It doesn't end up the way he planned it. Not even close.
Rick was thinking maybe they could go back to her place, drink a little wine and strip each others' clothes off. He was looking forward to it.
But she doesn't look at him all the way back to the precinct. Doesn't speak to him. Gives a brief report to the boys and stalks off to change in the bathrooms without a backward glance.
She doesn't speak directly to him for the next hour. And she asks Esposito to give him a ride home.
In his dark, quiet loft, he collapses into his office chair and stares blankly up at the ceiling.
What happened?
He takes a shower before bed but he can't wash her off.
It's worse now. He's touched himself before, thinking of her, but now it's too real, the vivid memory of her body rolling against his, the scent of her hair, the smell of sweat and rain and sex. The way her fingers dug into his skin. The slow shudder as she fell apart in his lap. The wet, tight heat of her, flexing around him, pulling him deeper and deeper and suddenly he's coming hard, endlessly, almost blindingly intense.
He slumps back against the shower wall, his body drained, and watches blankly as the mess swirls slowly into the drain. It's the most unsatisfying orgasm he's ever had. His body still aches. Because now he knows what it's really like. And it's just enough to make him realize he wants more.
He doesn't just want sex. He wants her.
Kate Beckett may never admit it, but he's got her at least somewhat figured out. She's embarrassed. She lost control, and she never loses control. So she's pretending it didn't happen.
He's on his absolute best behavior the next day - polite, not pushing. Coffee and pastry on her desk. He's quiet. He doesn't tease or leer at her.
She manages to avoid being alone with him all day. She forsakes her own desk for sitting around Ryan and Esposito's area, constantly talking to them.
Castle volunteers to get everyone lunch, and he sees the relief flash in her eyes when he doesn't ask her to come along. His heart twists hard as he shuffles to the little Chinese place he knows she loves. He doesn't want to push. But wasn't she the one who shoved him into the car and ripped open his pants and -
He's not sure how to tell her it wasn't a mistake.
Well, maybe he can figure out the words. The question is whether or not she'll listen.
He leaves for the night before she can ask someone else to drive him home.
If Kate Beckett won't come to the mountain, the mountain can at least try to come to her, right?
So he decides to go to her apartment that night armed with gourmet cupcakes. She's got a serious sweet tooth, he knows, though she rarely indulges. He goes to Magnolia and stares at the display case for a long moment. He doesn't know what kind of cupcakes she likes.
It's a stupid thing, but he's suddenly seized with a wave of guilt because clearly this is his greatest failure, his lack of attention to detail. He should know this. He should know this kind of thing about a woman by the time she rides him in the back of her police sedan. Kate Beckett is important enough. He should know this about her.
Chocolate's a safe bet, right? He decides to bet on that. A triple chocolate cupcake and a red velvet one. Hopefully she'll like one of them. And hopefully she doesn't think he's trying to pay for sex with sugar.
He almost dumps the box by the time the cab pulls up in front of her building - seriously, Rick - since when does he get stupid and feeble-minded when it comes to women?
He shifts the box of cupcakes to his left arm and knocks. He's half-worried she might check the peephole and refuse to open the door, but he can't figure out what else to do.
Footsteps. Good. At least she's home. He'd had a painfully melodramatic vision of himself holding cupcakes as he pours out a melancholy plea through the door, finally persuading her to let him inside, and -
The door opens. But it's not Beckett who opens the door.
It's a man.
A tall, grey-haired man, with sculpted features and keen eyes. And in a flash, Rick knows exactly who this is.
Oh no.
He hears her voice from inside. "Dad? Was that the door? Is someone there?"
"Got a visitor, Katie." The man - her father - looks back at Castle. "Can I help you?"
"I, uh. I'm Castle. Richard Castle. I work with Beckett. With - Kate. I guess you're Beckett too."
Rick feels like an idiot, but her dad just smiles affably, shaking his hand with a firm grip. "Rick Castle? You write books, right? Nice to meet you, son. Please, come in."
Castle obeys, stepping inside, brandishing the box from Magnolia's like a sacred offering, the feeble excuse he was using to come and see her and ask if she's angry at him or if she's ever going to meet his eyes again (and maybe, possibly, interested in having sex again on a more regular basis), but this is her dad and this is just not going to end well at all.
He looks up and she's standing there, wiping her hands on a towel; he can smell something savory coming from the stove.
She cooks?
Why don't I know things about her?
Her face is blank. "Castle?"
"Hi." His voice is scratchy. He clears his throat and tries again. "Hi. Sorry, I didn't realize - I should've called -"
He has two Becketts staring at him now and he's not equipped to handle that. Because he's being eyed by a man whose daughter he just fucked in a car last night.
He needs to get out of here.
So, at a loss for what else to do, he holds out the box like an idiot. "I, uh. I got these for you."
Beckett - Kate - reaches for it slowly, her face softening. "Thanks."
There's a soft, awkward moment, in which she stares at the cupcakes and Castle stares at her, and Jim finally clears his throat. "Why don't you stay for dinner? We've got plenty of food. And it'd be great to meet Katie's new work partner."
"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to -"
"Nonsense. You came all the way here. You should join us."
Rick's about to say a polite No thanks when he catches Kate's eye. She's looking at him, and instead of the blank look, she's - smiling? Not quite a full smile, but definitely in that direction. At least he thinks.
When she gives a tiny, microscopic bit of a nod, he gives in.
"Well. Sure. That'd be nice."