Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.
"That's not exactly what happened with the Maginot Line, Kate," Castle says smugly.
"I'm not comparing us to the Germans and French. I'm using it metaphorically. You should appreciate that."
"Well, you're taking some poetic license."
"Another thing I'd have thought you'd appreciate. What with your being a writer of best-selling fiction. In which you have been known to take poetic license with police work." She dabs her mouth with a napkin, folds it daintily, and leaves it next to her plate. "Of course, if the image of storming a fortress doesn't appeal to you, or awaken your creative—hmm—impulses, I'll change the subject." She looks to the ceiling. "Let's see. Speaking of best-selling fiction, would you mind if we made a quick stop at Barnes and Noble? I'd like to pick up a copy of the new Patterson,10th Anniversary, before we head back. It sounds like fun."
"Fun? Fun!" Castle is squawking. "One of those Women's Murder Club books? Are you kidding? Beckett, how can you read that drivel? You're Nikki Heat, for God's sake. Nikki leaves Lindsay Boxer in the dust."
"I dunno about that. They've got a lot in common. Both big-city homicide cops. Smart. Tall." She cups her hands and moves them up and down as if she were weighing something. "Lindsay, Nikki; Nikki, Lindsay. Some people probably mix them up."
His squawking gives way to flapping, as his arms begin to flail and his mouth opens and shuts and opens again, but no words emerge.
The waitress walks quickly to the booth. "Did you need something, sir?"
"I think just the check, please," Kate says cheerfully. "He's fine. We were discussing literature and it got a bit heated. Anyway, he did. Oh, and the cheeseburgers were delicious. Just the way we both like them." She looks at Castle, "Right? And you really loved that cream." Turning to the waitress again, she adds. "He made a point of saying how incredible it was. Very rich. Smooth. Delicious aftertaste."
"No dessert for you, then?"
"Gee, maybe we will. What kind of pie do you have?"
She ticks them off on her fingers. "Blueberry, peach, lemon meringue, banana cream, and cherry."
"Oh, he has a thing for cherries, don't you, Castle?"
He's still speechless.
"Cherry pie for you then, sir?"
He can only nod.
"You don't by any chance have humble pie?" Kate asks.
"Uh, no, sorry. Don't remember our ever having that."
"Too bad, I'd have loved to buy him a piece."
"Anything for you?"
"No, thanks. I'll have just have a bite of his cherry."
Once the waitress is out of earshot, Castle leans forward and says, very seriously. "I think that's my line."
"I thought you might. Excuse me, I'm just going to the ladies room. Be right back."
He's not at all sure he could be trusted behind the wheel of his car, even though he's had no alcohol in his system for days. He's even less sure that he could survive watching her behind the wheel for the next two hours.
The arrival of a succulent slice of cherry pie wakens him from his Ferrari daydream.
"I brought two forks. One for your friend."
"That's very thoughtful, thank you."
"You're welcome. Enjoy."
"Oh, we will."
Kate suddenly slides into the booth again. "We will what, Castle?"
"Enjoy this pie."
She leans over to get a good look. "You didn't ask her to heat it up?"
"I think it's plenty hot enough in here already." He breaks off a corner and raises it to his lips.
"Okay. You know what, though? That looks like a really good fork."
Two half-chewed cherries land on his lap, and he's grateful only that he'd had the wits to put a napkin there. He raises his arm and signals to the waitress, who hurries over.
"I hope there's nothing wrong with the pie?"
"Not at all. It's delicious. I've just realized that I'm running late, so if you could put this in a bag for me to take home and bring the check, too, that would be great."
"Certainly," she says, whisking way the plate and taking off in her New Balances.
"Running late, eh? For what?"
"My date with a cold shower. Which I am requiring with increasing frequency."
"Really? Must be the weather."
"Uh huh."
As soon as they're out the door and walking to the parking garage, he takes her elbow. "Not a word."
"What?"
"Not a word. You cannot say a word on the drive home or I might run off the road."
"I'm not supposed to say anything for two hours? Good thing it's me, Castle. You'd never last fifteen minutes. Unless I bound and gagged you, of course."
"See, that's exactly what I mean."
"You're ordering me not to talk?"
"It's a matter of safety."
"Fine. But since we're not in the car yet I'll just say that I loved that cafe even more on this visit. We should go back some time."
"Yes, we should."
"Sexceptionally good cheeseburgers."
"Shut up, Kate."
"Really, Castle."
They turn left at a concrete pillar. "Thank God, there's the car."
"I thought you picked up some things at the loft," she says, peering through the window.
"I did. They're in the trunk." He opens the passenger-side door. "Please do get in."
"All right. It's a pity I'm not allowed to speak now, though." She bends and sits down on the seat, which still has an extra cushion on it, and smiles up at him as he shuts her door. "I was looking forward to paying you compliments on how you handle a stick shift."
He doesn't get in the car. He's not even standing next to it. Where did he go? She leans forward and sees him walking in the direction of an elevator bank. What the hell? She opens the door and gets out. "Castle!" He doesn't stop. "Castle!" He's still walking, and she knows that she's not fast enough to catch up with him. And then she remembers something, so she opens her bag and pulls something out. Two seconds later the shrill of a police whistle is bouncing off every concrete and metal surface in the garage. She takes some pleasure in seeing him jump slightly and cover his ears before he pivots.
"Where are you going, Castle?"
"To the vending machine. To buy two bottles of cold water, which I intend to pour over me." With that he veers off, and soon after he's walking back, soaked halfway to his waist.
This time she takes pleasure in seeing the wet shirt clinging to his chest. "Feeling better?" she asks chirpily.
