dangling toward the ground while the other braced on the rungs. "But I do."
Martha was just watching, observing as her son's entire being softened a little as he started talking about bringing them to the parks and pushing them on the swings, about fretting on the first day of school, about playing games in the loft and falling asleep with them cuddled in bed with him. Richard would be a fantastic father, a present one to make up for his so obviously absent father-figure.
And even in her own heartbreak of finding a completely empty apartment, with only a note on the counter telling her goodbye, that matched the barren bank accounts, Martha's soul ached for her son. She wanted him to have a couple of children running around the loft, alternating between driving him insane and smothering him with love.
"You know it does usually take two to tango, as the saying goes," she said, leaning on the counter across from him.
He rolled his eyes, grinning. "I'm aware."
Except now, instead of little redheads bouncing on the cushions of the couch, he saw lots and lots of brown hair. He'd be lying to himself if that didn't have to do with Kate Beckett and her daughter. Damn, Castle, he thought with a shake of his head, falling in love with nearly-random women in coffee shops. And their fatherless daughter who missed his presence at the shop.
That still floored him. Al missed him. And if he wanted to be completely honest with himself, he missed her a bit as well. The girl was charming and sweet, outgoing when she wanted to be but silent as a mouse when she had nothing to say. And having her curled up in his lap after the incident last week had pulled at his heart-strings so they sung pretty loud.
So when he had brought up the subject of kids again with Meredith one night over dinner, Castle hadn't exactly been surprised things had gone south quickly. She had argued that she didn't have time to take off from acting to be pregnant and raise a kid. He had insisted that he could stay home with the child; working from home was not anything new to him. She had been angry that she wasn't getting enough of his time at the moment, wondered why the hell she'd want to give him another thing to take away his attention from her. In fact, Castle was certain that it was that statement that had marked the downward turn of the conversation.
The next morning, he woke up and her things were gone.
"So? You have a partner in mind or just going to pick some girl up at a bar?" Martha asked, teasing, reaching a hand out to cover the top of his fingers.
Castle shook his head, grinning. "Let me sign up for e-harmony. I've heard there are some nice girls there."
"Tell me about this new story." Martha was circling the counter, coming to sit on the stool next to Castle. He was looking at her like she didn't know what she was talking about. "Please, Richard. I've seen you plotting like a madman in your office. Give me an outline."
She wouldn't give up; he knew her. So with a sigh that might have been overdramatized for her amusement, he propped his head on his chin and started to rattle off some of the plot, the basic character outline.
"A woman this time around?"
"I've had female characters! Just look at Clara!" he protested, defending his CIA agent.
Martha waved it off. "Yes, yes. But this Nicole will be the main character, the star."
"Nikki." He had come up with her nickname after the night in the precinct. Nicole, like Katherine, was formal. And while he sense that Detective Beckett could do formal with the best of them, But Kate suited her and he figured Nikki would suit his fictional version of her well.
"And does this Nikki have a last name?" Martha asked, giving Castle a light kick with her slippered foot.
"Not yet. But you know my M.O. with titles and names," he reminded her. "I haven't figured it out yet."
She placed a hand over his, giving it a light squeeze. "But you will. You always do." Martha got up, going to put her cup into the sink, turning back to him. "And about the apartment. I can-"
"Stay as long as you want." He followed her over, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I like having someone else in the place. I'll give you the spare key."
He was halfway across the living room, going back to writing before making a phone call, when his mother's voice carried across the space, an actor's training. "You're a good man, Richard. Does that woman know what she left behind?"
Castle shrugged, turning his head over his shoulder. "Hakuna matata, Mother. Hakuna matata."
Her laughter followed him into the study where he sat, kicking his feet up onto the corner of the desk and pulling the laptop to balance on his thighs. The cursor was blinking at him, the timer in the corner that told him how much longer he needed to write before allowing himself to go on the Internet and surf mindlessly, and his iTunes was paused.
But he instead reached for his phone, turned off to minimize distractions, and waited for the screen lock to come up. Castle swiped his finger over the lock then dug in the top drawer for the plain black notebook. The first page had the drawing and his hand ran over the three child-drawn faces before flipping the page. Tucked into the spine of the book was a Post-It note with a phone number on it.
He typed the numbers into his phone, hitting the green button to dial.
Four rings. A pick-up.
"Hey, it's Rick. Interested in meeting up sometime today?"
Kate fumbled with the phone, fighting the denim of her jeans to get to it in time to answer. Too many rings to check caller ID. Just answer. "Hello?"
She barely had time to step out of the way of the swing before Al zipped past her. How the hell had he gotten her cell phone number?
"Push, Mom!" shouted Al, already on her descent from the apex of the swing backward.
Cradling the phone against her shoulder, Kate stepped behind Al as she went forward, giving the girl a gentle shove so that the swing when a little higher. Al's squeal of delight pealed out through the park.
He wanted to meet up. Today.
Wait, back to how he got her number. She hadn't given him the number at the precinct and she kept the number unlisted in case convicts got out after serving their sentence and wanted revenge.
"Uhh…"
Intelligent, Kate, she told herself, giving Al another push. Way to win him over with your wit.
Then he's talking, telling her that she doesn't have to if she doesn't want to.
"No. Where?" she asks, watching Al go back and forth, back and forth on the swing, her legs kicking as she tries to get further into the air.
He doesn't say the coffee shop and Kate's a little surprised. Instead, he mentions a bar, The Old Haunt.
"I've got Al. The bar a safe place?" It was still early but the last thing she needed was a fight breaking out and having Al stuck in the middle of it.
A writer's bar. Nothing to be worried about. But if she doesn't want to take the chance…
Kate interrupts him. "It's fine. Give me the address and we'll meet you there in thirty?" She hangs up after he rattles off the address of a place down on the Bowery. "Come on, Al," Kate says, grabbing onto the chains of the swing and slowing the girl's arch to a stop. Before Al can let out a whine, she tugs on the brown braid that Al has become infatuated with. "Going to see Rick."
Suddenly, Al is a whirlwind, spinning around Kate so quickly that she's surprised the dirt at her feet isn't hovering around her calves. "Come *on,* Mom!" she shouts, grabbing Kate's hand and pulling her toward the street to get a cab. "You're so slow."
"Gravity is harder on me because I'm bigger," Kate says dramatically, slowing down just to mess with Al. "It increases a little more every second."
Al glares over her shoulder, staying on the sidewalk as Kate steps off the curb to wave down a cab. "You're silly."
Kate holds the door open for Al to crawl across the seat and plop down. "Probably true." Then she gives the address to the cabbie while buckling Al in.