Author's Note: Another step forward…

The Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 29

Kate drifted back to consciousness and blinked her eyes open to squint muzzily at the clock on the nightstand to see that it was not quite 8 in the morning, which was later than she usually slept but also far earlier than she actually needed to be awake since she was on vacation.

Castle appeared to have shifted as his arm was no longer around her so it was easier for her to turn onto her other side and face him to see that he was lying on his back, still sleeping soundly, one arm flung above his head. As usual, he looked younger in sleep, even in spite of the stubble darkening his cheeks and chin.

Warmth welled up inside her as she studied him, his so-familiar features. She loved him. The knowledge, the certainty of it, darted straight from her heart to her mind. She had admitted that she was falling for him but that wasn't it. It had already happened, past tense. She had fallen in love with him. Loved him for his humor, his cleverness, his strength and his gentleness, loved him for the way he believed in her and listened to her.

What she felt for him was so much deeper, so much more, than what she'd felt for anyone, not even Will and she had started to think she could love Will–and then he'd told her he was moving to Boston. Now, she knew that however much she had cared for Will, she hadn't loved him. Certainly not as she loved Castle.

She loved Castle and–if her dad was to be believed (and after all the ways that Castle had shown her how he felt, she thought her dad had to be right)—Castle loved her.

Amazing as that still somehow seemed. That he, who was such an optimist, so incurably hopeful, could really have fallen for someone as reserved and prickly and wounded as she was.

She abruptly wanted to do something for him, to show him, since she did not think she had the words to tell him how she felt, not yet. And all that came to mind was coffee. Coffee was theirs and, as he'd jokingly said just weeks ago, he liked her for making him coffee on occasion.

She carefully slid out of bed, retrieving Castle's t-shirt from yesterday and shrugging it on since she could not feel comfortable traipsing through Castle's house naked, even knowing the house was empty aside from the two of them and it wasn't as if there were any neighbors close enough to see anything.

She started the coffee maker and turned away to look out over the backyard and the waters of the bay beyond, noting that it looked like it was going to be another beautiful day. The skies were clear and blue with just a handful of clouds and the sun was sparkling off the waters of the bay that were just a few shades darker than Castle's eyes right now.

Her mom would have loved it out here. The thought darted into her mind, bringing with it a swift stab of grief–and more, fear.

Because the thought of her mom was also accompanied by the memory of loss, the reminder of how devastating it was to lose a loved one.

She inwardly flinched a little. It was… terrifying to love someone. She of all people knew that love wasn't enough to protect people, could not keep out tragedy and loss. She'd never wanted to hurt like that again, never wanted to risk hurting like that again.

With Will, it had been easier, thinking she could love him, because even so, it had been a milder feeling. Her feelings for him had been tempered, in her control. Will had been safe, even though she had never thought it in so many words back then, had not consciously recognized it back then. Safe because she had somehow sensed that her feelings for Will would only ever go so deep but no further than that. She had liked him, cared about him, enjoyed spending time with him–but she had somehow known that she didn't need him, that her happiness was not bound up in him.

Castle was different, had always been different. He had gotten under her skin from the beginning, when even when she'd wanted to dislike him, she had still been attracted to him. And she had never been able to dislike him either, even if she had rather wanted to. No, from the beginning, Castle had made her feel things she didn't want to feel, made her want things–him–she didn't want to want.

Maybe–she doubted this had ever been possible–but just maybe, if she'd been able to resist her physical attraction to him, if she'd never embarked on her idiotic plan to have a one-night stand with him–this might not have happened. But then again, she didn't really believe that. Because she hadn't fallen in love with Castle because of the sex, no matter how incredible it was. If it had just been sex, she would have managed, could have resisted him. But as she'd admitted to him just the night before, it never had just been sex, not even for her. No, her plans had been wrecked not because of the sex but because of everything else about Castle she hadn't been able to resist–the way he made her laugh, the way he cared, the way they worked so well together, the way he treated his family.

She was starting to think she might have been doomed from the moment Castle had started to shadow her because she couldn't really imagine spending so much time with Castle, getting to know the real him, and not falling for him.

