A Daisy for Everafter

"You're not getting any younger."

Lanie walks out of Beckett's closet, a pair of strappy heels hooked around her fingers.

"So I need to 'climb him like a tree' because my biological clock is ticking?" Beckett huffs.

"I'm just saying you deserve to get laid," her best friend says. The medical examiner was helping her get ready, thrilled to have an excuse to escape her colicky four month-old for a couple hours. "If you don't jump his bones, someone else will. Hell, I'll volunteer."

"I don't think Javi would appreciate that," Beckett laughs.

Esposito had finally confessed his feelings, but Lanie wasn't sure if she could trust him yet, hesitant to believe he was truly committed. He'd been stepping up lately, really showing up in ways that mattered, and they were taking it day-by-day. Angela came first and foremost.

"Until I see a ring, I'm a free woman," the medical examiner proclaims with a chuckle. "But seriously, how long do you think Writer Boy is gonna follow you around like some lovesick puppy?"

"It's not like that," Beckett protests, sweeping her caramel curls over one shoulder and pinning them in place. "We're friends. And this is just one friend helping out another."

Lanie scoffs. "Girl, I'm gonna smack you! You work side-by-side every day. You're over at his place all the time. And he writes a sex scene in his book about you that had me reaching for ice water. I mean, if you don't feel the same way, at least put him out of his misery. And me, for that matter. I've lost a lot of money on you two."

"Sorry, what? Sex scene?"

"He sent us advance copies. You didn't get yours?"

Kate thinks of her kitchen counter and the pile of unopened mail, recalling a medium lump-sized package protruding from the bottom of the stack.

"Hold on."

She rushes out of the room, her robe trailing out behind her. She knocks the mail away and unearths the package addressed to her from his publishing company, White Knight. She tears the brown paper away to reveal a book. If you could call it that. It was more like a report—bound by a black spiral spine and there was no real cover. Just a title page, watermarked with her last name.

"Frostbite?" she reads aloud.

"It's a good read," Lanie says, entering the living room. "Real gift with the details of death."

"You liked it?"

"Oh, yeah. I especially liked the relationship between Gemma Frost and Nicholas Bishop, the intrepid journalist who tags along on her cases."

"You're kidding," she deadpans. "He inserted himself into the story?"

"He certainly inserted something," Lanie says with a sly smile. "I think the page you're looking for is one-oh-seven."

Beckett makes a face at her friend before quickly flipping to the offending number, her eyes rapidly scanning the text, where she reads about Gemma and Nick getting stuck in a snowstorm while chasing down a lead upstate, how they shelter in an abandoned cabin they come across, and how the only things they have to keep warm is a half a bottle of vodka and a few wool blankets.

Until Gemma proposes another way of generating some heat.

"Oh my god. Oh my god."

"Steamy, right?"

"How can you say that? This is—I don't even know what to call it."

"Verbal masturbation?"

Beckett can only stare, speechless.

"He's got it real bad," Lanie says.

"Your hormones are all out of whack," Beckett retorts, in denial. "All you can think about is sex."

Lanie rolls her eyes. "Don't think I don't see through your little act. You're just as crazy for him. Getting all moony-eyed every time he walks into a room."

"I do not get—"

"Please," Lanie chides, "Put these panties on," she orders, tossing a lacy pair at the captain.

"You'll thank me later."

"This isn't prom, Castle," she says when he pulls up in front of her building in a town car and a corsage in hand. He'd insisted on picking her up.

"But since you didn't go to yours, I thought you might like it anyway," he says, slipping the white daisy bracelet over her wrist before she can protest further. He steps back to admire his handiwork, dragging his heated gaze over her.

She's in a dress of muted gold that hugs her curves and wraps over one shoulder and drapes to the floor. Sexy but elegant. And a little flashy for a wedding. Especially an ex's wedding. It had been an impulse purchase, fueled by a moment of pettiness. Because maybe she was a bit miffed that the guy who claimed he could never settle down had found someone he was willing to settle for.

Maybe Will hadn't been the problem. Maybe it had been her.

He'd been the first guy she opened up to about her mother. He'd understood. But then he put the job ahead of her. Chose a promotion in another city without consulting her. Twice.

So she kept it casual anytime he breezed through town and called her up. It was easy to invite him into her bed because she'd cast him out of her heart.

But in the back of her mind, she wondered if maybe he was the one who got away. Maybe she'd been too cold and closed-off. Maybe she'd been the one to stop them from a real chance of ever being more because she was too afraid to figure things out and really make it work.

"Oh, he's going to regret ever leaving you," Castle says approvingly. Her pulse races.

