Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.
She thought right: he is in love with her. Dizzyingly in love. Overwhelmingly, unexpectedly, spectacularly, magically, never-before-ly, no-holds-barred-ly in love. He's 40 years old. The kind of love that's suffusing his entire system is not only new, but something that he'd long ago given up on ever experiencing.
"I am," he tells Kate, omitting "in love with you" since he's in a public place. "Can you hear the cash register? Cha-ching! I just paid. I'm coming home right now." He ends the call before he says or does anything that might alarm the underage cashier. Or Kate, for that matter. Once he's in the car, he stows the bags of groceries and clothes on the floor in the back and puts the charts—which are now secure in a manila envelope that he'd had in the trunk—on the seat next to him. He can't believe that he'd lost track of time, and he's awash in guilt that she had been worried about him. An eighteen-minute drive back is too damn long. He knows the way now, and there's no one on these back roads, so what the hell. He floors it.
Flooring it in a Ferrari with a V12 engine isn't a flawless idea, especially on an unpaved road. For one thing, the clouds of dust that the wheels leave behind are probably visible in Canada; for another, Castle's doing double the speed limit in thirty seconds. Shortly after that, he hears a pursuer, even though he can't see him. The local cop has hit the siren with such force that it's probably audible in Canada. The neighbors to the north must be mystified.
Castle excoriates himself as he pulls over, hears the trooper shut his car door, and watches him emerge through the dust plume. First, the top of his Smokey-the-Bear hat, then the brim, followed by a jaw that could carve granite, and a pair of epauletted shoulders that are roughly as wide as the car's front axle. By the time the guy's belt buckle looms into view, Castle has his license and registration in his hand and is wheezing slightly from the dust that's swirling through the window that he just rolled down.
The trooper, who looks about 60, probably spent decades perfecting the glare that he's deploying."Pretty quick with your documents there, Mister—" he scrutinizes the license. "Cattle. Mister Cattle."
"Castle. It's Castle." Shut up, you idiot. Don't make this any worse.
"Uh huh." He bends over slightly to give the miscreant a better look at his icy eyes. "Not as quick as you were driving, though. You in some kind of hurry?"
Castle glances at the man's name tag. "Normally I never, ever speed, Sergeant Nelson. It's just, I realized I was really late and my gir—" his what? He was going to call Kate his girlfriend in front of a cop? A cop she undoubtedly knows? Shut up you idiot. Again. "My partner is ticked off because I should have been back two hours ago. You know how that goes, right?"
If the sergeant knows, he's not letting on. "Your partner? You got some kind of love nest up here? Getting away from the wicked city?"
Love nest? This guy must be 100, even if he looks 60 and has the physique of someone half that. Probably never ate a doughnut in his life. Too busy bench pressing. "No! No, absolutely not! Not that kind of partner. Sergeant. She's a detective and I work with her with the NYPD. We're partners. I'm just visiting. Here. Williams. Great, great town you have. Especially the library. Love your library."
Nelson's glare is now accompanied by a tiny tic. "So. You visiting Katie Beckett?"
"That's right." Castle puts on his Sunday-best smile.
"Her dad there?"
"No, Jim went back to work yesterday so I came up."
"He know you're here? Lets you stay there with her alone?"
Is this the way he talks to Alexis's boyfriends? No wonder she gets so mad at him. The difference being that he and Kate are over 21. Consenting adults. Not that she's consented to anything yet. What's with this cop, anyway? Don't say anything else, you idiot. Just answer the question.
"Yes, he does. Gave me his blessing."
Castle is regretting that he hadn't brought The Brothers Karamazov with him. He could have read three more chapters in the time it takes Sergeant Just Say No to Doughnuts to stroll to his car, check the license and registration, and presumably run a background check to make sure that Richard Castle of Sin City, NY, is not a serial killer. He's afraid to call Beckett, for any number of reasons, not the least of which is that Nelson would inevitably return while he was talking to her. She must be apoplectic by now. Wait, he'll text her. That's quick. He stabs a message into his phone.
