A/N: Apologies in advance if this story seems more out of character than my usual stuff. I've just finished a Season 2 marathon with my SFAM (Sister from Another Mister) in an effort to get her hooked on the show, and I think it's affecting my writing - Castle keeps acting like his cheeky S2 self even though he's supposed to be S4 subdued and chivalrous. Still, I hope you're having fun imagining this craziness with me.

This chapter is for EvaKAlways - I'm so glad we met through this show :)

Chapter Three
Caring

He waits a week before administering his next test, mostly because it takes that long for Kate to warm up to him again. He's not sure why she was ashamed of letting a little emotion show, but that's something he'll ask her during 'The Confrontation.' Assuming she passes all of his tests.

Castle pops a sticky pork dumpling into his mouth and looks across his dining room table.

"So. You're all clear on the plan?" he asks.

"Dad! How many times do I have to tell you? Quit talking with your mouth full," Alexis says, her spring-loaded chopsticks scraping at the bottom of her box of Singapore noodles.

"Richard," his mother says, "Do you really think this is the best idea?"

"Well, it's the best I've got. It's the only thing I can do to make her think I'm in serious danger without me having to outright lie to her."

Martha takes a drag of her martini. "So you're asking us lie to her instead."

"Acting, Mother. I'm asking you to act."

Martha brightens. "Well then, consider it acted."

Alexis just nods, a smile playing on her lips. Anything to goad Beckett and her father into action. Because, honestly, everyone who knows them is really tired of waiting.

Castle fishes his phone out of his back pocket and holds the power button down.

"Right then. Let's get started."

He slides his thumb over the screen and the phone goes dark. It's only then that he wonders if what he's doing might be very, very wrong. He pushes down the feeling and pastes a smile on his face.

"There. Now we just wait."

Where the hell is he?

Beckett stares at the murder board. They've been to the crime scene. They've canvassed the neighbors. They've questioned and ruled out one potential suspect. Traffic cam footage came in hours ago, and they've combed through at least half of the vic's finances.

She stares at the murder board, but she's not thinking about the case. Hasn't been for the past half hour, at least. Because he still hasn't called back.

She flicks her wrist to check the time. Again. Five hours, eighteen minutes, and something like forty-two seconds since she called this afternoon to give him the crime scene address. More than twenty-five hours since the last time she actually talked to him, watching him waving goodbye with a cheery smile as the elevator doors closed on him, the NYPD logo sliding to replace his face.

Esposito slides his chair over. "Yo. Any word from Castle?"

"Nope."

"Huh. Maybe he had a meeting for his book."

"Yeah, maybe."

He always tells her, though. These days. Usually texts her throughout his meetings with silly little jokes, things that make her paperwork days go a bit faster. She can't identify the weird feeling in her chest. Her fingers fly up to her scar, out of habit, pressing and circling.

"You okay?" Esposito asks.

She nods. Knows that she isn't going to look convincing even if she tries. Esposito, in a rare moment of grace, slides his chair back to his desk and doesn't press the issue.

Something is not right. There was a time when she wished Castle would just stop pestering her, but those days are long gone. He's not gone radio silent on her in … well, since the sniper, and that was really her fault, wasn't it?

She won't text again. She's sounded desperate enough already in the three that she's sent. Sheesh, three texts.

You're going soft, Beckett.

She calls it a night two hours later, just in time for the boys to catch last orders at the Irish pub one block over. It's only nine-thirty, but it is a Sunday.

In the cab on the way to her apartment she tries to call Castle again, biting her lip to keep from leaving a message. He's a grown man, completely capable of taking care of - wait a second. He's Castle. He appears to be a grown man, but he definitely isn't always capable of taking care of himself. Except for when he takes better care of you than you can, a little voice whispers in her ear.

"Turn around." The words are out before she realizes they're hers. "Please. Turn around please." She gives the driver Castle's address and settles in for the drive. She has to sit on her hands to keep them from shaking.

"Castle, open the door!"

