Author's Note: An important chapter and one which I'm not sure how well it turned out but I will leave that to you all to decide.

The Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 18

After Kate had dropped her dad off at his place, she returned to her own apartment, plunging into housework cleaning her apartment, with a willingness which the chores never usually evoked but today, she rather welcomed the mindless tasks giving her time to think.

Her dad's words replayed in her mind but oddly, what stuck with her was less about what her dad had said than about something he had not said. When he'd described what he hoped she found in a relationship, someone who would make her laugh, who would challenge her, who would support her. Her dad had not said as much but she knew that what he'd meant was that he hoped she would find a relationship like what her parents had had.

Images flickered through her mind, memories of her parents, how happy they had been. She remembered the way they had smiled at each other, remembered the little gestures, the way her mom would rest her hand on her dad's shoulder if she passed behind him when he was sitting on the couch watching a baseball game or drop a kiss on his hair. Remembered the way her dad, who had been an earlier riser than her mom, had always made the coffee and then made sure to set out a mug for her mom when she woke up.

She remembered the first time she had really seen her dad cry, years ago when she'd been very young, maybe 7 or 8, so young that she remembered feeling profoundly shocked and disturbed because at the time, it had never occurred to her childish mind that adults cried. She vaguely remembered that it had been because a good friend of her dad's had been killed in an accident of some kind and she had crept out of her room late at night–she forgot why–and seen her dad crying and her mom holding him, in a way similar to the way her mom had held the young Kate when she had cried.

And she remembered, too, would never forget–the memories carved onto her heart–the way her dad had broken down after her mom had died. From the way he'd swayed and almost collapsed in the morgue when they had gone to identify her mom's body–Kate forcibly shoved that memory from her mind. No, no, she could not think about that. Bad enough to remember the rest of those terrible first days after her mom's death when both she and her dad had operated only by rote, those days when she had felt as if her very skin had been rubbed raw so everything she touched, everything that happened, hurt.

She choked on a sob and pushed the memories away. But then as if trying to depress herself further, she went into her bedroom, her closet, pulling out the photo album of family pictures she kept there.

The album of pictures she'd used to have had been destroyed when her old apartment blew up but one of the first things her dad had done was replace the album, making copies of the pictures which he had. She had thanked him but had not looked through the album as she didn't often look at her family pictures as they hurt too much.

But now, she wanted to see these pictures of her mom during her life. Too often–almost always–what seemed the most important thing about her mom was the fact of her death, too early, so very tragic. But really, Kate reminded herself again, her mom's death might be the least important thing about her mom and what was so much more important than that was everything else her mom had been–her humor, her strength, her vitality, her intelligence. How much and how deeply she had loved and been loved.

Kate opened the album and stilled. The first picture her dad had included was one of her parents' wedding pictures, both her parents looking so young, younger than she could ever really remember them looking, and so heartbreakingly happy.

She thought about what her dad had said, about his own doubts about starting a romantic relationship with her mom, viewing the picture in a somewhat different light, not as the foreordained result of her parents meeting, as she'd always considered it, but the result of her dad taking a chance.

Of course her parents had had their differences. Her mom had never really shared her dad's love of baseball for one thing, although she'd been willing enough to accompany him to games, but going to baseball games had been one activity which her mom had been quite happy to turn into a father-daughter thing. And her dad had not liked going to museums so that was something that she and her mom had done. Her mom had enjoyed fiction, a lot of mysteries, including (notably) Castle's books while her dad was more of a nonfiction reader and had teased her mom about her low-brow reading tastes–just as her dad had always rolled his eyes and promptly retreated to another room muttering whenever her mom had turned on Temptation Lane.

But those were minor things. She could hardly remember her parents fighting. She vaguely remembered a few little tiffs, when one or the other of her parents had been particularly stressed and had snapped at the other, but those had always blown over quickly. Now, as an adult, she guessed her parents must have made an effort to keep any disagreements they had between the two of them and not allowed her to witness them, but as far as her younger self had been concerned, she'd just thought her parents had never really disagreed at all which, she could see now, was a highly unrealistic, idealized vision of their relationship.

But for all that, her parents had been happy together and she'd never for a moment doubted that her parents had loved each other–and her. Which was what had made it so devastating, her entire world being ripped apart, when her mom had died.

