Five

Taking a deep breath, Kate Beckett stepped out of the car in the driveway of her father's residence outside of Manhattan. As he had only owned the home for three years, Kate did not consider it her home, but merely the place her father lived. Her home had been an apartment in lower Manhattan filled with books, warmth and memories. Even after her mother's passing she didn't mind going back there; every knickknack made her smile, but when her father went into rehab for his alcoholism they agreed he needed to change everything—including where he lived.

For several moments, Kate stood beside the car and stared up at the front door. She could do this; she could. As a cop, she had delivered every type of news imaginable: good, bad, and in between. She could tell her father that they had found her mother's killer. That a hit man had been hired by an unknown person. That the man who had taken Johanna from them was dead. But how he would react to it was her main point of concern.

When her father left the treatment center, they had a long discussion much more sobering than sixty days without alcohol. She had told him how much his drinking hurt her, how finding him passed out felt like losing another parent. He had cried and apologized for failing her, failing to apply his grief in a less destructive manner. At that point, they had agreed there would be no more secrets between them and Kate vowed to keep that promise because she expected the same from her father. Still, this was one truth she wished she could retain for herself.

He had been doing well; very well. He was back to teaching law part-time. He was back to taking cases. Since the moment he left rehab she never feared he would relapse. But how would he take this news? Would it dredge up all those old feelings of anger in sadness in him just as it had in her? What, if anything, would this knowledge bring him? More questions than answers, certainly, but he had a right to know.

Her mother's killer. The man who had taken her mother's life, not the man responsible for her death. That fact would weigh on her, eat at her, but she knew she had to put it behind her just like she had years ago. For her, Johanna's case had the gravitational pull of a black hole; she barely got out the first time and she feared she wouldn't escape a second.

With one more deep breath, Kate walked up to the front door of her father's home and rang the doorbell. She waited patiently for a moment before the door opened and the smiling face of her father appeared. Due to the stress of his wife's death and his subsequent fight with alcoholism, Jim Beckett appeared much older than his fifty-five years, but that was barely noticeable when he smiled at his daughter. "Katie. This is a surprise."

"Hi Dad." She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

"What brings you out to my neck of the woods?

With a soft smile, she gazed at him. "Dad, there's something I have to tell you…"

Kate Beckett sat at her desk absentmindedly tapping the tip of her pen against the surface. Her elbow rested beside her keyboard, her chin propped up by her first. Theoretically, she was organizing her email inbox as she had received a "Your Mailbox is Almost Full!" message from the system administrator, but in reality she had been staring at the same old message for almost three whole minutes.

Technically, she could have gone home. Her shift was over and she was merely putting in an extra hour or two of catch-up work. She spent so many hours on her cases and subsequent paperwork for said cases that she rarely took the time to do run of the mill tasks like organizing her emails by archiving messages she needed to keep and deleting those that were obsolete.

In all honesty, email maintenance was a task she hated the most. It seemed simple, but for an inexplicable reason she dreaded it. She hated to make the call between an email she might want to keep for a case that was going to trial and one that she would never look at again. Not wanting to be the cop who could not provide something critical to a case, she typically kept more messages than she needed (hence, the frequent appearance of the mailbox-is-full message), but there came a time for brutal archiving and this was it.

From the corner of her eye she spotted a new text message pop up on her phone. Anxious for any excuse to avoid the task at hand for several seconds longer, she scooped up the device and examined the message.

Oh. Well that certainly wasn't as interesting as she'd hoped.

The text was from a man named Marcus whom she had met while on a double date with Lanie the Friday before. In her mind, the date had not gone very well, though she couldn't honestly blame Marcus for that.

In the weeks since Coonan's death and the subsequent resurrection of all her feelings towards her mother's unsolved case, Kate really hadn't been feeling herself. Ironically, she had been most concerned about her father's reaction to the news. All things considered, he was taking it quite well; she was the one who struggled. This was the main reason she agreed to the double date in the first place. Well, the main reason she agreed to the double date was to stop Lanie from pressing her to do so. The secondary reason was that she realized her friend had a valid point; she was in a funk because of what happened—a justifiable funk, but a funk nonetheless—and thus she needed to do something different.

Per Lanie's rules for the double date, Kate would have no input on where they were going; she was just supposed to show up dressed appropriately. Lanie had chosen an Indian restaurant Kate was not exactly a fan of. After their sub-par meal, Kate agreed to go and get another drink with them against her better judgment. In truth, only a miracle would have made Marcus improve in her eyes by that point, but she did give him points for trying hard to have a good time. She had a terrible attitude, she knew that, but Marcus continued to smile and made every effort to converse with her.

Much to her utter surprise, he asked for her number at the end of the evening. She gave it to him, figuring it was the least she could do for him putting up with her sullen tones and bitchy-resting-face stare. On Sunday evening after their date they actually had a somewhat decent texting conversation on and off for about an hour.