And now, here she was. Completely, irrevocably in love. She might not have been in love before but she knew herself well enough to know that she wasn't the kind of person who could ever love lightly. No, in this too, she suspected she would take after her dad, who loved once and forever.

Oh god. If love was always so terrifying, she wasn't sure she wanted it but it was too late now. Out of nowhere, she suddenly thought of the quote from the Tom Stoppard play, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, "There must have been a moment, at the beginning, where we could have said– no. But somehow we missed it." That was true. There might have been a moment where she could have resisted, turned away. Maybe if she'd, oh, never let Castle back into the precinct after he'd looked into her mom's case last summer. (But she couldn't bring herself to regret that. How could she when she thought of how much… better, even fun, he had made this last year of working together?)

Or maybe if she'd just gone ahead with a relationship with Tom, tried to make herself want him more or something. She made a small face. Okay, maybe not that because whatever else, it would still not have been fair to Tom, who deserved better than to be with someone who would have to try to force herself to like him, want him–and being with Tom, while it would have kept her from doing anything about it, wouldn't have prevented her from falling for Castle. Emotions weren't that controllable.

And it didn't matter anyway. F'ait accompli. She was in love with Castle, full stop, too late to go back so all she could do was go forward. As her dad had put it, she had to go forward with hope and trust.

Well, at least the trust part was easier because she did trust Castle.

She was startled out of her reverie as the coffee maker emitted the beeping sound that indicated it had finished and she busied herself preparing coffees, one for her and one for him, pushing aside any further fruitless musings. For now, she was on vacation in a beautiful house in an equally beautiful location with the man she loved–and that was more than enough.

She padded quickly back upstairs to their bedroom–oh lord, when had she started to think of it as already being theirs?—and smiled a little as she saw that Castle was still asleep. He really was taking this being-on-vacation thing to heart. She knew, after the last couple weeks, that he was usually a relatively early riser, probably going back to the days when Alexis had been much younger and waking up early, although these days with Alexis as a teen who liked sleeping in herself, he indulged himself with sleeping in when he could. Also, to be fair, they had been up until rather late christening his bed, as it were.

She set both mugs of coffee on the nightstand on her side of the bed before carefully slipping back into bed beside him. He had pushed the covers down so most of his chest was visible and she was immediately distracted–what, she was allowed to look. Better than that, she was allowed to touch too. She slid down until she could tuck herself against his side, the solid warmth of him, one arm going around him. He stirred slightly but didn't wake, only shifted his head towards her. Welcoming her touch even in sleep.

She didn't–she honestly didn't–intend to do anything more but the expanse of his broad chest and stomach was beguiling and after a while, her hand started to stray, first in small sweeping brushes and then, as sparks of desire kindled and flared inside her, with more intent. It was irresistible, this free access to his body, like a feast spread out for her. And it was so very good to know him like this, to know the shape of his body, the scent of him, the feel and taste of his skin (although the tasting would wait until he was awake). For now…

She traced and explored the now-familiar topography of his chest and stomach and then let her hand wander further south as he mumbled something that sounded like her name. She glanced up but his eyes remained closed. Her hand first brushed then closed around the part of his body that was very definitely awake and, ahem, eager for attention. She stroked once and then his eyes flew open on a little jerk as he stared.

"Beckett," he groaned, his voice husky from a combination of disuse and arousal.

She smiled a little. "Morning, Castle."

After that, her mouth was busy with… other things so she didn't say anything more and neither did he, unless the string of incoherent sounds and moans counted. And on the nightstand, both their coffees grew cold.

It was much later, the morning well advanced, by the time they emerged from the bedroom. Kate had dozed briefly after Castle had amply shown his appreciation for her morning wake-up call and now she was fully awake and in need of coffee.

She had felt herself flushing a little when Castle had finally noticed the long-forgotten mugs and quirked an eyebrow at her. "Shut up. I didn't hear you complaining."

He promptly straightened out his expression. "No complaints here," he affirmed. "I'm just surprised you lasted this long without coffee. I always thought you might turn into some sort of alien if you went without coffee this late into the morning."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't be ridiculous. Shape-shifting isn't real."