Fresh tears welled in her eyes and a tear splashed onto the album that she wiped off before pushing the album off her lap, clamping a hand over her mouth as a sob escaped. She cried for what her dad had lost. She hadn't really considered it before–had been too young and too hurt herself to do so–but now, she could understand better what her dad had lost. His best friend, his confidante, the person he had trusted the most and had turned to first for everything, in the good times and the bad. The love of his life.

And she cried for what she had lost, not only in the person of her mom, but the loss of innocence, the loss of her hopes, her dreams.

She hadn't thought much about it when she'd been young, before her mom had died, but she had always thought–hoped–she would one day find the sort of relationship her parents had had. And then since her mom had died, she hadn't thought of it, had stopped even hoping for it because she'd been so afraid of getting hurt the way her dad had been when her mom had died.

Now… she thought about what her dad had said, that he would be willing even to endure losing her mom again just to have more time with her, that the happiness he'd had with her mom had more than made up for the heartbreak of losing her mom.

Her dad was so brave and so much stronger than she herself had ever been.

If you live life in fear, you'll miss out on so much and I hate to think of you living with regrets and wondering 'what if.'

If her dad had not decided to take the risk and ask her mom out, her dad would have missed out on all those happy years with her mom and she herself would never have been born.

If she stayed where she was, safe–or more accurately, "cabined, cribbed, confined"—she would miss out too. And as her dad had said, she would be left to wonder what if…

She had only pictured out her own vague imagined (nightmare) future of what might happen if she and Castle got together and then broke up.

She wondered, now, what might happen if she and Castle never got together at all, went on as if their three times had never happened–went on as, well, she'd planned for them to do, just as friends and colleagues. But how much longer would Castle keep coming into the precinct if it was only for book research? She couldn't imagine he really needed to do much more research at all for his books. He'd been working with cops for more than a year now so in cop terms, he would no longer be considered a rookie. No, he didn't need to stay for research. It occurred to her, with a twist of her insides, that he wasn't sticking around for research but for her. Oh, she knew he liked working at the precinct too but would he really keep coming back, day in and day out, if it weren't for her? Somehow, she doubted it.

He's besotted with you, her dad had said. He cares about you, Kate, Jordan Shaw had said–but then he had slept with Ellie Monroe almost right after that, a little voice in her mind reminded her. But for the first time, even the thought of Ellie Monroe somehow didn't sound convincing. That had been more than a month ago now and, well, it no longer seemed that important when compared to just about everything else Castle had done, the way he'd acted, since then.

But how much longer would he keep coming into the precinct? He would move on. He was handsome, smart, funny, kind, to say nothing of rich… He could be with any woman he wanted so she had no doubt that he could find someone else, another woman, not just for a meaningless fling but for real. Another Kyra.

She could picture it, see Castle walking off into the sunset with some other woman–well, okay, more like walking off out of the bullpen and out of Kate's life–but still.

And she could picture her own self watching. Feeling a little sick, her insides twisting, even worse than they had when she'd seen the picture of Castle kissing Kyra. Left alone. Again. Still.

She tried but she couldn't really imagine herself finding anyone else, or at least not anyone she could imagine liking or wanting more than Castle. If nothing else, Mark Vogle asking her out had proven that she had other options but she hadn't been interested, could not really imagine being that interested in him or anyone else. She supposed in time she would meet another Will or another Tom, someone nice enough who she could spend some time with, but someone who challenged her the way Castle did, someone who affected her nearly as strongly as Castle did–no, she couldn't imagine it. She'd been with enough men to know that the sort of physical chemistry between her and Castle was rare and for the physical chemistry to also be accompanied by the sort of mental sparks that she and Castle struck off each other would be even rarer than that.

She thought about what her dad had said, thought about the last weekend in the Hamptons with Castle, thought about all the time they'd spent working together in the last year…

Maybe a romantic relationship between her and Castle wouldn't work and all her fears would turn out to be justified…

But it occurred to her too that if she didn't try, she really would end up with regrets, wondering what if, as her dad had said. Did she want to watch Castle give up and walk away with some other woman and know that it was because she had been too scared, too–oh, call it what it is, Kate–cowardly, to go for what she wanted?

