Chapter 2

Beckett, still seething not-so-gently at Castle's arrogance and pathetic attempts at flirtation, went straight from the precinct to the stables, where she found the same Irish stable hand. He led her to the stall where Doineann stood, whuffing gently over the half-door. Beckett, prepared, held out a handful of apple slices on a flat palm, which the stallion delicately lipped off. She patted his neck, then led him out of the stall to be tacked up. Today, she noticed the beautiful golden-brown of his eyes, bright against his ebony coat. He really was the most handsome horse she'd ever seen.

She patted Doineann again, then swung up.

"All grand?" the stable hand asked.

"Great, thanks. I'll take him over some jumps, I think, then we'll stretch out." She made a rueful face. "I'd love to give him a proper run-out, but that'll wait for the weekend – is there someone in the office that I can clear the weekend with?"

"Sure, an' I asked for ye. I'll have the papers for ye when ye're done. 'Tis all approved. Ye can take him Friday, an' bring him back late on Sunday."

"Great." She clicked her tongue at the horse, who brought up his head and walked smoothly to the jumping ring almost before she'd taken proper hold of the reins.

"Shall we try a little higher than last time?" she said to the horse. He tossed his head in a very no-problem-that's-trivial fashion. Beckett looked around, and saw the stable hand. "Can we put them up a bit?"

"Aye."

The fences were raised, but Doineann took them easily.

"Up again? Shall we?" she asked the horse, which whuffed happily. "Okay."

The following round of jumps was just as good, but, though Beckett would have loved to keep jumping, ever higher, she wanted to take Doineann for a good canter, and she was running out of evening. "Okay, Doineann, time for a stretch out." They turned for the trail, and as soon as they reached it Doineann did, indeed, stretch out; a flowing gait that, Beckett felt, he could keep up for hours; silky-smooth. It covered ground amazingly fast, and he wasn't even galloping. She reluctantly reined him in to a trot with the lightest touch she could manage, barely a check, and took him home.

When she'd groomed him, she stayed in the stall with him for a few moments, cheek pressed against the muscular, warm neck; wishing that men (you mean Castle, insinuated the brainworm) were as simple as her beautiful Doineann-horse.

Maybe if you tried being as nice to Castle as you are to that horse, you'd get on better. The horse doesn't irritate me, Beckett snapped back. If you were nicer to Castle, he wouldn't irritate you. Actually, that's not irritation. It's frustration. Same difference. Nope, frustration is 'cause you know he'd be great but you won't try him out. Don't wanna. Do so, you're just being contrary 'cause he tried some lame-ass line on you first up and now he doesn't know how to make it better. He's full of lame-ass shit and he's not trying to make it better. He's rude, crude and arrogant. He wasn't – quite. Besides which, you want to ride him. Like I said, contrary. "I do not!" Beckett said aloud. Doineann startled. "Sorry," she said, and petted his nose. "Annoying thoughts." He whuffed at her, until she patted him some more. "Time I went," she apologised, "but I'll see you on Friday and we'll go for a proper ride."

She practically floated back to her apartment, re-designing her route as she went to allow for two nights away.

"Let's hope she doesn't check wit' the office," the spriggan said. "Sure, an' it's hard t' explain why ye're not on the list of horses."

"She won't. If she was going to, she'd have done it by now, and she'll be too busy at work to think about it. Anyway, nobody expects a horse to be…unreal."

"I still t'ink ye're playing a dangerous game."

The black horse grinned. "But think of the prize."

The spriggan shook his head, and wandered off. The horse became Castle, and became dressed. He couldn't wait for Friday. He also couldn't wait to see Beckett the following day, but that was simultaneously wonderful and infinitely frustrating, as she snipped, snapped and snarked. Of course, he would flirt and annoy, but under it all he knew that she was interested. He rather wished he hadn't tried the line about gorgeous eyes, but…oh, well. It wasn't like he'd hidden his interest, and courtesy of Beckett's peeps at him while reviewing his fan mail, he had been damn sure she was interested right from the get-go, and was simply trying to prove she was no push-over. Fair enough, he thought. If all she knew was their previous encounter and his Page Six PR, she had a right to be wary.

