Chapter 5

And there was Castle, already sitting at a corner table for two, smiling at her. She stared blankly, completely blindsided by the tsunami of relief and happiness that he'd shown up.

"You're here?" she squeaked.

Castle was already halfway across the room to her. "Sure I am. You invited me, didn't you?" He took her hand and drew her across to their table. She was so discombobulated that she didn't protest – or even really notice. He pulled her chair out for her to sit, and took his own place across from her. "This is nice," he said happily.

"You didn't answer the text. I thought you weren't coming," Beckett's mouth said, quite without permission from her brain.

"Beckett, Beckett. You've met me. In what possible universe wouldn't I come to dinner with you? I've been trying to come out to dinner with you since our very first case – and you wouldn't, which was very unfair of you." He smiled as brightly as the summer sun. "Of course I was coming to dinner." His ears pinkened. "I just forgot to message back. I thought I had time to, but obviously I didn't. Sorry."

"It's okay. Let's have dinner."

A server appeared with menus, which differed not one iota from the previous week. Beckett's chosen dinner also altered not one iota from the previous week, so it was a mystery why she enjoyed it so much more.

"Are you riding the same horse?"

"Yep. He's great."

"You said, last week." Castle's eyes gleamed. "You won't be taking him out next weekend, though?"

"Why not?"

"It's Hallowe'en. All sorts of spooky supernatural beings will be out and about." He waggled his fingers.

"Is that supposed to be spell casting or have you simply got twitchy fingers?" Beckett snarked.

"I wish I could cast spells, then I'd be able to do even more useful things when I'm shadowing you."

"I don't think the courts – or the DA – would accept magic as a form of evidence, since it doesn't exist."

Oh, Beckett, just you wait and see. He pouted at her. "There are more things in heaven and earth" –

"I'm not Horatio and you're certainly not Hamlet – unless you think you're 'fat and scant of breath'?"

"I'm neither!" Castle gasped. "I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

Beckett's eyes, without Beckett's brain intervening, took a slow slide over Castle's head, torso and arms. "Hmm," she emitted.

"What do you mean, hmmm?"

"I'm considering." In fact, Beckett was considering that on proper scrutiny, Castle was nicely muscular, and he certainly never seemed to be puffing or blowing when keeping up with the team, so he must be reasonably fit.

"There's no need to consider: it's obvious that I'm ruggedly handsome and ripped."

"Hmmm," she drawled again. "Self-praise is no recommendation, you know."

"Everyone says so!"

Beckett hummed once more, as Castle weebled offendedly but – for once – wordlessly.

"You're mean!" he eventually managed.

"This is news?"

"No, but you shouldn't be mean to me. I help you solve murders."

"We solved murders before you."

"It wasn't as much fun, though, was it?" Castle's blue eyes widened at her, and then sparkled. "I make your life more interesting."

"May you live in interesting times," Beckett said dryly, "was an ancient Chinese curse. I'm not sure that means what you think it means."

"Ooooh, the Princess Bride. How often have you watched it? I've seen it lots."

"This is not news. Of course you have."

"That's not an answer. How often have you watched it?"

"Once or twice."

Castle hmmmed in his turn. "Don't belieeeeeeve you," he sing-songed. "I think you've watched it lots more than that."

Beckett stuck her tongue out at him. "Believe what you want."

"I do. I believe in lots of things, and right now I believe that you've seen the Princess Bride more than you're admitting. Why, Detective, you're a closet romantic."

"I leave romance to you, and the hard of thinking."

"I'm very intelligent."

"But not enough to parse the sentence properly. I thought you were a writer," Beckett teased.

"You didn't let me finish. Intelligence doesn't preclude romance. In fact," Castle pontificated, "intelligence is a prerequisite for true romance, because it allows you to work out the best way to obtain a happy and fulfilling relationship." He stopped, and grinned. "Once you grow out of the, er, less intelligent modes of operation, that is."

"Those would be the arm candy, Page Six, and well-endowed options?"

"Yep," Castle agreed cheerfully. "Haven't you ever had a boyfriend whose main advantage was his, um, physique?"

Beckett blushed bright scarlet. "I," she emphasised, "grew out of that."

"So you did. Anyway, I've grown out of that too."

"That Cosmo article?"

"Not my idea. Paula arranged it all and sprang it on me." He looked pensive for a second. "She won't be doing that again."