"For the last time, I'm not going to make him jealous," she huffs.

"Keep telling yourself that," he says.

"You clean up nice," she says begrudgingly, taking in his slicked back hair and custom-fit tuxedo. He cut a very gallant figure and he knew it.

"Let me take a picture of you two," Lanie says, "Get together, please," she orders.

"Lane!" Beckett whines like a belligerent teenager.

"For me?" Lanie pouts.

Castle comes up behind her and brackets her waist with his hands. His touch sears through her dress and it takes everything in her not to react, to ignore the bloom of arousal in her belly and dismiss the sudden fire crawling over her skin.

"Least we can do," he murmurs into her ear, using the phrase that's grown to mean so much more in their time together. They traded it back and forth in quiet moments, a placeholder for what they couldn't say out loud. Thank you for being my partner. Thank you for always being there. She has to work very hard to suppress the shiver that runs down her spine at the tickle of his warm breath, but his words draw a reluctant grin from her.

"Oh, that's perfect. Stay like that!" Lanie says, snapping away. But she can't bear it any longer, her body too aware of him, the broad swath of his chest almost pressing into her shoulder blades, his biceps just skirting hers. It's not enough. She aches for more than the whisper of his fingertips on her hips.

Oh, God.

When did it get like this? When did it get this bad?

"We're gonna be late," Beckett says curtly, wrenching the car door open and sliding inside to escape before she does something stupid. Castle climbs in after her, but keeps his distance, sensing she's on edge.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Lanie shouts as they peel away from the curb.

In the car, Castle hands her a cheap plastic box with another daisy, its stem shortened. A boutonniere, she realizes.

Daisies were her mom's favorite because it was the kind of flower that kids drew with their crayons. The kind of flower you picked petals from to decide if someone loves you or not. Something that was simple, earnest, and full of sweet innocence. Something straight from the heart.

She'd told him that. Explained they'd become her favorite, too.

His were sunflowers. Because they always turn to face the sun, following its light as it travels across the sky.

"You're really into this prom bit," she notes.

"Prom redemption," he corrects, "I couldn't go to mine because some other seniors and I put cows on the roof of the school as a prank."

"Of course you did."

"Which sucked because my date was unbelievably hot."

"You didn't try sneaking in?"

"Kind of difficult when you're expelled and banished from the premises."

"All of you were expelled?" she asks.

"The other guys got a slap on the wrist after their parents pulled out their checkbooks. I was the scholarship kid, so I got the boot."

He says it offhandedly, but his good-natured smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, as if the memory still stings, and she softens.

She unboxes the boutonniere, the plastic warbling loudly.

"I'm only doing this out of pity," she says, leaning in to pin the flower to his lapel. His sandalwood cologne fills her nose and she hates how good it smells.

"At least my date is still unbelievably hot."

She pricks him with the needle head of the boutonniere stem.

"Ow!" he yelps.

She flashes him a contrite but admonishing glare.

"Don't expect my vote for Prom King."

She didn't think this through.

This is their first time together, alone, without the pretext of a crime to solve.

And she'd changed her underwear.

To make matters worse, Castle is the perfect gentleman, assisting little old ladies to their seats and enthralling everyone with his charming stories to save her the trouble of answering how she's connected to the groom.

What little resolve she's built to deny the all-consuming tension between them is quickly dissolving, especially when his hand keeps slipping to the small of her back, the firm press of his palm, setting her ablaze.

She barely pays attention to the ceremony as Castle whispers in her ear, his hand on her knee, telling her all the juicy gossip he's uncovered (Uncle Lenny and Aunt Marge were in the middle of a divorce and Lenny had the gall to bring the nanny as his date).

By the time the writer is asking her to join him on the dance floor, Will is the last thing on her mind. She lets Castle's arms come around her without protest, secretly glad for the excuse to have him this close. He feels so strong and solid and—

His lips quirk into a smile, as if he can read her thoughts.

"You're freaking me out," she says aloud.

"I'm on my best behavior," he says, indignant.

"That's what's so concerning. I didn't think you could actually be a grown up for once."

"I know a lot of grown up things. I can show you how to do one of them later," he says, his voice low.

"There you are," she quips.

But it falls flat, her words coming out breathier than intended. If Castle notices, he doesn't comment, his attention caught by Will and his flight attendant bride passing by.

"I can't believe you dated that guy. He's like CSPAN boring."

She puffs a laugh. "You didn't even meet him."

"His vows were a snoozefest and well, he can't be all that smart."

"What makes you say that?"

"He'd have to be stupid to ever leave you."

