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Chapter Text

March 2009

"Darling, is that you?"

"Yes, Mother."

(Who else?)

Rick Rodgers sighs as he steps into the cramped but cozy kitchen of their shared flat. He'd just wanted to grab a snack, maybe get his brain going and break through his worst ever case of writer's block…but it's no use. He doesn't think the spark will ever come back. He's forever doomed to brood around in wrinkled boxers and stained t-shirts with unkempt hair.

"Oh, good. Would you mind making me some more tea?"

To his chagrin, his mother had become obsessed with tea ever since they'd moved to the UK last fall. Once the divorce with his ex-wife had been finalized, he'd used what savings he had left to leave New York, escape his terrible failures in life and love, and be closer to his daughter—the only thing he'd ever done right. Case in point: she's halfway through her second year of studying for an international law degree at Oxford (just an hour's train ride away), getting ready to change the world.

Back in New York, he'd been using his English degree to teach creative writing classes, but when Kevin Ryan—an old college buddy—had convinced him Notting Hill was the place to be, Rick had hopped on board and never looked back.

Kevin, who had been kind enough to help Rick find an old bookstore to run, was working on opening an Irish pub down the street with another expat friend of his.

Javier Esposito had once been a sniper in the American army; formerly stationed out of a base near London. He'd met Kevin at a sports bar one day and they'd become fast friends—the kind of immediate bond forged from the solidarity of being possibly the only Knicks fans in the whole country.

Rick drops a tea bag into a mug, grabs the kettle with freshly-boiled water, and fills the mug almost to the brim. After a couple minutes of steeping, he adds a splash of milk and two teaspoons of sugar and brings it to his mother in the living room, where she's cocooned in a comfy chair watching some trashy celebrity show on their tiny TV box, a relic from the 90s.

"Thanks, kiddo."

His eyes are pulled to the bright screen as the word orphan unceremoniously flashes by, and Rick gets the feeling this is not going to be the kind of BBC3 exposé that follows any shred of decorum.

You've heard the story. Haven't we all? A decade ago 19-year-old Katherine "Kate" Beckett was involved in a horrific car crash while heading home from her Christmas holiday in northern New York. Both of her parents were instantly killed and she—the sole survivor; without a scratch. But with no other immediate family, the young girl had to drop out of her schooling at the prestigious Stanford University and secure a waitressing job at Remy's Diner in New York City to make ends meet. That's where she was discovered by fashion mogul Matilda King, who famously told her—"I'd kill for those cheekbones." And after appearing in a spread of Modern Fashion's January '99 issue, Kate Beckett skyrocketed to fame.

God. His daughter is 19. Rick can't imagine her going through that. He used to be so convinced that Meredith's absence was the worst thing that could happen. But losing both parents like that and not having anyone to turn to?

"Won't you sit down? You're hovering," his mother tuts.

He drops into the other comfy chair, entranced. He's aware that basically everyone in the world is a little bit in love with Kate Beckett, but it's impossible not to be. She's beautiful and charming, and he's always thought so, ever since he first saw her starring on those episodes of that soap he used to watch with Alexis when she was sick.

Soon enough—Kate Beckett bagged a handful of commercial spots and quickly ascended to a career in the spotlight. All too soon, however, the young model fell down the rabbit hole of illicit vices and spent a stint in rehab before being cast in the renowned soap opera, Temptation Lane, where she made waves with her showstopping good looks, comedic timing, and raw dramatic chops.

"Almost just like me," Martha quips, exactly as Rick expects her to. "I was on a career trajectory like hers before you came along, you know."

Oh, he knows. She never lets him forget it.

Kate made her debut on the huge silver screen as a Bond girl—but her big breakout role was as Lieutenant Chloe in the sci-fi flick and instant box office success, Nebula-9. She went on to star in two more franchise sequels.

He remembers those movies were kind of cheesy, but she's the only thing that made them worth watching. (Not that he'd ever admit to being a Nebula-9 fan.)

Wanting to branch out, Kate scored a leading role in the remake of the 1950s movie musical classic, Annie Get Your Gun, where she garnered her first Oscar nomination at twenty-five for her portrayal of the gun-slinging Annie Oakley.

A clip of her singing plays—she sounds like a siren. She should've won the Oscar. Totally robbed.

She went on to become America's Sweetheart by starring in several more smash hits—Nancy Meyer rom-coms like Love Me Dead and The Fifth Bullet, where she played an amnesiac who falls in love with her husband all over again. Most recently, she wrapped up filming for her newest movie, a noir thriller The Blue Butterfly, where she stars as a gangster's moll that falls for an undercover FBI agent, who helps rescue her kidnapped daughter from a rival mob outfit. He's portrayed by the "Hunk of Hollywood"—Will Sorenson.

Martha lets out a low, appreciative whistle when his picture pops onto the screen. "He can arrest me anytime."

"Right," Rick says, rolling his eyes. "And that's enough for me. Goodnight, Mother."

Her eyes stay glued to the screen as she sips from her tea and waves at him with a hum of night.

Rick heaves a sigh as he pulls open a box filled with his recent order of the new Patterson thriller. He knows it's childish—there was always going to be a lot of Patterson in this place…he's the one who decided to sell only mystery novels in his bookstore, after all—but he's admittedly getting a little sick of the sight of the famous author.

Mysteries were his favorite as a kid. He was always tucked away in some corner reading The Hardy Boys or hot on the trail of something with Sherlock and Watson. He went as Encyclopedia Brown for Halloween three years in a row, despite Martha's insistence that he should try dressing up as something else for a change. She had so many other costumes he could wear and wouldn't he like to be her Toto?

"Jesus, I think you might be more dramatic than I am," his mother quips.

"It's just…this guy keeps churning out hit after hit and I can't even get one book published. I mean, my ex-wife was a publisher for Chrissake and some of my old students have already made it on the New York Times Bestseller List. How embarrassing is that? And now, because I apparently can't write a book to save my life, the best I can do is sell them." He gestures at her. "At least you have community theater to pursue your passion."

His mother balks. "Good lord, you're maudlin this morning. Why don't I grab us some cappuccinos from across the street? Ease the pain."

He sighs heavily. "Sure." As she whirls out the door in a billow of colorful scarves, bells clanging loudly in her wake, he hollers, "Can you get it with whipped cream, please?"

She throws up her thumbs and calls back to him. "Coming right up!"

Another clang of the shop bells as a customer makes their way in a few moments later.

He glances up, takes stock, and glances back down at the store's balance sheets.

And then, with as much subtlety as he can possibly manage, Rick does a double take. Because holy shit—it's Kate Beckett. Katherine Beckett. Hollywood's biggest star just wandered into his little store on a random Monday.

There's no way…what are the odds?

She's gorgeous—obviously, always—and somehow even more stunning in person than she is on screen. Kate moves with this careful, leonine grace, something almost preternatural in how steadily she holds herself. A certified dame.

Her outfit is a clear shot at anonymity: a fashionable beret slung low over dark sunglasses, tasteful but unassuming, the kind of thing a 90s starlet might wear, along with a vintage leather jacket that's effortlessly cool. He wants to write it down. All of it, all of her. For the first time since New York, Rick feels that calling, the surge of energy into his fingertips. To open a notebook and start writing.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice mercifully measured.

She browses the shelves, running slim fingers along the spines of books, a faint smile on her face. "Yeah, actually. Do you have the new Patterson?"

He holds it up from his stack on the counter. "Are you sure? You'd be wasting your money."

Amusement crooks the corner of her mouth. "Really?"

He's about to explain further when he spies something afoot on his security camera feed. He holds up a finger. "If you could just give me a second."

He heads to the back of the store and clears his throat. "Excuse me."

A greasy-looking guy turns to face him, feigning nonchalance. "Yes?"

"Bad news."

"What?"

Rick points toward a ceiling corner. "We have a security camera in this part of the store."

The man bristles. "So?"

"So, I saw you put that book down your pants. Trousers. Whatever you call 'em."

The man tries to play dumb. "What book?"

(Seriously, dude?) "The one down your pants."

"I haven't got a book down my trousers."

"Right. Well, then…I'm afraid we're at an impasse." Rick shifts on his feet. "But tell you what, I'll call the police and—" he throws a casual hand to the side, "if I'm wrong about the whole book-down-the-pants thing, I apologize."

The would-be thief considers this. "Okay. What if I did have a book down my trousers?"

Rick makes a show of weighing his options. "Well, ideally, when I go back to the desk counter, you'll remove The Murder on the Orient Express from your pants, and either wipe it and put it back or—buy it."

He returns to his spot at the cash register—to Kate, who watches him now with a new sheen of interest.

"Sorry 'bout that," he offers.

"No, that's fine. I was going to steal one myself but now I've changed my mind," she deadpans. He grins, a lopsided thing, as his heart does a funny flip. She picks up a John Grisham book on the counter. "Signed by the author, I see."

"Yeah, we couldn't stop him. If you can find an unsigned copy, it's worth an absolute fortune."

She smiles. (Charmed, maybe?) And suddenly the almost-thief appears right beside her. Uncomfortably close and staring pretty rudely. He's all stringy hair and weasel eyes, but, Rick notes with relief, at least there isn't a suspiciously book-shaped bulge down the front of his pants.

"Yes?" Kate prompts when the man fails to speak.

"Can I have your autograph?"

She stays blithely cool; doesn't miss a beat. "What's your name?"

"Harrison Tisdale."

She readily signs his scruffy piece of paper and Harrison tries to read it.

"What does it say?" he asks.

"Well, that's the signature...and above, it says—Dear Harrison—you belong in jail."

Rick smothers a laugh behind his knuckles.

"Nice one," Harrison says, unaffected. "Would you like my phone number?"

"Tempting," Kate pretends to consider. (She really is a good actress.) "But...no. Thank you."

The interloper leaves.

"You'd make a great cop, you know," Rick ventures. "Bet you could play the hell out of a detective character. Haunting good looks. Kind of slutty."

She laughs. (God, her laugh is divine.)

Picking up steam, he adds, "And like Nancy Drew, she solves every case. Except the one mystery she can never solve is herself—who she is and what she wants out of life."

She bites her lip and eyes him with curiosity, as if trying to figure him out.

"Oh, I get it. You don't just sell the books—you write 'em too, huh?"

He shrugs, a little bemused by how quickly she's managed to read him. (Cute trick.) "I've been known to dabble."

Her eyebrow arches. (Fuck, she's hot.) "Anything that I might know of?"

"Not yet," he hedges. "I'm sort of in the middle of an inspiration slump."

He probably sounds like a complete idiot. But she's not walking away just yet.

"Is that a fancy way of saying writer's block?" she teases.

He gasps and puts a hand to his chest in mock affront. "How dare you? That's like saying Macbeth in the theater. You've basically just cursed me." His hand raises to his forehead, as if afflicted. "I'll never be able to write again."

She grins her trademark megawatt grin. "I think I'll take the Patterson."

He sighs. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Though I will admit his book is very useful for lighting fires, wrapping fish, that sort of thing."

She smiles once more, soft and gentle, something incredibly intimate about it. His heart does another funny flip. And as she leaves with another tinkle of the bells, she winks.

"Break a leg, Writer Boy."

Martha returns at the same time, not noticing her as she squeezes past the star with her coffee tray.

"Cappuccino with whipped cream, as ordered," his mother announces with a flourish.

But he doesn't give a damn about the coffee, his skin buzzing and adrenaline coursing through him—fingertips tingling.

"I don't think you'll believe who was just in here."

"Who? Someone famous?"

"Uh…" He blinks. "Kate Beckett."

"Shut the front door!" Martha's gaze snaps toward the store entrance. "Do you think she's still close by?"

Still dazed, he blinks again. Manages, "Why?"

"Well, don't you want to follow her around?"

He huffs a laugh. As much as he would love to, maybe in another life— "I think that constitutes as stalking, Mother."

"Oh, pish-posh. I'm simply curious about where she shops for clothes. She has such great style." She shrugs. "We can call it research."

"I'm sure that'll hold up very well in court when they're issuing the restraining order," he jokes.

Without really thinking about it, Rick removes a brand-new Moleskine notebook from a nearby shelf and tears off the plastic packaging.

"What are you doing?" his mother asks with a quirk of her brow.

He grabs a pen from a cup on the check-out counter and starts scribbling down a rush of words.

"Nothing, uh…"

He scrubs a hand over his five o'clock shadow as he jots down the outline of a detective character, his mind alive with a million things.

"I have an idea."

Chapter Text

God, he feels good. Inspired. For the first time in years.

Rick rushes out of the coffee shop on the corner with renewed vigor, a new order for him and his mother in hand. But just as he's about to step off the curb, he crashes into something and the cups tumble from his grip, liquid flying everywhere.

A loud cry of disdain and—oh shit. He crashed into someone.

He's about to set sail on some profuse apology when he looks up and realizes two things in nightmare-quick succession. First: it's Kate Beckett again. He just collided with America's Sweetheart in his tiny corner of Notting Hill. Second: he just spilled steaming hot coffee all over her nice shirt.

"Oh, Jesus," Kate exclaims, instinctively peeling the soaking fabric away from her chest as Rick ducks in to try and give her a hand. Jesus, indeed.

"Here, let me help." He tries, he does, taking the two napkins he was given with his order and blindly attempting to scrub at the worst of the stain.

"What are you doing?" She sounds, understandably, quite outraged.

Rick jumps back.

"Nothing, sorry. So sorry." He offers up the napkins and she snatches them from him, expression presumably stormy behind those dark glasses. "Look," he continues, trying to salvage what he can. "I live just over the street. Um, you could get cleaned up?"

"No, thank you," she snaps. Decisive, immediate. Rick understands. "I just need to get back to my car."

"I also have a phone," he suggests, rambling now. "I'm sure that in, like, five minutes, we can have you spick and span and back on the street again faster than Lieutenant Chloe can draw her laser gun."

She fixes him with a look. A glare, really. Oh, he might just die. In fact, he might already be in hell, because he just made a god-awful Nebula-9 joke to Kate Beckett herself and she's still very much still staring at him like he just spilled cappuccino down her ridiculously expensive outfit. Which, fair enough.

"Okay," she says then, sighing down at the remnants of her top. She looks up, still scrutinizing him, cautious. "So what does 'just over the street' mean? Give it to me in yards."

Rick blinks. She's—saying yes?

"Eighteen yards. That's my house there."

He points across the road at his front door, standing out from all the rest with how very blue it is. His favorite feature. And then Kate's turning back to him, still frowning but relenting now, easing up.

"Okay," she gives. Her voice is so sexy. (He could listen to her read the phone book all day.) "Fine. In and out."

"In and out," he promises.

The house is a mess. Understatement. The house is a bombsite. Between Rick and his mother, it's utter chaos, and he finds himself kicking old shoes beneath the stairs and slamming a half-eaten pizza into some cupboard even as Kate's walking in behind him.

"Sorry," he preempts, turning back to face her. "It's not, um. Not the cleanest."

To his surprise, Kate doesn't seem to be passing all that much judgement on the state of his home. She just shrugs a little, unbothered. Doesn't say a word.

"The bathroom's right at the top of the stairs," he says. "And you probably have a phone on you, but if not, there's a landline on the desk up there. So. Here."

He takes the bag of books from her and she throws him a tiny quirk of her lips. She's so quiet—withdrawn beyond the point of basic allure; faintly distrusting. He doesn't mind. Kate Beckett is in his house right now. This might still be a dream.

She disappears up the stairs in silence and he watches her go, captivated by the flair of her, the ballerina-like elegance she pours into every movement without even seeming to realize.

Rick blinks once she's disappeared around the corner, taking stock of his surroundings again. Right, the mess. He starts tidying up frantically, slamming plates into the dishwasher, sweeping crumbs from countertops, and he's just getting rid of the worst of it when he hears Kate's footsteps coming back down the stairs. He could try to act nonchalant, but it'd be futile. So he turns, a lukewarm carton of milk still in hand. And there she is, making a red carpet of his worn staircase. Breathtaking.

Kate approaches, wearing a short, sparkling black crop top beneath her leather jacket. There's just enough skin on display that Rick's mouth goes a little dry, a toned set of abs visible beneath the cut of fabric, but the last thing he wants is for her to feel uncomfortable, so he tears his eyes away before she notices. She's a vision. He'd tell her, but there's no way she doesn't already know.

"Do you want a cup of tea before you go?"

Kate pauses, slightly easier to read now that the dark sunglasses are gone. Her eyes might be her best feature. Like the middle of a dark wood, soft brown and flecked with green and gold— gorgeous, enchanting, and studying him as if he were a newly-discovered bug.

"No, thanks."

"Coffee?" he suggests. She shoots him a dry look. "Ah. Probably not," he gathers hastily.

Rick moves to his disastrously empty fridge, trawling its contents for anything of substance to offer her. "Something else cold—coke, water, some disgusting sugary drink pretending to have something to do with fruits of the forest?"

She's starting to look faintly amused. "No."

"I can cook you something?" He suggests. Then frowns. "Never mind, actually. I think my bacon has something furry on it. And it's a bit of a takeout temple in here. Uh, hey—" he grabs a sticky jar hidden in the back, "what about apricots soaked in honey? Not even sure why they do that, to be honest, because at some point they stop tasting like apricots and just start tasting like honey. And if you wanted honey, you'd just buy honey, right? Sorry, anyway," he holds it out to her, "they're yours if you want them."

Kate narrows her eyes at him for a moment, something in her gaze that he's not sure quite how to read. He'd like to call it mirth, but it might just be pity. He's never felt like such a blathering idiot in his whole life.

"No."

Right.

"Do you—always say no to everything?" he asks.

She tilts her head a little, clearly a little fazed by the question, hesitating before she answers this time. "...No."

A pause.

"I should be going," she says slowly. "Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome," Rick returns earnestly. "And, can I also just say, I think you're…"

He takes a breath. Steels himself. Because if not now, then never again.

"Extraordinary." He swallows, faintly shocked that she hasn't turned tail and fled yet. "I figure it's my one chance to say it. After you've read that terrible book, you're definitely not going to be coming back to the store."

Kate smiles. Close-lipped, careful, but still with such a genuine measure of gratitude that Rick can only really stare.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, well. My pleasure. Obviously." He guides her towards the door and she follows.

A silence descends, slightly awkward but not altogether unbearable. Kate's still sort of studying him, and Rick can't quite bring himself to meet her gaze.

"It was nice meeting you," he says, making eye contact at last. She's almost too beautiful to look at for too long. "Surreal. But nice."

Kate gives him a soft, Mona Lisa smile, and then he's opening the door for her.

She leaves the way she came: wordlessly.

Surreal but nice. What was he thinking? Rick shakes his head, mostly still too starstruck to be embarrassed, heading in a fugue-state back towards the kitchen to finish his clean-up job.

Until he hears a knock at the door.

He knows that it won't be Kate. A delivery driver maybe, or—worse—his mother. But even still, despite his reasoning, despite the fact that a Hollywood star has absolutely no business coming into his home in the first place, let alone coming back… he hopes. He lets himself hope.

Rick opens the door.

It's Kate. Against all odds.

"Hi again," he says, sounding maybe a little breathless but otherwise fairly together. "Forget something?"

"My bag," Kate returns shortly, shooting him an apologetic look. As if she's an inconvenience.

"Oh, right. No worries." He darts into the kitchen and picks up the forgotten shopping bag. Then returns and hands it to her, just like that. "There you go."

"Thanks," she says. "Well. I guess this is it."

It's the first time he's heard her sounding anything less than utterly self-assured. And there's a look on her face, too. Something conflicted; unyielding.

"Doesn't have to be," Rick finds himself saying. "We could, uh. Go to dinner. Debrief each other."

She just raises an eyebrow, all suggestive, but he knows that the silence is her answer. It was a shot in the dark, after all.

They stand in that corridor—in that small space. Second time saying goodbye. A strange feeling of intimacy, though he's pretty certain that he might just be making it up.

That is, until she leans forward and kisses him.

His entire world narrows down to her mouth. Nothing else matters but the strange and remarkable feel of those world-famous lips on his. God, it's like a hit of heroin injected straight into his veins—an all-powerful high that's instant, caustic, and blinding.

Kate curls her hand around the nape of his neck and it's so tender that Rick thinks his heart might actually stop but then she's pulling away, the warmth dissipating, the connection lost. He opens his eyes—when did he close them?—and just stares at her for a moment. Takes her in. She stares right back.

"That was amazing," he exhales, still in awe.

Her cheeks redden and she ducks her head.

"I apologize for the 'surreal but nice' comment," he adds. "Total disaster."

"Don't worry about it." Her mouth twists with a shy smirk. "I thought the apricot and honey business was the real low point."

He's about to come back with something equally as charming when he hears the snick of a key in the lock.

"Oh my God," he lets out. "My mother. I'm sorry—there's no excuse for her."

Martha barges in right on cue, phone pressed tight to her ear, tittering away to someone on the other end.

"And so then I said," she exclaims, "you know, darling, it's so funny, I think I might just have that same negligée at home!"

Rick grimaces, resisting the urge to just put his head in his hands as Martha breezes past them both, still rattling on about negligées and tiger print and a whole host of things that he absolutely does not need to be hearing about. She throws Rick a wave and, mercifully, doesn't even seem to notice Kate, disappearing around the corner without a word to either of them.