Beckett blinked. That had sounded rather harder-edged than she was used to hearing from Castle, who was generally laid-back to the point of horizontal.

"Whatever she thinks, I don't want that sort of PR for Nikki. It's…derogatory. You three deserve more respect than that."

"Oh," Beckett managed, stunned.

"Dessert?"

"When have I ever refused chocolate brownies?"

Castle pretended to ponder. "That would be never. And coffee, since you never turn that down either." He smiled at a handy server, and shortly they brought brownies and coffee. "How far will you ride tomorrow?"

"To the Left Hand Bend, like I put on the message, but we might take a roundabout route."

"We? I thought you were riding solo?"

"Doinnean and I."

"Oh, I see. Dinner tomorrow, then?"

"I invited you, didn't I?" Beckett couldn't keep from her tones a tiny hint of disappointment that Castle appeared to be ending the evening already.

"Yes, but you didn't tell me what time." He gazed soulfully at her. "I'd be devastated to be late to dinner."

"Uh…six-thirty?"

"Okay." Castle whipped out his phone and made a production of putting the time in his diary. "Now, more coffee? We could have it in the lounge, if you like?"

"Yes, please," Beckett said, before thought intervened to spoil her instinctive agreement.

"Come on, then." Castle chivalrously pulled out her chair, which was unnecessary, and then took her hand as she stood up, also unnecessarily, and compounded his trifecta of unnecessary actions by steering her to the lounge with a large, warm hand placed right in the centre of her back.

She didn't object. She probably ought to object (no, you should definitely not object, dumbass), but she wasn't going to. She'd just…relax and enjoy the moment.

About time, the worm said sourly. Have you any idea how tiring you are? You never relax. Do so. When? Lots. Never. Shut up.

Castle gently pushed her into a comfortable couch, and sat down beside her. A server took their coffee orders. "Anything else?"

"Beckett?"

She considered for a moment. "Nothing more, thanks. I'll be on the trail early, and I don't think drinking's a good plan. You have one if you want."

"I don't think that'll help me get home," Castle replied easily, and turned to the server. "Nothing else, thanks."

Beckett wriggled herself into a comfortable position, and allowed herself simply to breathe in the faint hint of cologne, while unobtrusively examining Castle.

Sadly, she wasn't unobtrusive enough. Astonishingly, though his eyes crinkled and a smile flirted at his lips, he didn't say anything.

"Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"Biting your tongue that hard not to say anything."

"I don't bite."

"Not even if I ask nicely?" Beckett flipped back without a thought, and realised her enormous error as Castle's eyes darkened to midnight and his face changed to intent desire.

"Would you like to?" he rasped.

Extremely fortunately, from Beckett's perspective, the server brought their coffees, which meant she could bury her flaming face in the cup and – crucially – not answer until she brought her boiling brain under some sort of control. If she answered now, she'd say Yes, and that would lead to a huge mess.

Hot mess, more like, commented the worm. Shut up. You keep trying to shut me up, and it keeps not working. I'm not shut-up-able. Don't I know it, Beckett sighed internally.

While she hid in her coffee, she didn't notice that Castle sliding closer, until an arm insinuated itself along the back of the couch and fingers tip-tapped on her shoulder. "Ease up. I won't tease you any more."

Beckett tapped his fingers. "What are these?"

"I call them fingers, but they might be digits, or appendages, or" –

"When I need a thesaurus, I'll call Roget."

"He's not nearly as entertaining as I could be." Castle's fingers, and indeed his arm, didn't move.

"But so much easier to deal with," Beckett pointed out. "No crazy theories."

"No coffee provided, either."

"I guess that's a disadvantage, but there are plenty of coffee shops."

"You wouldn't like their coffee as much as the ones I make for you."

You wouldn't, the worm weighed in. You love his coffee. Beckett ignored the infernally infuriating worm, and didn't answer Castle. She knew that was an answer of itself, but she wasn't saying anything stupid, such as I wouldn't, or nope, or, appallingly, I'd like you even more than your coffee.

"Anyway," Castle diverted, "you didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

"I asked if you'd be riding out on Hallowe'en – because if you do, you might get caught by a spook."

"There are no such things as spooks, and any ill-intentioned humans or animals – who wouldn't have a hint of silly supernatural stuff about them – won't like my gun."

"But what about ghosts?"

"There are no ghosts. Don't tell me you're afraid of an imaginary story?"