Monday evening their conversation continued, but during it Marcus made a political comment that was off-putting to her. He claimed he was joking, though through text that would have been impossible to tell. No matter the case, the words were out there, and they reduced Kate's interest level in him significantly. Even more repelling to her was the fact that two days later, he continued to text her even though she had yet to respond. She was just about to type him a reminder that she was a cop and he should stop harassing her when she was interrupted by Castle.

"Hey Beckett, you coming with us?"

Kate craned her neck around her monitor so she could spot Castle, McCreary and two other men clustered by McCreary's desk. With Montgomery out of the precinct for the afternoon, the boys had been goofing off for the past hour. Kate had been ignoring them and trying to get her own work done, but she had heard their hoots and laughter grow progressively louder. "Where are you going? What's going on?" she asked, trying to figure out what invitation she would be agreeing to.

"We're going to Brady's to watch the game."

The game? Oh, right the Rangers had made it to the NHL playoffs and Game 3 was tonight; presently, the score was tied at 1-1.

Truthfully, hockey was not her favorite sport. Growing up, her father loved baseball and so she did as well. She didn't dislike hockey and certainly preferred it to basketball, but she probably would not have chosen to watch a game on her own. Kate glanced at the clock on her phone. What waited for her at home? Leftover takeout and the mediocre book she had started the night before. Those weren't great options. The cop bar Castle had named was on her way home, so she could stay for a drink or two and then leave if it got too boring or if the boys' rowdiness began to annoy her.

"Sure, why not," she agreed finally.

Their group took two cabs to the bar. Kate was wedged in the back of one between Castle and an officer she wasn't too familiar with, which did not make their drive any quicker. As he made the invitations, Castle bought the first round when they arrived at the bar and the group chose two side-by-side tables across from the large flat-screen television.

The match started out well, with the Rangers scoring within the first few minutes. Unfortunately, their opponents scored a minute later and then two minutes after that. As the men vocalized their jeers towards the television, Kate finished off her beer, ordered a whisky and sat back down to evaluate her life.

What was wrong with her? Marcus was a perfectly nice guy. Really, he was. He even got bonus points for putting up with her when she had far more attitude than was polite. He worked in banking; he had a solid job. He had run the New York City Marathon the year before so he was obviously very athletic and he was handsome as well. Yet, around him she felt nothing. Less than nothing. She didn't even feel the need to smile at his jokes let alone laugh. She was simply…numb.

By the time she was on her third drink, the hockey game had picked up significantly. During the second period the Rangers scored again but their opponents had not, which left the score even at 2-2 as the third period began. Kate found this to be the most eventful period with dozens of shots being taken on each goal, though none were successful.

With her third drink finished, Kate found herself cheering along with the men for the final few minutes of the game. In the end, the Rangers lost; their opponents scored with only seconds to spare in the final period and thus they did not have enough time to recover. As a non-hockey fan and thus objective observer, Kate thought he game as great and the Rangers had put in a valiant effort. Her die-hard-fan cohorts, however, felt differently.

"Whadya say boys? One more round of shots?" a slurring McCreary asked the crowd.

"None for me; I'm done. See you guys tomorrow," Kate told them she slid off her stool. When she turned to leave she faltered. Damn, her head was feeling a little fuzzy; the bartender must have been mixing his drinks on the stronger side.

"Wait; I'll walk out with you." She heard her partner say from behind her. By the time they reached the street he'd caught up and stood beside her. "Good game, right?"

She shrugged. "Yeah I guess; it got exciting at the end. Are you a big Rangers fan?"

He shrugged. "Not summuch, but I'll root for any New York team—except the Jets."

Kate let out a light laugh recalling his vehement argument against the football team. "Right."

"So, ah, share a cab?"

She shook her head. "Nah, I'm just three blocks up—I was just going to walk." She took two steps in a northern direction but stumbled almost immediately over a miscellaneous piece of garbage on the street. Castle was at her side in an instant, catching her under the elbow. "Thanks," she mumbled to him.

"You okay?" The level of concern in his voice made it sound like she'd actually fallen to the ground.

She smiled over her shoulder at him. "I just tripped, Castle." She continued walking only to realize five steps later that he was following her. She eyed him curiously.

"I just thought I'd walk with you for a bit," he defended somewhat sheepishly.

"Castle, I'm a cop; I don't need an escort home."

He patted his belly lightly. "Just trying to walk off one of my beers."

She merely shrugged and continued her walk. If he wanted to tag along—fine.

For almost a full block they walked in a comfortable silence. As they crossed over the next street, Kate looked over at him and said, "Can I ask you something?" He grunted so she continued. "Do you really like hanging out with McCreary?"

Castle shrugged. "He's okay. Why?"

"Well…he's kind of a giant douche bag but you two seemed to hit it off."