He's not sure he's ever felt so mortified.

Kate, for her part, is just smiling that careful smile again, her eyes sparkling.

"Probably best not to tell anyone about this," she whispers conspiratorially.

"Right," he agrees. "Nobody. I mean, I'll tell myself sometimes. But—don't worry. I won't believe it."

Her gaze softens.

"Bye."

"It's too bad," Rick finds himself saying, just as she's moving to go. Anything for just a few more moments with her. She stills, tilting her head a little at him in question. "It…would've been great."

Kate raises an eyebrow as she bites her lip, so infuriatingly sexy, and leans in, her hair brushing his cheek with how close she gets. Mouth right at his ear, her breath washing over him.

"You have no idea."

A pleasant shiver runs down his spine. And then she leaves, touching his hand, brief and feather-light, but it's as if she's marked him; staked her claim. His heart palpitates at an uncontrollable rhythm. And he stands there, shellshocked, for another few moments.

"Kiddo?" comes his mother's voice. She appears around the corner again, honey-soaked apricots in hand. "I think we might need more groceries. These grapes taste funny."

He sighs. "Apricots, Mother."

"Ha! Well, there you go." She pauses. "Who was that in the corridor just now?"

"Nobody," he says quickly. "Friend of Kev's."

Martha studies him for a moment.

"Alright," she relents. "Still up for watching a movie later?"

"Sounds good. Any ideas?"

"Oh, we should do a Kate Beckett feature since she came into our bookshop. It's fate!"

And then she came to our home and kissed me on the lips, Rick thinks.

He swallows. "Perfect."

In the end, they settle on one of her famous rom-coms and squish together on their tiny and overstuffed couch. More of a loveseat, really. The Fifth Bullet glows on the TV and Rick watches, enraptured—despite the fact that he's seen this movie maybe three times before already. Four. (Five?)

Kate's character is on the screen wandering around an art gallery, avoiding the gaze of her startlingly handsome co-star.

"What's that actor called again?" he murmurs.

"Josh something," Martha returns. "Total heartthrob, right? Played the hot doctor on that procedural a few years ago."

Rick bristles. "He isn't that attractive." Too conventional.

"Smile," comes Josh-something's voice from the TV.

"No." This from Kate. She's playing an amnesiac in the movie, sulking through her memory loss despite the repeated efforts of her on-screen partner to draw her back into life and love.

"Smile," the man says again.

"He's pretty annoying," Rick grumbles.

His mother shushes him, smacking him lightly on the shoulder as she stage-whispers, "This is the best part!"

"I've got nothing to smile about," Kate's character mourns. "I still don't remember anything."

"Okay," says Josh-something. "In about seven seconds, I'm going to ask you to marry me again."

And after a couple of seconds—wow—Kate smiles. It lights up the screen, dazzling and radiant.

"Just exquisite," Martha remarks. "Isn't she? Imagine. Somewhere in the world, there's a man who's allowed to kiss her."

Rick cuts his eyes to his mother.

"Could've been you, you know," she quips next, elbowing him a little. "Honestly, Richard. It's been six months since the divorce. You should start putting yourself out there again—find someone like that to kiss while you're still young!"

He groans, grateful for the way the darkness hides the flush that must be climbing his neck. "Don't start."

"Fine, fine," she huffs, flapping her hand in his direction. "She's way out of your league, anyway."

"Have you got any travel books?"

Rick glances up from his balance sheets a day later, taking stock of the man in front of him.

"Um," he says. "No, sorry. Mystery novels only, I'm afraid."

The customer tilts his head. "Right. Anything on Cambodia?"

Rick blinks. "Like…set there?"

"Information guides, pamphlets, that sort of thing."

"No," he says again. "Sorry. Mysteries only. Can I interest you in the new John Grisham thriller? Or one of his old ones?"

"What about Thailand?"

Okay. So it's one of those days.

"If you're looking for something exotic," Rick suggests, turning to pull a copy of The Pelican Brief from the shelf behind him, "where do you stand on exotic birds?"

The joke doesn't land. His customer frowns, looking around like he's only just noticed that, yes, this is in fact a store specializing in just the one genre.

"Could've sworn this used to be a travel bookshop," the man frowns, shaking his head. "Are you sure you haven't got any guidebooks on Laos?"

Enough of this. "Mother? Your customer."

Martha appears from the small office in the back and Rick shoots her an exasperated look. He turns to face the window just as a bus roars by, its side plastered with an advertisement for— oh. Kate Beckett's upcoming movie. Of course.

Kate's portrait takes up most of the poster, her eyes dark, piercing. She's looking directly into the camera and Rick feels a little caught by it, the intensity of her gaze—he only just manages to catch the film's title as the bus rushes past.

The Blue Butterfly. A tasteful, art deco font. Judging by the way Kate was styled in the photo—dark lips, curled hair—maybe a period piece? Whatever it is, she's beautiful. Arrestingly so.

No, wait. It's that noir thriller they were promoting the other night in her career retrospective. He loves noir. One of his favorite pastimes was ingesting as many dimestore pulp novels as possible. He has a whole section dedicated to Raymond Chandler in the front of the store.

He makes a mental note to buy tickets as he just stands there, staring out the window, long after the advertisement has disappeared, wondering if she's still thinking about their kiss too.

He passes Martha on his way up the stairs the next day.

She's wearing a potato sack. And a fake white beard.

"Good morning!" she says brightly, sounding very much like a woman who isn't currently sporting a sack where a dress should be.

"Mother," he tries, twisting around and following her back down into the kitchen. "Everything—okay?"

"Right as rain, kiddo."

"You're in a sack."

"Oh, yes," she says, like it's obvious. "Laundry day. And I'm working on my costume for that King Lear audition I've got coming up."

Which is about as sane an explanation as he's going to get from her.

"And you're auditioning—as the king?"

Martha nods. "Precisely. Always aim for stardom."

"Right," he says slowly. "Of course."

"So," he says, a day later, right as Martha finishes blowing out the candle on top of her cake. "What are your plans for the rest of your birthday?"

"Oh, shush," she scolds. "My plan, Richard, is to avoid drawing any more attention to the fact that I'm aging."

She's never been one for celebrating her own big day, but even still.

"You're in a birthday dress and we're eating cake on the roof," he returns glibly. "And you're wearing a crown. Feels pretty celebratory to me."

His mother smiles, preening a little. "Well, of course. Important that we do something to commemorate. The day would be remiss without."

"See? Exactly. And besides, you never age."

"You're too kind," she says, her tone sarcastic but still quietly grateful. "Thanks, kiddo."

"You're welcome," he replies, digging into his portion of cake with the sun lighting up the terrace for both of them. "Happy birthday, Mother."

He's trying his best to block out the sound of Martha's voice as she rehearses King Lear an hour later when the phone rings. Thank, God. Rick folds his Moleskine closed and caps his pen—damn, he's written a lot, when did that happen—before he makes his way over to their landline.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad."

"Alexis, hey! How's it going?"

"Um," she starts, voice wavering. "Not great, actually."

"Oh, sweetheart." Rick softens his tone. Boy troubles, he's sure. "Feel like telling me what's up?"

"Just…Ashley," she lets out. "We broke up—mutual decision."

"I see," he says gently. "For better or for worse?"

Alexis sniffs. "Better, I think. It's nobody's fault. Long distance just…wasn't really working for us. Time zones, workload, the whole thing. It just sucks."

"Really sucks," he agrees. "I'm sorry you're hurting."

"It's okay, really," she says. His forlorn little girl. "Not right now, maybe, but it will be. I just, um, I wanted to ask if Gram's birthday dinner is still happening? It'd be really nice to see everyone."

"Still on," he confirms, his heart warming at the thought of seeing Alexis again. She drops by around once a month or so, so her absence isn't too bad, but he still misses her. "They're all really excited to see you."

"Good," she says, sounding a little more cheerful already. "I'm glad. Listen, I've got to go or I might miss my train. I love you. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Alright," he replies. "Travel safe, Pumpkin. Love you."

"Love you too!"

The call ends.

He senses Martha behind him before he even sees her, eavesdropping as ever.

"Everything alright with Alexis?"

"Not really," he admits. "Boyfriend stuff. Or, uh, ex-boyfriend, as of today."

Martha grimaces. "How terrible. I liked Ashley."

Rick hums in agreement, turns back to stare out the window. He was a good kid.

"Seems like nobody's filling up the dance cards in this family," his mother sighs wistfully. "Although, actually, there was a girl that called for you the other day. It was the strangest thing."

He whips around. "Excuse me?"

"Real oddball. Lovely voice, though. She said she was…a detective, if I remember correctly."

His pulse races. "What else did she say?"

"Well, it was genuinely bizarre. She said to call her at The Ritz—and then she gave me a name. But I don't think it was her real one."

Holy shit. Holy shit. It was Kate; it had to be.

"What was it?"

"Hm?"

"The name, Mother. What name did she give?"

"This is The Ritz London. How may I direct your call?"

"Yeah, so here's the thing, um—I'm a friend of Kate Beckett's, and she called me at home the day before yesterday. And then left a message. Apparently she's staying with you?"

(God, he must sound like the world's worst liar.)

The man on the other end of the line pauses. "I'm sorry, sir," he says cordially. "We don't have anyone of that name here."

"No, I know," Rick says. "I know that. She said she's using another name, but the problem is that she left the message with my mother, which was a big mistake."

Martha rolls her eyes on the couch next to him, muttering, but he can tell that she's as eager as he is to get through. "Maybe try Daphne? It's something with a 'D'—I'm sure of it," she insists.

He narrows his eyes at her. "Imagine, if you will, the most harebrained person you've ever met. Are you doing that?" he asks the man on the phone.

His mother swats at him, scolding, but is clearly still trying to rack her brain. Unsurprisingly, she's aggressively on board for a potential relationship between him and the most famous woman in the world.

"Yes, sir, I have them in mind," says the Ritz man.

"Perfect. Now double it."

His mother grabs the phone from him before he can stop her. "He's right, you know," she continues, "I'd leave my head on the bus if it wasn't screwed on properly. I was given an alias, you see, but I've forgotten it. Please don't punish my son for my mistake. Or me, for that matter. It's my birthday!"

Rick manages to wrangle the phone back from her before the Ritz receptionist has the foresight to just hang up on the both of them.

"Listen," he says, shifting his tone into something gentler, more convincing. "I know I probably sound like a freakin' nutbar, or well…the both of us do, but—"

"I'm afraid I really can't help you," the receptionist interrupts.

And right as it sounds like this is all about to come crashing to an undignified end, Martha snaps her fingers, bolting upright beside him.

"Drew!" she exclaims. "Try Nancy Drew!"

He presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. As if. "What?"

"I think she said her name was Nancy Drew," his mother says emphatically. "Try that."

Worth a shot.

"Does… 'Nancy Drew' mean anything to you?" he tries.

The receptionist pauses for a beat. Rick forgets how to breathe. And then—-"I'll put you right through, sir."

He shoots to his feet with a shout of, "Bam said the lady!"

"It worked?" Martha asks.

"Like magic," he confirms with a thumbs up.

"Huzzah!" she cheers.

She attempts to listen in, but he shoos her away. This is one of the most important calls of his life. Maybe ever. He doesn't need any distractions.

With a grumble of just put it on speakerphone, his mother thankfully makes herself scarce and he's still practicing his greeting out loud—does he go with hi or hello?—when Kate picks up.

"Hi," she says, her voice filled with soft amusement.

"Oh, hi," he babbles nervously. "It's Richard, uh, Rick. Rodgers. We—um, I work in a bookstore."

"You played it pretty cool here, waiting three days to call." He can feel her smirk through the phone—but also a note of self-consciousness.

"No," he blurts, desperate not to give her the wrong impression. "No, I've never played anything cool in my entire life. My mother, who is off her rocker, never gave me the message."

"Should I be worried that you're still living with your mother?"

"Hey," he protests lightly, "she's living with me. I'm the provider."

"Wow," she chuckles. "You're such a gentleman."

He grins. "Anyway, maybe uh—I was wondering if I could drop by for coffee or something?"

A beat of silence. His heart sinks.

"Yeah—unfortunately, things are going to be pretty busy," she starts, and Rick winces. Never mind then. "But...okay, let's give it a try. Does four o'clock sound good?"

He blinks.

"Right," he manages. Hope unfurls in his chest. "Great. Four o'clock sounds perfect."

"See you then, Writer Boy."

"Yeah, see you then, Detective."

A soft laugh and then the call dies.

He stares at it, wondering if that really just happened.

His mother pops out from her hiding place.

"So?"

He still doesn't quite believe it, but—"It's a date."

She throws her hands up in joy, wrapping him in an ecstatic celebratory hug. "Oh, how wonderful!" Then she pulls back and assesses him with a critical eye, her nose wrinkling. "You should probably shower first."

"Way ahead of you," he says, hurrying up the stairs and tugging off his day-old shirt.

"Oh, and do wear that purple tie of yours. It makes you look so distinguished!"

He reappears an hour later, freshly shaven, wearing a fancy sport coat and a pair of dress shoes for the first time in… a while.

"You look great, kiddo," Martha says appraisingly as he descends the stairs into the kitchen. "Did you cut your hair?"

"No," Rick returns, too fast. (Maybe he took a little off the sides. So what.)

She chuckles. "Nice shirt."

It is a nice shirt. His nicest. The burgundy one that Alexis loves.

"Thanks," he says, ducking out of the way as his mother attempts to fix his hair. She adjusts his tie, once and then again until he's almost gasping for air, and then there's a bottle of cologne being whisked out before him—where did that come from—as she starts spritzing him all over.

"That's great," he wheezes, coughing a little. "Really, Mother, I think I smell fine now."

"Suit yourself," Martha deadpans, but she does at least put the bottle down. "Alright. Away with you. Go get the girl!"

"I'll do my best," he supplies, straightening his tie for a final time in the hallway mirror.

"No need to dawdle. Don't wanna be late!" His mother all but shoves him out the door. "Oh, and don't forget, my party's at eight!"

Chapter Text

He presses the elevator button and runs a hand through his hair, sweat pooling in his palms. The cellophane around the bouquet in his hand crinkles as he clutches it harder.

He feels like he's back in high school, picking a girl up for the dance.

When a cab dings in arrival, he steps on, butterflies swirling in his stomach. Another man joins him on the lift just before the doors close.

"Which floor?"

"Four."

Rick pushes the button. They wait for the doors to close.

The cab lands, and Rick gets out. The man follows.

Rick heads right…and so does the man.

Rick slows to a stop right outside of Room 47, casting a quick side-eye to the man who stops and stands there right beside him.

"Are you sure you…?"

"Yes."

Strange. Okay. Sure, why not.

"Oh. Right."

Rick knocks and a sharply-dressed Black woman immediately opens the door, quickly waving them both inside.

"Hi, I'm Lanie. Sorry, things are running a bit late. Here's the thing…"

She hands them both very slick, expensively produced press kits with a poster picture of Kate from her new movie, The Blue Butterfly.

Hold on…this can't be right.

Rick follows this woman—Lanie—into the main waiting room. There are a number of other people waiting for their audience, notebooks in hands. Journalists, he puts together.

"What did you think of the film?" Lanie asks.

The other man answers. "Fantastic. Chinatown meets The Maltese Falcon. Oscar-winning stuff."

They both turn to Rick for his opinion.

"...I agree." He swallows. Lanie studies him for a moment, critical, but he doesn't have anything else to say.

"I'm sorry," she says finally. "I didn't get down what magazines you're from."

"Tom Demming from Time Out," says the other man.

"Great. And you…"

"Uh…" Fuck. Fuck. He glances at a side table, spying the title of a familiar magazine and shoots from the hip. "...Sky Mall."

Lanie gives him a strange look. "Sky Mall? The airline magazine?"

"Uh, yeah." He tugs at his collar, swallowing again. "The name's Richard Rodgers. I think she might be—expecting me."

"Okay. Take a seat. I'll check." They both sit down as Lanie leaves.

The Time Out guy nods at him. "You brought her flowers?"

"Yeah," Rick replies, shrugging easily. "Nice icebreaker. Usually makes them more likely to open up during the interview."

"Damn," says Time Out, falling back in his chair. "I wish I'd thought of that." He perks up. "Would you wanna maybe lend me a few?"

"Uh," Rick falters, gesturing to the scant few flowers in the bouquet. "Might be overkill if we both turn up with half a dozen identical lilies each." (His mother had read in an article that Kate's favorites were lilies.)

The man—Demming, was it?—nods. "You're right, you're right. I'll just, ah, tell her about the volunteer work I do or something. That'll charm her."

Rick bristles. He's not sure if he particularly wants this bright blue-eyed and boyishly handsome journalist going out of his way to charm Kate Beckett at all. He looks to be ten years younger. A very athletic ten years younger. How's a washed-up writer supposed to compete with that?

"Maybe," he hums noncommittally. Demming-Schlemming. Whatever.

"Oh, or there's that coffee station back in the lobby. I could make her a nice latte—"

"—No!" Rick interjects before he can stop himself. The other man glances at him, bewildered. "Um. Just. I have it on good authority that she hates the stuff."

"Right," Schlemming says slowly. "Sure. No coffee."

"Mr. Rodgers?"

Rick glances up to see Lanie again, beckoning him. Hallelujah. She leads him down a corridor and indicates a set of huge golden doors. He flashes the PR woman a nervous grin and she smiles politely. "You've got five minutes."

He wipes a palm on his pants and walks through, his heart pounding.

And then it stops altogether.

Kate Beckett sits on a chair framed by windows, the afternoon light shining around her like a halo. She's staring out at the view, flawless, her profile almost regal. And she's wearing one of her trademark pantsuits. Charcoal with a lilac button-up and darker violet tie, her hair slicked back into a low ponytail.

God, she's glorious. His throat sticks.

"Hi," he manages somehow.

She rises from her seat, a shy grin blooming over her face. "Hello."

"I brought these, but clearly…" He motions to his lilies and then glances at the heaps of fancy flower arrangements around the room. "You're already opening a flower shop."

"Oh, no—these are great. My favorite." Her eyes twinkle brightly and she motions toward him. "I like the haircut." Then her nose scrunches in the cutest way. "Miss the scruff though."

He rubs his jaw with a nervous chuckle and a quiet thanks. (She noticed.)

"Sorry about not calling back sooner. The whole undercover name concept was apparently too much for my mother's flighty nature."

"No, it's a stupid privacy thing. And I always choose a woman of mystery—last time out, I was Irene Adler."

He opens his mouth to reply—that might be the hottest thing he's ever heard another person say—but an older man with a grave expression and authoritative presence enters the room.

"Everything okay?" the serious man asks Kate.

"Yes, thanks," she replies with a forced smile.

"And you're from… Sky Mall?" the older man queries. Oh, he must be one of the PR people.

Rick nods.

Kate bites back a grin. "Is that so?"

He shrugs his shoulders, shooting her a conspiratorial glance. "What can I say? Airlines love you."

The PR man settles at a little desk in the corner and takes notes. A pause. Rick feels he has to act the part. They sit in chairs opposite each other.

"So I'll just fire away, yeah?"

Kate nods.

Fuck. What the fuck. He's not a reporter, but his mother did teach him improv. The most important lesson—always go along with the bit. Yes and…

"Right. Um...the movie's great. And I just wondered…whether you ever thought of having more futuristic hand-held gadgetry? In it?"

He watches as she fights very hard to hold back a laugh. "Oh, well—we would have liked to," she says graciously. "But it was difficult, obviously, what with it being set in 1947."

She enunciates that last part. He winces. "Obviously. Very difficult."

The PR man leaves.

Rick puts his head in his hands.

"I'm so sorry. When I arrived outside, they stuck this thing in my hand—I didn't know what to do."

"No, it's my fault," she says gently. "I thought this would all be over by now. I just wanted to sort of apologize for the kissing thing. I seriously don't know what got into me. I just wanted to make sure you were fine about it."

"Totally fine about it," he lets out, a little crushed. He doesn't want an apology. He wants to kiss her again.

The PR man re-enters. "Do remember that Miss Beckett is also keen to talk about her next project, which is shooting later in the summer."

"Oh yes," Rick fumbles. "Great. Uh—any gadgets in that one? Or home essential products, of course. Our readers are equally intrigued by both."

"It takes place on a submarine," she says, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Dear God. "Yes. Right. Well, I believe scuba gear is part of our innovative index of items."

The PR man exits and Rick deflates.

"I'm just a complete moron. Sorry. This is the kind of thing that happens in dreams, not in real life. Good dreams, obviously." He pauses, takes a breath. "It's a dream to see you."

A Cheshire grin curls over her mouth and her eyebrow arches in challenge. "And what happens next in the dream?"

He's never been more nervous in his entire life. God. He wishes he were more suave.

"Well, I suppose in the dream… dream scenario. I just, um, change my personality, because you can do that in dreams." He glances down at his palms, and when he looks back up at Kate, she's staring right at him. He stares back. Musters up every ounce of courage and says—"Then I walk across and kiss the girl."

Her eyes spill with gold and he shifts, something tugging him toward her. Intuition; instinct. She moves toward him, the gap between them shrinking. His heart races and then—

The PR man walks back into the room.