"No? Maybe it's some sort of hologram, a really effective illusion like a glamour." And so on. He prattled on the entire way down the stairs about various other supernatural or sci-fi possibilities for changing one's appearance (she was a witch or Mystique from the X-men or or or) while she rolled her eyes and made the occasional scoffing noise. Really, she didn't know how she wasn't annoyed at him for his reverting back to silliness but somehow, at least this morning, she wasn't, could not be.

She made a fresh pot of coffee while he scrounged in the refrigerator for the makings for breakfast, or brunch rather considering the hour, eventually settling on omelets as well as fresh fruit, with her pitching in to help with the fruit.

By now, after the last days (weeks) at the loft, it had started to seem very normal to work together in the kitchen as he had slowly softened his stance on her helping out. She'd never had a relationship that had so quickly and so easily become, well, domestic like this but then again, nothing about her relationship with Castle was really following the outlines of any of her past relationships.

Aside from anything else, Will had not been comfortable in the kitchen and at the time, they had both been too busy to do much more than takeout and delivery as it was. But there had been a few mornings when they hadn't needed to rush to get into work but even so, making coffee and toast had been about the extent of Will's culinary abilities. Funny, it had never occurred to her how much she would like this sort of domesticity, sharing a kitchen like this, but she did, the occasional hip checks one would give the other, the way he sometimes paused to drop a kiss on her hair in passing, hearing Castle's absent-minded humming as he worked.

She set the table and set out the fruit while Castle made the omelets.

"Say, Beckett, what do you say we go out for dinner tonight? I could make a reservation somewhere."

She pretended to think about it. "Okay, but only on condition that I get to drive the Ferrari again."

He shot her a look of mock dismay. "But you won't even know exactly where we're going!"

"I assume you'll be able to provide directions, though, won't you?"

"Well, yes." He affected a sigh. "You drive a hard bargain, Detective, but fine. You get to drive the Ferrari and I get a date with you."

"I think I'm getting the better end of this bargain but I can accept that," she quipped.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. It means I get to watch you driving the Ferrari."

"Such a voyeur. You know, staring is still creepy."

"Admit it, you like it when I watch you."

"I'm used to you watching me at work and elsewhere, that doesn't mean I like it," she corrected. Untruthfully.

He pretended to pout but all he said was, "The omelets are ready."

She gave him a quick kiss as she came to get her omelet, partly as a thanks and mostly just because she wanted to.

They didn't talk much over brunch since they were both hungry but the silence was comfortable too, interspersed with occasional smiling glances. Afterwards, they again worked together to clean up the detritus of brunch.

When they were finished, Kate turned to Castle as he was wiping his hands and suggested, "Why don't you work on your edits for a little while?"

He blinked, turning a rather surprised look on her. "But what about you?"

"I'm not a five year old, Castle. I don't need constant supervision or entertainment. Besides, you already told me you would need to work on your edits while we were out here."

"Well, yeah, but I guess I was sort of assuming I'd work while you were sleeping or something."

"And you would sleep when?"

He shrugged as if to say it didn't matter if or when he slept.

"Don't be silly. Go work on your edits. I was thinking I'd just like to sit outside and read for a while anyway. Plus I haven't had a chance to read the latest Michael Connelly yet and that's a positive tragedy," she added teasingly.

He pretended to scowl but then responded in a tone of someone making a great concession, "I'll allow it but only because I know you've already read all of my books and come to one of my book signings when you haven't gone to any of Connelly's."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Yeah, he was really never going to stop mentioning the fact that she'd gone to one of his book signings before. "Remind me to buy a muzzle for my dad."

"I'm pretty sure that would be illegal. And anyway, there's always texts. I have your dad's number now, remember?"

"I should never have allowed you to meet my dad," she muttered in mock disgruntlement.

"Too late now," he returned far too cheerfully, considering it was her embarrassment at stake.

"Don't you have edits to work on?" she tried.

He held up his hands. "I'm going, I'm going."

He suited action to the words and retreated into his office while she followed him only to retrieve a book, ostentatiously grabbing the latest Connelly before leaving him to his edits.