"Sorry, held up. Be there asap."
Right on cue, Nelson reappears. Agonizingly slowly, he returns the license and registration, and then produces a ticket. "You were going sixty-eight miles an hour."
"Gosh, I'm sorry. I had no idea."
"This is a thirty-five MPH zone, Mister Castle. That's going to cost you one hundred and twenty five dollars. And a point on your license. Payable by Friday or you'll get a court summons."
"Right, again, I'm very sorry. I'll come into town tomorrow and pay it. I will. I'll drive ten miles an hour."
"We frown on dawdlers here, Mister Castle."
"Good to know. Evening, Sergeant."
"Yup." He touches two fingers to the felt brim of his hat, walks purposefully to his car, and waits to watch Castle start his engine and head back down Farm Road Seventy-Eight.
It takes forever to reach the cabin, since he's measuring his trip in seconds rather than minutes. He parks, collects his bags and envelope, and notices that Kate has turned on some of the lights. As he approaches the kitchen door, he's painfully aware of the $125 speeding ticket that's burning in his pocket. His pants might go up in flames. "Kate?" No answer. "Kate?"
Silence. "Beckett?" He drops the groceries and runs to her room. She's not there. Not in the bathroom or her father's room or the porch. Where is she? What if she's fallen somewhere?
The pond. She's gone to the goddamn pond and it's all his fault. If she's swimming…
"Beckett! Kate!"
He finds her standing near the water's edge and she turns halfway towards him. Even in the twilight he can see her eyes glowing. "They're coming back, Castle."
"Who? Who's coming back?" He's so relieved that she's all right that he doesn't care if the entire Canadian Army is marching here to confiscate his car.
"The fireflies. They were almost gone. Because of insecticides. But there have been a few more the last two summers. And then a few minutes ago I saw a whole flock, or whatever you call a group of fireflies."
He makes a mental note to check. A gaggle of geese. A host of sparrows. A party of blue jays. And his favorites: a murmuration of starlings, a descent of woodpeckers, a flamboyance of flamingoes. But fireflies? No idea. "You're right. There were tons when I was a kid, but Alexis? Hardly any."
"Look! See them? Over there?"
He's almost aching with the need to hold her hand, but he won't. Not yet. "I do." He waits a few beats. "I'm sorry I'm so late."
"Let's go in."
That's her reaction? Let's go in? "Okay. You must be starving."
"Not really," she says, walking across the grass to the glowing cabin. "It was a good smoothie."
"That was hours ago."
"You're telling me."
He's trying to be careful, mindful not to crowd her as they go through the door. "I'm going to make pasta. There's a roast chicken in the fridge and I'll put some of that in, and some veggies. It won't take long."
"An hour? Will it take an hour, Castle?"
The firefly honeymoon period is apparently over, and she looks cranky. "No. Twenty minutes, tops. Really. I got caught up looking at a book in the library. Started reading. Oh, I have it with me! I'll show you!"
Kate is clearly stunned. "Did you steal it?"
"What! No! I borrowed it."
"Susanna Cooper let you borrow it?"
"It was her idea."
"You don't have a library card. She is the Dragon of Williams. No way she'd let you take that out."
"She put it on your father's card."
Kate sits down so hard on a kitchen stool that she winces. "You thought you had some 'splainin' to do before? I can't wait to hear this."
So he tells her, omitting nothing except the Nikki Heat bit. By the end she's laughing almost as hard as he and Susanna Cooper had over the "I'll have what she's having" moment.
"You must have been in there a hell of a long time, Castle. I phoned you and you never called back."
She did? Had? He digs his phone out. Damn. Missed call, there it was. "I muted it in the library. I take the Quiet, Please sign very seriously. Forgot to turn it back on until I left Harry Meets Sally and was on the way to the market. I'm sorry."