She's only knocked once, but she's already adding verbals. Easily explained. Protocol. Not nerves. Habit. Right.

The door flies open to reveal Martha in fluttering black and white palazzo pants, a dozen gold necklaces covering her neck and half of her electric blue blouse.

"Detective Beckett, darling, why all the shouting?" Her smile drops. "Is something wrong?"

"Hi Martha. No. I mean, I'm so sorry to bother you, I'm sure it's nothing. It's just that I haven't heard from Castle all day, but if he's here I'll just go, and I'd really appreciate it if you don't tell him I came- " The words are pouring out because she has to get out of here before he sees her, because she can't hide anything from that damn man and he'll read the concern on her face before she has a chance to school it away.

Beckett turns to go but stops when she feels Martha's hand on her arm.

"But Katherine, he's not here. Darling, I haven't seen him since last night. You're not working on a case are you? Is he in danger?"

"I am working a case, but it just came in this afternoon. Castle hasn't been involved."

Over Martha's shoulder, Beckett sees another flash of red cross the living room. Great, Alexis is here too.

"Detective Beckett? What are you doing here?"

Martha gently pushes Alexis towards the kitchen.

"Alexis, sweetheart, why don't you go make us all a nice tea. Chamomile, I think."

Alexis shoots them a look, but disappears to the kitchen.

Beckett groans and tries to apologize to Martha again. She's been extensively trained to keep relatives from going into panic mode and here she is, panicking enough for all three of them. This evening is just an epic fail.

"Darling. Come inside. Sit down. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. Let's call him."

Her coat is hanging in the closet before she even registers that Martha has taken it off.

"I've been trying all day." Beckett's voice sounds so small and helpless to her ears, but it's probably just her imagination.

Martha leads her to the couch and they both sit.

"Well, what else can we do … I'll call Paula and Gina and see if he had anything on at Black Pawn. And maybe Alexis has spoken to him since I saw him last."

Good. This is good. Martha is anchoring her. She's taking control, offering solutions in a way that is so familiar, but Beckett can't put her finger on it until - oh.

Oh.

She hasn't been on the receiving end of maternal comfort in thirteen years. No wonder she didn't recognize it at first. Beckett tries to lets her gratitude for Martha's support edge out the creeping black sorrow that surfaces whenever memories of her mom sneak up on her. This is definitely a mother situation. Her best friend is missing. She's a cop and her best friend is missing and she's being totally useless.

Oh wait - she's a cop.

Beckett pulls out her phone and speed dials the precinct.

"Hey Rob, it's Detective Beckett. Who's on the tech desk this time of night? Great. Can you put me through?"

She waits while Rob transfers her to Officer Stephens, leg bouncing up and down furiously. Martha's already on her own phone speaking to Paula.

Suddenly, Martha's palm settles on Beckett's knee, light and comforting, and the shaking stops instantly.

What is even going on here, and why does she just want to hug this woman and start sobbing into her neck? And why can't Castle just be here, filling the space with his ridiculousness and his smile and his larger-than-life personality? What she wouldn't give to know where he is, what she wouldn't do to -

Officer Stephens' voice cuts into her thoughts before they get really serious. She's thankful, because she's freaking out and it's not like her at all. She just can't handle herself right now.

"Stephens, hi, it's Beckett. I was wondering if you could do a cell trace for me?"

"Sure, ma'am, what's the number?" Stephens is only a few months out of the academy and bit starry-eyed in her presence, and even though it makes her feel ancient, he refuses to stop calling her ma'am.

She gives him Castle's number.

"You working a case this time of night on a Sunday, ma'am?" She can hear the clicks of the keyboard as he searches. "Er - is this the kind of trace I shouldn't keep a record of?"

Beckett's exasperated, she just wants to know where Castle is.

"What do you mean?" she asks.

Stephens clears his throat. "It's Mr. Castle's phone, ma'am."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

Oh. He thinks she's making a personal request.

Crap. She is.