His mind drifted back to that very first encounter. He had been, um…well…yeah, okay. He'd been drunk, and a bit high, and then he'd got bored of the company in which he'd found himself and wandered off. He hadn't deliberately gone out looking for mischief, but when he'd seen the police horse, and watched its officer enter a fast food joint down the edge of Central Park, he'd whisked up to the horse, untied it, clucked at it to join him, and led it into the Park, where he'd changed into horse form and led the police horse on a thoroughly enjoyable excursion, kicking up their hooves and prancing like foals. He'd almost missed a much younger Officer Kate Beckett storming up; he'd only just had time to change back and look as if he'd been riding the chestnut.

He smiled. She'd been so young, and so angry. The smile dropped. Interested or not, she was still angry. Not, much as it seemed so, with him (well, not exactly) but with life in general. Still, she'd admitted just enough about her history for him to understand why. When he'd first met her…her father must have been a drunk. No wonder she'd reacted really badly to his drunkenness.

His smile widened. She'd reacted really well to the horse, though. She loved the horse.

Hopefully, she'd love the weekend, too – or at least not shoot him when he showed up, ostensibly staying at the same lodge – totally accidentally, of course. Maybe, just maybe, they could chat. Share a meal. Be…friends.

This time.

And then the next time, they could be better friends. And so on…all the way to being lovers.

He hoped.

Beckett went home, redesigned her route for the weekend in accordance with her planning, rapidly booked the two overnight stays, and made sure to be extremely clear about the requirements for her beautiful horse. That done, she had a late mac-n-cheese dinner, then put herself to bed and snuggled down, perfectly happy. Not even the knowledge that Castle would be buzzing around the bullpen like a cocaine-infused bee could spoil her happiness.

You'd miss him if he didn't show up – with your coffee. Like I'd miss a thorn in my foot. He does great coffee. The machine does it. I can work the machine just fine. The worm humphed disbelievingly, and wiggled off, while Beckett cuddled into her covers and went to sleep, dreaming happily of trail riding and beautiful black stallions.

For the rest of the week she solved murders, smiled sardonically on Espo and Ryan, and scowled at Castle. None of this was news to anyone. Castle's smiles became sunnier at precisely the same rate that Beckett's scowl became blacker, which was also not news to anyone.

On Friday, she stomped out of the precinct trailing thunderclouds and brimstone, with a glare so fearsome that the elevator doors almost refused to open in case the elevator melted. She went home, collected the things she'd need for the weekend, and left for the stables, taking something less than five minutes about it.

Finally, she could breathe without the suffocatingly annoying presence of Rick-I-want-to-kiss-you-Castle.

He didn't say a word about kissing you. Hardly surprising. Nobody wants to kiss a nuclear bomb on the point of explosion.

Beckett ignored the worm, and started her car with an over-revved growl from the engine.

Angry right foot, the worm commented. I feel sorry for the car.

Beckett threw the worm under the wheels and ran it over. The squished irritant reflated and squirmed away. Irritatingly. However, the key word in her mind was away. Just like she was going away for the weekend, with her gorgeous Doinnean-stallion. Her mood lightened with every cross street and then every yard towards the stables, and by the time she reached them she was positively happy: to such an extent that she almost danced into the stables and to Doinnean's stall.

He wasn't there. Her happy mood shattered.

"Sure, ye're early," the stable lad's brogue announced. "An' wasn't I just about to bring him in?"

Beckett's firmly controlled heart took an uncontrolled leap of joy. "Please," she managed, and threw her arms around the stallion's neck as he strode in. He whuffled at her, and then snorted, sounding amused. "Let's tack him up, and we can go." She handed the lad a piece of paper. "That's the route, just in case there's an emergency."