"I ain't afraid of no ghosts," Castle declaimed. It was perfectly true. He wasn't afraid of ghosts. He wasn't, in fact, afraid of much in the way of supernatural spooks. Pucas had many attributes, and he'd used all of them at various times.

"Is that the best you can do?"

"It's true. That doesn't mean I don't believe in ghosts, it just means that if they exist, they don't scare me."

"They don't exist. And I'm not scared of silly spooky stories, either. I'll ride out on Hallowe'en if I want to."

"Up to you," Castle said, and allowed his fingers to stroke softly at Beckett's shoulder. If she hadn't objected to him (one) holding her hand and (two) putting an arm around her – and she'd even flirted, though he thought it owed more to auto-response than to brain input – then a little petting might be allowable.

Oh. Oh. Ooooohhhhhh. Not just allowable. That had been a tiny snuggle into him. Oooohhhhh. He clamped down on his impulse to cradle her head, run his fingers into her hair, turn her so that her lips could meet his – Nope. Not now. Not yet. He absolutely had to take this slowly, carefully, and make certain she was with him – or leading – all the way. One mistake, and he'd be so far back he'd be in California. He could enjoy the unusual – not to say unique – feeling of a snuggly Beckett in the curve of his arm.

Beckett, still clutching her coffee, hadn't noticed Castle's change to delicate petting. She was tired, now. Hard riding, however wonderful, was exhausting, and she was ready for sleep. Not, she thought woozily, bed. That could be misconstrued. She yawned gapingly, and unconsciously leaned into Castle's wide, supportive shoulder. His fingers wrapped around her, drawing her into him so that her head could pillow on her shoulder. That…wasn't a good idea. It really wasn't, but it felt so nice…she really should go to her room.

"I need to sleep," she sighed, "and you must need to get home."

"Okay." Castle's arm unwound from around her.

She heaved herself to her feet, yawned again, and smiled at him. "Night."

"Till tomorrow, Beckett." He stood too, then succumbed to instinct and hugged her. "Sweet dreams," he chirped, and fled before she could realise what had happened.

Beckett yawned her way to bed, warmed all through by Castle's hug, and crashed into sleep an instant after her head hit the pillow.

Castle ordered a Scotch, and considered the evening with huge satisfaction. A good dinner with Beckett; pleasant conversation with no arguing; and best of all, cuddles and hugs. Sure, he'd like more, but he could wait. Beckett wouldn't have snuggled, no matter how tired she was, if she didn't feel more than simply irritation flecked with flirtation. The only downside was that he'd need to change back to horse form after far too few hours and sleep in the stall. He'd rather take a room for the whole night, but he could shower, and have a comfortable bed for a while. Sadly, he couldn't guarantee that Beckett wouldn't wake up before dawn and decide to visit her already-adored horse, so he set his alarm for four, wincing.

He drained the Scotch, and went to bed. At four-thirty, he ambled back out to the stall, meeting nobody on his way. Shortly, he had re-formed, and fell asleep with an equine smile.

Beckett slept hard, and woke a little later than she'd intended; sun spilling through the window. She stretched, then went through her morning routine, prior to making a good breakfast.

Doinnean was waiting for her, bright-eyed and a little restless. "Okay, okay," Beckett said as he nudged at her. "Apples when we stop." She looked around. "Did you have a good mash last night?" He neighed happily. "Good. Let's go."

Doinnean certainly did go. They took a long detour via a secondary trail, but Doinnean's gallop ate up the miles, seemingly in a few strides. Pausing at a convenient lunch stop, Beckett left Doinnean untied in an open stall.

"I'm trusting you not to wander off," she said. Doinnean whinnied, and nuzzled her. "Yes, apples. Just let me find them." She fed him his apples, and smiled. "No wandering. You'll frighten people, or they'll try to catch you, and then it'll be a mess. Let's not have messes – it'll cut into our riding time, and that won't be any fun at all. Have some hay, and I won't be long."

Doinnean-Castle meditatively chewed some hay, and then stood quietly in the stall, looking over the half-door, dreamily considering the next long run. He loved galloping: moving at full stretch and full strength – though it was just as well that Beckett hadn't realised how fast they were really going. Pucas could gallop far faster than a normal horse, and he had.