"What did you do, take the grand tour? I was frantic, you know. I really did think something awful had happened."
Because something awful, beyond awful, had happened to her. She has been hiding that particular anxiety from him and he's racked with guilt. Maybe he should have bought a hair shirt along with those three colorful tees. He's going to have to fess up about the speeding ticket, but that can wait. It dawns on him that the after effects of the shooting and of the pain meds lead to a lot of mood swings, and he has to be mindful of that, too. "No excuse, Kate. I have none. At least I got some stuff to wear. And I can make that chocolate cake."
"Not tonight, Castle. Maybe tomorrow."
She looks disappointed in him. She might as well have buried the paring knife that he's using on the green beans right in the middle of his chest. He swallows hard. "Okay. Tomorrow."
It's past nine when they finally eat. Dinner is quiet, but she seems all right. Not angry, at least. After they're done she stands up. "I'm tired. It's been a really long day. Thanks for the pasta, Castle. It was delicious." She squeezes his shoulder and goes to her room. He feels the heat of her hand for a long time, and tries not to mind that she'd eaten only half her dinner.
He stay in the chair for a long time and finally tidies up the kitchen and decides to read. That's when it hits him. Where is he going to sleep? He feels awkward about taking Jim's room. Formerly her parents' room. No way, no way. He roots around until he finds some linens, a blanket, and a spare pillow, and uses them to make a reasonably comfortable bed out of the sofa. She's right. It's been a long day. A long, very eventful day. He's asleep before he even thinks about washing out his shorts, which is all right because he has three pairs of news ones waiting for him in the bag from Harry Meets Sally.
What is that? He opens one eye, his nose already on high alert. It's coffee. Must be his tee shirt that's reminding him, since he's slept in it. He opens the other eye. It's Kate. Kate is in the kitchen and she's made coffee. Shit, that's his job. He rolls out of bed—sofa—and falls on his face, his foot tangled in the blanket that he must have kicked off during the night. She hasn't heard him, so he steals off to the bathroom, cleans up a little, brushes his teeth. When he emerges he sees two mugs on the little table. She's already sitting in one chair, looking out the window. "Hey," he says.
"Hey, Castle. Made you some coffee."
"I'm supposed to be taking care of you, you know."
"And you're supposed to be sleeping in a bed, not on that sofa. Your foot was sticking off the end. You must have had a horrible night."
"No, it was fine."
"You're sleeping in Dad's bed tonight. No arguments. If you think you need permission, I'll write you a note. Get him to text his approval."
"Okay. Thanks." He takes his first sip of coffee. She'd used the Jamaican Blue with the decaf. Good.
"I'm sorry."
Isn't that his line? "Sorry?"
"I was really crabby last night."
" 's okay. You had reason."
"Not really. You've been nothing but kind."
"We're both sorry. Water under the bridge."
"Okay." She takes another sip from her mug. "So, where's this famous chart you've been yammering about?"
"Oh, that's for me, Beckett, not you."
"What? You're marking off days, chart, chart, chart, and I don't get to see it?"
"Day by day."
"Really."
"Yes. You'll get to see each day's entry on the day."
"Well, the day started eight hours ago. What's the entry? Chop, chop, Castle."
"Hair."
"What's that?"
"Hair. Very simple word. What we both have on our heads, in abundance."
"What about it?"
"It's the first line we're going to cross. The hair line. I know it's impossible for you to wash your hair, so I'm going to do it for you. I'm an expert. Shampooed Alexis's hair until she was eight, got too modest, and kicked me out of the bathroom."
"I'm not getting in the tub with you Castle."
"No need. I will shampoo your hair in the kitchen, at the sink. Fully clothed, less you think I'm going to try any funny business."
"Yeah? You gonna put on any underwear?"
TBC
A/H Happy Fourth of July weekend. To all British readers, sorry we dumped your tea in Boston Harbor in 1773. Hope you've forgiven us.