"Well I don't know if I'd go that far. He's…okay. I mean, I have no reason to dislike him. If we weren't coworkers I don't know if we'd be hanging out, but we are so…it is what it is. I don't know that I'd go out of my way to hang out with him outside of work too frequently, if that's what you're saying."

Kate nodded, though she said nothing.

"More interestingly," Castle continued, "your comment implies that you think he is a douche bag, but I am not."

She laughed. "No, Castle, you're not a douche bag—you're just an ass."

He gazed at her, bemused. "Oh, there's a difference?"

She met his eye and her expression mirrored his. "Huge difference."

"Well at least I know where I stand."

When they reached her apartment building, Kate slowed her walk until she had stopped in front of her partner. At that moment, as she looked at him, a curious thought came into her mind. Though it was more than likely fueled by the three drinks she'd consumed that evening, she still asked the question: what would happen if I kissed Castle?

Would she feel nothing as she had with Marcus, Brad and those that had come before them? Unlike any of those men Castle made her smile, made her laugh. Granted, she was mostly laughing at him, but it was still a laugh.

Castle was handsome for sure and, deep down, a good man. A good cop. She couldn't say she wasn't attracted to him, but quite honestly she hadn't thought about it until that moment. But there, on the sidewalk in front of her building on an ordinary summer evening she did think about it and she decided she had to know. Would kissing a man she knew well make her feel any differently? Or would it leave her just as numb as the others?

Before any rational part of her brain could talk her out of it, Kate stepped forward, raised herself up on her toes and pressed her lips against Castle's.

Instantly, he stepped back. When she opened her eyes she noted he couldn't have been staring at her with more shock if she'd been wearing a clown wig. He was about to open his mouth and question her—and her sanity—but she refused to let him. Instead, she kissed him again.

That time, he didn't step away, but instead remained still when she lowered herself back down to flat-feet. For a moment, they stared at one another, their breathing a little heavier than normal. Then, by an inexplicable force, they were drawing back together. His mouth closed over hers as his hands landed at her waist and—Oh.

Well.

That was interesting.

Kissing Castle made her feel…well, not numb. Not even close. In fact, she wasn't even in the same zip code as numb. She felt the clench in her chest, the buzz in her brain and the desire burning deep within her as their lips came together. She felt it stronger than she had in months—hell, in years.

When they broke apart, breathless, she couldn't help but feel disappointed that his lips were no longer on hers. It was such a letdown compared to moments earlier. She stepped in again, but he said her name gently. "Kate, wait."

She smiled and let out a breathy laugh. "Why?"

That time, she grabbed the lapels on his jacket and pulled him into her, combing her hands through his hair and all the way down to the back of his neck. She heard him groan into her mouth and that was the only sign she needed; one groan was more than enough.

Still kissing albeit a bit more awkwardly, they stumbled their way to her apartment building. She let them inside and they hurried to the elevator, nearly falling over when the doors they leaned against slid open. The kissed the whole way up to her floor not even noticing they shared the elevator with a teenage girl and her Pomeranian, both of whom appeared appalled.

Kate slammed Castle up against the door to her apartment and continued to kiss him as she attempted to jam the key in the lock. After failing the fourth time she reluctantly tore her lips away so she could see the lock properly. As her trembling fingers dealt with the suddenly tricky handle, Castle's hands skimmed across her waist and he kissed the back of her neck. She let them inside with a laugh.

After flicking on the light in her entry way, Kate grabbed Castle by the jacket sleeve and spun him around so that his back was against the inside of the apartment door. Her fingertips began clawing at the buttons of his shirt, though she only successfully unbuttoned the first two before he grabbed her hip and flipped their positions so she was the one against the door.

Kate's hands traveled from his chest around to his back where she dragged her nails down his spine. Meanwhile, his lips furiously attacked every sensitive spot on her neck as his thumbs caressed her breasts over top of her shirt. Kate lifted her left leg up and threw it over his hip, pulling their torsos closer together. From this point, she clawed at the back of his shirt until it untucked from his pants. She skimmed her fingers along the edge of his belt before dipping them inside and grabbing onto his ass. She pressed her lips against his ear and breathlessly commanded, "Fuck me, Castle."

His body went immediately rigid. He slowly drew himself up to a standing position and gazed down at her emotionless. "What?" he asked quietly.

"I said, fuck me," she growled, grabbing his ass again. "Fuck me, Rick."

"No." Using his hands against her waist he pushed them apart. Her foot landed back on the ground with a thump and he took two steps back, putting a significant distance between them.

Kate blinked at him for a moment before using her hands to comb her hair out of her face. Her heart still hammering in her chest she demanded, "What did you say?"

He blinked at her slowly. "I said no. You're drunk, Kate. Go to bed." He reached out for the door handle and gently nudged her aside so he could open the door wide enough to slip out. As he did so, he said gently, "See you tomorrow."

A/N: Next update: Saturday May 2nd. :)