She looked down at the photo album, focusing on a picture of her younger self climbing on a jungle gym while her parents looked on. And heard her mom's voice in her mind saying, I'm proud of you for being so brave, my Katie-bug.

She couldn't remember what the context was of her mom saying that to her–what had she done?-but she supposed it didn't really matter. What mattered was if she could still be brave.

And heard her mom's voice again. Remember, Katie, life never delivers anything that we can't handle.

She was tired of being such a coward. More than that, she wanted to be as brave a person as her dad already thought she was, wanted to be the brave version of herself that her mom had been proud of.

Courage was a choice too.

She pushed herself to her feet. She needed to talk to Castle. (Oh god.)

The spurt of adrenaline from making a decision and burgeoning, tentative hope propelled her into her car and took her to the loft.

It wasn't until she was standing outside of Castle's door that it occurred to her that she had no idea what she should say, had no plan for this conversation. And it wasn't as if she was ever good at this sort of personal talk anyway. Oh shit.

Too late now as she had already knocked and then the door opened.

"Beckett!" Castle's expression of surprise collapsed into a frown. "You've been crying!" His hands came up to grip her arms as if to pull her into a hug but he didn't, at least not immediately. "What happened? Is your dad–"

She found herself wishing–absurdly–that she actually did need comfort of that sort so he would hug her–but batted the thought back. "I'm fine," she hurriedly reassured. "Everything's fine. Really. I just… can we talk?"

The concern didn't entirely leave his face, although his frown eased a little, as he stepped back, his hands dropping away. "Of course. Come in."

She managed a small smile as she stepped inside. "Where are Alexis and Martha?"

"Alexis is holed up in her room studying for finals. My mother is out in day-long rehearsals for her new play."

Okay, so Martha was out and Alexis was busy so they were alone.

He waved her further in. "Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything, water, coffee?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

She sank down on the couch and he joined her after a moment, still watching her rather cautiously.

Damn it, she really should have planned out what she was going to say. She was no good at this sort of talk and her heart seemed to have taken up residence in her throat, which was not helping. Oh god, was she really about to do this? Tell Castle that she… what? Deciding to be brave and wanting more with Castle was all fine in theory but actually faced with him, it was harder. Saying the words, vocalizing it, meant that there would be no going back. That would be it, like stepping off a cliff.

Not a comforting analogy.

"Beckett?" he prompted gently.

"I've just been thinking," she blurted out, inanely.

He raised his eyebrows fractionally, a hint of a smile touching his lips as she stopped there. "About? You have more thoughts than just about anyone I've ever met so you're going to have to tell me a little more than that, narrow it down a little."

A faint smile escaped her at this. "I've been thinking about us and I think we should talk."

Something warm and bright flared in his eyes for a moment before he blinked and then it was gone. "About us," he repeated. "You've been doing a great job avoiding talking about us for weeks and now, you want to talk?"

She almost flinched. His tone was almost, but not quite, shaded with a hint of reproach or annoyance, but was more just a statement of fact. But it was indication that her silence, her avoidance, had bothered him more than he'd ever let on.

"I know," she conceded. "I've been… avoiding it. I don't really… open up to people, don't let on what's on my mind."

A faint smile tugged on his lips. "No, really?"

She huffed something that was almost a laugh, this little bit of teasing starting to dissolve some of her tension. Castle was good at that. She suddenly remembered, out of nowhere, what he'd said when she'd been about to interview Dick Coonan, about how he'd based Nikki Heat on her "because she was tall." The absurd answer had made her smile, even at that moment, restored her to herself so she could do her job. That was what Castle was good at, not just making her smile but making her smile when she needed it, when it would comfort, give her just a little bit of extra strength. (She remembered what her dad had said, about finding someone who would support her, in good times and bad.)

"I know, you never would have guessed," she managed to joke. She met his eyes, so deep and so very blue–he really did have the most beautiful eyes, she thought irrelevantly. Her smile faded. "I just… when my mom died…"

He instantly sobered, his eyes and expression softening, one of his hands moving in an almost instinctive impulse as if to reach out and grasp her hand, although he did not actually do so.