He says it so matter-of-factly and his deep blue irises flare with such intensity that her heart catches in her throat, along with any sort of response.

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, as if he hasn't weakened her at the knees. "He's just a square jaw and classically handsome. Not what you're into at all."

"And what would you know about what I'm into?" she asks, immediately regretting it when a slow smirk buds at his mouth.

And then, without warning—he dips her.

He leans down, his face inches from hers.

She forgets how to breathe.

"Your pupils are dilated, Captain," he husks before pulling her back up, his chest flush with hers.

They've been playing this game of poker for the past two months. He teases her, acting like he holds all the cards. She teases him back, refusing to fold.

She thinks of laser-tag battles, toy helicopter races, and rocking out to Guitar Hero. Playing board games and beating him at Scrabble. Movie nights with the projector where she anchors herself on the opposite end of the couch, a canyon of space between them, wishing she could cuddle into his side and the soft warmth of him in one of his cashmere sweaters.

She recalls the other night when he dragged out his drumset and she'd accidentally mentioned she used to fiddle around with the guitar and his daughter had retrieved the acoustic one laying around in her bedroom and begged her to perform a song.

The only one she'd known off the top of her head was Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles. A simple three chord progression but finger-picking some of the individual notes had been tricky.

Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's alright

He'd looked at her like she was the sun and he'd follow her across the sky any day. It's the way he's looking at her right now and it's her undoing.

Because she's not the sun.

He is.

She's spent all this time trying to keep him at arm's length, yet somehow, his body is pressed up against hers in exquisite friction, perfectly aligned. The heat of him, unbearable.

It's no use fighting it anymore and she's tired of pretending.

Little darlin', it's been a long, cold, lonely winter

Little darlin', it feels like years since it's been here

Lanie's right.

She's crazy for him. Completely head over heels. Embarrassingly so.

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun, and I say

It's alright

How else can she explain why she keeps her desk drawer stocked with three different types of candy? Or how much she misses him when he isn't at the precinct and typing away on his laptop, driving her nuts by propping his feet up on her office couch like he belongs there? Or how it feels like her day doesn't start until his fingers deliberately brush against hers when he hands her a cup of coffee?

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes

When she doesn't bite back with a snippy rejoinder, instead letting her gaze flick to his lips, Castle's smug expression falters and his eyes swirl with question and something like longing.

She stares openly at his mouth, wanting nothing more than to just lean in, all the reasons she shouldn't suddenly seeming irrelevant and insignificant. She knows he isn't that dark and brooding playboy anymore. She's seen how much he's changed for his family. For himself.

Maybe even for her, she hopes foolishly.

Little darlin', I feel that ice is slowly melting

Little darlin', it seems like years since it's been clear

Maybe it's the person he's been all along, but no one had taken the time to get to know him. The real him—the devoted father, the doting son, the amazing man.

And he's changed her, too. Opened her up in ways no one else has. She's given him her secrets, shown him her grief, and he's shouldered it all, her fight becoming his fight. He had her back, no matter what. He was her friend. Her partner.

More than.

She never thought she'd meet her equal in someone like him, someone who could challenge her, but he surprises her every day with his boundless imagination, his vim and vigor for life, and his compassionate heart.

Did it really matter how they met?

She's about to rise up on her toes, about to call him on his bluff, when she's yanked back into reality by a tap on her shoulder and someone asking, "Can I cut in?"

She turns to find Will holding out his hand for her.

"How long have you been together?" Sorenson asks.

"Oh, we're not," she says reflexively. "Just friends."

"Could've fooled me. I don't think I've ever seen you so smitten."

(God, was she that obvious?)

Her cheeks color.

"I am not!"

He chuckles.

"So he's doing research on you? Doesn't he have a bunch of bestsellers already?"

"He's had a bit of a rough patch lately. Needed new inspiration."

"And with all the fat, balding detectives in the NYPD, he just so happens to end up shadowing you?"

She frowns.

"He saved my life."

"I see," Sorenson says, thoughtful. "Does he know about you standing in line for an hour to get his book signed? Or how his books got you through your mother's death?"

"Is there anything you don't remember?" she huffs.

"Not when it comes to you," he murmurs, his hand pressing further into her back. She tenses. "I'm really glad you came," he adds. "You look fantastic."

"Thank you," she says politely.

"Trying to make me jealous?" he asks.

Her eyebrows draw inward. "I didn't think that was still possible."

(Was he…coming onto her?)

"With you, anything's possible."

She clears her throat.

"You know what, I should get back to Castle. Who knows what might happen if I leave him alone for too long?"

"Kate."

