Chapter 4

"Hey, Castle."

"Beckett!" Castle recovered some game, not wanting to reveal his total confusion. "What an unexpected surprise."

"Yeah. Um." Which also didn't tell him much, but sounded relatively – well, not unhappy.

"What are you doing?" he oozed, reverting to heated flirtation, which would cover any residual discomfort – and at that distance, wouldn't get him maimed or shot. Probably.

"Flipping my flukes," Beckett flashed back.

Castle chortled. "You remembered?"

"It was only a couple of days ago."

"That's so sweet that you remember what I said" – and then he stopped hard, because after all, he'd said something a lot more important than teasing her about being a mermaid in disguise, and she'd remembered. "Um… what colour are your scales?"

"I thought you'd be more interested in the bikini. You were last time."

For possibly the first time ever, Castle was grateful for a Beckett evasion and her ability to ignore anything that might be meaningful. "I still am. What colour is it, and will you send me a selfie? I want proof that mermaids exist." He could almost hear the roll of her eyes.

"Just kidding," she said sardonically. "No mermaids. No tail. No bikini."

"No clothes?" he suggested.

"Clothes."

"Awwwww." He rapidly stopped that chain of thought as it became – er – constricting. "Anyway, what would you like? Chat? Gossip? Spoilers for the next novel – don't say yes, Gina would kill me. Visits?"

"Chat. Dad's gone fishing."

"And you're bored."

"Yeah. I can't do anything and Dad won't let me anyway," she grumped. "He worries too much."

"It's a dad thing. We're programmed to worry about our daughters."

"Yeah, well. At least I don't have to worry about him now."

"Mmm?"

Beckett stopped. She hadn't meant to say that, but… aarrgh.

"Why were you worried about him?"

Any moment Castle would put two and two together and certainly get an accurate four. Beckett bit the bullet.

"I thought…but I was wrong, okay? It was just apple juice in an old bottle. Just as well I checked before I started on him. He'd have been so upset that I didn't trust him."

Castle kept his mouth very firmly shut. He had a sudden, pinpoint sharp memory of Jim's devastated, terrified face in the ER waiting area. He also had a very healthy respect for Beckett's instincts, and he felt strongly that she must have subconsciously picked up something that made her suspect him. Lastly, he wasn't unaware of all the methods drinkers chose to hide their drinking, and most of them were quite smart enough to switch bottles. At least initially. He parked the problem for the time being, because happy Beckett was much nicer than miserable Beckett, and anyway he liked talking to her a lot more than he'd like her putting the phone down to fret about her father. He decided simply to keep the point at the back of his mind, and, as ever, solved the current problem by reverting to flirtation.

"Well, you're reassured now," he rumbled. "Don't worry about it. Talk to me instead. I'm much less worrying. What shall we talk about?" He paused, briefly. "I know. Where would you like to go for dinner when you get back?"

"What?"

"Dinner. You, me, nice restaurant."

"Remy's."

"No," Castle said, offended. "Somewhere nicer. I wanna take you for dinner, 'cause you never let me drive."

"What has not letting you drive my car got to do with taking me for dinner?"

"You won't let me drive, so you should let me take you for dinner."

"That doesn't make any sense at all."

"It doesn't have to. You just have to tell me what you'd like for dinner. Of course," he added annoyingly, "if you're going to keep falling down stairs then it might need to be something you can eat one handed, and somewhere that doesn't have any stairs."

Beckett gleeped indignantly, which had no effect whatsoever on Castle except to cause snickering.

"Actually, if you only have one working arm that would be an improvement. You couldn't tweak my nose or ears or shoot me."

"If you didn't annoy me I wouldn't have to."

"Beckett, Beckett," he oozed. "I can think of lots of ways I wouldn't be annoying you. But let's start them off with a date. It's traditional."

"Say what?"

"Start with a date. I mean" – he went for broke – "you already kissed me, which is totally the wrong way round since you haven't taken me on a date, so you should make up for your untraditional behaviour by coming on a date with me."

"Why would I want to come on a date with you?"

"Well…" he dropped into a sex-suffused velvety growl, "you would have an excellent meal, during which you'd experience my excellent company, and then I would squire you home – I have excellent manners" – Beckett emitted a muffled squawk which Castle magnificently ignored since he knew his manners were superb – "and…" – she squawked again – "then we could do whatever took your fancy."

"I know exactly what would take my fancy," she husked. Castle stood instantly to attention, as it were. That tone went straight to his groin without bothering to infiltrate his ears. Still, he knew that she'd confuddle him. She always did. "Smooth, rich" – stop it, Beckett, stop that leisurely, lascivious tone right there – "strong" – oh God, surely she would say coffee next – "coffee." She did.

"I can surely manage that." His baser instincts won out. "I like cream" – the twine of his tongue around that should have had him arrested for indecency – "with my coffee. The softness of it on my lips and tongue is unmatchable. I love the sensation of it slipping into my mouth and the taste. I'd be very happy to share…coffee and cream… with you."

There was silence, for a second. "Good," she said briskly, though he was sure she was blushing, which was always adorable. "I'll get creamer from the store."

