A/N: This has been slow to come around. But on the upside, I found this great Churchill quote while studying for my WWII history final. "In war: Resolution. In defeat: Defiance. In victory: Magnanimity. In peace: Fanfic."
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True story.
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The glow of surviving the shootout was fading as the afternoon light shifted toward dusk. They'd gone for a long walk, but the weight of the last few days had settled slowly over Beckett's psyche and Castle's hand had begun to throb with every natural swing of his arm. By silent, mutual consent they headed home. Beckett was weaving distractedly through traffic and Castle was slumped to the side of the passenger seat with his head resting against the window.
Watching the busy crowds of New Yorkers with their scowling faces and harried strides left him feeling a great melancholy. He frowned, then straightened up with a disgusted noise when he could see his own reflection glaring at him.
Beckett flicked her eyes over at him. "Your hand?"
"No. Yes."
From a different man, that might have seemed like attitude, or avoidance, or at worst flippancy. But from Castle, who made such a point to choose his words carefully, Beckett could see the truth in both answers.
"We'll be home soon."
Castle, still slumped in the seat with his knees shoved against the dashboard in a posture of adolescent despondency, twisted his head to look at her with a quick grin.
"Home?"
Beckett blinked in the glare of a red light, and peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Well. I meant..." The loft? Orher place? She was currently heading toward both, though the Castle residence was the closer of the two. "Uh..." Her voice trailed off when her brain failed to suggest new words.
"Mine is closer," Castle supplied delicately as the light turned green.
With a noisy inhalation, Beckett headed that way. It was strange that Castle would just let her verbal slip go, but he was tired. They both were.
At the loft, they remained quiet. Jackets and shoes were discarded as soon as they stepped inside, Castle gingerly pulling his bad hand through his sleeve. He moved slowly, and by the time he was done Beckett was handing him a new dose of medicine and a glass of water. When he had downed the pills she took the glass back from him and set it aside. With eternal care, she took the injured hand in hers and placed an ice pack over the battered knuckles.
Castle shuddered, partly from pain and partly in anticipation of the next few minutes of torture. Beckett smiled sympathetically and smoothed her palm against his so that his hand was sandwiched between the ice and her skin. It made the unpleasant experience a little easier to bear, and Castle rolled some of the tension out of his shoulders.
"This sucks."
"Yeah," Beckett nodded. "Can you hold this or do you want me to do it?"
"I've got it."
"You hungry?"
"Not really."
Beckett hummed in agreement, but Castle followed as she started back toward the kitchen anyway. She made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and cut it in two halves, one for each of them. They ate standing up, too tired and too caught up in their thoughts to sit. Castle watched her eat, noting for the first time the shadows under her eyes and the hunch of her shoulders. When she stopped mid-chew, the sandwich held absently over a paper towel and a far-away look in her eyes, he leaned over a bit so he was in her line of vision.
When her eyes met his, he gave a small smile. "Thanking about your mom?"
Beckett shrugged and grimaced. "Thinking about Lockwood. I think I'm going to go up to the prison on my next day off, see if I can't get anything out of him."
"Kate..."
But words failed him. Who was he to tell her not to try, even if it seemed useless?
"I'm tired Castle."
He nodded, swept a palm across her shoulders in comforting solidarity, and threw away the trash from their quick supper. "I know it's early, but how about we go to bed anyway?"
Relief flitted across her face and she stepped in close to press her cheek against the round of his shoulder. "Sounds good."
In minutes they were sinking into their pillows, curled up facing each other with only inches between their faces. Castle felt a tug of tender amusement when Beckett dragged open heavy eyes and reached across the dark space between them to trace her fingers over his bruises with a touch so soft he almost couldn't feel it.
"Thanks for taking care of me," he whispered, a little grin lightening the heavy mood between them. Beckett only smiled acquiescence before withdrawing her hand to tuck both of her fists under her chin as her eyes drooped closed again. Castle leaned over and pressed his lips against her forehead in thanks and whispered, "'Night," but he could tell by the slowing rhythm of her breathing that she was already out.
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In the morning, Castle woke to bright daylight, a throbbing hand, and a cold, empty bed. Sitting up with a flare of pain and annoyance, he saw the note she had left on his nightstand.
Morning, Sleepyhead.
Didn't want to wake you.
Lunch? Text me.