She shakes out of his hold in disgust, the truth so clear now. She hadn't been the problem, had she?

"Goodbye, Will. Say hi to your wife for me."

She finds the writer at the bar, regaling the bartender.

"Is this man bothering you?" she asks.

Castle pivots toward her.

"How was the G-man?"

She sighs theatrically. "Boring."

"Told you so."

"You sound like my mother," she laughs.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

She rolls her eyes with a grin.

"Wanna get out of here?"

He hops off his seat, scooping his suit jacket up.

"Thought you'd never ask."

She's starving for some greasy food (the dinner portions had been tiny), so she directs his driver to Remy's Diner.

"They have the best milkshakes," she promises as they glide into booth seats across from each other. When Ruth, their waitress, stops by, Beckett orders cheeseburgers and fries for both of them.

"Also, a strawberry shake for me and—" she assesses him. "Chocolate. Extra whipped cream."

"And extra chocolate sauce," Castle pipes in.

"And extra chocolate sauce," she repeats with a laugh. "Please."

"Right away," Ruth says, smiling jovially, "You look very nice tonight, Captain. Special occasion?"

"Something like that," Beckett provides, mindlessly twiddling with her corsage and sneaking a glance at Castle. His bow tie is loose and his collar is open and it's unbelievably sexy.

"Who's your friend?"

"Richard Castle," the writer answers, offering his hand.

"Your author," Ruth gasps, shaking it and reassessing him with interest.

"You talk about me?" Castle asks, a cocky grin sprouting on his face. "Anything about my ruggedly handsome good looks?"

"See what I mean?" Beckett sighs.

"Oh, yes," Ruth chuckles. "Tell your dad I said hi," she adds before leaving to fill their order.

"You come here often?" Castle asks, curious.

"My dad and I get together for lunch every week. This was one of my mom's favorite places in the city," she admits.

His cocky grin fades into a soft smile. "Well, then…I'm honored to be here," he says, genuine.

It used to unsettle her, how easy it was to let him in, but now it just feels like the most natural thing in the world.

"Diner food is a sacred post-prom tradition. I had to treat you to the best," she says.

"You're treating me?"

"It's the least I can do," she says softly. Thank you for sticking around. Thank you for being you.

"I told you I'm amazing at weddings," he jokes, his eyes warm and sparkling.

"I never doubted it." She smiles at him, wide and uninhibited.

His head tilts slightly in question.

"Okay, now you're the one freaking me out. Why are you being so nice?"

"What are you talking about? I'm nice."

"Not to me. Not like this," he says, "Oh, wait. It's the alcohol, isn't it?" He sits back in his booth and grins like he's cracked the case. "Who knew you were such a sappy drunk?"

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

Maybe the game was all they had. Maybe she's been reading him all wrong.

"I usually never have to try," he says.

"Only because you never listen," she snaps, "And for the record, I am not drunk. Buzzed, maybe. But my mental faculties are completely in order."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Castle, I swear to God."

He breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief. "There you are. Just had to double-check."

She throws a sugar packet at his head, smacking him right between his eyes.

"Satisfied?"

They fall back into their usual rhythm during their meal, poking and prodding, navigating safe topics like his mother and daughter. Martha is up for a Tony nomination for Mame and Alexis is thinking about applying to law school after completing her undergrad at NYU early.

"If she's looking at Columbia, my dad could give her a recommendation," Beckett says, pulling back the sleeves of Castle's suit jacket, which had found its way around her shoulders at some point.

"Seriously?"

"Of course."

She reaches over and dips a fry in his shake.

"Hey! You have your own."

"But it tastes better with chocolate," she pouts.

"I thought 'strawberry is superior'," he quotes.

"By itself, sure. But it's basic science that fries and chocolate go together."

"Science?" he chuckles, not buying it.

"You can't deny science," she says, dipping another fry in his shake and biting down. She closes her eyes, relishing in the divine flavor combination of sweet and salty. A small moan escapes from her throat.

"Oh, yeah, I'm a huge fan of science."

Her eyes fly open to find him watching her with a hunger that has nothing to do with food.

Her heart pounds heavily and her skin thrums with heat.

"Stop looking at me like that," she hisses.

"Like what?" He says innocently. "Have I mentioned you look beautiful tonight?"

"Castle," she whispers, half-breathless, half-warning. He has to stop. Because she doesn't know how much longer she can resist him, already destroyed by the raw desire on his face.

It's not just a game.

When Ruth interrupts with the check, she's never been more grateful.

She's silent on the way back to her place as she stares studiously out the car window, the city passing by in a blur of lights.

"Did I do something?"