He did not love the man who'd just tried to bridle him and pull him out of the stall. Castle neighed furiously, tossed his head hard to remove the bridle, set his four feet firmly, and then reared up and crashed down just an inch away from the man's face. He neighed again, directly into the would-be thief's pallid face, and then bared his teeth. "Try to steal me, would you?" he growled. The man cringed, looking about him for a radio or speaker. "Get out of here before I trample you into paste." The thief ran, slamming into Beckett on the way; gone before she could catch her balance.

"I heard someone talking to that guy," she said. "Where are they – I wanna know what happened. Did someone try to upset you? Did you rear at them?" She gazed around, looking for a person who wasn't there. "I guess they've gone to call the cops. I didn't see anything, and you can't talk, so I don't think we'll wait around."

Five minutes later, they were off again, but Beckett wasn't encouraging him to gallop – in fact, she was holding him to a trot. "I can't believe I didn't see whoever was speaking," she mused. "There's only one door, and I didn't see a hayloft." She hummed softly. "I didn't hear the words clearly, though. Maybe they were outside? Maybe there's a camera with a speaker attached, and I just didn't notice." She hummed again, dissatisfied, and then shrugged in the saddle. "Not my problem. Let's ride."

Castle, with a huge, hidden sigh of relief, lengthened his stride to a canter, and then, as Beckett encouraged him, to a full gallop. Beckett couldn't be thinking about strange happenings if she had to concentrate on staying on at full speed. If he was really lucky, he'd manage to divert her detective instincts, because he absolutely could not have her thinking that he could talk.

Oh. He was so dumb. Beckett, cynical, pragmatic, and above all rational Beckett – would never believe that horses could talk. He was safe.

At six-thirty, Beckett had showered, changed, and was sitting comfortably at an out-of-the-way table, waiting for Castle to show up, and sipping a glass of white wine.

And there he was, sauntering in like he owned the place, looking around – and the heart-stopping smile blooming over his face as he spotted her. And, dammit, she could feel her smile answering him. She couldn't remember when she'd last smiled like that; spread all over her mouth and brightening her eyes.

Oh, God. She couldn't be falling for him. Sure, he was sexy…but she couldn't be falling for him.

Sure you could. He's twenty thousand leagues under for you, so it's about time you dived in.

Castle reached her and sat down. "Do you come here often?" he smirked.

"Now and then," she evaded.

His smirk melted into another happy smile. "Nice to see you. Good day?"

"Some lowlife tried to take Doinnean," she growled. "He never had a hope – I think Doinnean reared at him, and he ran. Crashed into me on the way, but I didn't see his face, so we just left it. Someone in the hostel must have been watching on CCTV, and yelled at them through a speaker."

Castle's eyes crinkled. "Maybe it was the horse talking, like in that Narnia book" –

"The Horse and his Boy is fiction, Castle! Horses don't talk."

"But they might," he whined, and pouted at her. "How do you know they don't? They might just not talk to you."

"If horses could talk, we'd know." Suddenly she grinned. "They'd be pleading for apples, or carrots, or grooming. Even Doinnean keeps nudging at me for apple slices."

"A discerning horse. Of course you have some for him."

"Yep. He deserves them. Especially if he scared that lowlife out of his senses. I'll pick up some more tomorrow morning, before we head out."

Orders given, Castle looked at Beckett. "So, back to the city tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. Work on Monday. I've been lucky to get three weekends off in a row – the final one is next weekend – but after that I'm sure I'll be on duty or at the very least on call till Thanksgiving."

"And you said you were riding next weekend?"

"If Doinnean's available, but I'll check that when I get back to the stables." Her gaze softened. "I hope so."

Castle couldn't resist. He reached out to cover her hand. "They wouldn't dare deny you. But if he isn't available, how about coming out to dinner with me? I can't promise eye of frog or wing of bat, but I'm sure we can have a good meal."

Beckett considered. She liked this smooth, pleasant Castle a lot more than she'd liked the arrogant playboy. "Okay. But only if" –

"What?"

"If I'm riding out, you come out to the hostels for dinner. I'll tell you which they are."

"Done."

At the end of dinner, Beckett smiled sleepily. "Time for me to sleep," she murmured. "See you in the precinct on Monday?"

"Yep."

They walked out, and Beckett started to turn to her room. Castle gave in to his instincts, tapped her shoulder, and when she turned back to him, gathered her into his arms and planted a kiss on her forehead. Before he could do anything dumb, he stepped back. Beckett stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.

And then she stepped up, rose on her toes, and planted her own kiss on his mouth – and then ran for her room.

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.

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