"And strawberry lip balm."

"What?"

"Well, if you're going to kiss me without any warning again" –

"What?"

"I like strawberry flavour better than mango."

"I never kissed you."

"Did so. What was that back alley all about if it wasn't kissing me?"

"You kissed me first."

"Yep, and you liked it so much that you kissed me back and then pounced on me without so much as an excuse-me." There was an infuriated screech, swiftly cut off. "You could do it again, anytime."

That time the screech was not cut off. "Pounced on you? I did not. If anyone was pouncing it was you. You were the one who stopped me drawing my gun and hauled me against you and kissed me."

"And then you kissed me back. You liked it." There was a thoroughly embarrassed silence. "You did," Castle said smugly. "I knew it." A strangely strangulated noise passed through the connection.

"This is a dumb discussion."

"You mean you agree and you won't admit it."

"No!"

"See, you agreed you won't admit it."

"That's even dumber."

"I really love these painkillers you're on. So far you've agreed to come out to dinner, buy strawberry lip balm, and that you like me kissing you. I'll make a reservation as soon as you tell me when you're coming back to Manhattan. In the meantime…"

Her phone pinged. "…till tomorrow, Beckett." Castle cut the call, and smirked at the e-mail he'd simultaneously sent from his laptop.

Beckett looked at her phone, and squawked again. He'd sent her a kiss emoji. She had a very odd warm sensation in her chest when she looked at it. She also felt much happier. She grinned evilly at her phone, and sent him back a picture of a porcupine, just so that he wouldn't become complacent.

It was all okay. Her fears were groundless, talking to Castle had cheered her up immensely – simply his casual assumption that seeing her in a bikini or indeed without clothes was infinitely attractive had improved her mood – and the sun was warm on her back. Really warm. She could, in fact, sunbathe. She wandered back inside, found a very minimalist tank and skimpy shorts, and disposed herself in the sunshine, turning over occasionally and happily perusing a book.

Castle thought about the heat and humidity of Manhattan with disfavour. He was really quite relieved that Beckett wouldn't be back there soon: he was sure the city summer wouldn't help her heal. Clearly, the best place for him to be was right there in the Hamptons, since he couldn't go to Cherry Ridge Forest. Especially, he couldn't go because he didn't actually know where to go, and there was quite a lot of forest to search. He wished that he'd put find my iPhone on Beckett's phone. Not that that would have been creepy or anything. Much.

He was just about to wander out to his nice warm swimming pool, in which he could waste inordinate lengths of time in contemplating how beautiful Beckett would look there: sleekly soaked and bikini-clad, when his e-mail pinged.

It was a picture of a porcupine, from Beckett. He laughed out loud, and wondered when she'd learned that particular variant on a frat song. Still, she wasn't going to be a porcupine for him. No, no, no. She'd be…mmmm… purring. Soft and lax and purring and snuggly-gorgeous. He wouldn't let her be a porcupine. Well, maybe not all the time. He'd miss it if she stopped snarking and rolling her eyes at his whimsy.

Thinking of whimsy… he searched the web for a few moments, found a picture of Lorelei, and sent it back to Beckett. How to dress for dinner by the pool, he wrote.

She didn't reply, but then, he hadn't expected her to. Besides which, he was several points to the good, starting with the promise of a date and very definitely continuing with the acceptability of kisses. Et cetera. He sauntered out to the pool with a cold drink and some very heated sentiments. His life could only have been better right now if Beckett were there.

Beckett lazily turned over and reluctantly accepted that she'd had enough sun: at least if she didn't want to resemble a boiled lobster. She eased off the lounger and sought out a cold soda, which improved matters.

Right up until she noticed the time. It was already well after six p.m., and her dad wasn't back yet. That was… scary. He'd taken care to be home around five each evening, so that he didn't leave her alone for too long.

To take her mind off it, she first set the table for dinner, and then, when he still hadn't appeared, started to investigate the fridge, freezer and cupboards. (If she'd been at home, she'd have called for pizza.) She ignored the fish. She'd had enough fish already, and whatever Castle might have murmured about mermaids (a little coil of heat wriggled in her stomach) she really didn't want to grow fins and a tail.

She found some chicken and tossed it into a pan to fry: it could cool and then she'd make a salad with it; and tearing up lettuce, chopping radishes and making a spicy satay sauce dressing wasted time and kept her mind off her father's continued absence.

When she had finished, it was after seven. She still didn't hear anything that might be footsteps. She thought for a few seconds, and then hunted out a flashlight. Sunset would be at around eight-thirty, but under the trees it would be gloomy long before that. She could only imagine that her father had fallen asleep again, but just in case (she cringed at what just in case might mean: a fall, a sprain – but not alcohol. It was apple juice. She'd checked) she'd go down the trail towards the pond. It wasn't that far, and there were no problems with her legs. Quite what she would do if her father needed help, she didn't know and didn't consider.

Beckett picked up the torch, automatically put her phone in her pocket, automatically reached for her gun, made a very unpleasant noise as she remembered that she didn't actually have her gun because she was benched and started carefully along the track to the pond. A mile was no distance at all. She could walk it easily. Even if she hadn't walked nearly that far for over a month, how hard could it be?