"He's missing," she says. Her voice is hard. She's going to play it like this isn't a misuse of police resources. It's not like she's requesting a track on a cheating spouse. She'll get away with it, because she's Beckett, and this is a one-time thing anyway. "Just do the trace."

"Right, ma'am. Let's see here … phone must be off. I'll keep tabs on it though. If anyone powers it on, I'll call right away and let you know where he is. Do you want me to pass it onto Grady when he takes the next shift?"

"Yes, please. You can make record of it, Stephens, don't worry. I'll deal with Gates later. And thank you for this."

She hangs up the phone and turns to Martha. The older woman shakes her head, eyes brimming with sympathy and a healthy dose of worry, and Beckett doesn't have to ask to know that Paula and Gina were dead ends.

Alexis arrives bearing a tray with three heavy ceramic mugs of tea. She sets them down and levels Beckett with a terrifying teenage glare.

"What's wrong, you guys? Is it my dad?"

"He's just not answering his phone, Alexis, no reason to worry yet." Even as she says it her voice falters. Damn it, Beckett, get it together. You're the cop here! "When did you last hear from him?"

"He tucked me in last night." As soon as it's out Alexis blushes, ashamed that she's eighteen and still gets tucked in. "I haven't heard from him today, but I just assumed he was with you."

Beckett shakes her head.

"He was here this morning though. There was a mug on the counter and the coffee maker was warm when came down," the girl adds.

The three of them sip their teas in worried silence.

"I'm sure he's fine," Beckett says again, sounding less confident by the second. "But I can't just sit here and wait for a call. If he was definitely here this morning, we can't put an APB out yet; he hasn't been gone long enough. I'm going to head over to the Old Haunt. Anywhere else I can check that he might be?"

Alexis and Martha give her a few ideas, and insist that she come back afterwards, no matter how late it is, to wait with them.

Before she shuts the door behind her, Beckett looks at the two strong, wonderful women Castle's been blessed with. Does she belong in that category? She shivers, because she realizes, for the first time, that she wants to. Belong.

Oh, Castle. Just be okay.

It's well past midnight when Beckett returns to report in. Alexis and Martha are huddled together on the couch watching the Discovery Channel, but they're obviously not paying much attention to the mysterious evidence of electricity in Ancient Egypt.

He's still missing, of course. That much is obvious. Beyond that, there's not much to say.

Martha offers her a glass of wine with a watered down version of her trademark flourish, then returns to Alexis. Beckett sinks onto a barstool and downs the wine in the space of five minutes. When she thinks the other two aren't looking, she tries to press the wrinkles out of her forehead. It's just too much. She worries about him enough when they're on the job, when he's in his stupidly adorable bulletproof vest, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. At least in those situations she has a modicum of control. She can protect him, be his backup. Having him just disappear, with no way to find him or be there for him, that's a scenario she has never played through. She's thoroughly unprepared.

And there is probably something in this that speaks to the memories of the night her mom was killed. Waiting for her to turn up at the restaurant. Wondering where she was and just assuming she was fine, just caught up at work. Her stomach turns at the thought of Castle slumped lifeless in some filthy corner of the city, blood streaking the wall and coagulating underneath him. She presses her hands to her mouth to stop from throwing up.

Shit. Her eyes feel prickly. This is really not good.

Martha slides her phone out from between the couch cushions. She finds the text stream to Alexis' phone and types as quickly as she can while Beckett's distracted.

Richard. I think that's quite enough. Katherine is crying in your kitchen.

Beckett's phone rings two minutes later, 'NYPD Switchboard' flashing on the Caller ID. She inhales hard with her mouth closed, trying to clear her nose so whoever's on the other end doesn't know she's on the verge of a breakdown.

"Beckett." It's almost convincing.

"Detective Beckett, it's Officer Stephens. Castle's cell has just gone live, do you have a pen and paper for the address?"

"Yes." She doesn't, but she's good at memorizing addresses, and this is one she definitely won't forget.