"T'at's grand. Here's hopin' I won't be needin' it."

"Not with this horse," Beckett enthused. "He'll love it." The lad took her saddlebags, and they tacked up the black. The horse neighed. "Let's go, Doinnean." She swung up, disdaining the mounting block, and trotted out.

Once they'd reached a suitable point, Beckett leaned forward. "Want to run?" she asked. The horse pranced a step or two. "Guess so." She flicked the reins, and they took off. Beckett would have blinked, but she was too busy concentrating on staying balanced and low in the saddle. Doinnean moved.

A heart-racing, pounding gallop later, she used the lightest possible check on the reins to signal that she'd like to slow down, and he dropped into a ground-eating canter; his stride silky smooth.

"If I'd known you could gallop like that, I'd have booked a hostel further away," she congratulated him. "You're extraordinary. I've never ridden a horse like you." She'd swear the horse smirked, so she tapped his neck firmly. "No smirking. I have quite enough smirking to put up with at work. This isn't work and I don't want to be reminded of anything from work."

Oh, really? smirked the brainworm. I think you'd love to be reminded of something. Or someone. And I don't mean a cop. Beckett ignored the worm in favour of paying more attention to Doinnean, who deserved all of her attention.

They walked tidily up to the hostel, where Beckett dismounted and collected the saddlebags. She thought about hitching Doinnean to the convenient rail, and then thought better of it. "You're not going anywhere, are you?" she said to him, and smiled. "If anyone tries to take you away, you have my full permission to" – she grinned nastily – "deal with them however you see fit." The horse tossed his head, and whinnied equally nastily. "Back in a moment," Beckett told him, and swung in to register.

Castle, safely in puca form, admired her rear view – and the view of her rear – and thanked heavens that he'd (belatedly) remembered to instruct the spriggan to ensure that he had a pack of clothes at each stopping point. Quite what he'd have done if Beckett hadn't provided a copy of her itinerary, he didn't know, but he'd gambled on her taking a sensible step and he'd been right. As soon as she'd settled him in a stall and groomed him (he twitched his haunches happily at the thought: her hands and curry-comb combined were wonderful), he'd leave a little pause and then appear in the hostel. He tapped his hooves in place, thinking of how good it had been to ride together.

He just hoped she didn't shoot his human form the moment he walked in the hostel door.

Scratch that. He hoped she didn't shoot anyone in the next two seconds, because she'd just walked out and she was pissed.

"Those idiots!" she bit. "They've messed up and lost my reservation, and it's too far to get to anywhere else with a stables tonight. You'll be okay, but what am I going to do?" She patted his neck, which almost made up for the subsonic fuming that she was emitting. Castle felt like doing a little fuming of his own, because spending the night in the stable hadn't exactly been the plan. It wouldn't hurt him, of course…oh. Oh!

"I guess I'll just have to sleep in the stable," she grumbled. "Let's go see what they look like." She slung her saddlebags back over his back, and led him around to the stables behind the hostel, grousing under her breath all the way, and trailing a cloud of annoyance. Since she loved the horse form, Castle took the opportunity to nudge at her in a sympathetic fashion, which produced a wry smile.

Surprisingly, the stables were spotlessly clean, and there was fresh straw in each stall. Castle watched Beckett examining the place, and did some examining of his own. The end stall, he noticed, was rather larger than the others. He ambled towards it, and nosed in.

"You want that one?" Beckett said, removing the saddle and bridle. "Okay. I'll get you some hay and oats."

Castle thought for a moment. He didn't dare shift form, now, but he could, um, suggest. He trotted out of the stall and spent a moment or two kicking all the straw from the next stall into his; piling it up against the wooden side. That done, he considered doing the same with the stall after that, only deciding not to as he realised that horses, however smart, weren't normally that smart.