Rick sits back down with a thump.

"Time's up, I'm afraid. Sorry it was so short. Did you get what you wanted?" the man asks.

"Almost," Rick says with a slight blush. Kate's biting her lip, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Maybe time for one last question?"

"Right." Rick takes a breath as the PR man makes himself scarce again. Last chance. "Are you busy tonight?"

"Yes," Kate says, apologetic but firm.

She holds his gaze, willing him to say something else, but nothing comes. The door opens and a new set of journalists start filing in. He stands and holds his hand out for her to shake. When their palms meet, electricity crackles up his arm, hot and fast.

"Well, it was nice to meet you," she says, not letting go of his hand. (Does she feel it too?) "Surreal. But nice."

His heart flutters. She's flirting with him, so yeah. Maybe she feels it too.

"Best handshake ever."

Her smile unfurls like a flower blossoming in springtime, sunshine in her eyes.

"Yeah."

But then his hand's getting a little sweaty, so he pulls away before it gets gross.

"Thank you. You are Sky Mall's favorite celebrity. Well, you and Amelia Earhart. Tied."

Her laugh floats through the air as he exits, equal parts buoyed and despondent. The Time Out guy is making a call on his cell in the corridor. When he sees Rick, he puts a hand over the mouthpiece and nods at him. "How was she?"

"Extraordinary," he says with a wistful, dreamy sigh.

"She liked the flowers?"

"Loved 'em."

Schlemming gives him an awkward thumbs up and goes back to his conversation.

Rick turns to go, but is quickly confronted by Lanie.

"If you'd like to come with me, we can rush you through the others."

Oh no.

"The others?"'

Lanie introduces him to an older actor with a stately presence.

"Mr. Rodgers is from Sky Mall," she announces before disappearing again. (Now you see her. Now you don't.)

"Pleased to meet you," says the actor. "Did you like the film?"

Rick blinks. "Ah...yes, huge fan."

"Well, go ahead."

"Right, right. Um. Did you enjoy making the movie?" Rick asks.

"I did."

A man of few words. Great. Just great.

"Any… part in particular?"

"Well," the actor says, scrutinizing him. "You tell me which part you liked most, and I'll tell you if I enjoyed making it."

Rick swallows, weighing up his options. Between all of the noir posters and his "interview" with Kate just now, he has a vague idea of what this movie's about. Something thrilling, dark, set in 1947—and what was it that guy said earlier? Chinatown meets The Maltese Falcon?

Crime, then. A noir gangster flick. Worth a shot.

"You play… a mob boss in the film," he guesses, trying his very best to make it sound like a statement rather than a question. To his shock, the actor nods.

"I do."

Jackpot.

"Right. So, when you're preparing for a role like that, what sort of research do you do? It's clear that you're inspired by the likes of Al Capone, and you do an incredible job of appropriating those sorts of mannerisms whenever you're in character."

The actor finally smiles, clearly pleased with Rick's entirely made-up analysis of his work in the movie.

"Well, absolutely," he begins. "Preparation is everything, right?"

The rest of the interview goes well enough. Rick lets the actor wax on about his process for another few minutes before Lanie ushers a new set of people for him to talk to.

A monolingual foreign actor and his translator, it turns out.

The language in question is, thankfully, Italian, which Rick knows enough of to get by. He studied it in high school and went on a class trip to Italy once.

"Did you identify with the character you were playing?" he starts with, waiting as the translator feeds the question through to the actor in Italian.

"No," the man says, unequivocal.

"No," his translator echoes. Great. Very helpful.

"Ah," Rick returns. "...Perché no?" Why not?

The Italian actor perks up. "Tu parli Italiano?" You speak Italian?

"Poco," Rick replies. A little.

But the actor is so delighted, he waves his translator away and launches into a whole diatribe, speaking so fast in his native tongue that Rick's head spins.

Why does he even try? This is so much worse.

The writer nods, playing along, catching odd snippets here and there. Something about the guy's character being a psychopathic gangster with a drinking problem.

Wonderful.

He scribbles nonsense on his notepad. And when the actor pauses, presumably expecting a response, Rick blurts out an Italian idiom that's always stuck with him:

"Mangia bene, ridi spesso, ama molto!"

It loosely translates to: eat well, laugh often, love much.

The Italian considers him for a moment, blinking, before exploding with laughter.

Rick grimaces, embarrassed—the jig clearly up—but the actor grins and gesticulates in an encouraging manner.

"Sì, sì, hai capito!" Yes, yes, you get it!

Go figure.

His next interviewee is an eleven-year-old girl. Rick at least feels like this is a little more in his bandwidth—Alexis was eleven once, right?

"Is this your first film?"

The girl fixes him with a prim look.

"No," she says. "It's my 22nd."

Of course it is. Rick sighs internally but gives her his best smile. "That's awesome. You must be one of the most in-demand actors in the world. Any favorite of the 22?"

"Working with Leonardo," she says.

"Di Caprio? No way!"

The girl nods, eager now. "Yeah. He was really cool. It didn't feel real, you know? I was only eight, and he was like this crazy famous guy that I'd only ever seen on my screen."

Rick gets it. The not-feeling-real. Hell, he's been in the same room as Kate Beckett three times in as many days and he still can't wrap his head around the fact that she's actually here and not just a figment of his imagination.

"I've got a daughter myself," he admits, smiling. "She loves Leo. Or, at least, she loves Titanic. And he's in that."

"Oh, yeah?" the girl asks. "How old is she? What other movies does she like?"

It's mostly just a conversation about his daughter after that.

And he's good at those.

The last guy is Will Sorenson, the notorious "Hunk of Hollywood."

The writer has half a mind to ask for an autograph for his mother, but he's not sure he likes the actor enough to bother. Which could have something to do with the fact that he seems to be significantly more interested in his Blackberry than by the premise of interacting with Rick at all.

If he's honest, though, Rick doesn't really mind the actor's rudeness, exhausted as he is from play-acting a journalist all afternoon.

"You're from Sky Mall?" Sorenson says after a minute, finally looking up from his phone. "Isn't that just a catalogue of off-brand electronics and kitty litter or something?"

"Our glow-in-the-dark watches are top of the line," Rick defends, a little offended by the guy's condescending tone. Sure, he doesn't actually work for Sky Mall, but he's always been a fan of the magazine's penchant for whimsy and nonsensical products. Years ago he purchased a pair of night vision goggles from them and they still function perfectly—that's real craftsmanship.

The actor narrows his eyes, unconvinced. "Uh huh."

Luckily, Sorenson doesn't interrogate him further. His Blackberry vibrates, obnoxiously loud, and the actor jumps off his stool without warning. "I gotta take this."

Rick emerges, traumatized, into the corridor. It's full of camera crews. And Lanie.

"Mr. Rodgers?" the PR woman calls out.

"Yes?" he sighs wearily. What now?

"Have you got a moment?"

Oh, why the hell not.

Lanie knocks on the big golden doors again.

"Come in," he hears from within.

Rick enters, a little nervous.

"So," Kate starts, a soft smile playing across her lips. "That thing I was doing tonight—I'm not doing it any more. I told them I had to spend the evening with Britain's premiere airline journalist."

"Oh," Rick says, momentarily at a loss for words. She canceled plans for him? "Well, great. Perfect."

He almost shoots her a disastrous thumbs up before he realizes.

"Shit," he says, hurrying to explain as Kate raises an eyebrow in question. "It's my mother's birthday. She's having a dinner party."

"Okay," she says slowly. "Fine."

"No, no," he continues, desperate not to mess up his one chance. Martha will understand. "I'm sure I can get out of it."

Kate blinks. "No, I mean, if it's fine with you, I'll… be your date."

What.

"You'll—be my date at my mother's birthday party?"

"If that's alright."

"I'm sure it's alright," he manages, fighting past the disbelief in the name of actually getting a coherent sentence out. "My friend Kevin is cooking. And it's pretty well-known that he's just about the worst cook in the world, but, you know, you could always hide the food in your handbag or something."

Kate grins and it lights up her whole face, dawning across her features like the sunrise. She looks…uncertain, almost. Shy. Like she wasn't sure if he'd actually want her there. "Okay."

He just smiles back in wonder.

"Okay."

Chapter Text

Kevin swings the door open, barely giving Rick—or Kate—a second glance as he invites them both into the house. The air is thick with the smell of smoke, and Rick grins to himself. Of course. At least he warned her.

"Come on in," Kevin calls. "Small food crisis. Testing something new for the pub menu."

Rick and Kate move along the corridor to the kitchen. He almost takes her hand. She's in a more casual outfit than earlier, dressed down in a pair of jeans and a pretty purple checkered blouse. He loves how she did her hair—pigtails that somehow look effortlessly chic rather than childish—but he's a little more taken by her killer boots. Very spiky heels.

"Hi there," Jenny says, approaching both of them with a warm smile. "Sorry. The tripe is proving more complicated than expected."

Rick grimaces. "Tripe, as in the lining of a cow's stomach?"

"Don't even ask." Jenny adjusts her wheelchair to face Kate properly. "Hello."

"Hi," Kate greets, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Holy smokes," Jenny says next, "you look exactly like—"

"Jenny," Rick cuts her off, trying to signal to be calm with his eyes. "This is Kate."

"Right." Jenny swallows, blinking a few times as they shake hands. Other than that, the blonde gives nothing away.

"Okay. Crisis over," Kevin says, waving away a dark cloud of smoke.

"Kevin," Rick says next. "This is Kate."

"Hello, Kate—" His expression falters as he finally recognizes her, and the rest of her name sort of just falls out of his mouth— "Beckett. Okay. Have some wine."

Rick's impressed, honestly. It's rare for him to bring a date along, let alone one that happens to be a Hollywood star, and these two are taking it surprisingly well for two of her biggest fans in the world. Kevin especially. He can be such a fanboy sometimes.

"Thank you," Kate accepts. She's smiling a little now, clearly amused at their exceedingly measured reactions—but also, Rick imagines, probably a little pleased that nobody's making a huge deal out of this. It must be so strange for her, the normalcy. He wonders if she ever misses it.

The doorbell goes off again, and then Martha swans in before anyone has actually moved to answer it. "The real celebration can begin!" she trills loudly.

Kate covers her mouth mid-sip as his mother sails into the kitchen, gasping—"Shut the front door!"

Martha turns to face Kate at the exclamation and grins wide. "Took the words right out of my mouth."

"Martha Rodgers? Martha freakin' Rodgers?" Kate gapes at Rick. "Your mother is Martha Rodgers?"

"I—" He's not sure what to say.

Kate, on the other hand, is gushing with words. "Oh God," she says, one hand still covering her mouth. "This is one of those key moments in your life where it's possible to be really, genuinely cool. And I'm going to fail. A hundred percent. Can I just say—you're my inspiration. I absolutely and totally and utterly adore you."

Martha points to herself, genuinely bewildered. "You know who I am?"

"Know who you are?" Kate rebuffs. "You're a legend. I actually… this is so nuts, but I had the same dressing room as you when I was on Temptation Lane. Your signed photo was right by the door. And it was tradition to blow a kiss at your picture for good luck because your three week stint on the show led to the biggest ratings they ever had."

His mother tries to play it cool too, but she actually tears up a little, clearly moved. She palms the wetness from her eyes with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Well, it certainly worked for you, didn't it?" A shy grin then, her bright blue eyes sparkling. "You know, I've always believed we'd be best friends."

Kate laughs, still a little flustered, and hands her a present.

Martha takes it. "Oh my goodness, you got me a present. See? We're best friends already. And you know what—you should marry Richard. He's really not that bad. And then we can be family. All in the same pea-pod together."

"Not that bad?" he cuts in, slightly offended. He expects Kate to be fairly horrified by the marriage and pea-pod comments, but when he looks at her, she's beaming.

"I'll think about it," she says, winking at Martha.

The doorbell rings again.

"Sorry I'm late," Javi says as he bustles in. "Pub renovations held me up. Builders found what they think might be mold behind the bar. Apparently it's gonna cost a bunch to get rid of it."

"Do I wanna know how much?" Kevin winces.

Javi shakes his head.

"Javi—this is Kate," Kevin says slowly, frowning when there's no reaction from his business partner.

"Hey, Kate. Pleased to meet you." Clearly Javi doesn't recognize her. Which, actually, isn't that surprising. He's always been more into football than the film industry.

The ex-soldier turns to Martha, who delights as he passes her an enormous, wide-brimmed hat, perfect for the kinds of posh garden parties that she loves going to so much. "Happy birthday," he says self-consciously. "Sorry I didn't wrap it. You don't have to wear it or anything."

Martha puts it on immediately and turns to look at herself in a nearby mirror.

"Oh, it's absolutely darling. Thank you, Javier. How thoughtful. It's a wonder that all of the ladies in this town haven't thrown themselves at your feet yet." She grins at him in the reflection. "Such a shame. You know, if I were twenty years younger…"

Javi blushes. Rick just rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later, the party's in full swing. Jenny and Kate are in a corner, wine glasses in hand; Martha and Javi are off chatting in the living room, soft jazz playing on a turntable. Rick stands by Kev in the kitchen, dicing potatoes as his friend does the onions.

Kevin nudges him. "You haven't slept with her, have you?"

Rick frowns. "That's a cheap question and the answer is, obviously, no comment."

"No comment means yes."

"No, it doesn't."

"Do you ever masturbate?" Kev teases.

The bell rings again, thank God.

"No comment!" Rick shouts, heading for the door.

"See? That means yes!"

He opens the door to Alexis, letting out a joyous noise as he wraps his daughter in a tight embrace.

"Hey, Pumpkin. It's been forever."

"It's been—" she starts, fighting her way out of his bear hug with a laugh. "It's been like, two weeks, Dad."

"Two weeks too long," he grumbles.

"Sure. Anyway, sorry I'm late. Train got delayed, predictably, and—" she's still speaking as she follows him into the kitchen, but then she freezes, trailing off when she sees Kate. She blinks. "...Hi there."

Rick steps in, trying to sound as casual as possible despite Alexis's slack-jawed expression. "Lex—this is Kate. Kate, this is my daughter, Alexis."

He feels a little weak with relief when Kate doesn't react to this new information—at least, she doesn't look at all alarmed, but then again, she is an actress. She just reaches a hand out for Alexis to shake, poker-faced. "It's nice to meet you."

Alexis takes her hand, visibly dazed. "Yeah, uh. You too." She shoots him a distinctly what-the-fuck? look. "Actually, would you mind if I steal my dad for a second?

"He's all yours," Kate says warmly, turning back to his friends.

As his daughter drags him away, he hears Javi's first attempt at striking up a conversation with Kate Beckett. "So what do you do?"

(Oh, God.)

"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Alexis whispers. Well. It might be more of a hiss.

"What do you mean?"

"Dad."

"Alexis."

She sighs. "I just… I worry about you. Gram says you've been walking around in your underwear for the past six weeks."

Rick swallows, humbled. "Fine. She's not wrong. But now I'm finally putting myself out there. Isn't that a good thing?" he counters.

"Putting yourself out there is one thing, Dad. Bringing a world-famous movie star to Gram's birthday dinner is… different. You know it's different."

He nods. "I do. But Alexis—"

"—I just don't know if you're really thinking this through," she continues. "Like, come on. Kate Beckett? In what world does this work out for you?"

His face falls and she notices. Backtracks.

"Sorry," she mumbles. "I'm sorry. I guess I just… don't want to see you get your heart broken again."

"Listen," he manages, trying his best to sound certain. "Whatever happens, I can handle it, okay? This is my life. You don't always have to be the grown-up."

Her lip wobbles. It might be his life, but she's such a major part of it. She was there for the break-up with Meredith, the fall-out with Gina… all that heartache. But she manages to be so mature, so self-assured—he forgets, sometimes, that she's still just his little girl. And her heart just got broken too.

"Oh, sweetheart. C'mere." He pulls her into another hug, cupping the back of her head as she presses her face into his shoulder and quietly sobs. "I know. It's okay. I know."

She rests there for a minute until her tears subside. Moments later, Kate enters the hall and sees them.

"Shit, sorry. I was just—the bathroom," Kate manages, pointing sheepishly at the door behind him and Alexis.

"No s'kay," he says. "We were just about to head back in."

"Everything alright?" Kate asks gently.

Alexis wipes her tears and musters a wan smile. "Break-up."

Kate gives her a sympathetic nod. "Ah. Been there. Sorry to hear it."

"Thanks," his daughter manages, clearly still a little shy in Kate's presence. The redhead heads back off into the kitchen with the others, leaving him alone with the actress.

"Been there? What man has ever turned you away?" Rick asks.

Kate narrows her eyes playfully and gestures behind him again. "I really do have to—"

"Right, sorry. Go ahead."

They share little smiles, dancing around each other in the tight hallway. She gives him an odd look, soft and inquisitive.

"What?" he murmurs.

"Nothing. It's just… you're like a nine year old on a sugar rush. It's kind of refreshing to see you as a father."

He smirks.

"Makes you want me, right?"

She rolls her eyes. "And there's the nine year old again," she says, shutting the bathroom door in his face.

The living room bursts to life the second Rick walks in again.

Jenny gets there first. "Quick, quick, talk fast—what are you doing here with Kate Beckett?"

Javi pales. "Kate Beckett?"

She nods. "Yes"

"The movie star?"

Another nod from Jenny. "Yup."

"No, no." Javi pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "Yo, you better be joking. Shit, I asked her what she does for a living. She's gonna think I'm stupid."

"To be fair, most of us think that already," Kevin pipes in.

Javi just scowls. "Judas."

"You two," Jenny scolds in her schoolteacher voice, pointing between both of them. "Stop it. Rick has the floor."

They all stare at the writer expectantly.

He sighs.

Everyone sits at the dinner table later, tucking into Kevin's questionable tripe à la poivre. It's a little charred. A blessing in disguise, really. Rick watches out of the corner of his eye as Jenny leans towards Kate to say something.

"What do you think of the tripe?" the blonde whispers.

Kate blushes. "I'm a vegetarian."

Jenny pauses, her fork halfway to her mouth, and bursts with a laugh. "Oh, God."

The table turns to look but they both shrug it off, and Rick is struck—not for the first time—by how relaxed and at home Kate looks. She's laughing with Jenny, already starting to rib Javi about how he had no idea who she was, and making inroads with his mother and Kevin and even Alexis is warming up to her.

Another pea in their transplant pod.

When Kate catches him staring, she wrinkles her nose at him, but her eyes are warm, the apples of her cheeks faintly flushed with the effects of three glasses of red wine. She's happy. And… real. He's so used to everything feeling like a dream with her, and yet here she is, down-to-earth and genuine and settling into the flow of their little group like she's always been here. That's the thing, he thinks. She's not the model or the movie star—just Kate.

Eventually, of course, a tray of birthday brownies gets brought out and they launch into a terrible rendition of Happy Birthday while Martha makes a great show of putting her massive hat on and basking in the attention. He cuts his eyes to Kate again as she takes in the chaos, her expression delighted—and maybe a little wistful.

The night moves gently, conversation ebbing and flowing until it's almost midnight and there's only one brownie left in the middle of the table.

Kevin clears his throat. "Having you here, Kate, firmly establishes what I've long suspected. That we really are the most desperate group of under-achievers."

Everyone laughs, except for Javi, who promptly elbows his friend in the arm. "Dude. Be cool," he hisses. "You're making us look bad."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing," Kevin protests, grinning as he reaches for the plate in the middle of the table. "In fact, I think it's something we should take pride in. I'm going to give the last brownie as a prize to the saddest act here."

There's a second's pause before Rick points plainly at Javier, making Kevin snort.

Javi sighs, taking it good-naturedly. "It's true—I've seen some shit. Done some shit. Recently got diagnosed with PTSD." A serious beat before he speaks again. "So I can't imagine why none of the ladies are lining up for tickets to the gun show."

He busts out his biceps and flexes.

"Oh, well, who wouldn't want those?" Kevin jokes.

A round of soft chuckles fill the room. Kev turns to Kate next. "Unless I'm mistaken, your job at least still pays you a lot of money. Look at Martha here. She earns practically nothing and she works for her son."

"And my second ex-husband ran off with my life savings, so I also live with my son, who hasn't been bothered to wear a pair of pants inside anytime in the past six weeks."

The whole group laughs, especially Kate, who turns to Rick with an eyebrow raised in really?

He shakes his head emphatically. I wear pants, he mouths. She clearly doesn't believe him.

"See?" Kev adds. "Incredibly sad. Totally brownie-worthy."

"On the other hand, her best friend is Kate Beckett," Jenny provides.

"That's true," Martha pipes up. "I can't deny it. She needs me, what can I say?"

"And," Jenny continues, motioning down to her wheelchair, "most of her limbs work. I'm just stuck in this thing day and night, in a house full of ramps. And to add insult to serious injury, I totally gave up caffeine, my favorite thing. And the truth is…" She glances at Kevin and swallows. "We can't have a baby."

Dead silence. The brownie sits, untouched.

Rick goes first. "Jenny."

She just shrugs her shoulders. Javi looks completely grief-struck.

"C'est la vie," she says, smiling sadly. "We're lucky in lots of ways. I mean, look at us. Bunch of New Yorkers and we all still managed to find each other across an ocean. Against all odds, we've made a home here."