"I've been so afraid of getting hurt again. I think I… built up this wall inside me, to protect me, to hide behind," she admitted with a small twist of her lips. "Keep people at a distance. But then I met you and you just… annoyed me so much." He'd annoyed her and maybe because of that, she hadn't quite noticed when he'd snuck past her initial defenses.

His lips curved faintly.

"And then we became friends and these last months of working with you, I've had a really good time."

She looked down, looked at his hands–those hands that had touched every inch of her body–and felt color creeping into her cheeks. She looked up again but wasn't quite able to meet his eyes as she went on. "But I also just… wanted you."

"Beckett, I–"

"Shut up, let me finish," she interrupted him. If he started talking, derailed the conversation in his inimitable way, she wasn't sure when she would next get up the nerve to say all this. Admit all this. As it was, she felt as if she were stumbling forward blindfolded, groping for what to say.

He did, closing his mouth.

"That first night, at the hotel, I thought… well, I figured I would just get it–get you–out of my system."

He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

"It didn't work," she admitted.

An odd sound like a strangled cough escaped him and she narrowed her eyes at him. He'd suppressed a laugh, she knew it. If they weren't talking about her own self, she might have thought it was funny too. She wasn't sure she'd ever been so wrong about anything in her entire life.

"The past couple weeks, since the hotel, and this last weekend in the Hamptons–I've been fooling myself. It's just… I'm not good at relationships. That wall inside me–I don't know if I can take it down but I want to try because I don't think I can have the sort of relationship I want unless I do. And I do want it, a relationship, with you," she finished, not entirely steadily. And then found herself adding, "If you're interested, if you want–"

Her admittedly rather lame, stumbling words were cut off by his mouth as he abruptly tugged her forward and his lips came crashing down on hers. She fell into him, against him, her hands immediately coming up to cup his face as she opened for him, kissed him back, and oh god, she had missed this, missed him. It had only been a week since she'd last kissed him but she was rapidly deciding that she never wanted even one day to go by without kissing Castle. And now, she wouldn't have to. Which made this relationship with Castle seem like the best idea she'd had in a long time.

His hands found her hips, lifting her, until she was on his lap, straddling him.

His lips left hers, moving on to string a series of kisses along her chin and down the line of her neck as her head fell back to allow him greater access.

"Yes," he panted against her skin.

Her thoughts had gone fuzzy with lust so it took her a minute before she even remembered what he was referring to. "Yes, I want that too, everything, with you. It's all I've wanted for weeks."

He grazed his teeth against a sensitive spot on her neck and she gasped, her hips rolling against the growing hardness she could feel in his pants.

And then, distantly, through the rush of blood in her ears, she heard the sound of a door closing upstairs and then the sound of water running, and abruptly remembered that they weren't quite alone. Alexis was still awake and just upstairs.

Castle heard it too because he lifted his head, his breathing fast and uneven.

After a moment, she reluctantly shifted, slid off of his lap and back onto the couch, although she was sitting closer to him than she had been before. Her pulse was still racing, her skin feeling hot. She belatedly realized that her shirt had been disarranged and straightened it out.

He let out a long breath. "I'm suddenly much happier at the thought of having an empty house for most of the summer," he managed, his voice strained but trying to sound light.

She huffed a small laugh, a little thrill of anticipation zipping through her. "You say that now but I give it three days max after you drop Alexis off at Princeton before you start pining for her."

He slanted a smirk at her. "You might be right. I guess you'll just have to find some way to distract me, take my mind off it."

"I guess I will." She pasted on an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression, pretending to think about it. "There's always paperwork," she suggested. "And we could watch movies, have another poker night with the boys."

"Beckett!" he drew her name out with deliberate petulance. "That's mean."

"You should be used to it by now," she flipped back with a smirk.

He faked a sigh. "I guess I am. I don't know why I like you so much."

Her silly heart fluttered at his talking about how much he liked her. (Stupid, what was she, a teenage girl?) "I can't imagine but you are kind of crazy."

He laughed outright. "That explains it, then."

Their eyes met and held as they exchanged grins.