He knew without confirmation that she was sparing his pride, leaving him at home without having to cite the potential problems his injury might cause. He understood it, but he didn't necessarily like it. He sent off a quick reply, Of course lunch! What time? and started the newly painstaking process of his morning routine. His hand hurt, and it soured his mood before it had a chance to be bright.
"Stupid hand, stupid Lockwood. Stupid me punching him instead of killing him." Half an hour later, he got a text from Beckett that she'd have to forgo lunch but she wouldn't be home late. Now fully aggravated, Castle stomped out into the living room fussing and muttering. "Lunch is stupid anyway. Stupid lunch. Hate lunch."
"Who hates lunch?"
It was his mother, sitting in unusual quiet on a stool at the breakfast bar. Wait... his mother? Quiet? Castle slowed his minor tirade to look closely at her. Not only was she quiet enough that he hadn't noticed her there, but she looked positively subdued.
Something was up.
"Morning, Mother. Everything okay?"
Martha, looking a little dazed, slid a check over the counter to him with a trembling hand. Oh. Oh, wow. "This is... Wow. A million dollars?" His question was superfluous, but his mother nodded anyway. "From Chet?"
"Yes."
With a wavering voice, Martha explained the guilt she was feeling. She'd been going to break it off with the man before he died, and now she had this unexpected and overly ardent gift.
"A million dollars, Richard. I can't possibly accept it."
Castle reached over to take her hand and give it a squeeze, because he knew that nothing he could say would help. He couldn't bring the man back, and he couldn't help her decide what to do. His earlier annoyance had transitioned into full sympathy, and he was at a loss. His phone beeped where it sat a few feet away on the counter.
When he didn't move to check it, Martha gave a watery laugh. "Don't ignore her on my account, Richard. If losing Chet has taught me anything, it's that life is too short."
Castle tilted his head at her, feeling utterly incapable of helping, and gave a wry smile. Moving around the counter, he checked his phone with one eye still on his mother. But she was just watching curiously, so he read his message then.
"Oh, come on!" He slapped a hand down on the counter with a loud bang, and then felt immediately ashamed. Sheepishly, he shook his head at his mother who had half-stood at his exclamation. "No," he said in a calmer voice. "Nothing's wrong. It's just... she says the butler did it!"
"Oh, well. I guess..." Martha waved a hand about in a small imitation of her usual flair. "I guess you'll have to tell me why that's significant."
"Because, it's the butler! It's the most clichéd killer ever, and I've often suggested that eventually a butler would be the killer." Martha's smile was patronizing, and Castle rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess you'd have to have been there. But it's kind of awesome."
"I'm sure it is, dear. But you'll have to tell me all about it later, I have to go talk to the kids about this," she gestured cautiously at the check still laying ominously on the counter, seemingly afraid to touch it.
When she stood, Castle walked over to give her a strong one-armed hug. "Love you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry about Chet."
Martha patted his back and stepped away, her eyes a little shinier than usual. With one more squeeze of his hand, she was out the door in a flurry of movement, leaving Castle alone in the empty loft. He sighed and sat down, tapping a foot restlessly. A text to Alexis was returned with a quick Sorry Dad, can't today and so all hope of a lunch date was gone.
He should write, but it felt wasteful. Wasteful. When the word popped into his head Castle literally sat up straight. Interesting. He'd never minded staying at home and writing when inspiration struck before. But the writing, though arguable better than before he'd started shadowing Beckett at the precinct, had been taking a more and more secondary place in his life of late.
And only days ago he'd been instilled as a real member of the team. Trained, armed, ready. Useful. The exact opposite of what he felt now, sitting restlessly on the edge of his bed in sweats, without a clue of how to spend his time and ease this disquiet in his chest. With a sigh, he wandered into his study and opened the laptop, but learned quickly that writing was out of the question, unless he was willing to peck at the keyboard with his one good hand.
He was still sitting there stewing hours later, rocked back on his swivel chair and glaring at the ceiling. The sound of a key turning in the lock was the most welcome sound he could have conjured, and he sat forward with interest. He checked the time on his laptop, but it was only four o'clock.
"Alexis?" He called.
"Nope," came the reply, and Castle grinned in pleased surprise.
"Beckett, are you playing hooky?" He stood and stretched, extending his arms toward the ceiling and bending first left, then right. The series of pops in his back reminded him that he was too old to sit for hours on end. A small stab of pain reminded him that he was overdue for his pain meds.