Stephens reads it off. "Do you want me to call in for backup?"

"No, I'll get a visual and call from the scene if there's anything suspicious." It comes out before she can think. Years of training. Like this is just another case and not the potential kidnapping or murder of her -

Of Castle.

She hangs up and fills Martha and Alexis in. There's a whirl of activity and then she's gone, calling a promise after her that she'll bring him back.

It's a diner.

A freaking diner.

And there is Castle, in a booth by the window, visible from a block away in the fluorescent glare of the overheads, eating waffles and drinking coffee at one in the morning like it's something he does every day.

It's shocking how quickly Beckett's heavy mire of worry turns into acerbic anger.

The bell tied to the diner door falls off as Beckett slams it open with more force than necessary. A lot more force than necessary.

The waitress nearest the entrance starts to say something but Beckett silences her with a frightening glare before stalking over to Castle's table.

There really aren't words to express how upset she is, but "Where the hell have you been?" will have to do. It comes out as a hiss.

Castle looks afraid. Really afraid.

"Here…?" he squeaks.

"Do you have any idea how worried we've - how worried your mother and daughter have been?"

She wants to stab a fork into the glint that appears in his eye at the word 'we.'

"Castle, what the hell have you been doing all day?"

He gestures at the open laptop next to him, the text of his next Nikki Heat on the screen and a legal pad full of scribbles next to his plate of half-eaten waffles.

"Writing." His voice is feeble, and he looks very sheepish.

"All day."

"Yes."

"Here."

"Yes. Well, I did pop out to pick up some dry cleaning." He nods at the pile of perfectly pressed shirts tied up in a plastic bag on the bench seat opposite him.

"You pick up your own dry cleaning?"

"What kind of question is that, Beckett?"

"Answer me."

"Yes, I pick up my own dry cleaning. Even though I'm rich, I don't see the point in wasting money when I can just go out and get some fresh air and sunshine and pick up my own damn shirts." He narrows his eyes. "Is this an interrogation?"

"Where is your phone?"

He taps it where it's laying on the table, connected to his computer via a USB cable.

"And you just felt like ignoring all our calls and texts all day?"

"It was dead. I only just started charging it - I didn't have a cable until Eve let me borrow hers." He nods towards the waitress who's still eyeballing Beckett over the damaged bell. "She just started her shift half an hour ago."

"Right." Beckett has half a mind to ask the waitresses to corroborate Castle's story, but she reminds herself that it doesn't matter. That he's here and unharmed.

"Wait a minute, did you track me?" Castle asks.

He would put two and two together, wouldn't he? Realize that the only way she could have found him here was if she tracked him.

"Don't make me smack that smirk off your face. Pack up your stuff, Castle. I'm taking you home."

"Just don't hurt me," he pleads, but as soon as she turns her back his pout morphs into a massive grin.

And as if Beckett didn't have enough reason to inflict bodily harm on him before, as he returns the borrowed cable to Eve, she hears him stage whisper words that from anyone else should sound defeated. He's delivers them like it's a brag.

"Guess I'm sleeping on the couch tonight, then."

When they walk into the loft there is a lot of hugging. Castle and Alexis, Castle and Martha, Alexis and Martha … Beckett tries to stay out of the fray and fails miserably. In the confusion, she ends up in Castle's arms, trapped against his broad chest, and wow, he gives the best hugs ever. How has she never hugged him before? Well, maybe there have been some innocent side hugs, but not a full on, no holds barred, all encompassing full-frontal hug.

She'll just give herself one second to hold onto him. Just one second. To let the pressure of his arms wrapping around her ribcage melt the hours of worry away. She locks her arms around Castle's neck and lets her cheek rest on his shoulder. Just for a second.

The room goes awkwardly quiet. Oh no. Beckett is fully aware of the palpable energy they seem to create whenever they touch. Usually it's a brush of fingers on a coffee cup here, a bump of elbows on the sidewalk there, never a full hug. The room is humming with it.