After a moment, he reached out and grasped her hand with his, resting their joined hands on her knee. By now, she was (almost) accustomed to the way even the most simple touch could affect her so strongly but it also felt different, stronger now that she wasn't trying to deny it or resist her reaction to him (although she wouldn't have thought that was possible). She found herself studying their joined hands and oddly, it seemed to sink in that this was really happening. She was in a relationship with Richard Castle. Surreal thought, even now, but for once, she didn't feel nervous about it, more… hopeful. Something about the way they had so easily fallen back into their usual teasing was reassuring; they were still them, still friends as well as lovers (oh lord).

"My dad says thank you for paying for our lunch," she told him.

"Tell him he's very welcome. I liked him."

"He liked you too."

"Really?" Something seemed to pinch inside her chest because he couldn't have looked more surprised or more pleased if someone had just awarded him a Pulitzer. As if he really didn't know that he was hard not to like.

"Yes, really. Consider yourself lucky. My dad was notorious for terrifying the guys I tried to date in high school," she added rather dryly.

"It's because he's quiet," Castle explained authoritatively. "The quiet ones always make you think they're just methodically planning all the different ways to dismember you. It's very effective."

She snickered. "Oh really? Says the man who tried to greet his daughter's prom date with a severed head?"

Castle pretended to frown direfully. "I see Alexis has been telling tales outside of school. Remind me to have a word with her."

"Considering you've spent the last year trying to dig into my life, I think Alexis has a long way to go before she can make us even."

"You trying to find out all my secrets, Beckett?"

"Yes," she smirked at him.

"Alexis is loyal. She won't spill," he tried.

"I'll just ask Martha then."

"She won't tell either, on pain of having all her credit cards cut off."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," she drawled. They both knew that Martha would delight in telling and more, that Castle would never actually cut Martha off. He talked a good game but by now, she knew that he was too loyal and too loving a son to ever act on it.

He huffed. "I'm surrounded by traitors."

"You should talk since you and my dad got so chummy so quickly to make fun of me." She pretended to frown. "I've never seen my dad get along so well with one of my boyfriends."

He abruptly looked delighted. "Did you just refer to me as your boyfriend?"

"Shut up. I didn't mean it like that." She sort of had, but she wasn't about to say that in the face of his smirk. "It just slipped out," she tried.

"But you still said it!" He was all but crowing with glee. "You called me your boyfriend."

"Not for much longer if you keep annoying me," she warned.

He only laughed and leaned forward to give her a quick, smacking kiss on the lips. "That's okay. I'm happy to call you my girlfriend too."

Really, it was unfair of him to look so happy and so… oh fine, adorable, when she was trying to feel annoyed with him. She managed to narrow her eyes at him. "Just so you know, if I read anything calling me your girlfriend on Page Six, I will shoot you."

She'd been kidding, of course, but to her surprise, he winced a little, abruptly looking almost nervous. "What? You know I won't actually shoot you."

His lips quirked slightly at that before he sobered. "It's not that. It's just… I can't exactly promise that you won't see something about us on Page Six. I am somewhat known and I can't control who might see us together and recognize me and then talk to someone about it."

Oh, right. She abruptly remembered–how could she have forgotten?—the little blurb about how Castle was "rumored to be romantically involved" with her months ago, her insides seeming to clench. She had hated it, hated the smirks and teasing jibes she'd received for weeks afterwards, hated the idea that anyone knew, or thought they knew, anything about her personal life–and that was when it had all been false so she could (and had) deny it to any of her co-workers who had dared comment on it to her face (which, thankfully, had not been many). How much worse would it be when she couldn't deny it at all?

Unthinkingly, she leaped to her feet. She wasn't usually a restless person but when she got agitated, she needed to be moving, couldn't just sit quietly. "I hadn't thought of that," she admitted. Which might have been a little silly of her since she had, after all, seen Castle be approached by some fans in the Hamptons just last weekend but she hadn't thought about it, had been thinking only about him, her friend, her partner, the man she wanted. "I don't want to have my private life plastered over the gossip pages."

"I'm sorry! I wish I could promise you it won't happen or control it somehow but I really can't. I can try to contain it but there are limits to what I can do since the press doesn't work for me."

The level of worry, almost edging into desperation, in his voice surprised her and she glanced at him to see that he looked it too, was watching her with… a nervousness that somehow reminded her of the Jack Coonan case, of how he'd looked when she'd shown up at the loft and he'd said he would do anything that she wanted, including nothing, on the case.