Rick watches as everyone nods, glancing around the table at this strange little expat family of his. His eyes land on Kate, who just looks utterly floored. Grateful, so grateful at being included in Jenny's statement. We all still managed to find each other.

"But even so," the blonde manages at last. "Can't have kids and I'm in a wheelchair? That's gotta be worth a brownie."

Rick squeezes Jenny's hand.

Kevin pipes up again next. "Well, I don't know. Look at Rick. Very unsuccessful professionally. Divorced—twice. Used to be handsome, but now he's just kind of rugged around the edges. And he's absolutely never ever to hear from Kate again after she's heard that he tried to change his name at school when he was still trying to be an author—wanted everyone to call him Castle."

Everyone laughs, except Kate, who kind of just looks at him.

"Castle?" she asks.

He shrugs, embarrassed. It's stupid now, looking back—how he really thought he'd make it. "Every writer needs a cool pseudonym. And it's something strong and reliable, you know?"

"Yeah, but if you say Rick Castle fast enough, it sounds like rich asshole," Kevin jokes. "And you're neither of those things!"

They all break into laughter. Kate smiles across at Rick, but there's something else there too. He doesn't know what to name it.

Rick swallows. He's not used to anyone looking at him with such intensity. "So I get the brownie?"

Alexis shakes her head, protesting. "Hold on, my highschool sweetheart and I just broke up after four years together. Don't I get it?"

Kevin nods graciously. "I think you do, yes."

"Wait a minute," Kate says, sitting up a little. "What about me?"

The whole table turns to look at her. Kevin speaks first. "I'm sorry? You think you deserve the brownie?"

Kate nods. "Well… a shot at it, at least."

"You'll have to prove it. This is a great brownie and we're going to fight you for it. State your claim."

The air shifts; a quiet settles. And there's the feeling that something monumental is about to happen.

"Well, I was orphaned at nineteen," she starts. A somber and heavy tension forms as his heart fissures. "And I've been on a diet ever since I was discovered, which means basically, I've been hungry for a decade." She pauses. "I've had a sequence of not nice boyfriends—one of whom hit me." Jenny reaches for Kate's hand and the actress shares a soft smile with her. "And every time my heart gets broken, it gets splashed across the newspapers as entertainment. Meantime, it cost millions to get me looking like this…"

She gestures down her body.

Martha gasps with scandalized intrigue. "Really?"

"Really." Kate touches her nose with a wink. "And one day, not long from now…" Everyone leans in, bewitched. "My looks will go, they'll find out I can't act, and I'll become a sad middle-aged woman who… looks a bit like someone who was famous for a while."

There's a long beat. And then—

"Nice try, darling," his mother tuts. "But you've basically just described my life."

The mood is instantly broken and they all laugh, loud and uproarious.

"Pathetic effort to hog the brownie!"

Hours later, everyone stands in the entryway, getting ready to say goodbye as Rick and Kate make their exit.

"That was such a great evening," Kate says, her voice warm with gratitude.

"I'm so glad," Kevin returns. "Hey—you'll have to come by the pub sometime once we've fixed it up a little more." He holds out his hand to shake, but she kisses him on the cheek instead. He stumbles backwards with joy.

"And may I say," she adds, grinning at his dazed expression. "That's an amazing tie."

Rick snorts. He's in that awful tie that Jenny gave him all those years ago for their one-week anniversary. Hideous thing. Electric blue with these cartoonishly large white spots. It's Kevin's prized possession, but at least he's self-aware.

"Now you're lying," he chuckles, looking down at it with a wince.

She blushes. "You're right. I told you I was bad at acting."

Kevin bursts out laughing.

Kate turns to Jenny next. "It was so lovely to meet you."

"And you," Jenny smiles. "I'll wait 'til you're gone before I tell him you're a vegetarian."

Behind them, Kev gasps in horror. "No!"

Kate grins. And then she addresses Rick's daughter, her expression suddenly somber. "You know, there's a universal truth that we have to face, whether we want to or not. Everything eventually ends."

Alexis raises an eyebrow. "Didn't you say that in Love Me Dead?"

Kate just raises one right back. "Point is, we move on. We keep moving. Things are gonna work out so well for you. You're the total package."

Alexis turns beet-red. Kate winks and then blows a kiss to Martha.

"Oh, you big beautiful creature, c'mere," his mother caws.

They hug, squeezing tight. Kate draws back eventually, looking a little shellshocked, and Rick's heart shatters.

When was the last time she had a hug from a mother?

"Please call me if you ever need someone to go shopping with," Martha adds sincerely. "I know lots of places."

"Too many places," he counters. "All expensive."

Kate laughs as she and Rick head out with final waves.

Javi tries to save some of his dignity as they shut the door behind them.

"Love your work!"

Rick and Kate step outside. From inside they hear a massive and hysterical scream as everyone finally lets out what they've been keeping in all night. He feels momentarily a little embarrassed before he catches the glimmer of amusement in Kate's eyes.

"Sorry," he quips. "They always do that when I leave the house."

She grins.

They walk for a moment. Silence, except for the distant clamor of city noises.

"So. Castle, huh?" she asks finally.

He nods, bashful, scrubbing a hand down the side of his face. "Yeah. It's stupid, I know."

She slows to a stop, and looks at him. Really looks at him.

"I don't think it's stupid," she says, making sure to hold his gaze. She's enchanting. "Not a lot of people get to have that kind of drive. And besides, it suits you."

Rick blushes a little as they start walking again. "You really think so?"

"Reliable and strong," she teases, nudging his biceps.

He flexes. "Tickets to the gun show, milady?" and she snorts. But curls her hand around his arm, hooking herself close. She smells like cherries.

They fall silent again.

"Why is she in a wheelchair?" she asks in a murmur.

There's a beat. A warm breeze whispers between them.

"It was an accident," he tells her. "About eighteen months ago."

"And the pregnancy thing," she says. "Is that to do with the accident?

"You know, I'm not sure. I don't think they've tried for kids before, as fate would have it."

Kate nods slowly, taking in the weight of that information. She slips her fingers between his with such ease that it feels almost instinctive, and they just keep ambling along like that. Wordless. Hand-in-hand.

Another few seconds pass before Rick speaks again, his voice pitched low. "Would you like to... my house is just…?"

She smiles, soft and a little reticent, and shakes her head. "Too complicated."

"Gotcha."

"Busy tomorrow?" she asks then.

He tilts his head in question. "I thought you were leaving."

A coy and mysterious smile curls her lips. "I was."

She keeps walking down the street and he hangs back, dazed. She's staying? For him?

She turns and offers up her hand. Her mouth twitches and her eyebrow quirks, as if she knows exactly what he's thinking.

"You comin', Castle?"

Chapter Text

"What's in there?" Kate asks as they stroll by a wrought iron fence with foliage behind it.

"Gardens," he answers. "All these streets around here have these mysterious communal gardens in the middle of them. Like little villages."

Her eyes brighten. "Let's go in."

"Ah no—they're private villages—they only allow the people who live around the edges in."

"You abide by rules like that?" She smirks. "Too bad. I've always had a thing for bad boys."

"Well, in that case…" He makes a show of puffing his chest out. "I'll have you know that I'm a real desperado. I do whatever I want."

He rattles the gate, then starts his climb—except he doesn't quite make it and falls back onto the pavement with a cry of, "Whoopsidaisies."

Kate's mouth drops open, her eyes shining with delight. "What did you say?"

His cheeks redden. "Nothing."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"You said whoopsidaisies."

"I don't think so. No one says whoopsidaisies do they—I mean, unless they're…"

"There is no unless." She's grinning now. "No one has said whoopsidaisies for fifty years and even then it was only little girls with blonde ringlets."

"Right. Here we go again."

He fails, and unfortunately, spontaneously—

"Whoopsidaisies."

She bites back a laugh.

"It's a disease I have," he tries. "Foot-in-mouth—won't last long."

"Step aside," she instructs with a laugh. He clears the way and she starts to climb.

"Actually be careful—it's harder than it looks…" But she's already almost over. "Oh no…it's not—it's easy."

Kate jumps down into the garden and flashes him an impish grin.

"Come on, Castle."

Rick clambers over the fence, grunting and groaning, tree branches whacking him in the face. When he eventually falls inside, he dusts himself off and cracks his back before joining her.

"Now what the hell is in this garden that could make all of that worthwhile?"

She leans forward without warning—and, for the first time since the first time—she kisses him. A real kiss this time. Deeper and softer, a measure of certainty behind the firm press of her lips that almost makes his knees give.

She lingers for a moment, her fingertips brushing against the side of his face before she breaks away and leaves him gasping.

A beat. Rick can only stare at her. "Nice garden."

Kate grins.

She turns to keep walking and he follows, drifting along by her side as she takes in their surroundings. Lights from the surrounding houses filter in through the treeline, bathing the whole place in this soft, twinkling glow. Their own little world. A moonlit dream.

"This is so cool," she murmurs. "It's like a real life secret garden."

"Fan of the book?"

"Big time. It's my favorite."

Kate treads down the path into a clearing, tilting her head to the sky to look at the scattering of stars that are still visible in the middle of the city and they eventually come across a single, simple wooden bench on a grassy knoll.

"For June, who loved this garden—from Joseph, who always sat beside her," she reads aloud. Her fingers skim over the inscribed dates and she swallows, a little choked by it. "Some people really do spend their whole lives together."

They stand on either side of the bench, just looking at each other like two opposing poles of a magnet yearning for connection.

"Come sit with me," she murmurs.

Her head lays on his shoulder after he takes a seat.

"I had a memorial bench made for my parents," she whispers after a few minutes of silence. "Back in New York."

Rick hesitates. He's not sure how to proceed here. Even after ten years, the wound must still be so fresh.

"I bet they're proud of you," he says quietly. "Wherever they are."

She lifts her head and he feels the featherlight brush of her lips against the side of his face. "Thanks, Castle."

His heart flutters a little at the use of his chosen name. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

She doesn't say anything for a moment. Just strokes his cheek; the crinkles around his eyes. "Makes you smile."

Rick blushes. "Wow. You really know how to make a guy swoon."

She bites her lip, gets up, and walks further into the garden, putting a deliberate sway in her hips. Then a turn of her head and a quirk of her lips. "You comin', Castle?"

His new favorite refrain.

Rick—Castle—hurries to follow, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to meet her beneath the willow where she slows to a stop.

"Do you think anyone else is gonna be coming in here this late?" she asks, coquettish.

"Not likely."

She leans back against the tree trunk, invitation in the heat of her gaze.

But he's still unsure. So he asks—"Can I kiss you?"

Her eyebrow lifts, all coy, but there's a vulnerability behind the movement that he can't quite read. "No one's ever asked permission before," she murmurs. "You really are a gentleman."

His heart breaks a little for her. "Is that a yes?"

Kate looks up at him through her eyelashes. "Why don't you kiss me and find out?"

He steps toward her then, his heart beating out of his chest. She's so close like this, so real, and he notes for the first time that her irises have a ring of gold right around their edges. Her pupils dilate, hunger in those ink-dark depths.

He moves slowly, fingers trembling as he frames her hips in his hands. She shudders at the contact, a visceral, full-bodied thing. And then, right as he leans in—

"Um."

Kate huffs, her eyes stormy as they fly open. "What?"

"Are you… carrying a weapon?"

She actually laughs out loud, the moment shattered but somehow not quite lost, her attention drawn to the slight protrusion at her hip where his left hand sits.

"Nice catch."

"Well, I'm no detective," he returns, eyes twinkling.

She smiles. "It's a switchblade, actually—I carry it as a precaution. Had a few crazy stalkers over the years, and it's just better to be safe than sorry, you know?"

"Oh God," Rick manages, blinking fast. "You carry a switchblade? For reasons too disturbing to mention, I find that hot."

She grins slyly. "When I'm in America, I carry a gun."

He actually has to step backwards, too turned on by that to even think straight. Kate Beckett and a Glock. Sure. Fine. Okay.

"Thigh holster or shoulder holster?"

She snorts a laugh. "Why do you need to know?"

"Besides the fact I'd like to know everything about you—it'd also help to know for the character I'm basing on you."

Intrigue flickers across her expression. She tugs at his tie, pulling him close. "You're basing a character on me?"

He braces a hand on the tree trunk like he's leaning against a school locker. "Every writer needs a muse," he quips.

Her smile drops. His tie falls back to his chest.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks in soft concern.

"No…" Kate frowns, looking torn. "Just." Something dark swirls in her gaze and she swallows. "Nothing. It's nothing."

"Kate," he nudges tenderly, tipping his index finger under her chin. "It's not nothing."

"The boyfriend who… hit me?" She hesitates, looking away. Rick waits as she collects herself again. "He was a photographer. I was his 'muse' too."

Shit. He's an idiot. Why does he ever open his mouth?

A tear trails down her cheek and he presses his thumb to it before it can get any further, swiping the salt from her skin as gently as he can. "Oh, Kate. I'm so sorry, I—"

She shakes her head, "No, no. I'm sorry. You're so sweet and I'm…" And hurriedly wipes her face with her fingertips. Works up a wobbly smile. "Tell me more about this character of yours."

"Are you really okay?" he murmurs first.

(He's gonna kill this guy.)

She nods, insistent. "What's her name?"

Oh. Um—

"Nikki Heat," he blurts.

Her eyes widen. "That's a stripper name!"

"Well, I told you she was kinda slutty."

Kate lets out a laugh and Castle barely even has time to dwell on how beautiful the sound is because he's just so happy that he got her to smile again. All he wants is to keep her smiling.

"But also a badass detective. She's gonna be really smart, very savvy, really good at her job."

Her smile grows. "What else?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm thinking a roguishly handsome reporter follows her around for this article he's writing. Works for Sky Mall."

She giggles. "Everyone said you were their favorite interviewer."

"Really?"

"Cutest too."

He smirks. "You think I'm cute?"

"My eleven year old co-star certainly did," she says, mirthful. "Said you really knew your Jonas Brothers."

He blushes a deep red.

"This is so ruining my bad boy image, isn't it? Just so you know—I was a bit of a wild child. Expelled from several of New York's finest institutions. Put a cow on a roof once. Didn't wear anything under my graduation robes."

"Gosh, what a trouble-maker. You've got me weak in the knees," she teases.

He grins. And then— "Hey, look. The tree."

Kate raises an eyebrow at his blatant distraction tactic but she turns to see what he's talking about anyway, inspecting the bark as she leans in.

"People carving their initials," she murmurs, her gaze flickering across the dozens of letters etched into the trunk.

His thumb and forefinger catch the end of one of her pigtails. A soft tug. "Wanna do ours?"

Amusement dances in her eyes. "You're one of those silly romantics, aren't you?"

He puffs a laugh. "Oh, please. You're just as much a silly romantic as I am."

Her mouth twists with a held-back smile. "Is this how you court all the girls?"

"No," he says abruptly, the word slipping out before he has time to try and play it cool. She cuts her eyes to him, suddenly curious, more invested in his answer than he knows what to do with. Rick takes a slow breath, holding her gaze. "No," he says again. Quieter now. More sincere than ever. "None of them were you."

Kate tilts her head a little, studying him. He wonders what she's looking for; wonders if she finds it. Either way, she grins, canines flashing as she draws the knife from its custom leather sheath.

The blade glints in the moonlight as she flips it once—twice—around her fingers, some effortless trick that she pulls off so fast he barely catches it. He thinks maybe it's a subconscious thing because she doesn't even look to see if he's impressed, just sets the steel against the tree and starts carving.

"That was so awesome," he breathes.

She turns to face him again. "What?"

"The… knife flip thing. Whatever that was. You're so sexy."

Kate just laughs and does it again, this time on purpose, her fingers dancing along the handle with practiced ease. Rick can only stare.

"Where did you even learn to do that?"

"So many layers to the Kate Beckett onion," she grins, twisting back to face the tree. "However will you peel them all?"

He won't. He knows that already. She's a mystery he'll never solve.

Kate works slowly, the tip of her knife etching careful lines into the wood. "I've always loved the idea of people wanting to leave their mark like this," she murmurs. "Cave paintings. Ancient Roman graffiti. All of these different ways of saying I was here. I was here once too."

She's got this look on her face, singular and intensely focused, her eyes never straying from the bark. It's captivating. Castle just waits, watches her, convinced that if he speaks now he might risk breaking the spell.

"I used to hate it," she confesses, speaking under her breath like she's barely aware of the words coming out at all. "That evidence. How people can keep existing in a place so vividly, even after—even when they're not actually there anymore."

He can sense where this is going. Her knife goes still.

"It was like that in New York. With my parents. Everywhere I went, I could… see them. Sense them, I don't know. The way my mom used to tilt her head up and catch the sun every time we went to the park. The jingling sound of this little silk coin purse which she insisted on carrying around everywhere for these stupid magic tricks she used to play on us. And my dad—he used to love doing this thing where he would walk behind her and mimic her footsteps until she noticed. She always used to spin around and flick him in the ear for it but then they'd both fall about laughing when she pulled a coin out of thin air. And I just… I tried to go back to New York. Tried for so long to make it work there."

Kate takes a deep, unsteady breath, and Rick steps into the space at her side. Not touching, but close enough that she knows he's there if she needs him.

"I couldn't do it," she confesses. Like it's this terrible sin. "Everywhere I went, I'd hear that laughter. All over the city. And I used to—I used to actually stop and look around for them, Castle. Like if I searched hard enough, if I wanted it badly enough…they'd come back to me."

He nudges his pinky against hers and she takes it like a lifeline, gripping his hand in hers and squeezing until he squeezes back. I'm right here.

"They never did," she whispers, her voice thick. "But I—waited and waited."

Oh, God. She was just a kid.

"Until you couldn't anymore," he fills in for her.

Kate nods. "Whole city was haunted. I couldn't stay."

He wants to tell her that he understands, but he doesn't, not really. "I know it's not the same," he starts, "but I get it. The city being haunted. All these things I'd failed at—two marriages, countless novels—just followed me around wherever I went. Like ghosts."

"Like ghosts," she agrees quietly.

"And L.A.?"

She shrugs a little, wiping her eyes. "It was…better. I don't think I could ever go back to New York, so L.A. seemed like the logical next step, especially once I was getting into acting. But it's just so empty, you know? Never felt like home. I've always wanted somewhere to put down roots, and now—" she turns to look at him and stops mid-sentence, clearly about to say something a little too honest for midnight in a foreign city. He understands. He won't push.

Kate steps back from the tree, still holding his hand. "Your turn," she says at last, passing him the knife.

He observes her work for a second—a neat little heart, her initials KB sitting within on the left. Rick carves the little plus sign and then works on his RR right next to hers. Until he gets to the second letter and pauses.

"Your choice," she mumbles, reading his mind.

He grins and carves a C for Castle before he can think any better of it, a joy unfurling in his chest at the novelty of his brand new name.

He finishes up and steps away right as Kate runs her fingers over the newly engraved wood. She smiles a little, enamored with it; with him. KB + RC.

"Hey," he says suddenly. "Um. What—what're your parents' names?"

Kate tilts her head, trying to read him. "James—Jim." she says. Swallows. "And Johanna. Jim and Jo."

Nodding, Castle takes the knife to the tree again, a different spot, starting to carve once Kate makes no move to stop him. He works fast, his hands fairly steady even despite the slight tremor running through them.

He hears her soft intake of breath behind him as he pulls back to reveal the inscription.

Another heart. Except, this time—J + J.

"Rick," she breathes, sounding torn to pieces.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "Too much?"

She just shakes her head, stepping towards him, taking his face between her hands. "Not too much," she whispers, tears in her eyes. "Extraordinary."

Pale moonlight spills between them as she leans in again.

When her lips find his, it's… magic. Her entire body aligns against him and the world around them floods in silver. It's not a dream—he knows that now—but it could be. The silence. The darkness. The thunder of two interwoven heartbeats.

Kate makes this little noise of complete contentment, and then she wraps her arms around his neck and holds him there like she won't ever be able to get enough.

Rick rushes downstairs in a towel the next day, hair still wet from his shower. He shoots past Martha, who's immersed in script pages.

"Shit, shit, shit. Have you seen any of my jackets?"

"Oh, yes. I might've borrowed a few for the play."

"Right. So they're…where, exactly?"

"At the community center."

"Aw, man, seriously? The movie theater is always freezing. They blast the air conditioning all the time, no matter the weather. It's one of life's little cruelties."

"Don't be dramatic, Richard. You can borrow something of mine—I'm sure there'll be something in my closet that'll fit."

He checks his watch.

"Oh shit, is that the time? I have to go."

He sprints downstairs, now fully dressed.

"Thanks for your help on the jacket thing," he tosses out with an edge of sarcasm.

"You're welcome," his mother says sincerely. "Did you find something to wear?"

"Sort of."

He's waiting outside the Electric Cinema in a huge mink coat.

"Nice outfit," a voice says from behind him. "Didn't take you for such a metrosexual."

He turns to find Kate behind him in lowkey street clothes, sunglasses, and a New York Yankees ball cap.

Rick grins sheepishly. "My mother stole all my jackets for a theater thing, so I stole one of hers," he explains.

"Your taste is impeccable."

He beams with a smile. "Shall we?"

He offers an elbow and she takes it, hooking her arm through his.