Armed with the book and a second cup of coffee, she went outside, settling on one of the Adirondack chairs to read luxuriously. While she might have teased Castle by deliberately picking one of Connelly's books, it truly was nice to have some time to read without fear of interruption and with the added benefit of the sun and the view.

She read for some time, until long after she'd finished her cup of coffee, until she eventually returned inside to put her mug away. She heard the faint sound of typing from Castle's office and, drawn by it, padded quietly over to where she could just see Castle seated at his desk but would not be immediately in his line of sight unless he happened to look directly towards her. Which did not seem likely considering how intently he appeared to be concentrating.

It occurred to her with a vague sense of surprise that although Castle had obviously spent the last year watching her work, she had not yet seen him at his work and the sight was unexpectedly fascinating. It was in the way his expressions changed depending on how he felt over what he was writing, the faint frowns when he was momentarily stumped, the little twist of his lips when he was considering a certain turn of phrase or whatever (an expression she recognized), the curve of his lips when inspiration struck. It was also something about the intensity of his focus that was oddly… attractive, sexy even. Maybe because his expression of concentration was similar to the way he looked in bed, when he looked at her as if she was the center of the universe, as if he had no other wish in life but to give her pleasure.

She bit her lip and hurried away from her spot, retreating into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of cold water and then back outside to plunge back into her book. She wasn't a believer in self-torture and allowing her thoughts to dwell on Castle and the way he looked when he touched her was not helpful, not when she flatly refused to do anything to interrupt him at his work. They had tonight and until then, she wouldn't think about it.

Castle worked on his edits for a few hours before eventually emerging to suggest that they spend the rest of the afternoon until they needed to leave for dinner at the beach, a suggestion to which she readily acquiesced.

On the beach, they spent some time in the water and then at Castle's insistence, in keeping with his tradition, worked together to build a sand sculpture of a giraffe, her suggestion, which he duly took a picture of and sent to Alexis. After the last visit to the Hamptons, she was no longer quite so surprised to find herself engaging in such a childish activity. And it was fun. Even without Alexis present, with Castle there, she found spurts of mischief and playfulness, parts of her that had been deeply submerged for more than a decade now, emerging, allowing her to fall in with Castle's own brand of silliness.

They returned to the house only in time to shower and change for their dinner date, Kate deliberately using the guest room she had stayed in the last time to change, telling Castle she wanted to surprise him. If he assumed she was referring to her dress, well, that was all for the better, since her actual goal was to change into the skimpy underwear she had brought with just this scenario in mind.

She felt a spike of pure feminine triumph when Castle froze and stared at the first sight of her in a dress of dark green with an asymmetrical hemline starting at above her knees in the front and then falling to just above mid-calf in the back and short flutter sleeves.

"You–wow," was all he managed.

She smiled. And he didn't have any idea what she was wearing underneath her dress either. "You look pretty good yourself." Understatement since Castle looked as attractive as he always did when he was wearing one of his nice suits and a button-down in a shade of maroon that emphasized his eyes. She paused in front of him to flick an imaginary speck of lint from his jacket, an excuse to touch his chest. "Keys?"

"Huh?"

"You did say I could drive, didn't you?" She couldn't help but thrill a little at how she could reduce Richard Castle, playboy man-about-town to incoherence.

"Oh, right, yeah," he answered, reaching into his jacket and handing her the keys to the Ferrari.

As promised, she drove, mostly sedately since they weren't driving on the highway but through the smaller local streets, while Castle directed her one town over to what proved to be a discreetly elegant restaurant overlooking the water.

Knowing him as she did, she was no longer surprised that Castle's choice of restaurants was not a flashy one, not a celebrity hang-out, but a quieter place of simple elegance, the sort of place she could see herself becoming accustomed to (and getting very spoiled by). It was probably just as well that she was sure they would also continue to go to places like Remy's or she really might start to struggle to adjust to her usual weekday reality of a utilitarian and rather grimy precinct.

Predictably, too, the food was delicious, as was the wine Castle ordered for them both, and dinner passed easily as they chatted lightly with their usual back and forth of teasing and smiles and laughter.

Afterwards, Castle suggested they go for a walk along the pier. A brisk breeze had blown up now that the sun had gone down and Castle shrugged out of his jacket, draping it around her shoulders and then sliding his arm around her waist. She leaned into him, partly for warmth and mostly just because she wanted to, liked the closeness with him.