She doesn't know how to answer him. There's no way she can tell him she's finally admitted to herself that she's fallen for him or that she's a hair's breadth away from climbing onto his lap and tearing off his shirt. And his wanton gaze is not helping.

Because she's not entirely sure if she's ready to change things. What if it doesn't work out? What if it's all just lust and desire? Did he really feel the same way? Wasn't some of him better than none at all?

"I read Frostbite," she blurts out.

"I was wondering when you were going to bring it up. I've been dying to know what you think," he says. "So?"

"I actually haven't finished it yet, but it's…illuminating," she provides diplomatically. "Kind of a fast turnaround, isn't it?"

"I started during my recovery last winter and filled in the gaps once I started shadowing you," he says, "It's in the editing phase now, so I wanted to get people's opinions on it since it's the first book I've written in a while and I wanna get it right. Let 'em know that Richard Castle, mystery novelist, is really back, you know?"

It's cute that he's so nervous.

"You're gonna knock 'em dead."

"You think so?"

"I'm never wrong, am I?" she says.

"You really think it's good?"

She hasn't told him how his books saved her. How his words brought her back to life.

She'd started re-reading all his novels during his recovery, and she was reminded of how much she appreciated how his heroes always pursued justice, even when no one believed in them, and how the villains always got what they deserved.

She was also reminded of how much humor and life he gave his characters, how he imbued them with light. Something she'd desperately needed in her darkest moments.

"You've always been good with mystery," she says with a soft smile. "But you might need to ask me for my opinion again when I'm sober. Apparently, I'm a drunk sap tonight."

She means for it to come out teasingly but it leaves her mouth in a sarcastic bite.

Luckily, they've arrived at her building, so she makes a quick escape.

"Wait!" he shouts, climbing out of the car after her.

She slows to a halt. Reluctantly faces him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be such an ass back at the diner," he implores, "I had a really great time tonight. I don't want to end it like this."

She doesn't want it to end at all.

Oh.

Guess that answered that.

Maybe she is ready to change things. To take a chance, gamble everything, chips all in, and figure out if they can be more.

"Walk me to my door?" she says.

"Really?" he asks with breathless caution.

"Isn't that what my prom date would do?"

At her door, he leans against the wall and watches her root around her clutch for her keys. She's been searching for a good minute, not-so-subtly stalling.

She asked him up to her door and now it's his turn to make a move. But he's standing a respectable distance away, giving her space. Way too much space.

Why the hell isn't he kissing her?

He scorches her with his stare instead.

She can't take it.

"What?" she asks.

"I didn't say anything."

"I can hear you thinking," she accuses.

"You're still mad at me about something. What is it?"

She lets out a defeated sigh as her fingers dance over her keys, found ages ago.

"You really have no idea, do you?"

"Yeah, well. You're the one mystery I can't seem to solve."

She huffs out a breath of disbelief.

"You're an idiot."

"I know I can be," he says, his eyebrows pinching together in concern. "But what am I an idiot about this time?"

Screw it. If he can't take a hint—

Her bag thumps to the ground, her keys spilling out in a chorus of clinks, and she closes the distance, her hands rising up to his collar, pulling him to her, her mouth slanting over his in a fierce, almost angry kiss.

He tastes like salt and chocolate and every cup of coffee he's ever given her. So rich and hot and just...

Finally. Oh, God, finally.

But then he stumbles and parts from her, stupefied.

What? Did he not want—?

Her next thought is cut off by the writer surging into her and slamming her spine into wood and kissing her back, deliberate and intense and thorough, like he's thought about kissing her before, like it's the only thing he ever thinks about.

Her knees buckle.

He shoves his suit jacket off of her, needing more access to her skin, her neck.

She knew it was going to be good, but this…this is unlike anything she's ever felt before.

No one has ever kissed her like this; ever set her on fire like this. She moans. Burning for him. Burning for more.

But he eventually breaks for air, his lips swollen and breath ragged.

"This doesn't have anything to do with seeing your ex get married, right?"

She glares at him, aroused and frustrated. Her ex? No. This has been months in the making. Ever since his alter ego showed her what they could be. Ever since he woke up in that hospital bed. Ever since he walked into her office, scarred with the bullets he took for her, asking to shadow her.

God, doesn't he know what he does to her?

"He's not the one who's been driving me crazy all this time." She doesn't want to talk about Will. "Now shut up and kiss me."

He grins, pleased.

"Best. Prom date. Ever."

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes

xxx

A/N: Thank you for the encouraging reviews! They definitely put a smile on my face. This was one of my favorite chapters to write so far—looking forward to your thoughts on it!