"What are you taking me to see, anyway?"

"Up to you. They've got a couple things here. How about that new Fast and Furious movie?"

Kate wrinkles her nose.

"Okay, not that."

They both look up at the cinema's lit-up sign board for ideas.

"Oh, no way!" she gasps. "They're playing Forbidden Planet."

He feigns ignorance. "Forbidden Planet? Is that the one with the robot?"

"You've never seen Forbidden Planet?"

"No. More of a Star Wars-Matrix guy myself."

Kate lights up.

"Oh my gosh, Castle, this is the movie that inspired those two. That's it. This is what we're seeing." She starts walking—with purpose—dragging him along with her. "You're gonna love it, seriously. This is Leslie Nielsen before he became a comic genius."

"Wasn't he one of your inspirations for Lieutenant Chloe?" he lets slip.

Kate stops so abruptly that he bumps into her. She turns to face him and narrows her eyes.

"Everything okay?" he asks, barely able to hold back his grin.

"Have you been perusing the personal section of the Kate Beckett fansite?"

"My mother might've left the page open on her laptop."

"It's so not fair that you can just research all my favorite things," Kate huffs.

"Does it help that it's one of my favorites too?" he defends. "I used to take Alexis with me to see it at the Angelika every time they put it on."

Kate backs off with a smile.

"Lucky for you, I can appreciate a guy who does his homework." She raises a finger. "But you're paying for the popcorn, stalker. And the candy."

He reserves them two seats right at the back of the theater and Kate's excitement is palpable all the way until the screen flickers to life. She keeps dropping little fun facts about the movie, even after it's started, forgetting to take her hat and sunglasses off until fifteen minutes in. They're not the only people in the room, but there aren't many. He's grateful for the semblance of privacy, and he can tell that Kate is too.

She sneaks a look at him once her accessories have been discarded and snorts a little.

"What?"

"You're still wearing your fur coat," she whispers seriously.

"Did you think I was wearing it to be stylish?" Rick grumbles. "It is so cold in here."

Kate grins, shaking her head at him. "You're ridiculous."

Someone turns around and shushes them a few rows down and then Kate actually giggles, sliding down in her seat with embarrassment.

"Now who's ridiculous?" he says under his breath, nudging her.

Without warning, she throws an entire handful of popcorn at him. "Still you."

Half an hour later, it's Castle's turn to sneak a look at Kate.

She's enraptured. Her eyes are completely glued to the screen, and she's mouthing along to the dialogue without even seeming to realize.

Shit.

He's in total danger of falling head over heels for her, isn't he?

(He's pretty sure he already has. Cupid's arrow struck him the moment she walked into his bookstore.)

Kate turns her head to look for some more snacks—which is the exact moment that she catches him staring. Catches the look in his eyes.

She freezes there for a second, trapped in his gaze, and Rick worries for a terrifying few heartbeats that he's given too much away.

But then she takes his hand.

And she doesn't let go for the rest of the movie.

They stay all the way until the credits have finished rolling, only standing up to leave once the lights come back on. Kate slides her cap and sunglasses on again. The whole thing makes Rick feel a little bit like a spy. Very incognito as they walk to the exit together, arm in arm—and with an actual Bond girl, mind you. (What is his life?)

It's colder outside the cinema than it was earlier and Kate lists into him a little, shivering.

"Thanks for this," she lets out, standing closer than she maybe needs to. She clearly doesn't want the night to end. Neither does he. "It was—really nice. I had a lot of fun."

"Me too," Castle returns sincerely. "Are you cold?"

She shakes her head stubbornly. "I'm fine."

"Your teeth are chattering. Here," he says, tugging off his enormous coat without a second thought even as she glares at him.

Kate starts protesting but it's laughably half-hearted, and he catches the edge of a very pleased smile as he drapes the coat over her shoulders, tugging until it's sitting nice and snug.

"Stop fussing," she huffs, but she really can't keep the grin out of her voice.

"You know you love it," he shoots back.

She looks up at him, eyes alight with joy. "Thank you. It's really…warm."

There's a bit of an awkward pause while he considers how to phrase this next thing without scaring her off somehow.

"Um…" he starts. "Listen, I was wondering—"

Kate blinks owlishly at him, her expression so open, so hopeful.

"Can I see you again tomorrow? I could, um. Take you to see the pub, maybe. Kevin and Javier will probably be there. You can even bring a friend, if you'd like." (Uh oh. He's already rambling, everything coming out in a bit of a rush.) "Obviously, though, no pressure, I know how busy you are, so, you know, if you have something else—"

"—Castle."

Without another word, Kate presses up onto her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. Her lips come so close to the corner of his mouth that Rick feels his breath catch. It certainly shuts him up.

"I'd love to," she murmurs.

"Seriously?"

Kate smiles. "Seriously. You've met Lanie, right? Can I bring her?"

"Of course, yeah."

"Okay." She takes his arm again and they walk together over to her waiting towncar. Rick opens the door for her and Kate fixes him with that look again, pure gratitude, like nobody's ever thought to treat her like a lady before.

"Night," she says quietly. Her eyes flicker down to his lips, but he knows they can't. Too dangerous out here, too public. So he pulls away, reaching instead for her hand and lacing their fingers together for a brief moment before he lets go again.

"Until tomorrow, Kate."

Chapter Text

They agree to meet outside the pub—The Twelfth—at eight o'clock. It's still a bit of a mess on the outside with peeling paint and boarded-up windows, but the renovation is in the early stages and Rick knows how great it's going to look once Kevin and Javier are done with it.

There's a soft tap on his shoulder.

"Hi," Kate greets, smiling as he turns to face her. God, she floors him every time. She's in a soft gray turtleneck today, casual and form-fitting both at once, and he notes that she's ditched the killer boots in favor of a pair of ballet flats. It makes their height difference a little more noticeable.

"Hey," he echoes. "Could Lanie not make it?"

"No, she's on her way," Kate says, drawing her sleeve back to check her watch. "She's still handling some interviews for this other movie she's promoting at the moment."

"That's fine," he says. "There's no rush. The contractors have gone home so it'll just be Kevin, Javi and Jenny inside. But I do have to warn you about the… mess."

"That bad?"

"Probably. They're still gutting the place out so there isn't actually any furniture in there yet. Kind of just an empty cavern with a bar in the middle of it."

She laughs. "Sounds dreamy. Now move, it's cold out here."

He holds the door open for her and they head on in, greeted immediately by the sight of his friends all sharing pizza out of a box on the floor.

"Real classy, you guys."

Kate snorts as everyone turns to face him, a chorus of hellos resounding through the empty space.

"Kate!" Jenny cries. "So glad you could make it. Come, sit, have some floor pizza. We're celebrating!"

"Sorry about the mess," adds Kevin.

"Don't worry," Kate placates. "This place reminds me of my first apartment. Complete dump—three flights up on an air shaft over a restaurant. Whole place smelled like chicken wings."

Javi and Kevin shuffle apart to make room for her and Rick as they make their way over. Kate easily takes a seat, clearly enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. She grabs a slice of pizza and digs in. "So. What're we celebrating?"

"No more mold!" Javi says through a mouthful of dough. He starts to say something else unintelligible and Kevin chuckles, filling in.

"That's pizza-speak for—it wasn't anything as bad as we thought. Just a bit of rot in the drywall, so the builders had it all removed within a day."

"That's great," Castle says, meaning it. "So what's left before you can start moving all the furniture in?"

Kevin sighs, listing off his fingers. "Sanding, varnishing, painting, and we haven't actually bought any furniture yet, so there's that too."

"But no mold," Kate pipes up helpfully. Everyone laughs.

"No mold." Javi reaches behind him for the cooler. "Beer?"

Lanie arrives maybe half an hour later, looking slightly skeptical about this hole-in-the-wall construction site as she lets herself in.

"Lanie!" Kate calls. "Come in—we were just about to start a drinking game."

The PR woman fixes Castle with a look as she approaches. "Don't get into a drinking contest with her. She can take you."

"Oh," Kate says, smirking, "I don't need to drink to take him."

The group oohs, everyone throwing teasing glances at Castle as Kate introduces them.

Lanie takes a seat beside Kate. "Nice to meet you all." She nods at Rick. "Sky Mall."

Javier snorts a laugh, probably louder than he needs to, holding his hand out for Lanie to shake. "Enchanté."

Next to him, Kevin glances at Jenny, raising an eyebrow. Enchanté? he mouths. Jenny smirks.

Lanie, for her part, just takes the proffered hand, ever the professional.

"Nice place you're running here," she quips, taking a slice of pizza from a box on the floor.

"Drinks are on me," Javi jokes, offering her a beer from the cooler.

She smiles. "Thanks."

"How's your day been?" Kate asks.

Lanie waves her off. "Whole lot of interviews. I'm so jealous of you being finished with all the Blue Butterfly stuff," she sighs dramatically. "But you don't wanna hear shoptalk. And, anyway, I'm more interested in knowing how a bunch of New Yorkers all end up in London together."

Javi starts first. "Armed forces," he says, puffing his chest a little. "I was stationed out of a base near the city. Had a month's furlough a few years ago, and then I met this guy—" he elbows Kevin "—and he convinced me to be his business partner. Retired from active duty, and now here I am."

"Army guy, huh?" Lanie raises an eyebrow at him but then turns her attention to Kevin. "What about you and Jenny?"

He shrugs. "We always wanted to move to the UK one day anyway. Irish roots, you know? But then Jenny's Uncle Colin got sick, so we agreed to move to London to take care of him."

Jenny nods. "He was probably my closest relative besides my parents, so it was an easy decision. When he passed away, he pretty much left his whole estate to us. We debated using the money to relocate to Ireland where a few of Kev's distant relatives live, but then we got the news that this place—Colin's favorite pub—was closing down and Kev majored in business and hospitality. So we stayed. Decided to re-do it in his honor."

"Twelve was his lucky number. And we thought it'd be a fun gimmick to have the place be open from noon to midnight. A twelve to twelve thing, you know?" Kevin adds.

"I like it," Kate says. "Makes me think of Cinderella—the magic ends when the clock runs out."

"Exactly!" Kevin enthuses. "Anyway, I met Javi in a sports bar. We were the only two people there. A Knicks game was on. I'd just bought the pub, and had no idea what I was really getting myself into. Javi mentioned he had some bartending experience and, well… here we are."

Javier takes a swig of his beer. "Best part is that I have no clue what I'm doing either."

Everyone laughs, including Lanie, who looks around the group now with a newfound sense of appreciation. "So," she says. "Knicks fans, huh?"

Javi perks up. "You?"

She shakes her head. "More of a baseball girl. Same as Kate here."

"Baseball, huh?" Castle asks, turning to look at Kate.

"Oh yeah," she returns. "My dad used to take me to games all the time."

There's a trace of wistfulness to her tone.

"Wish I could say the same," Castle huffs. "Only place Mother ever took me was backstage."

Kate snorts, nudging him, and Lanie watches the interaction with no small amount of intrigue.

"So, Writer Boy—" Lanie starts. "What are your intentions with my girl here exactly?"

Castle blinks. "I assure you—my intentions are pure."

"So this isn't about getting your fifteen minutes?"

"Well, I'd hope I last longer than that."

The whole group laughs—even Lanie—but she's still watching him with a critical eye.

"Seriously, though. You're not just in it for the spotlight?"

"No, I… no." Rick pauses, shaking his head earnestly. He swallows. "I'm not afraid of the dark."

After another few seconds of scrutiny, Lanie smiles. "Good answer. I guess I don't have to kick you to the curb just yet."

Chuckling, he raises his bottle in a cheers to that motion which everyone mimics.

His gaze flickers to Kate beside him. She's got him fixed with that soft, intense look again. Like it's her first time seeing him; like they're the only two people left in the room.

"You really are a writer," she murmurs then, just for him to hear.

He can't quite work out what she means by that.

"I never asked," Lanie says, turning to face Castle again a few minutes later. "How did you meet everyone?"

"Through Kevin," he supplies. "We've been friends since college."

"Roommates?"

"Yeah," Kevin responds on his behalf. "If you can call it that. I spent most of freshman year banished to the library because Rick and Kyra couldn't keep their hands off each other."

He realizes what he's said about three seconds after he's let it slip—mostly because Jenny leans over and elbows him hard in the ribs, her eyes broadcasting a very clear shut up signal.

"Kyra?"

All eyes turn to Kate. She's sitting a little straighter than before, her head tilted in question—but stiffly, like she's trying for casual and getting it wrong.

"The one that got away, apparently," Javi teases, completely oblivious to the general tone shift in the room. He looks up from his pizza slice and catches Kevin's glare. "Oh. Uh, I mean. Kyra who?"

Rick facepalms internally. Kate cuts her eyes to him, interrogating now. "The one who got away?"

"We dated for three years," he admits with a shrug.

But?" Kate probes.

"She needed space, and I gave it to her."

"And that was it?"

"That was it." He nods. Everyone around them seems to get the hint and the rest of the group starts their own quiet conversation, giving them their privacy. "The guys joke about the fact that I thought she was…you know, the one. But I was young."

"Doesn't mean it wasn't real," Kate adds gently. "Did you love her?"

He swallows, staring down at her hands, the clutch of her delicate fingers around the neck of her beer bottle. Tender, steady. Condensation drips down the dark glass from beneath where her thumb rests and he thinks, treacherously—not like this. "Once upon a time."

"Well, there you go," she says easily. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

Castle finally meets her gaze and finds a depth of expression there so concentrated that he almost has to look away again. There's something intense and desperately hopeful in the shine of her irises, and he doesn't know how to put a name to it except for shining, unadulterated want.

"So, he's riding this thing through Central Park," Kevin continues, laughing, "you know, a dozen cops chasing after him, the whole thing. They finally catch up with him, stop the horse, and then—this is the best part—you'll never guess what he was wearing."

"What?" Kate and Lanie ask in unison.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Naked."

Kate turns back to Rick, incredulous. "Naked?"

He flushes a deep red, burying his head in his hands. "It was spring!"

The group dissolves into laughter, and when he finally looks up again through the cracks in his fingers, she's still staring at him with an expression of warm amusement. "So you weren't lying about the bad boy thing."

"Not sure if nude horse theft really fits into the classic renegade image," he grimaces. "But, hey, whatever gets you going."

She smacks him lightly in the shoulder for that, but the grin on her face is unwavering. "Dream on."

"Oh, I plan to."

The six of them keep swapping stories long into the night, until the cooler is almost empty and everyone's feeling a little light-headed with both laughter and alcohol.

Kate's leaning into Castle's side now, her head resting on his shoulder, giggling as Javi finishes up telling Kevin's 'deepest darkest secret'—he once dated a girl who liked pretending she was a vampire and insisted on having sex in a coffin.

"Did you?" Kate asks, eyes wide.

"I'm open minded, but I'm not that open minded."

Everyone chuckles.

"What about this place?" Rick asks, tugging his bottle from Kate's grip (since when were they sharing a beer?) and taking a swig. "I bet it has a few secrets of his own."

"I don't know," shrugs Kevin. "There's that old floor safe in the corner, I guess, but we've never been able to get it open."

Both Kate and Castle bolt upright at the same time. "What?"

"It's probably empty," Kev continues, looking faintly bemused. "We've smacked it a few times with hammers and it doesn't sound like there's anything inside."

"Oh no," Rick says, "no way. A locked safe from yester-year hidden beneath the floorboards of an old pub? Something's in there."

Rick has his ear against the dented wall of the green-painted safe as he carefully turns the dial. He'd studied the work of some of the best safe crackers in the world when he was doing research for a spy character of his—Derrick Storm—not that those books ever actually went anywhere. Gina didn't think they were worth publishing. At least now he can say that some of his work paid off.

Except he can't get it open. The rest of the group gets bored after the first twenty attempts so they're back over by the pizza, chatting away, and now it's just him and Kate. Who, it turns out, is not exactly the most patient of people either.

"You've been trying for twenty minutes," Kate quips behind him. "How much longer are you going to keep doing this?"

"Hey. I almost had it just now."

"Yeah, like you almost had it the last hundred times. Where did you say you learned how to do this?"

Castle huffs. "From experts."

"Sure. Alright, move."

"Hey!" he protests, but she's already shoving him aside, kneeling down on the hardwood and putting her ear where his just was. "I was getting there. Probably would've had it by now. And besides, what do you know about—"

A soft click. Kate's eyes light up and she catches his gaze, smug.

"—safe-cracking…?"

Four more snicks of the dial and she's got it, just like that, twisting the latch open with a triumphant ha!

"Okay," he lets out. "Seriously. Where did you learn how to do that?"

She just winks at him. "Oh, Castle. The things you don't know about me could fill a book."

She clicks the k on purpose, drawing out that last syllable, nothing demure about the suggestion in her voice. "Want to do the honors?"

He shakes his head, in awe of her. "This one's yours."

"Hey, guys?" Kate calls, attracting the attention of the rest of the group. "Safe's open."

They file over, intrigued again, all forming a half-circle around him and Kate to watch the grand reveal.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

She pulls. Everyone cranes their neck to be the first to see the its contents, a plume of dust billowing from the safe before it settles to reveal—

—Nothing.

It's completely empty.

"Ha! Told you," says Ryan.

Kate sighs. "And here I thought we were about to find some hidden jewels."

Castle sits back, defeated for a moment. Unless—

On a whim, he leans down into the safe again, trailing his fingers along its interior as Kate watches him with curious interest.

Right when he's about to give up, his index catches against a slight lip in the panelling.

He scrabbles for purchase and finds it, tugging at the loose section until it comes away.

"No way," he mumbles under his breath.

"What?"

A button. Cool beneath his fingertips.

He presses it—and there's a click. A tumble of gears.

Kate's eyes widen. "What'd you just do?"

"I have no clue," he confesses, his eyes flickering around the room for the source of that old mechanical whir.

Lanie spots it first. "Over there!"

She points towards the corner of the room, and then—in what might actually be some of the coolest few seconds of Castle's life on earth—they all watch as a real life trapdoor swings open from the floorboards.

Castle scrambles over, Kate behind him, peering down into the darkness until his eyes finally adjust.

Stairs. Leading downwards.

"This is so awesome," Kate breathes, echoing his exact thoughts.

"How'd you know that was there?" Kevin asks, making his way over with everyone else.

Rick grins with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Saw something similar in a Joss Whedon movie once."

Armed with a set of flashlights Javi unearthed from one of the supply cupboards, they descend. Castle feels like a cave explorer, and he knows that the others can feel the sense of adventure too, the artificial glare casting these endless, dusty shadows in beams of ghostly white.

"We could be spelunkers," he says gleefully.

"None of us know what that means, bro," Javier returns.

Kevin turns around once they reach the basement floor, tilting his head up at Jenny.

"You're not coming?"

She sighs, motioning down to her wheelchair. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine up here."

Kev just furrows his brow and hands his flashlight to Castle, who watches with a grin as his friend hightails it back up the stairs.

"Fuck that," he says simply, before he leans down and sweeps his wife into his arms, bridal style. She giggles, clearly delighted, wrapping her arms around Kevin's neck as he carries her gallantly down into the basement.

Javi and Kate head back up moments later and take hold of the wheelchair, carrying it down the stairs together between them. All unspoken.

Jenny tucks her head into her husband's neck, pressing a kiss to his clavicle. "I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too," Kevin promises solemnly. And then he grins. "Isn't this romantic? Dank, pitch-black basement with rat droppings."

Jenny laughs as he sits her back down in her wheelchair. "You always take me to the nicest places."

Castle makes his way over to the wall, feeling around until he finds what he hopes is a light switch and not a booby trap.

He flicks it on, and after a moment of that flickery, old-electric buzz, the space lights up at last.

The room is even bigger than he realized. Based on the wooden beams and the corrugated iron ceiling, he'd guess that this place was an old bomb shelter, transformed into a hidden underground bunker sometime between the end of the war and now.

It's mostly empty except for a few bulky items covered in plastic sheeting in one corner.

"Aw, man," chimes Javier. "I really thought there'd be treasure down here."

"Well, hold on," Kate says as she pulls off the plastic sheeting, revealing the bulky items to be a row of retro-style arcade games.

"Woah," Castle breathes out, skimming fingers over the filmy layer of dust on each surface. "They have Frogger? And Galaga? No freakin' way!"

Kevin eagerly pushes a power button on the Pac Man booth, but it doesn't light up. He tries banging the sides a couple times to no avail. "Aw, man. I think they're busted."

Jenny points at a power cord plugged into the wall. "Yeah, looks like they fritzed out."

"Maybe you can bring them back to life," Lanie suggests. "Just get an electrician in here."

"Ooo, yes," the writer says, "You could turn this into a game room. Get a pool table there. Oh and—a poker table in that corner."

"And what, host underground gambling nights?" Kevin asks, amused.

"Yes!" Castle crows. "Call it the Den of Sin."

"Sounds more like a sex dungeon," Javi jokes. When everyone just stares at him, he rubs the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. "Not that I've ever been to one."

An awkward beat and then a sharp thwack pierces the air.

The group swivels toward the sound.

A silver dart glints in Kate's hand as she lines up her next shot. When it thwacks perfectly in the center, right next to her previous one, she flashes them all a mischievous grin.

"Anyone up for a game?"