Beckett came back with an armful of feed, dumping it into the manger. She looked around, spotting the piled-up straw, and regarded it ruefully. "I think I'll need a little more than that, and a blanket," she decided. She stalked to a stall, hauled out the straw, and then did the same a couple more times. A suitable quantity of bedding later, she went searching for a blanket, and returned with three. "Two for me, and one for you," she said. "It's not the first time I've slept in a stable, though I was a lot younger then."

Castle whuffed. He wouldn't shift form unless he consciously decided to, but he hadn't imagined the first night spent with Beckett as being in a stable and in his horse form. He'd have much preferred it being preceded by a delightful and flirtatious dinner, and then spent in a bed. Ah, well. Next time…

"You sleep lying down?" Beckett queried. "You're the first horse I've ever known to sleep lying down." She grinned. "Stops you standing on me, I guess." He harruffed at her: the horse equivalent of a harrumph. "Okay, okay. I know you wouldn't mean to, but you're a big, big horse and this stall isn't quite double sized."

Castle indulged himself and shifted his withers a fraction so that he could nuzzle at Beckett's hair. She positively giggled, and hugged his neck; staying leaning against him. "Wish" – she paused – "people were more like you." She sighed. "I hate people who think they're entitled to everything just 'cause they're rich and famous." He winced. He didn't think he was entitled to Beckett – nobody was entitled to anyone, ever – he just wanted her to give him a chance. Not because he was rich and famous, but because he wanted to give her everything. If he hadn't been so dumb before the summer…they'd be doing better. He nuzzled her again, because he could, and she'd shoot him if he tried to hug her in human form. This was the best he could do, for now. He watched protectively as Beckett spread a blanket over the hay, then one over his back, then lay down and tugged the third blanket over herself, wriggling to make a dent in the straw. Shortly, there was only slow breathing, punctuated by rustles as she shifted in her sleep.

"Sleep well," he whispered.

When he woke, Beckett was still soundly asleep. He realised that she hadn't had any dinner last night, and further that he'd need to exit the stall for a moment or two. He tip-tapped out, his hooves as quiet as he could manage, and shortly tip-tapped back, much more comfortable. He was profoundly grateful that Beckett hadn't bothered to shut the stall door. Looking down at her sleeping form, she had faint dark circles under her eyes; sharp juts at her cheekbones. She really ought to eat a good breakfast, he mused. If he were in human form, he'd ensure she had the option. As a horse…well, he couldn't imagine her eating hay, and he could hardly reveal that he spoke.

A short while later, under his protective eye, Beckett stretched, scrubbed at her eyes, and peeled them open.

"Urrgh," she emitted, while stretching again. "Ugh." She heaved herself up to sitting. "I am too old to sleep on straw." Castle whuffled, sympathetically, and nuzzled his nose at her shoulder. She patted him gently. "Coffee. Breakfast." Her tone hardened. "They lost my reservation, the least they can do is give me breakfast." She stood, and checked the manger and water. "You have plenty of fodder and water. I won't be long. Go stretch out in the paddock." Dusting herself down, she stalked out. Castle spared a thought for the unfortunate hostel manager, who would shortly find himself pinned on the Beckett glare. She'd probably be offered the best breakfast the hostel could offer, though she'd drink them out of coffee rather than eat them out of house and home. He betook himself to the paddock, and indulged himself in an extended trot and then canter, before walking over to the gate and waiting.

Beckett intimidated the hostel manager into providing breakfast and several pints of coffee, after which she felt alive enough to have a quick clean-up in the restrooms (she'd have to wait to shower till that evening) and sauntered out to the paddock. "I'll go make sure everything's clean," she said to Doinnean, "and then we'll get going again." She grinned. "Let's have another gallop." The horse neighed in agreement as she cleaned up the tack and then fitted it on to him. She checked each hoof again, then strapped on the saddlebags and mounted. A moment later, they were turning out on to the trail again.

Thank you to all readers and especially reviewers.