Their steps were slow, idle, as they strolled down the pier, occasionally pointing out cute or funny names for the boats but otherwise not talking much.

They were nearing the end of the pier when Castle broke the brief silence that had fallen by saying, somewhat abruptly, "Thank you for today."

She blinked. What had she done to be thanked? His tone, his expression, were too serious for him to be referring to the way she had woken him up that morning. She opted for humor rather than confusion. "Well, it is a hardship to be taken out to a nice dinner by a handsome man but I survived it, martyr that I am."

He huffed a brief laugh. "Cute, Beckett, but that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"I meant for the way you let me work on my edits and then just left me alone until I was done for the day."

Which was nice but still not something she needed to be thanked for. "What else was I supposed to do? You already told me you'd need to work on your edits while we were out here and it just made sense."

He paused, turning to face her. "Still, it's different, the way you understood, even pushed me to do what I needed to do, without batting an eye or any complaints about how we're on vacation and I'm neglecting you or anything." He hesitated and then added, "I haven't really had that before."

Oh. She was starting to understand but really? "But it's your job. Why would I, or anyone else, give you a hard time for doing your job?"

He made a small face. "You'd be surprised. The fun part of my job, the publicity parts, the book signings, the media events, the book launch parties, sure, everyone is happy to hear about and accompany me to that sort of thing. But the rest of my job, the part that just involves sitting at a desk and typing, no one has really cared about that part. At least," he hesitated almost imperceptibly before finishing, "not since Kyra."

Oh, right, Kyra, his former love. Kate felt a little twinge that she quickly squashed. Kyra was happily married now and after all, she had said to Kate as she was leaving the precinct that day, he's all yours. She bit back a smile, a little flicker of amusement. Kyra had been right, even if Kate hadn't been at all willing to admit as much then.

"I mean, even I have to admit that it's not always easy, to be around someone like me who spends a lot of time in a fictional world. As a rule, people don't like playing second fiddle to fictional characters."

"I don't know about that, Castle. I've spent quite a bit of time with you and I think the only times I've gotten annoyed with you for spending time in a fictional world is when you're spouting one of your crazy theories," she teased mildly.

"Hey, my theories are helpful, most of the time!" he feigned offense.

"Remind me again, how many cases involving alien abductions or CIA conspiracies have we actually worked on? Five, ten–oh right, I remember now, zero."

"Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean it never will happen. It's still possible."

"I won't hold my breath waiting on that," she drawled but then sobered, studying him. Had the women he'd dated really been so unsupportive? She supposed, from what she knew about Meredith, it wasn't that surprising to think that Meredith, at least, might not have liked being left on her own while Castle wrote, but the other women?

"What about Gina?" she asked abruptly. "She was your editor; surely she understood and supported you when you needed to work." She hadn't exactly intended to bring up the subject of Gina, not on a date, even if she was curious to know more about their relationship but considering the subject, she had to ask.

"Right, Gina," his lips twisted slightly. "She did, yes, but you have to understand that she's a businesswoman to her toes. She always made it clear that she was invested in my career, which was fine, but sometimes, it didn't feel as if she was being supportive of me for my own sake, more because it was her job, if that makes sense."

"I think I understand," she said slowly. "Her support didn't seem disinterested."

He made a small face. "It seemed as if even when we were married, she was my editor first and my wife second. Maybe it was petty or self-centered of me but it bothered me. Too often, it seemed like she was thinking more about the bottom line, the business side, even when it came to things that I thought should just be personal. She didn't even like going to dinner at places like this," he gestured back towards the restaurant where they'd just eaten, "preferred to go to the flashier places where people go to see and be seen on the off-chance we'd run into useful contacts or just be mentioned in the gossip columns which tends to boost sales. Our wedding was this big production, media attention and all, because she wanted it that way, even though I didn't like the idea of exposing Alexis to all that." He paused, then went on, his voice lower. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying it was all mercenary and Gina did care about me, probably even loved me in her way, at least at the time, but after a while, it just… wasn't enough."