The sight, the memory, softened her own apprehension and she sat back down and it was her turn to reach out to curl her fingers around his. He immediately turned his hand to return the clasp.

"I don't blame you for it. I don't like the idea," she went on. She hated the idea of it but she went with the somewhat softer phrasing. "And I don't know if I'll ever feel comfortable with it but I can understand that a certain amount of publicity is part of your life, part of your job, and I can accept that." Even as she said the words, they surprised her a little but it seemed that now that she'd (finally) acknowledged that she wanted a relationship with Castle, she was too invested in the idea, the wanting, to give it up easily. Her stubbornness again, she supposed. And surely, any interest in their relationship would be a ten-days wonder at best, right?

His response to that was a kiss, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek, as he kissed her lingeringly. Most of their kisses until now had been heated, filled with the passion that constantly seemed to be simmering between them, ever ready to explode, but this one was softer, a leisurely exploration of her mouth with his tongue. She sank into him, distantly aware of hearing a soft moan–oh, was that her?—her mind going blissfully blank as all she was aware of was him, his lips and his tongue working over hers.

When he broke off the kiss, drawing back, she found herself leaning forwards, all but chasing his lips, before she belatedly remembered that Alexis was right upstairs. Oh god, she really didn't know how it was that all of his kisses could just wreck her like this.

"You are incredible, you know that?" His voice sounded a little breathless.

"You're not so bad yourself."

He huffed a laugh. "Such flattery."

She raised her eyebrows at him with a little smirk. "Have you met me? When do I ever flatter you?"

He grinned. "Fair point. Never." His smile faded. "It might be one of the things I like best about you."

"You like that I don't flatter you?" She tried to tamp down on the absurd little flutter in her chest.

He gave her a look of surprise as if he'd just announced something obvious. "Yeah, didn't you know?"

How would she have known? "I never really thought about it." She supposed she'd assumed that he'd first just been physically attracted to her and then they had become friends and colleagues but she hadn't stopped to wonder why.

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Well, it is. I'm rich enough and famous enough that almost no one is really honest with me these days, usually just telling me what they think I want to hear." He gave a wry grimace. "Don't get me wrong, it can be kinda fun to have most people going out of their way to be nice to me but it also meant that I got used to not really believing anything people said to me. You were probably the first person I'd met in years who wasn't at all impressed by the money or the fame and let me see that."

She remembered what Alexis had said about Castle not having many real friends and now, Castle was essentially admitting that too. It sounded surprisingly lonely, isolating. Something pinched in her chest. "I'm not the only one, though. The boys don't care or Captain Mongomery or Lanie. Or my dad, for that matter."

He smiled. "You're right, they don't, but aside from Captain Montgomery, they're all people I got to know because of you. It's what I like about being at the precinct, working with you guys. But all that is still because of you, because of Nikki Heat."

"I'm not Nikki Heat," she returned automatically.

"No, you're not," he agreed, "but if it weren't for you, I could never have created her so it is still thanks to you. Just take the credit, Beckett."

She huffed a small laugh at that. "I suppose, if you insist."

"Anyway, that's one of the things I like about you, that you never treated me like a celebrity. That, and your hotness, of course," he added with a wiggle of his eyebrows and one of his usual smirks.

She laughed again. "That one, I'd already guessed," she told him and leaned in to kiss him, intending for it to be brief but she was realizing that a brief kiss with Castle was a very difficult thing, and she ended up lingering, tasting him, enjoying the way he immediately opened for her.

She straightened up reluctantly and then felt a silly little thrill at the way he had to blink a few times before his eyes refocused on her. Knowing that she could have such an effect on him with just a kiss–which was only fair, since he could certainly clear her mind of all thought.

They exchanged small smiles and she belatedly realized that the bubble of emotion in her chest at the moment was hope. Happiness too but also hope. She had thought, worried, that Castle could so easily find someone better, someone who wasn't as complicated, as damaged, but after all, if what he liked about her was that she honestly didn't care about his money or his fame–it might not be quite so easy to find someone else who was so disinterested but that much, at least, she could promise. She was realizing that Castle didn't trust much more easily than she did herself but he did trust her. And she trusted him.

It was a foundation for a relationship–and it was more than enough, for now.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.