A third of the way along, she had realised that a mile was only no distance at all if she was in full health and at full fitness. Neither was currently true, and she was already struggling. Five hundred yards was about three hundred more than she'd walked in one stretch since she got there. She sat down in the gloom on the first stump she came to, and tried to think straight.

She considered her already-biting exhaustion, and rapidly concluded that she was not going to make it to the fishing pond and then home again. The real question was whether she was going to make it home from where she was. She had never, ever thought that she was still that weak. That was a huge problem that she would have to address in short order. But there and then, she needed to get home. Both of them being stuck in the woods was a really terrible idea. She pulled out her phone, and tried to ring her father. It went to voicemail.

She hauled herself off the stump and started to trudge home, barely able to pick her feet up. She reached the cabin through sheer, concentrated, vicious will-power, staggered up the steps, and collapsed into the swing seat.

She knew what she had to do. She simply hated that she was going to have to do it: imprisoned by her own weakness. She dialled the number of the state police in Roscoe, and explained. As she had expected, they weren't hugely interested, given that he hadn't been missing for more than a couple of hours, but they told her that the fishing got good when the sun was setting and to call again if he wasn't home by ten. None of it helped her barely-contained panic, and she couldn't even tell them that her father was likely drinking, because she knew it was only apple juice.

It took her another ten minutes to be able to rise and enter the door, and another ten before she could so much as contemplate the salad. That eaten, she stumbled upstairs and fell into bed, cursing her weakness and terrified for her father. She couldn't even sleep: if she weren't far too scared to fall out of consciousness, she had to stay awake till after ten… just in case.

She startled when the door opened.

"Katie? Katie, I'm so sorry" –

It ripped right through her. That was what he had always said – when he sobered up. If he sobered up.

"Dad? What happened? I was worried about you!"

"The fish kept biting – look, I got six!"

Beckett was not interested in the six fish.

"Why didn't you call?" she almost yelled. "I was worried!" She leant on the rail of the stairs. "I thought you were hurt. I even called the police because I couldn't walk far enough to find you."

"I lost track of time," Jim apologised. "It took me a lot longer to walk home in the dark. I didn't have a flashlight."

"You should have called!"

"I forgot my phone," he muttered guiltily. "It's here on the table. You shouldn't have worried."

"Well, I did." She didn't even try to hide her annoyance. "And now you're finally home, I'm going to sleep."

"Don't speak to me like that," Jim snapped.

"Then don't behave like you're fifteen and stay out so late without telling me."

"You're not my parent, Katie. I'm the parent here."

"Then you should be responsible."

She flipped round, would have stomped into her room but realised just in time that doing so would jar her ribs and wounds into full-blown agony, and walked very sedately instead, indulged in slamming her door with a bang, sat down on the bed and thought about screaming in fury.

Instead, she picked up her phone and called Castle.

"Castle," she ripped out, before he could even say hey. "Talk to me."

"What's up?" She sounded furious, but clearly it wasn't with him since she'd called him – why on earth was she calling for the second time in the same day?

"I don't want to talk about that. Talk about something silly."

"Okay." He thought quickly. "I'm in the Hamptons."

"You are?"

"Yeah. What's the point of having a house here if I don't use it? Manhattan is horrible right now. Sticky and ugghhhhhh. So I'm here. Fresh air, sunshine, pool, cold beer, snacks: nearly everything I want."

"Nearly everything? Sounds like everything."

"Not at all," Castle murmured in a velvety baritone. "You should be here too. In a bikini. Flipping your flukes."

"Don't mention freaking fish to me," she half-shrieked.

"Uh? What fish? I thought you were a mermaid."

"Just quit it with the fish."

Castle thought rapidly. Beckett's – well, temper tantrum – was quite unexpected. Unless… oh God, unless her father had done something… dumb. He didn't ask. He'd promised to let her be strong enough, and hard as it was he had to not ask until she told him. "C'mon," he enticed. "Tell me what's up. I wanna story."

Beckett shifted herself on the bed.

"Beckett, are you in bed?" he asked, in a very different tone.

"That's seriously creepy," she snipped.

"Are you?"

"Yeah."

"Oooohhhhh. What are you wearing?"

It simply fell out of his mouth. Beckett seized on the distraction. Distraction was what she badly needed – and wanted.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she husked.

"Oh, so much. Wouldn't you like to tell me?" he murmured smoothly. "You know how much you love winding me up."

"I can wind you up even more if I don't tell you," Beckett flipped back, "and that way I won't be feeding your fantasies."

"My fantasies don't need to be fed, but if you don't tell me, that's okay. I'll just guess instead." He drew in a breath, and Beckett suddenly realised that she'd fallen into a trap that she hadn't seen coming. Castle, it was clear, was about to take full advantage of the opening she'd left him.

Of course, she could simply stop him. She could change the subject. She could tell him not to start. She could even put the phone down on him.

She wasn't going to do any of those things. She had been scared out of her mind by her father, she was still amped up on furious adrenaline, and Castle was about to provide an outlet for the whole tidal wave.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.