"Nope," Beckett answered again. She was being vague, and Castle had found over the years that pleased ambiguity from his muse usually meant some kind of happy surprise. He followed the sounds of her arrival, the rattle of keys dropped on the counter, a soft huff of air when a coat landed on a chair, cabinets opening and closing.
Castle paused before fully entering the room, reveling at the domesticity of Beckett moving around his kitchen, pouring a glass of water, rolling her head on her neck to relieve some tension. He was reminded of her words the previous night, We'll be home soon, and grinned. They hadn't talked about it yet, it was probably way too soon, but to him it seemed inevitable that this would be her home at some point. Their home.
"Hey," he murmured as he closed the gap between them, his earlier annoyance completely gone at the sight of her. He padded up behind her and kissed her cheek from behind. She smiled and turned halfway into him, sighing when he rubbed at the muscles at the base of her skull that he'd seen her trying to stretch.
"Hey, babe."
He couldn't remember when she'd started calling him that, but he absolutely loved it. "Hey."
"You have a good day?" she asked softly, her eyes halfway closed.
Castle only grunted in response, preferring to focus on the lovely woman before him instead of the frustration of the day. Beckett nodded in understanding, then said something that completely fixed everything.
"Want to go undercover with me tonight?"
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Castle was trying to be unobtrusive while still listening and watching Beckett and his mother talking companionably on his living room sofa. Beckett, utter stunning human being that she was, was holding his mother's hand and talking her back from an emotional edge. As if that wasn't enough, Beckett was having a heart to heart with his mother while dressed in a little black dress that flirted the line between classy and sexy.
She was perfect. His girlfriend was perfect. He was going to marry that girl.
Oh. Shh.
His own thoughts got away from him and though they were hardly a surprise, he felt the immediate need to keep them in, so he clapped a hand over his mouth. Beckett and Martha turned together, mid-sentence, to stare at him. Laughing, red cheeked, Castle muttered, "Ignore me!" and wandered back to the kitchen so he wouldn't interrupt again.
Less than a minute later, Beckett was beside him; beautiful, delicious. Yeah, his day had taken a big upswing. She slipped a hand under his jacket to stroke down his chest and tapped the weapon in his shoulder holster, querying. But she seemed to satisfy the question in her mind without asking it aloud, and she grinned up at him where he was staring a little stupidly down at her.
He shook his head to clear it. "Everything good in there?" Beckett nodded and brushed her lips over his, a gesture he happily returned. "I love that you're so great with her."
Again, Beckett only smiled. "You ready?" she asked.
"Yeah, good to go."
He followed her back to the living room and helped her into her coat. She paused at the door, her grin growing. "Get your keys, Castle. I think we're going to need the Ferrari."
Castle's face lit up. This just kept getting better and better. Undercover? Beckett looking even hotter than normal? Ferrari? All the ingredients of an awesome evening. He didn't even know all of the details, just enough to not get in the way, and it was enough. He grabbed the keys and spun them around, somewhat smug in his good luck.
Beckett watched him with a knowing smile, and trailed a finger over his ear to tug playfully at his earlobe. When he shivered, she bit her lip. "I'm driving."
"What? No. My Ferrari." Not an elegant argument. Beckett was suitably unimpressed.
"Oh, I know," she grinned. "I'm still driving."
Castle shook his head. "No! We're talking about a high performance vehicle, Kate. Powerful. Sensitive." He stepped closer to her, jangling the keys with a flick of his wrist, tilting his head condescendingly. "It's designed to respond to your every whim."
A subtle eye roll, a flick of her eyelashes, the play of light over the satin of her dress when she stepped closer were his only warnings that he was playing with fire. Then Beckett stepped close enough that her body was brushing against his chest. She laid a hand at his shoulder so she could reach up and whisper hushed words into his ear.
"I know you like my body, Castle, but we shouldn't really talk bedroom," she punctuated the word with a flick of her tongue at his earlobe, "with your mother in the next room."
Castle jerked away with wide eyes and a conflicted grin. While his eyes were darting from Beckett to a knowingly amused Martha and back again, she plucked the keys from his fingers and sauntered away. He should know better than to condescend to her.
"Come on, Kitten. Work to do."
"No!" Castle hissed with indignation as he bounced the short distance between them. "I told you never to call me that!"
Beckett just laughed as they left the loft together, twirling the keys to the Ferrari with glee. She couldn't wait to drive this thing.
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A/N: Thanks for reading! This was another long chapter cut in two. Next part out tomorrow night.