This is why she does not let him hug her.

The thought alone makes her feel like a failure. He deserves better. He deserves a Kate that doesn't bristle when he touches her. She wants to be that so badly. She's trying to be ready, she really is, but suddenly she's swamped by how thoroughly she's sucking at it.

She takes a deep breath. She doesn't have to let go right away, right? She can give him that. And. Maybe. Maybe she can make a gesture, just a small one, a brush of her nose against his neck -

"So, kiddo, you gonna tell us where you were?" Martha's sing-song voice slices through the mounting tension.

"Mother," Castle groans. She's becoming disturbingly talented at interrupting his romantic moments.

Beckett retracts her arms, resigning herself that now is not the time for small gestures. Not when his mother and daughter are right there, watching her every move. Reluctantly, she steps out of Castle's embrace. Tries not to shiver when his fingertips stay at her waist for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"I was at a diner, writing. You know ladies, not that I don't appreciate everyone's concern, but I'm a big boy now. I'm allowed to write in a diner all day if I want to write in a diner all day."

Summoning up her earlier frustration, Beckett levels a glare on him.

"Next time you disappear, Castle, I'm sending the SWAT team in to collect you. Just to embarrass you."

"Fine, fine." He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "I'll be sure to keep my phone charged in the future. Ugh."

"Well, now that I've returned you to your nest, Castle, I'd better get going. Got to be up in a few hours for work."

Martha and Alexis descend on Beckett with more hugs, and at last she's on her way to the elevator, expecting to hear the door of the loft click shut behind her.

But then Castle's there, touching her elbow, and they're alone in the carpeted quiet of the hallway, and he's looking at her with such sincerity in his eyes that her stomach drops.

"I'm sorry, Kate." His voice is low. Irresistible. No one does apologies quite like Rick Castle. "I'm sorry I worried you."

She clears her throat. "It's okay. You're okay. Just don't do it again, alright?"

"I won't. Goodnight, Kate."

She loves her first name on his lips. It hints at who she used to be, who he believes she can be again. He's close enough that she can smell the maple syrup on his breath and the woodsy, spicy scent of his body wash.

Focus, Kate.

"We'll be starting at the precinct at eight tomorrow morning. If you want to come in," she says.

"I'll be there." Castle gives her a warm smile and turns to go.

In the hush of the hallway, the day collapses in on her. The fear that she'd lost him has left a visceral ache in her chest. She wishes they were at a place in their relationship where she'd be able to say how thankful she is that he's still here. She wishes she could just hug him for hours, breathe him in, touch him, and suddenly the daydream of it all is clamoring to get out, forming a word on her tongue, forcing a word out of her mouth -

"Hey."

He stops. Looks back.

"I'm really glad you're okay, Castle."

They nod at each other, two tiny smiles damming up two identical floods of emotion. There's so much there: need, respect, desire, and a deep fondness borne of years of partnership and friendship. The waters of it are high, surging, and the dams are not going to last much longer.

Castle wishes he could tell her how much he loves it when she bites her thumb like that, how she manages to be simultaneously adorable and sexy when she ducks her head shyly, hair falling over her face. Soon, he promises himself.

Kate stays calm as she presses the button to call the elevator. It's only when the doors slide shut that she lets herself slide into the corner, forehead dropping against one wall. All she wants tonight is to stay with him, even if it's just to stand in his foyer trading words. Soon, she promises herself.

Castle locks the front door to the loft and finds himself alone, grinning like a loon.

Later, in bed, before he turns off the light, he checks his phone.

He considers texting her, but that reminds him of his mother's text.

'Richard. I think that's quite enough. Katherine is crying in your kitchen.'

He'd felt guilty enough as it was about today, but that text will haunt him. Tears? From Kate Beckett, tough gal extraordinaire? The thought both cripples him and buoys him. Because it means she cares. More than he'd ever dared hope.

Kate's passed this test too.

Flying colors.

Thoughts?