She reached out and took his hand. "You don't have to tell me any more if it bothers you so much." It did bother him; she could see that in his shadowed expression. It wasn't quite as visceral or as deep as his upset over Meredith's attitude towards Alexis had been but she supposed that was understandable.

He grimaced. "I don't like knowing that I failed at marriage twice but it was a pretty important part of my past so you have a right to know. Anyway, that's basically all there is to tell. By the end, we both agreed it wasn't working and got divorced, went back to just working together."

"It wasn't too awkward, to have her be your editor after you got divorced?" she ventured cautiously. That was the part she found it harder to imagine.

He made a small considering face. "Not as much as you might think and any awkwardness didn't last that long, which I guess says more about what our personal relationship was like than our professional one. It did help that shortly after the divorce, Gina was promoted so she wasn't my actual editor, more my new editor's supervisor, as it were, managing the small team of people who work together to get my books published. It means we don't have to work together as closely on a daily basis anymore."

"She's just the one who reminds you about your deadlines?"

"Yeah, she pretty much kept the nagging part of the job to herself so that part never really changed," he observed wryly.

"Thanks for telling me. How did your editing today go?"

"Pretty well. I got through a few chapters of edits so at this rate, I should even be on track to finish the edits on time, which might give Gina a heart attack."

"I watched you work for a little while. It was interesting, to see you so serious and focused."

He quirked his eyebrows at her teasingly. "I have it on good authority that staring is creepy."

She nudged him for that. "Says the man who's spent the last year watching me work. Tit for tat."

He affected a sigh. "Must you always be right?"

She laughed softly, tipping her head forward to briefly rest it against his shoulder. He of all people knew that she was not always right.

"Say, Beckett," he began with a change in tone, "if we're on the subject of our ex-es, can I ask you something?"

Had he somehow sensed her thought about not always being right since her last most obvious mistake had to do with the start of their relationship? "Okay," she agreed, just a touch cautiously. It might not be fair, considering how open he had just been, but talking about her personal life was not the easiest thing for her, not even now, not even with him. And if he asked about Will, it would stray too close to what she'd realized just that morning about her feelings for Castle compared to what she had once felt for Will.

"What happened with Demming?"

She blinked. That was an easier one but not at all what she'd been expecting. "I'm not sure Tom even counts as an ex considering I only kissed him once."

She was half-expecting him to crack some sort of joke about Tom being a bad kisser but he didn't.

"There's nothing to tell, really. I ended it before that night at the hotel, that's all."

He bent a look on her as if she'd just announced what year it was. "I knew that much already. If you hadn't, you'd never have suggested that night and if I hadn't known that for sure, I'd never have agreed either."

She was oddly almost touched at his utter certainty that she wouldn't cheat, as if it was as immutable as the law of gravity.

"What I meant was, what made you decide to break up so quickly? From all I saw, Demming was well on his way to being head over heels and you seemed to like him too." A frown clouded his expression and it occurred to her with a little pang that it had really bothered him to see her with Tom. It hadn't just been the usual male egotism that had led to his posturing and rivalry with Tom during the Blake Wilder case. He had already cared… She supposed she should have known, realized, but she hadn't quite thought that far.

She shifted just the last little step closer to him, grasping one of his hands in both of hers. "You're right. I knew he really liked me so my vanity was flattered but I realized that I didn't like him enough, not like that, and it wasn't fair to him to go on pretending I did."

"I hope he wasn't too crushed," he commented, not entirely sincerely.

She narrowed her eyes a little but her realization that watching her flirt with Tom had wounded him stopped any words and instead, prodded her to make an admission she might regret in future considering she was quite sure he would gloat about it. "Kissing Tom was fine but… bland. Nothing like this." She rose up just enough to press her lips to his and as always, heat and passion flared up between them as he responded immediately, lips and tongue claiming hers. She hadn't been wrong; this was all that her single kiss with Tom had not been, could never have been. This was what she could never get enough of.

More, the wispy thought drifted through her mind but was then forgotten as all thoughts vanished, caught up in his kiss as always, this–being with Castle like this–was what she wanted for the rest of her life.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers, especially the guests whom I can't thank directly.