Kevin wins the first round of darts against Javier—loser loses his shirt (Javi does spectacularly bad on purpose; Lanie eyes the shirtless ex-soldier appreciatively)—and then it's Kate and Castle's turn.

"So," she starts, facing him. "What're the stakes?"

He shrugs, playing nonchalant. "Can I get a practice throw first? I'm a little rusty."

Kate huffs but allows it, stepping back just as Rick lobs a dart.

He misses by a mile, hitting the wall somewhere near the board, the dart clattering unceremoniously to the floor. "Whoops!" he grins. "Shot too soon."

"You know," Kate starts, her voice teasing and fuck, her mouth is so close to his ear—"we could always just cuddle, Castle."

Everyone laughs and Rick turns to face her, an eyebrow raised. "That's how it's gonna be?"

"Mhm."

"Okay," he announces, playing it cool. "If I get a bullseye in the next three shots, then you have to kiss me." He leers. "With tongue."

"Fine," Kate grants, folding her arms. "Point and shoot, soldier."

The group jeers behind them—Javier actually wolf-whistles, dear God—but he can sense how everyone's holding their breath a little as he takes aim again.

He's still preparing himself when suddenly Kate slinks into the space behind him, pressing the full, sinuous length of her body against the back of his. His mind goes blank. She curls her fingers around the wrist of his throwing hand, centering his shot.

"You make this," she murmurs, quiet enough that only he can hear, "and I might even give you a full seven minutes in heaven."

Rick very quickly forgets how to move. Or breathe. He is trying to focus and she is so not helping.

"You've got yourself a deal," he croaks. She steps away, smirking.

He throws the dart.

And then the next.

And the next.

All three shots land smack-dab in the center of the board.

Bullseye.

"Wow. You'd do anything to cop a feel, huh?" Kate chuckles as the door to the supply closet shuts behind them.

He shakes his head. "Look, we don't have to. No pressure or any—"

Her lips crash into his. He gasps at the collision and then her tongue is inside his mouth, hot and demanding, with no warning at all. Holy shit.

She pulls back from him, grinning in the dim light. "You talk too much."

And then Kate dives back in, desperate, panting a little as she backs him up against the door. She tugs sharply at his bottom lip, all teeth and urgency, her palms flat against his chest but moving, searching now.

Her fingers flutter across the lines of his torso, drifting lower and lower as she attacks his mouth, and fuck, fuck, she's practically climbing his body, gasping—whimpering—against his lips. It's almost too much. It is too much. Rick feels like he's about to short-circuit, and then her hands get to the waistline of his pants and keep going and he pulls away before he forgets how to breathe entirely.

"Kate, wait—"

"What?" she manages, breathing hard, pressing into him all over again as she chases the kiss. "Isn't this what you want?"

Yes. God, yes, but—

Castle hesitates, drawing a hand up to cup the side of her face. "Is it… what you want?"

She blinks. Contemplates. Almost as if no one's ever asked her that before.

"As much as I would love to get to third base with you," he continues, smoothing the stray hairs from her temple with a small smile, "we don't need to do this. Our friends are out there, we're both more than a little buzzed, and…"

Her face falls.

"I really want to do this right with you," he appeases earnestly with a gentle tuck of hair behind her ear. "And you're worth more to me than a drunken romp in a dark supply closet. You deserve better."

She arches an eyebrow, a smile creeping over her mouth.

"Are you saying you wanna buy me dinner first?"

"So." Kate bats his chopsticks out of the way as she reaches for another helping of dim sum. (She let out this involuntary half-moan when she put the first xiaolongbao in her mouth and Rick nearly collapsed into the table—she's had free reign over the dumpling basket ever since.) "Who left who?"

He pauses mid-chew. Right then. "Alexis's mother left me after I found her in bed with her director," he replies candidly.

A flicker of sympathy plays across Kate's expression but she schools it quickly. "Didn't realize you had a thing for actresses."

Castle laughs, grateful for the segue. "You could say that. But she didn't respect the craft like you do. And my second wife was, or, is—a publisher."

That piques her interest. "What happened with her?"

"She saw through me." He's never really been sure of the answer to this question, honestly. Irreconcilable differences was the reason listed on the divorce papers, but that sometimes felt like a bit of an understatement for two people who never really reconciled in the first place. "Or, I don't know. She never believed in me. Maybe that's the same thing."

Kate tilts her head. She drops her free hand to the table next to his and hooks their pinkies together, considering him.

"Sounds like it was for the best," she says sincerely. "You deserve someone who believes in you."

He's about to say something back when suddenly there's a roar of laughter from a group of men at a nearby table.

"No, no," says one of them, a balding guy with a too-small suit on, "give me Kate Beckett any day."

Rick and Kate look at each other.

One of the other men pipes up next, a shorter guy with a nasally voice and a hideous orange tie. "I didn't like that last film of hers. Fast asleep from the moment the lights went down."

Kate grins, her eyebrows raised, clearly unperturbed by the criticism.

"Don't really care what the films are like," the balding one says. Rick bristles. "Any film with her in it—fine by me."

"No—not my type at all really," this, presumptuously, from Orange Tie. Good thing she wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole. "I prefer that other one—blonde, sweet looking, has an orgasm every time you take her out for a cup of coffee."

Meg Ryan, Kate mouths.

"Meg Ryan," says Balding.

Castle swaps a glance with Kate—she's enjoying this.

"No, the point about Kate Beckett is… she's got that twinkle in her eye."

"It's probably drug-induced," maintains Orange Tie. "Spends most of her life in bloody rehab."

"Whatever," says his friend, "she's so clearly up for it."

Kate's sparkle fades.

"You know—some girls, they're all, back off, but Kate… she's absolutely gagging for it."

She swallows, looking down, lacing her hands together beneath the table.

"Do you know that in over fifty percent of languages," continues the balding man, his voice so smug it makes Castle feel a little sick, "the word for actress is the same as the word for prostitute?"

This is horrible. And they're just—laughing.

"And Kate is your definitive actress. Someone really filthy you can just flip over and—"

"—Right," Rick says, his chair scraping backwards as he stands. Kate shoots him a scared look and tries to grab his sleeve to keep him at the table, but he's already moving. "That's it."

"Castle, no—" Kate hisses, too late.

There are actually four men at the table, even if only two were speaking, and Rick feels an equal level of revulsion for every single one of them as he approaches.

"Can I help you?" asks Balding. He's even more balding up close.

"Yeah, actually," Castle grits, clenching his fists to try and keep himself in check. "Just a quick question—what the fuck gives you guys the right to talk about another person like that?"

The two quieter guys do at least have the mind to look slightly caught. Balding and Orange Tie, on the other hand, just smirk, shrugging a little like it's no big deal.

"She's a real person," Rick continues, "Not a piece of meat. And she sure as shit deserves more respect than having assholes like you drooling over her."

"Oh, sod off mate," crows one of them. (He doesn't even care who, he hates them all.) "What are you, her dad?"

That sets them all off laughing again like this is the funniest thing in the world, and it makes Rick's blood boil. He comes very close to picking up a bowl of soup and hurling it at the guy's gleaming bald head, but then mercifully (for the men), Kate suddenly appears at his side and whips him away, fast enough so that she doesn't get recognized.

"Stop," she hisses, dragging him towards the door of the restaurant. "I don't need you to fight my battles for me."

"I'm sorry," he says, wincing at the catch of her nails in this bicep. Shit. "I'm really sorry, Kate. I just—"

"I know," she interrupts, pausing by the exit. She doesn't look as angry as she sounds—just despondent. Resigned. "I know. It's awful. I love that you tried."

He raises his eyebrows in question and she huffs a tired laugh.

"I do. Time was I'd have done the same thing. I just—" she sighs, looking away from him. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"I know," he returns earnestly. "But you shouldn't always have to."

Kate blinks. Regards him. She turns as if to leave, until—

"You know what? Give me a second."

And then she walks back to their table, dragging him along with her.

"Hi," she says shortly.

All of the men go pale at once and it's oh so satisfying.

"I'm sorry about my friend." Her tone is that of a kindergarten teacher addressing a group of toddlers. "He's very sensitive."

Orange Tie breaks first, stammering out some sycophantic apology that Kate clearly doesn't need to hear.

"Please," she interrupts, "let's just leave it there. I'm sure you meant no harm, and I'm sure it was just friendly banter, and I'm sure your dicks are all the size of peanuts—"

The men gape. She keeps going.

"—which, hey, perfect match for the size of your brains. Enjoy your meal. The dim sum's really good."

Kate turns on her heel and leaves them in the dust; Rick follows.

Damn.

If he wasn't in love with her before, he sure as hell is now.

"I shouldn't have done that," she keeps saying, the minute they're out of the restaurant. "I should not have done that."

Rick shakes his head, grinning. "You were epic."

"I was rash," she counters, "and stupid." And then she turns to face him. Uh oh. "What am I even doing with you?"

He shrugs. "I have no idea, I'm afraid."

Kate narrows her eyes at him for a moment before a smile breaks across her face. She shakes her head. "Me neither."

"Here we are," she says when they arrive in front of her hotel.

"Here we are," he echoes, nodding. He won't leave unless she wants him to, but he doesn't want to push. Kate takes a deep breath beside him, a strange look on her face. "What's up?"

"Look," she says abruptly. "I know I'm not the easiest person to get to know—and I don't always let on what's on my mind. But these past few days, being with you…" she pauses. "I've had a really good time."

"Me too," he returns sincerely, reaching for her hand and then thinking the better of it. "The best."

She catches his hesitation and smiles softly. There's a beat of careful silence and then suddenly she's reaching up, soothing her fingers along the line of his jaw, the motion so intimate that he almost chokes.

"People will see," he whispers.

"I don't care." And then she flicks her wrist and pulls a coin out from behind his ear. "Alakazam."

Castle's mouth drops open, and he stares, bewildered, at the 50p piece between her forefinger and her thumb. "You can do magic?" he gapes. "Do that again."

Kate grins, rolling her eyes. "My mom taught me. I only know this one thing. And, well… another thing I taught myself." She gives him a coy look. "With ice cubes."

Holy shit. Castle's heart nearly stops in his chest.

"Even still," he says, schooling his reaction as best he can. "At least you know you can fall back on magic if this whole acting thing doesn't work out."

She laughs, bright and raucous, stepping a little further into the shield of his body when a few passers-by turn to look. Except now she's just—right there. So close to him.

Kate's gaze flickers down to his lips for a second, the moment suddenly heated, her pupils blown. She swallows hard.

"Do you wanna come up?"

Every instinct in Castle's body tells him that this is a bad idea. "Why?" he asks, desperately stalling for time. It isn't working. He still wants her. "So I can be another one of your conquests?"

She bites her lip and he feels his breath catch. "Or I can be one of yours."

"Kate," he tries, because he's out of ammunition now, and if she asks him one more time then he is absolutely going to say yes. Maybe the sound of her own name will shock some sense into her, remind her that there seem to be a million reasons why they shouldn't do this. The most glaring one… she's leaving in the morning. And he can already tell one night with her won't be enough.

"Castle," she mimics, her voice pitched low. "Come upstairs with me. Order some coffee."

It's not even a question this time. She peers up at him through her eyelashes and he's just—done for.

"Okay," he manages. "Coffee. I'll try not to spill it this time."

The look in her eyes tells him that she really couldn't care less about the coffee.

"Give me five minutes," she murmurs, and then she disappears into the hotel without another word.

Exactly four minutes and thirty seconds later, he knocks on her door. Anticipation fizzes through his veins like a current. He can hardly stand still.

Kate opens it, looking a little flustered. "Hey."

"Hi," he says gently, leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. "Kate, I—"

"—You gotta go."

Castle's heart sinks like a stone. "What? Why?"

She chews on her lip for a moment, conflicted, guilt and fear and apology playing across her face all at once.

"Because my boyfriend, who I thought had gone back to America, is in the next room."

Chapter Text

"Your—boyfriend?"

Castle swallows. Hard.

"Yes." Kate looks like she's about to say something else, her face wracked with guilt, but a familiar voice cuts through the remaining shreds of their conversation before she can get the words out.

"Who is it?"

And then Will-fucking-Sorenson rounds the corner into the entryway.

Of course. Who else?

Will—Kate's boyfriend—is already undoing the top buttons of his shirt, carrying himself with that same air of detachment that bothered Castle so much during their interview.

Shit. The interview.

"Oh. Hey." The actor pauses. "Do I recognize you?"

Kate stiffens, throwing Castle a nervous look. She's standing ramrod straight, eyes wide, looking more uncomfortable than he's ever seen her.

"Uh, no." Rick falters, panicking. "I'm just—room service," he supplies. "One of those faces, you know?"

"Cool," Will says, dismissive. But then a thought seems to strike him. "I thought you guys all wore those penguin coats."

Castle hesitates; throws a glance at Kate. Her head is down. "We do," he answers. "Usually. I just—I just changed to go home, actually, but I thought I'd deal with this final call."

"Great," Will says, uncaring. "Could you do me a favor and try to get us some really cold water up here?"

"...I'll see what I can do."

"Still, not sparkling."

"Absolutely," Castle says. "Ice cold still water."

"Unless it's illegal in the UK to serve liquids below room temperature," Will continues, clearly a little in love with the sound of his own voice. (It grates.) "I don't want you going to jail just to satisfy my whims."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"And maybe you could just eighty-six the dishes and empty the trash."

Rick bites down a huff. "Right." And then he does as he's asked, scooping up the two used plates and heading over to the trash bin even as Kate steps towards him, shaking her head.

"It's fine," she tries, "seriously, don't." She turns to Will. "I'm sure this isn't his job."

"Oh, sorry," the actor says, sounding for all the world like he's not actually sorry at all.

"All good," Castle mutters.

"What's your name, anyway?" Will asks.

"Uh…" he falters. "Kevin."

Will slips him a fiver. As if this could get any more embarrassing. "Thank you, Kevin." He turns his attention back to Kate, who still looks a little catatonic. Not that the actor notices. "Hey. Happy to see me?"

She doesn't answer for a long few moments, her eyes are still fixed on Castle, wide and miserable. "...Yeah," she murmurs finally, cutting her gaze back to her boyfriend. It's not exactly convincing.

Will kisses her. Castle looks away, his stomach curdling.

"Liar." Will looks over his shoulder at the writer again. "She hates surprises," he says, rolling his eyes like this is all just one big joke. And then back to Kate. "What are you ordering?"

She swallows. "I haven't decided."

"Well, choose quick. I'm hungry." Will steps past her, probably to finish getting changed, and then he pauses, his eyes drawn to something on the coffee table—the Patterson she bought from his bookstore. Will picks it up and inspects the cover. "You only read mystery when you're sad about something." He cocks an eyebrow at Kate. "What's wrong now?"

From anyone else it might be a caring observation, but the huff that Will puts on the question manages to make him sound bored and exasperated all at once. Some boyfriend. Kate just freezes, her gaze flickering between the two of them again.

"Shut up," she mutters, cheeks flaming. "I'm fine."

Castle clears his throat. "I should go."

Will nods, shooting him a thumbs up as he disappears off around the corner, clearly uninterested in whatever Kate's answer would've been.

She watches him go and then twists back around to face Castle, stepping towards him even as he shakes his head and steps away.

"I'm so sorry," she starts, her eyes already damp. He resists every urge to try and comfort her, tightening his grip around the plates so that he doesn't do something really stupid like reach out and grant her the contact she's so clearly seeking. "I don't… he's just—"

"Your boyfriend," Castle fills in quietly. He hears the venom in his own voice—he just can't bring himself to do anything about it. "Fool me twice, shame on me, right?"

"What?"

"You'd think I'd recognize the signs," he continues, holding her gaze. "After Meredith."

She sucks in a gasp, sounding physically pained. "Oh, God. Rick…"

"It's fine," he mutters. Kate shakes her head, trying and failing to find the right words. He shoots her a dry smile. "Hey. Not like we were exclusive or anything, right? Nothing serious."

Her breath catches. The tears start to fall.

"Castle," she whispers, voice like broken glass. "I don't… I don't know what to say."

He offers her a contrite lift of his lips.

"I think goodbye is traditional."

Rick shoves his hands into his pockets once he's out of the hotel, and he's halfway to Kensington before he finally stops to catch his breath, scrubbing a palm down the side of his face as he tries to quell the ridiculous urge to just start crying in the middle of the street.

Oh, God. How could he have been this stupid?

He really thought they had something. Something real.

Or was it all just a joke to her?

Maybe this is what she does…and it's some sort of game—torrid affairs during her press tours, just to take the edge off, and then she gets to go back to that picture-perfect life of hers with Will Sorenson and his winning smile.

Maybe he really was just another conquest to her.

Except…

He can't help feeling like that isn't the truth. She had to have felt it too…the connection—the feeling that whatever they had was somehow bigger than them, something more than ordinary. She must've. Why else would she rope Lanie into her subterfuge? It can't all have been a ruse. As much as he wants to—for his own sake—he can't quite believe that she could ever be that cruel.

Or maybe Lanie likes to pull off similar stunts and it was all just an act (fuck, who is he kidding, Kate's an actress) but really—really?

Was she really faking that light in her eyes? The way she looked at him?

God.

He has no idea.

Rick steels himself, taking a deep, steadying breath as he continues down the street to the bus stop. There's a little more time to gather his thoughts there while he waits, and by the time the bus arrives, he feels at least collected enough to tap his card without his hands shaking.

The facts are these: he wanted her. And maybe—maybe—she wanted him back. (He thinks about her hands at his face, her tongue in his mouth, her body pressed all the way against his. That was real. It had to be.)

But it doesn't matter; he can't have her. There's no changing that now.

A Blue Butterfly billboard flashes past the bus window—Kate draped over Will in grainy monochrome, her eyes dark, that coy smile ghosting her lips in the half-light.

He shuts his eyes.

The worst part is that he really, really wants to hate her for this. And it would probably be a whole lot easier if he could just write her off as someone who was never worth his time in the first place—except, obviously, that would be impossible.

He fell for her. Tumbled deep down the rabbit hole. And he's not sure he can scratch and claw his way back out.

At least she didn't seem that smitten with Will.

Small mercies.

As the bus crawls back to Notting Hill, he can't but help think of her story. Alone and grieving and in rehab for most of her early twenties. Not to mention the awful, abusive boyfriend that preyed on her during that time—there's a possibility, Rick decides, that she's only actually with Will for the stability alone, the constant fallback of a guy who (if nothing else) is at least going to be dependable. There to come home to.

The guy didn't seem all that great, but at least he wasn't mean. And, besides, he's the Hunk of Hollywood. If there was ever a 'Mr Right' for a movie star to be with for the sake of cleaning up her image, it'd be Will Sorenson.

Hard to say. It's not like he can ask her. Rick thumbs the stop button and stands, brushing himself off a little as the bus begins to slow.

Whatever the reason that she's with Will—stability, PR, genuine affection—Kate's made her choice, and it wasn't him. Which is fine. So fine. (He sucks in a breath. It is fine.)

Just means there's nobody around to call him Castle anymore.

Rick walks home in a daze. Every time he thinks about her, it's a new dagger to the chest, so in the end, he just stops thinking about her.

He focuses on the city noises, the pale glow of moonlight, the ridges of his keys against his fingertips. His footsteps. The cracks in the pavement.

(It doesn't work.)

Eventually he arrives at his front door and lets himself in quietly in case Martha has already gone to sleep.

And then he sits on his bed. Alone.

His mother pokes her head around the door sometime later. "Hey, kiddo. You've been awfully quiet since you got back."

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Sorry. Just tired. Did you eat?"

Martha nods. "Don't you worry about me." And then she pauses. "Something happen with Kate?"

He meets her gaze with a sad smile.

"You wanna talk about it?" she probes.

"No, thanks."

A soft sigh.

"Alright. Goodnight, Richard. I'll be upstairs if you need me."

He doesn't know why he buys a ticket. It's the last screening of the night, so at least he's alone in his self-induced torture.

The Blue Butterfly plays in startling technicolor.

A version of Kate that he almost doesn't recognize—fancy fur, blue dress, sleek 40s curls, red lip, huge brown eyes—lights up the screen. She's unbearably beautiful. Ethereal. Otherworldly.

She strikes a match.

There's a momentous flash and he flinches a little at the brightness, watching as the orange glow of the flames fades a little to reveal Will and Kate—Joe and Vera—silhouetted in the wreckage of a burning car. A gleaming blue butterfly sits in the hollow of her character's throat.

Tell me you love me, Joe.

They lean towards each other.

Rick looks away.

Martha bustles into the living room, slowing to a stop at the sight of her son in the exact same place as he was when she left to go shopping an hour ago.

"Oh, kiddo. I hate seeing you like this. All dark and brooding."

"Sun's gone," he says distantly, avoiding the concern in her words. "Clouds are overcast today."

"Ready to talk about it yet?"

"I just…" He sighs. "I don't know how to get over her. How are you supposed to move on from someone like that? I opened Pandora's box and now it's—stuck. I can't close it again."

Martha snaps her fingers. "You know, I knew a girl called Pandora once. We got into this catfight over the lead role in Cymbeline. Called it Pandora's boxing match."

Rick huffs a laugh despite himself. "Did you win?"

"Of course I did."