"Much."
"Good. That's it from me until we get to the cabin. I'm mute, silent, tight-lipped, hushed, unremarking—don't tell me that's not a word because it's good enough for me and I'm on a roll here—mum, voiceless, quiet, clammed up." She returns to the car, closes the door, and fastens her seat belt.
Castle stashes the remaining half bottle of water in the cup holder and turns to her. "You finished?"
She runs her thumb and index finger across her lips, indicating that they're zipped shut.
"Clammed up was a good one," he says, backing out the parking space. "Maybe because I love clams. Crazy about them. Always have been. Let me tell you some of my favorite recipes."
He does. For twenty-three minutes. She's certain because she timed him. Then he segues into a travelogue of where he has eaten clams and with whom. Another fourteen minutes.
"One time Meredith brought a humongous bowl of raw clams to bed. I asked her why and she said, 'Duh, Ricky, clams are an aphrodisiac.' And she was trying to put one in my mouth but it slipped out and landed on the sheets which were already used, if you know what I mean, so I had to get up and change the bed. I thought that would wreck the mood, but after I ate half a dozen I—"
"Mmmreeekhmm!"
That's a sound he's never heard from her, either. Unlike The Shampoo Moan, it's one he hopes she'll never make again. "The deal was that you'd be quiet until we get to the cabin."
She glares, grabs her phone, and sends a text. His phone pings.
"I can't read that while I'm driving, you know. That would be utterly reckless. So, to continue. Ouch! You pinched me, Beckett."
Her hand is hovering just above his thigh, her thumb and index finger poised to pinch again.
"You don't scare me. I can handle pain. So, Meredith—"
"Mmmreeekhmmaggh!"
That one was unimaginably worse, and he winces sharply. "Withdraw your talons and I'll promise not to keep on with that particular story."
She folds her hands primly on her lap and begins to hum.
The tune is familiar but he can't place it. She hums it over and over and over.
"You going to stop?"
Shake of the head and louder humming.
He sees a sign for a gas station a couple of miles ahead, and pretends to ignore her even when he lets up on the pedal and turns in. He clicks on his messages:
"You told me I couldn't TALK. I'm not talking."
"Ah ha," he says. "Hair splitting. And ear-splitting, I may add. Those noises, I mean, not the humming."
She begins texting again. "It's not hair splitting. You specified no talking."
"Good thing you're not a lawyer."
She glares again. Because she knows his tells, she knows that the humming is driving him crazy, probably because he's trying to remember what the song is. He gets a little twitch at the corner of his right eye when he's trying to retrieve a memory. She steps up the humming.
"Okay, okay, okay!" He jams his hands on the sides of his face. "Sing the freaking song. I admit that I didn't specify no singing."
She hums a few more bars before stopping and raising one eyebrow.
"Please, please, please sing the song, Kate."
"Do the clam, do the clam.
Grab your barefoot baby
Turn and tease, hug and squeeze
Dig right in and do the clam."
When she finishes, she types another text, and assumes a blank expression. His phone pings.
"I hope you're identifying this ditty for me," he says before he calls up the message.
"So tell me, Castle, which would you rather do, the clam or Meredith?"
He laughs so hard he's afraid that he's pulled a stomach muscle. "You win. I lift the embargo, and now I'm going to look up that song." A few moments later he says, "Oh, from an old Elvis movie Girl Crazy."
"Surprised you didn't know the song, Castle."
"Never seen that, believe it or not."
She puts her open hand to her chest in the universal sign of amazement. "Really? Now there's a cultural lacuna that need closing."
"You know what?"
She'll wait for him to answer his own question.
"Maybe I'm the one who shouldn't say anything until we get to the cabin."
"Maybe we can both be quiet, then. Just reflect on our own."
"Good idea." He turns the key in the ignition.
"Wait! Aren't you going to get gas?"
"No, don't really need it."
"I think you owe it to Kevin."
"Kevin? Ryan?"
"No, the kid who's been ogling this car since you drove in here. I can see his name on his work shirt. He's drooling on it."
"You're right." He pulls up to the pump and they both watch the teenager try to look uninterested as he approaches the Ferrari.
"C'n I help you?"
"The tank could use some topping up, please." Kate's elbow pokes him in the side. "Oh, and if you wouldn't mind checking the oil?"
"Sure. Will do."
"Nice, Castle."
"Thanks for the not-so-gentle hint."
"You're welcome."
The boy eventually reappears. "What do I owe you, Kevin?"
"Twelve sixty-one. Oh, and the oil was good."
Castle hands him a hundred-dollar bill. "Here you go."
"I'll get your change. Um, nice ride you got. Really nice."
"Thanks. And Kevin? I appreciate a guy who knows his cars. Keep the change. Please."
He takes off before Kevin can respond.
"That was nice, too, Castle."
"Worth it to see the kid's expression."
"Which do you think meant more to him, the car or the eighty-seven thirty-nine tip?"
"Oh the car. No question. I was a sixteen-year-old boy once."
"Still are, sometimes."
When they get to the cabin they park at the back door. "Doesn't it feel as though we've been gone for ages?" she asks, stretching after she stands up, and breathing in the clean air. "Don't forget your bag in the trunk."
"Right," he says.
She precedes him into the kitchen and turns around when she hears wheels on the bare floor and sees his luggage. "A few things? That's a few things? You have two suitcases, one the size of Smart car."
"Well," he says softly. "I was kind of hoping that you'd invite me to spend the whole summer."
TBC
A/N Thank you all, from broiling hot NYC