He shakes his head as his mother takes a seat beside him on the couch. "No, it's fine. Everything is…fine. It's ordinary. Problem is, I don't want ordinary. I want—"

She fans her fingers—"Magic."

"Yeah," he confirms with a sad twist of his lips.

There's a long beat and his mother reaches for something in the pocket of her robe and extracts a Moleskine notebook.

"Who's Nikki Heat?"

He sighs heavily, too tired to care that she was snooping through his things. "No one."

"Maybe it'll help." Martha nudges the notebook into his hands. "Writing about her."

His fingers feather the cover and he gives her a weighted look. How can he? It hurts too much.

She lays a hand on his shoulder.

"It's what Edgar Allen Poe would do, isn't it? Process his pain on the page?"

Rick paces over to his desk in the corner and takes a seat, eyeing his dust-covered typewriter carefully. His mother and Alexis pooled their money together to get it for him last Christmas, in the hopes that it might finally be the thing to cajole him into writing again. As much as he loves the sound of clacking keys, though, their attempt was mostly fruitless, and all he had managed to come up with back then were a few short story drafts which never actually went anywhere. Now, though…

Kate's face flashes through his mind. That starburst smile of hers, the come-hither raise of her eyebrow, the intensity of her expression when she was trying to read him. Rick doesn't even need to consult his Moleskine full of character notes—he remembers everything.

His fingers start moving almost of their own accord.

He sits in the Twelfth a few days later, his spirits (finally) a little buoyed.

The boys have managed to get some new barstools in, and they'd hooked up their first keg of beer to a tap in the bar, so it's celebratory pints of slightly warm Estrella all around. Javi sits beside him, nosing through a copy of the Mail with a paparazzi photo of Kate and Will plastered on the cover.

"So," Kevin starts. "You really didn't know she had a boyfriend?"

Rick shakes his head. "No. Did you?"

Kevin and Jenny share a look.

He groans. "God, seriously? My whole life ruined because I don't read trashy tabloids."

"Face facts, bro," Javi says, folding the paper in two and then hurriedly shoving it somewhere behind him when he spots the picture on the front. "It was never gonna work out. This is Kate Beckett we're talking about. Where did you ever see that going?"

Jenny elbows him for his bluntness, but his friend's words do actually make Rick feel a little better. They'd been destined to implode, hadn't they? And wasn't it better to have known her, even for that short time, than to never have known her at all?

"Kate's a goddess," Kevin agrees. "And you know what happens to mortals who get involved with the gods."

Rick grimaces. "Fucked?"

They all nod. "Every time. But hey, don't worry. I might have the solution to your problems."

"Really?"

Kevin nods. "Her name is Amanda and she was a bachelorette at our wedding. High school friend of Jenny's. You might remember her, Rick." A smirk. "You once told me she kisses like a nymphomaniac on death row."

Jenny raises an eyebrow and Rick blushes. Remember is… a word for it. It had mostly been a rebound thing, a night of drunken fooling around in the wake of his break up with Meredith. Probably not his best work.

"Amanda," Rick muses, pretending to mull the name over. "Oh, yeah. Livingstone, right?"

Kevin nods. "The very same."

"She's in town for the week," Jenny supplies. And then without any subtlety— "If you wanted…a distraction."

Rick cuts his eyes to Kevin, who just shrugs guiltily. "She said it, not me."

He sighs. "You know what? Sure. Nothing else to lose."

April 2009

Rick stands in the middle of their kitchen, feeling uneasy. He leans down and lets Jenny readjust his collar, squirming when she pinches his cheek for good measure.

"Be nice," she warns.

The doorbell rings.

He nods sheepishly as Kev heads off to answer the door. Rick straightens up, fidgeting until he hears the first almost-familiar notes of Amanda's voice coming down the corridor.

"I got completely lost," she's rambling to Kevin. "It's really hard, isn't it? Everything has the word Kensington in it. Kensington Park Road, Kensington Gardens, fucking Kensington Park Gardens…"

They reach the kitchen. Amanda is…blonder than he remembers.

"Amanda," Kevin says, taking her coat from her. "You remember Jenny."

"Oh, hello." Amanda blinks. "You're in a wheelchair now."

Jenny raises an eyebrow, but manages to school her expression quickly. "That's right. And this is Rick."

"Hello Rick," the blonde drawls. And then she winks. (Why did he agree to this again?) "Remember me?"

"Um," he says. "Yes. Hi again."

"Wine?" Kevin breaks the already-awkward silence.

Amanda grins. "Oh, yes please. Come on, Ricky, let's get hammered. And then I'll cleanse that palate of yours just like old times."

She turns to take the wine and Rick has a split second to telegraph a message of pure panic to Jenny.

She grimaces back, apology in her gaze.

May 2009

Kevin walks over to the table. They're having dinner with a new attempted set-up now: Kev, Jenny, Martha, Rick—and a woman named Ellie Munroe, who seems nice so far, if a little… over enthusiastic.

"Ellie," Kevin says. "Some woodcock?"

"No, thank you," she says delicately. "I'm a fruitarian."

"...I see." Kevin turns to Rick, looking a little dismayed and leaving his friend to fill the pause.

"And, uh," the writer falters. "What's a fruitarian exactly?"

"We believe that fruits and vegetables have feelings so we think cooking is cruel," Ellie says. "We only eat things that have actually fallen from the tree or bush. Things that are dead already."

Rick takes a deep breath. "Right. Right. Interesting stuff." A beat. "So these carrots…"

"Have been murdered, yes."

"Murdered? Poor carrots. How beastly," Martha comments.

Ellie laughs loudly—a little too loudly—and Rick shoots his mother a skeptical glance. Martha leans toward him, murmuring, "Does she seem familiar to you?"

He shakes his head. "So, um, how do you know the Ryans?" he asks politely.

"Fruit stand at the farmer's market, actually. I like to ask proprietors where they find their products, so I can go straight to the source."

"I see."

(Could this get any worse?)

"And, of course, I know your mother from her theater troupe," Ellie tacks on.

"That's it!" Martha exclaims with a clap of her hands. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere. You're the understudy who stepped in for Mabel when she got food poisoning last month, aren't you?"

"An actress, huh?" Rick grits as he kicks Kevin in the shin under the table.

His friend covers his exclamation of pain with a cough.

"Yes. And speaking of," Ellie says, turning to Martha with an eager expression and the writer suddenly realizes she's not there for him. "How's the casting process going for The Crucible? Found anyone to…play Abigail yet?"

She scoots a little closer, batting her eyelashes, and Martha raises a dubious eyebrow. "Not yet, no."

Ellie smiles. "I'm sure you'll figure something out. Or, you know. Someone."

Rick puts his head in his hands.

"Well." The door shuts behind Ellie on her way out and Rick immediately turns to glare at his friends. "That was a disaster."

"Oh, I don't know. She was very pretty," Jenny grins, her eyes twinkling.

Kevin nods. "Really passionate about…fruit."

"Maybe a little too passionate about fruit," Rick deadpans.

Everyone laughs, including Martha as she swans back in from the entryway.

"And only interested in sleeping with my son to win a part," she pipes in. "Though I do admire her dedication."

Rick snorts. "Anyway, no offense you guys, but you're both terrible at this."

Kevin and Jenny both pout at once. "Oh, c'mon. One more chance?"

"Please?"

Rick sighs.

"Just—for the love of God, no more actresses, okay?"

June 2009

The third time his friends try and set him up with another date, Rick is…pleasantly surprised.

The dinner goes so well that it throws him off his game a little. He was all but ready to give up on whoever Kevin and Jenny tried to introduce him to next, but this woman—Serena—is lovely. She's a little younger than him, smartly dressed, pretty in a way that gets more alluring the longer he sits next to her. Jenny informed him that she was an old associate of Uncle Colin's, which tracks—she's smart. Really smart. Subtle and gorgeous and a dangerously good match for him.

"Delicious coffee," she says to Kevin once he's finished clearing the plates from the table.

"Thanks," he returns. "Rick bought us this fancy espresso machine a few years back. I'm sorry about the lamb."

She shakes her head. "You're fine. I thought it was really—you know. Interesting."

"Interesting means inedible," Rick interjects and Serena shoots him a grin.

"Really…" she searches for a compliment and clearly fails to find one. "...Inedible. Yeah."

Everyone dissolves into laughter at once.

"So." Rick turns to Serena once Jenny's done giggling. "Kevin says you're an insurance investigator?"

"I am indeed. I mostly specialize in stolen artwork."

"Oh, cool. What made you choose insurance, then? It's not exactly the kind of thing most little girls aspire towards when they grow up."

Serena raises an eyebrow. "It's a…recent career change."

That piques his interest. "Really? What did you do before?"

"Actually," she says slowly, tracing her thumb around the rim of her mug, "I was a thief."

Fuck. Fuck. Of course her job is awesome.

"No way."

She shrugs. "Well, that's what the museums liked to call me. I prefer to think of myself as…an art retriever."

"What's the difference?"

"Well, the pieces I took had already been stolen from their rightful owners. Taken by Nazis, despots, governments. Just because a piece is in a museum doesn't mean it belongs there."

"Seriously?"

"I specialized in returning art to their rightful owners, starting with a small Rembrandt an S.S. Officer took from my grandfather."

Rick grins. "So, you were kind of like the female Indiana Jones. Only without the hat and whip."

She purses her lips at him, mischief in the shine of her gaze. "Well, without the hat."

Rather inelegantly, Rick chokes on his coffee. He catches Ryan and Jenny nudging each other in the corner of his eye, exchanging hopeful glances.

Serena stands beside him in the doorway sometime later, tugging her coat around her shoulders as she gets ready to leave.

"Maybe we'll meet again some time," she says carefully, assessing him.

"Yeah." Rick nods earnestly. "That would be…great."

She tilts her head a little. "Would it?"

"…Yes?"

"You're holding out for someone." There's no accusation in her tone, just gentle acknowledgement.

He swallows, caught. "Not…exactly—I mean, you're…"

"Rick."

"Sorry." He sighs. This probably could've been something. "It's not you, I swear. You're really great."

"Don't worry," Serena murmurs, leaning forward and kissing him gently on the cheek. She lingers for a moment, her lips soft. "I don't steal things that belong to someone else."

And then she pulls away again, smirking a little as she turns to go. Rick just watches her, waiting until she's most of the way down the street before he shuts the door quietly and heads back into the living room.

Jenny and Ryan are waiting on the couch excitedly, eager for a debrief.

"Well?"

He smiles. "She's great. Perfect."

There's a long pause.

Kevin tilts his head, understanding. "But she isn't Kate."

Rick nods, sighs, makes a gentle, exasperated gesture.

"I think maybe you guys have forgotten—how lucky you are. To find someone, the way you two have, who you actually love, who'll love you back…" he trails off, flopping down into the armchair. "The chances are miniscule. Hey, look at me. Not counting Kate, I've loved exactly three women in my life. All total disasters."

"That's not fair," Kevin tries.

"No, really. One of them left me in the middle of Grand Central claiming to need space and then I never heard from her again, the next I caught sleeping with her director in the bed we were supposed to share, and the last…" he grimaces. "Was Gina."

His friends laugh, and he's grateful for the brief reprieve. Jenny sits forward a little.

"I'm sure if you reached out to Kyra…"

"Maybe." He shrugs. It's not Kyra he wishes he could reach out to. "I don't know."

"Well. At least you have us!" she returns, grinning at him.

He snorts, putting his head in his hands in a show of surrender. "God, that's worse. Just you wait. I am going to find myself, thirty years from now, still just sitting in this armchair on my own."

Jenny softens a little. "Do you want to stay?"

"Would that be okay?" Rick looks up. "All that's waiting for me at home is my mother and her new one woman show."

An ache fills him as he watches Kevin carry Jenny upstairs.

This love of theirs—soft, quiet, endless—he's jealous. He'll admit it. That's a life he's always longed for. One with a true partner.

The next morning, he quietly sips his coffee in the corner of the kitchen as the two of them move around each other with practiced ease—a choreographed dance they've done a thousand times. (Could they be any more perfect?)

As Jenny adjusts Kevin's tie, he kisses her goodbye once and then runs back in for a second moments later.

It's disgustingly adorable. And he tells them as much as Kevin quickly helps Jenny pack the last of her things for her day of teaching.

When they all head out the door together, Jenny squeezes Rick's hand.

"You gonna be okay?"

"You know me," he returns with a self-deprecating shrug. "I'll get over her eventually."

He decides three days later that it is—it has to be—time to move on. His first step in cleaning up his act is shaving off the faint layer of stubble that he hasn't been paying nearly enough attention to recently; Gina used to insist that it made him look a little cooler, more rugged, but really it just itches. Besides, Alexis is coming home for the summer, and she's always been a stickler for his appearance.

He's just about to scrape off the final patch of shaving foam when there's a knock at the door.

Rick grabs a towel, swiping at his face as he heads down to answer it.

He opens the door.

And there she is.

Standing there in her dark glasses, tense and pale and trembling slightly.

Kate.

"...Hi."

Chapter Text

"Hi," he says finally.

The tears in Kate's eyes are visible even through the mask of her sunglasses—when she speaks, her voice wavers, catching and breaking over the rift of quiet words.

"Can I come in?"

Her hair is a mess. She looks—hollow.

"Of course," he murmurs, convinced she might crumble to pieces if he talks too loud. "Come in."

She follows him into the kitchen, standing stock still in the middle of the room until he pulls out a chair and motions for her to sit. She's a husk of the woman he walked away from three months ago; silent, and so nervous that it's making her hands shake.

"Kate," he lets out. Her name on his lips is like a current, some grounding force; she finally looks up at him, blinking fast as she pulls the dark glasses from her face. "What happened?" he prompts gently.

"You don't—" she swallows, relief and curiosity both crowding for space in her gaze. "You don't know?"

He shakes his head. Kate sighs. It's another long few moments before she speaks again.

"Photos," she murmurs. "Of…me. They're not, um. I wasn't—"

"It's okay," he cuts in before she can tie herself into an even worse knot trying to explain the obvious. "I understand."

She nods, clearly grateful for the out. "They were taken years ago. I know it was… I mean, I didn't have much money, and it happens a lot. That's not an excuse—it was just something you did, you know?"

She's clearly ashamed and he searches in vain for a subtle way to tell her that he's not judging her, wouldn't ever—in the end, he just shifts his hand a little closer to hers on the table, giving her the space to respond if she wants to.

Kate glances down at the movement, letting out a trembling sigh. And then she curls her index finger around his and looks up at him like he's the only person left in the world.

"To make things worse," she continues quietly, her gaze shifting away again, "it turns out the guy who took the pictures…was filming me as well. So what was a stupid photoshoot now looks like—a porno. And the pictures have been sold." Her jaw clenches. "They're everywhere."

Rick shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a shadow. "I didn't know where else to go. The hotel is surrounded."

She won't look at him and he can tell that she's just waiting for him, of all people, to shrug his shoulders and kick her back out into the cold.

"This is the place."

Some of the tension finally slips from her rigid frame. "Thank you," she whispers. There's a beat as she just looks at him. "I'm only in London for a week, but with your tabloids, it's the worst place to be." Her words start picking up speed as she gets lost in the panic of it all again, tears starting to streak down her face like she's just now remembering the weight of the situation. "And they're such horrible pictures—they're so grainy, and they make me look like—"

Castle stands, taking a step towards her and then another when she doesn't flinch away from him. She finally stops talking, stops moving, taking these deeper, calming breaths, seemingly reassured by the fact of his proximity alone. With enough blind hope to last him a lifetime, he moves closer. She lets him—gives into it, her forehead dropping to his shoulder, all of the fight seeping out of her at once. "I'll never escape those photos," she whispers. "I'll never be safe."

"Don't think about it," Rick murmurs, pressing a single, steady hand to the nape of her neck. He waits a moment, lets her breathe through the tide of anxiety, feels the frantic rush of her exhales against his shirt as they finally start to slow. "We'll figure it out. Now, what would you like—coffee, tea? A bath? Honey-soaked apricots?"

Kate leans back and smirks up at him through the tears—the first real smile since she arrived.

"A bath would be great. Thanks."

He points the way to the bathroom and leaves her to raid the cabinet for bath salts, bubbles, and various oil scents his mother's stocked up on while he tidies up the mess in the living room.

And he's just about done loading the dishwasher in the kitchen when—to his horror—Hurricane Martha whirls in, clutching a copy of The Sun in her hands, completely oblivious to his attempts to stop her from going upstairs.

His mother sails into the bathroom, still nose-deep into a newspaper with Kate's name plastered all over the headlines.

He tenses.

There's a long, silent beat.

"You know," he hears his mother say sincerely, sounding, to her credit, utterly unsurprised at finding Kate Beckett lounging in her bathtub, "these photos really don't do you justice, kiddo."

To his surprise—and immense, all-consuming relief—Kate bursts out laughing.

Kate comes back downstairs to sit with him once she's finished with her bath, her hair still a little damp as he sets down a plate of toast and a latte in front of her on the kitchen table.

"Thanks," she murmurs, smiling up at him.

"Don't mention it."

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, Kate flipping through the pages of a script while Rick works on the Sunday crossword.

"I'm really sorry about—last time," she murmurs suddenly. She's staring at him when he looks up at her, a careful, earnest expression pressed into her features. She doesn't look away. "He just surprised me. I had no idea—we weren't… I wasn't even sure if I'd ever see him again."

"It's fine," he assures her, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "It's not often a guy gets the opportunity to eighty-six the plates of a major Hollywood star. It was a real thrill."

Kate raises a skeptical eyebrow. She can probably see right through him, but they're both well aware that this whole thing is easier if they can both just play down the heartbreak enough.

Rick swallows. "How…is he?"

"I don't know," she says, and he tries to ignore the way his heart leaps. "It's so funny, Castle. You know, at first I loved that he was so famous. Busy all the time. It just… gave me an opportunity to keep one foot out the door. Just in case."

He nods. "But with one foot out the door, it's hard to know where you stand."

"And even if I did—you know, what does it mean? It got to the point where I couldn't remember any of the reasons I loved him. I'm starting to think I never really loved him at all." Kate pauses, her eyes cutting to Castle again. That intense, searching gaze of hers. "And you…and love?

"Well, there's a question without an interesting answer," he answers, smiling self-deprecatingly and standing to fix himself another pot of coffee.

She's still staring at him when he turns around again. "I've thought about you," she murmurs quietly.

Castle shakes his head. "Don't. You don't—have to do this."

But she's determined. "It's just that any time I've tried to keep things normal with anyone normal—it's been a disaster."

"Kate," he starts, trying to find a way to derail her without making it seem like an outright rejection. He wants her—of course he wants her—but she's absolutely not ready for a confession like that right now. "Seriously, it's fine."

Kate's eyebrows draw together slightly, a brief catch and release which is gone as soon as it appeared. She opens her mouth to say something else when suddenly there's a clatter from the entryway and Alexis comes staggering in, a suitcase in each hand and an enormous hiking backpack almost swallowing her whole. The redhead's gaze lands on Kate and she freezes.

"Oh, hey. Um." His daughter's brow furrows. She hesitates.

"Hi," Kate returns with a small smile. "Back from school?"

Alexis looks at him and he shoots her his best be cool expression. Mercifully, she seems to get it.

"Yes. Yeah. But the train was a total nightmare. The AC broke and there's a heatwave happening, so I'm totally melting." She fans herself. "Dad, didn't you buy one of those blow up pools?"

"Oo, that's a great idea. Why don't we get that set up after you settle back in—need any help with your things?"

His daughter gives him a look, ever the independent. "Nope. All good." And then she heads upstairs, scraping her suitcases along the wall all the way to the top floor.

Kate turns to him. "I should go—I'm intruding."

He frowns. "Go where?"

"I don't know," she mumbles. "Somewhere safe."

"You've got somewhere safe," he points out, smiling a little when she looks at him quizzically. "It's a secure building with a bedroom for you, with people who care about you. Probably the safest place in the city for you right now, Kate."

"Thank you, Castle—but I couldn't."

"You can," he says earnestly. "And you will."

She's torn, indecision written all over her face.

"Is that the movie you're doing?" he asks then, motioning at her script, trying to distract her.

Maybe it works, or maybe she just lets it work, but either way— "Yeah," she acquiesces. "Starts in L.A. next week."

"Want me to take you through your lines?"

She perks up. "Oh, would you? It's all talk, talk, talk."

"Hand it over. Basic plot?"

"I'm a difficult but brilliant federal agent who works for the AG's office and in about twenty minutes I'm gonna save the entire world from a zombie apocalypse."

He grins hugely.

"That's the sexiest thing you've said yet."

They all end up migrating to the rooftop terrace.

Martha and Alexis sip ice-cold Cokes in the water-filled kiddie pool, outfitted in vintage swimming costumes and big hats and slathered in sunscreen, while Kate and Castle work their way through the script.

He's never really seen her in the throes of the acting process before—he's witnessed her performances onscreen, of course, but never this: never Kate while she slips seamlessly into the role of her character, intensely focused as she commits each stage direction to memory, taking on new mannerisms for every line like they've always been her own.

It's electric, this back and forth with her. A part of her process seems to be unwavering eye contact; an abject, heated refusal to look away from him even as she adjusts herself to these stretches of unfamiliar dialogue. Like verbal swordplay—she gives, he takes, the air between them growing warmer and warmer in the burning sun as they move through each scene.

"You've been bitten, Tim," Kate grits, her tone deadly serious. "The game's over. Drop the gun!"

Castle—in character—shakes his head. "Back away or I swear, I'll infect you too."

"You know I can't do that, Tim."

"You think I'm kidding around here, Agent Rhodes?"

Kate takes a breath, readying herself for the ludicrous monologue. "No, I don't. I think you feel trapped and you're serious as hell! But right now, I need you to think about the people who love you. The people who will suffer if this thing becomes an epidemic. And they need you to put down that gun!"

She turns to Castle, slipping from the role. "And don't you dare say one word about how many mistakes I made in that speech or I'll throw skittles at you."

Rick grins. "Alright. My actor lowers the gun and starts crying."

"Thank you." She pauses. "How many mistakes did I make?"

"Eleven."

"Damn."

Castle grins. "Don't worry, we'll come back to it. Okay, next scene, you're finishing up that phone call."

Kate nods. "Got it. Hey, Wainwright—"

"—Cartwright."

She huffs. "Cartwright, Wainwright, whatever your name is, I promised little Connor I'd be home for his birthday—could you get a message through that I may be a little late?"

"Certainly. And little Cosmo?"

Kate grimaces. "My son's name is Cosmo?"

"Yup."

She snorts. "That's a ridiculous name."

"Hey!"

Kate lifts an eyebrow. "What?"

"Cosmo is a perfectly good name," he defends. "It's what I was going to call Alexis if she was a boy."

His daughter makes a disgruntled noise. Kate chuckles, turning to face her. "Guess it's a good thing you were a girl then."

A vigorous nod from Alexis. "A very good thing."

"You guys are so mean," Castle pouts.

"Uh huh. Anyway—Cosmo. Get a message to him, too."

Rick grins. "Fantastic. Totally perfect."

She shoots him a wry look. "You're hilarious. What'd you think about the script?"

"Really gripping. It's not Henry James, it's not Jane Austen but—it's gripping."

Kate frowns. "You think I should do Jane Austen instead?"

"I'm sure you'd be great in Jane Austen," he says with sincerity. "But, you know, this writer's pretty damn good too."

"Yeah," she says, skeptical. "I mean—you never have anyone in Pride & Prejudice reminding a guy that he just got bitten by a zombie."

"And I think the book is the poorer for it," Castle supplies. She snorts. "Imagine a Jane Austen adaptation with zombies in it. I'd be first in line."

Kate smiles her biggest smile of the day.

The overwhelming heat outside makes Castle incredibly glad that he managed to score one of the only houses in this neighborhood with a functioning AC unit. He keeps it blasting all day, to the point where it might actually be too cold inside—not that anybody seems to mind once he offers up hot cocoa as a way to counteract the chill.

"Hey, Dad?" Alexis calls from the living room as he stirs the last few teaspoons of cinnamon into the mixture. "Wanna make a blanket fort?"

He scoffs in mock offense.

"Is Darth Vader Luke's father?"

He and his daughter smack their hands together in an enthusiastic high-five.

"Might be some of our best work yet."

Alexis had managed to root out some fairy lights from deep within one of her suitcases, and he took it upon himself to gather up all of the soft materials in the house. An entire metropolis of pillows, duvets, and blankets awaits.

He crawls in first, his daughter passing him their mugs of hot cocoa before she follows. A mini projector is set up in one corner, casting the first frozen frame of their movie up onto a white sheet ready for them to press play once everyone gets comfortable.

He sticks his head out of the fort again, motioning for his mother and Kate to come on over from where they're chatting at the kitchen table.

"Snooze you lose, guys. It's awesome in here."

Kate rolls her eyes, but the judgement is belied by how eagerly she gets up and makes her way over to the fort as Castle ducks back in.

Her and Martha crawl in slowly, both of them gaping at the expanse of the structure.

Alexis grins. "Welcome to the 'loft'," she says proudly.

Kate inspects everything with awe. "Wow. This is like a palace." She takes her mug of cocoa and settles herself down between Martha and Alexis—as much as Rick would've loved to spend a whole two hours watching a movie with Kate Beckett huddled into his side—he also notes the gratitude on his daughter's face at the fact that she gets to be next to him instead, so really he doesn't mind so much. It might actually make him like Kate a little more.

Alexis clears her throat, looking professional. He loves this part—she's really good at making herself sound like a real life movie presenter. "Tonight, we'll be screening Disney's 1991 Beauty & the Beast. If you'd like to upgrade your selected beverage to my special recipe, the double deluxe chocolate special, you'll be glad to know I have extra marshmallows and chocolate sauce on hand."

Kate grins, her cheeks are pink with joy and warmth both, eyes twinkling with fairy lights. "This is amazing."

Alexis winks at him.

"Learned from the best."

Alexis presses play and soon the saturated shades of the classic animated film are filtering through the air, the projected light from the bedsheet casting their whole fort in a kaleidoscope of technicolor.

"Fun fact," he pipes up through a mouthful of popcorn (despite his daughter's attempted shushing) once Gaston's number is finally finished. "There's this French word, gasconade, and well, etymologically—it traces back to Gaston himself. Means, like, excessive boasting. Loudmouthed. Just like him."

"Or just like you," Kate deadpans, smirking at him over the top of Alexis's head.

Both of his redheads cackle with glee and share victorious fist-bumps with her.

He pouts. "Whatever happened to an appreciation for vocabulary, huh?"

"Oh, I appreciate vocabulary," Kate says. Her voice drops low, "I'll have you know I really like the word fallacious."

"Ew, guys." Alexis flicks her dad in the ear. "Get a room."

Kate snorts and goes back to her hot chocolate. Castle, in turn, spends the entire rest of the movie trying to think about literally anything other than the sound of the word fallacious in her mouth.

Eventually the movie ends, and Rick nudges Alexis a little—she's fallen asleep pillowed on his shoulder, her red hair fanning out around her like she's her very own Disney princess.

"'M awake," she tries. He presses a kiss to her forehead.

"Not quite, sweetheart. Movie's over."

She opens her eyes and blinks up at him. "Yeah. Thanks for the fort, Dad."

"Anytime."

He and Kate both sit up as Alexis and Martha shuffle out, but when he looks over at her he can tell that she's still just as wired as he is.

"You tired?"

She shakes her head, sheepish. "Not really. But don't stay up on my account."

"No, I'm the same. Couldn't sleep if I tried."

There's curiosity in the way Kate looks back at him, but she doesn't press. "Wanna watch something else?"

He nods with a grin. "You pick a movie, I'll make us some more hot chocolate."

He crawls back in five minutes later—mugs in hand—and sees Kate's pick.

"Roman Holiday?"

She just nods. "Old favorite. I love this movie."

"Yeah, me too. Been a long time since I last watched it, actually."

Kate smiles. "Good choice then?"

He'd be happy to watch four hours of paint drying if it got him a little more time with her in the fairy light glow of this blanket fort. Hell, he'd just sit and stare at the ceiling if it came down to it. "More than," he confirms.

Castle settles into the same spot he was in earlier, not expecting Kate to set her mug down next to his, grab a pillow from near the entrance to the fort, and place it right beside him.

"This okay?" she asks quietly. He just nods.

Kate shuffles down into the space by his side, not quite curling into him but still close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating from her body. She casts him a soft look—still okay?—and he nods again with a gentle smile.

The black-and-white romance starts to play in the half-darkness. At some point Kate shifts, grumbling something about his big shoulder blocking the way, and Castle instinctively lifts his arm to try and give her the space to readjust. And then Kate wordlessly takes hold of his wrist and tugs it behind her, nestling herself into the cove of his body before he can even think to react to her sudden proximity. She rests her head tentatively against his bicep, lays a hand over his sternum, and Castle just hopes to God that she can't quite hear how badly his heart is racing.

When her fingers pick up a drumbeat against his chest that happens to exactly match the thunder of his pulse, he knows he's been made. But she doesn't say anything.

She doesn't need to.

"The ending makes me sad," she murmurs quietly as the movie approaches its final act.

"Same," Castle agrees. "Would've been nice if they ended up together."

She nods, her head moving against his chest. "Yeah. I mean—that's what all the great love stories are about, right? Beating the odds?"

Rick casts his eyes down to look at her and finds himself already caught in the tentative snare of her gaze. She doesn't blink, doesn't look away, just waits for his answer in the livewire darkness.

"I wish they'd made it," he manages, finally.

There's a long, heavy pause.

Regret washes through every line of Kate's features like a rising tide. When she speaks again, it's barely a whisper.

"Me too."

Castle stretches awake on a bed of pillows.

He's disoriented for a few moments, trying to make some sense of his surroundings, before about a dozen memories—all of them featuring Kate's body pressed the entire way against the side of his—hit him at once, and he remembers exactly where he is. He and Kate must've fallen asleep like that. Her head on his chest. His arm around her.

He almost starts to feel a little disappointed about her current absence before he sits up, sniffing the air.

"I can literally smell the bacon!"

Someone laughs from outside the fort (must be Kate; sounds like music) and he sticks his head through the entrance, trying and failing not to lose his mind a little bit at the sight that greets him.

Kate stands in the middle of his kitchen—is she wearing his shirt?—a spatula in one hand while she uses the other to shimmy a pan of eggs back and forth. Her hair is tied back in a loose knot, surrounded by bacon steam and beams of morning light that cut through the room from the big bay windows behind him.

She grins up at him, her smile unimaginably wide. "Morning, Castle."

"Hi," he says simply, fighting to keep his own ridiculous grin off his face. It's a losing battle. "You're making breakfast."

Kate laughs. "Astute powers of observation."

She turns to grab his carton of orange juice from the fridge and pours an equal serving into four waiting cups. Every movement she makes is just—weightless; filled with grace.

Castle drifts over to the island, instinctively going for a piece of bacon before she smacks his hand away with her spatula. "Wait for everyone!"

"Ow," he grumbles, making a show of cupping his poor injured hand to his chest while she raises a disbelieving eyebrow. He tries a different tack. "I didn't know you could cook."

"My mom was an amazing cook. She used to make Sunday brunch, and I would get the choice between pancakes, omelettes, waffles..."

"That's funny. Every Sunday my mom would have me make her an ice pack and a Bloody Mary."

"Not true," says Martha, swanning in right on cue. Naturally. "That only happened twice. Tops."

Kate grins at him and when he makes a second attempt at the bacon plate, she yields.

He takes a moment to appreciate the array in front of him. Eggs, bacon, orange juice, a fresh teapot…she even set a place for each of them.

"You didn't have to do this," he says, once his mother is out of earshot.

"I know," she returns, shrugging a little. "But, um… I just wanted to say thanks. For having my back."

Castle shakes his head at her, trying his best to telegraph that she really doesn't owe him a thing. But she's looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, and the hope is so shining and vivid in her gaze that his one-word response trips out before he can think twice about it.

"Always."

He insists on cleaning up afterwards, but Kate muscles her way into drying a couple dishes by his side.

"You used to teach?"

He groans a little. Martha had told Kate earlier about his brief foray into the academic field (those who can't do—teach, right?), but he'd tried to brush it off…clearly without success.

"Creative writing night classes at a community center. Nothing big."

"Did they call you Professor?" she teases, nudging him.

He grins. "Ah, no. Just Mr. Rodgers."

"Damn. I was picturing you in a tweed jacket and everything. Bet you'd make nerdy…sexy."

Rick almost drops his plate.

"Oh, you should've seen him," Martha caws from behind them. "That's all he wore. He wanted to project a 'serious image'."

Kate guffaws. "Shut up. Do you still have them?"

Somehow—tragically—they do.

Martha and Alexis are both quick to insist on an impromptu fashion show, and before he knows it, his mother has pranced upstairs and returned down with an armful of not only his old tweed jackets but a whole treasure trove of her own ridiculous feather boas and theater costumes to boot.

"No way," Kate grins, holding one of the jackets up. "You actually used to wear these? You must've been so cute back then!"

"Back then?" he questions, smirking at the way she blushes. She buries herself in the pile of clothes and turns back around a few moments later with a new selection of various items, most of them so brightly-colored that Rick has to squint a little.

"Please tell me those aren't for me."

Kate laughs. "You wish. No—I'm gonna show you guys how to do a real catwalk."

She disappears into the utility room, leaving Castle to wonder how exactly he's going to be able to cope with Kate in all of her modeling glory sauntering through his living room.

It turns out, not very well.

She reappears shortly afterwards in one of his jackets. And only one of his jackets, it seems. It's big on her in a chic way, hitting her bare legs mid-thigh, and she's cinched it at the waist with a belt, let her hair down, and added a swipe of dark lipstick.

His jaw drops.

Martha and Alexis, to their credit, pick up the slack, clapping and hooting as Kate sways into the room—a whole new study in effortless, feline grace that Castle is absolutely unprepared for. As if anyone could prepare for this.

"You've gotta really put your hips into it," she advises, strutting back and forth along the stretch of hardwood between the kitchen and living room.

Martha whistles. "No wonder you went pro, darling. You're a natural!"

Kate just throws a wink over her shoulder, twirling around before she strikes a final pose. Hands on her hips, head turned to the side, her whole body framed in a way that somehow makes her look fiercely confident and ridiculously seductive at the same time.

He can only stare.

Eventually the fashion show dies down and everyone makes their way over to the couch, buoyed by Rick's suggestion that they finish off the ice cream in the freezer (if only so he has an excuse to go out and buy some more). Alexis and Martha share the rest of the strawberry sorbet between them while Kate and Castle squabble over the remains of their Ben & Jerry's from dinner the night before.

"The thing that's so irritating is that now I'm so totally fierce when it comes to nudity clauses," Kate continues, spoon halfway to her mouth.

"You actually have clauses in your contract about nudity?" Alexis asks.

Kate nods. "Oh yeah. You may show the dent at the top of the artist's buttocks—but neither cheek. In the event of a stunt person being used, the artist must have full consultation," she recites.

His daughter snorts. "You have a stunt bottom?"

"I could have a stunt bottom," Kate confirms, grinning.

"Would you be tempted to go for a slightly better bottom than your own?" Martha asks. "I know I would."

"Definitely. This is important stuff."

"It's one hell of a job," Rick laughs. "What do you put on your passport? Profession—George Clooney's bottom."

"Actually," Kate supplies through a mouthful of ice cream, "George does his own ass work."

"Why wouldn't he? It's delicious," Martha teases.

Castle groans as his daughter bursts out laughing. "The ice cream or George Clooney's ass?"

"Both."

Night falls softly.

Alexis excuses herself to bed once the ice cream's gone, and Martha heads up shortly thereafter to put all of her costumes away.

It's just him and Kate left in the living room. She's propped up against the arm of the couch, her legs in his lap, humming along to the soft jazz that flows through the room from his old radio in the corner. They've been coexisting like this for some time now, just reading in the near-silence.

Kate pokes her socked toe into his thigh.

"You've got big feet," she whispers solemnly.

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Yep. Always have."

"You know what they say about men with big feet?"

Her smile is coy when he glances up at her, an eyebrow slightly raised in suggestive implication. His breath catches.

"No," he says lightly, playing the fool. "What do they say?"

"Big feet…" she pauses, eyeing him. There's a moment of heated anticipation. "...Large shoes."

He's mostly joking when he offers to walk her to her bedroom, but the grateful little smile Kate passes his way for the suggestion is enough to convince him to treat the five foot walk with absolute seriousness.

She turns to him at the top of the stairs, her outline soft in the dying light. "Today was…really nice," Kate confesses quietly. "Which, under the circumstances, was—unexpected."

Rick shakes his head gently. "Thank you," he presses, trying to suffuse as much tenderness into the words as he can without it being too much. Her gaze flickers down to his mouth, his hands, and if he doesn't say anything else soon, then his knees might buckle beneath the weight of how badly he wants her. "Anyway. Time for bed. Or…sofa-bed."

Kate smiles. "Right."

A beat.

She leans forward. Time slows to a stop. And then without another word, Kate kisses him on the cheek, soft and quick, before stepping into his room and shutting the door.

He actually sinks into the wall a little, dazed.

Rick can't sleep.

He tosses and turns, every movement sending a new spring clanging up into his spine. Note to self—he needs to invest in a new sofa-bed.

In the end he just lies still, staring at the ceiling until his eyes finally start to drift shut.

Until—footsteps on the stairs.

He holds his breath, quietly willing some apparition of Kate to appear around the corner, even if he's just dreaming; even if she's only a figment.

But his mother pops her head around the corner instead.

"Darling," she whispers, "I wonder if I could speak with you."

He sits up a little, regarding her. "Something wrong?"

"I don't want to interfere, or anything…" Martha takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. "But she's not with her boyfriend anymore, right?"

"I don't think so."

"And she's here."

"Yes."

"And she looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass."

"Mother!"

She just shrugs. "Well, isn't this perhaps a good opportunity to…tell her how you feel?"

"Are you kidding?" Rick shakes his head vehemently. "She's just coming out of her shell. And she's—really vulnerable right now. I don't…"

"Go on."

"I don't want to…scare her," he says finally.

"Oh, Richard," she sighs. "For a man who has such a way with words, you sure have a hell of a time finding them when it counts. Darling, let me give you a word of advice, alright?"

Castle nods wearily, not entirely used to the seriousness in his mother's tone.

"From someone who's more than halfway through the movie…" she pauses for effect, leaning forward and gripping his hand tight in her own. "Don't waste another minute of it."

When Kate comes downstairs the next morning, he's at the stove. She smiles warmly at him, brushing a kiss to his shoulder blade as she walks by. His heart stutters.

She takes a seat at the island, laughing out loud when he serves her a stack of smiley-face blueberry pancakes. Her grin lights up the room.

"You didn't have to do this," she says softly.

"I know." He's fidgeting—anxious—and she can tell. Kate pauses midway through pouring maple syrup over the pancakes, scrutinizing him.

It takes a single raised eyebrow for Castle to break. "I, uh, actually have some things for you."

She tilts her head. "You do?"

He retrieves two parchment-wrapped presents from a shelf behind him.

"This one first," he says nervously, handing her the thinner of the two parcels.

Kate tears back the paper like a kid on Christmas morning. She looks a little confused by the slim comic book once it's been revealed, but thrilled nonetheless.

"It's The Secret Garden, but as a graphic novel," he explains. "I figured with your cache, you'd probably already have your own first edition, since it's your favorite, but, uh." He trails off, shrugging self-deprecatingly. "Yeah."

"Castle…" she starts, looking up at him with stars in her eyes. "I can't believe you did this. This is so sweet."

He blushes. "And—here."

Her smile grows as he hands her the second present and she tears it open, peering curiously down at the typeface of the only copy of his manuscript that's bound together by three gold pins.

"Heat Wave?" she reads.

"Don't read it yet. At least not in front of me. But, um, it's—"

She peeks at the first page—and gasps. "Nikki Heat?" Her gaze flies back to his. "You actually wrote it?"

Castle grins and scratches some of his stubble. "A special someone managed to get me out of my inspiration slump."

Kate beams and then her eyes catch for a long moment on the dedication.

To the extraordinary KB.

"Rick, this is—I don't…"

She's flying from her seat without warning, wrapping him in such a tight, determined hug that Rick has no choice to return it. She presses her face into his torso, overcome.

"I don't deserve this," she whispers finally, so quietly into the fabric of his shirt that he almost misses it.

"What?" Castle tries to pull back to look at her but she won't let go of him, won't move away. "Yes, you do."

She shakes her head. "I treated you so horribly. And you still…you still—"

"Of course I did," he manages. "Kate, I…of course."

She just sniffs and pulls him a little closer, her hands pressing so tight to his back that he can feel the imprint of every one of her fingers. Ten points of electric contact.

"I can't wait to read it," she mumbles after a long, perfect moment. "I'm sure it's better than Patterson."

He laughs. "Bet you say that to all your ruggedly handsome mystery writers."

She pulls away to grin at him. "Jealous?"

"Guilty as charged," he admits. And then, before he can think to clamp his mouth shut— "I want you all to myself."

Kate tenses slightly, whether out of shock or instinct, he doesn't know. His heart sinks—but then she softens again. Relaxes into his hold.

"Don't worry," she murmurs, locking eyes with him. Her gaze is skittish but determined; vulnerable and deadly focused all at once. "I'm a one writer girl."

Rick's mouth drops open and she tracks the movement, pupils dilated.

She leans in.

His eyes drift shut.

The phone rings.

They both jump apart like teenagers caught in the act and Rick needs a second to collect himself before he throws Kate his best apologetic glance and goes to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"Richard, darling,"—his mother, of course, he puts her on speakerphone—"there's been some issue with the cash register in the shop. It won't open and it keeps beeping at me."

He laughs despite himself, tells Martha he'll be right there. And then he turns to Kate.

"So sorry," he starts, and she just shakes her head. "I'll just be a second."

"Rick," she reprimands gently. "It's okay. You've already done—more than enough. You don't need to be here to entertain me every minute of the day."

He smiles gratefully at her. "Thanks. I'll be back soon."

"No, don't rush. Besides," she says, her voice suddenly dropping low. "I have a few ideas for how I can…entertain myself all day."

Castle swallows, racy images flitting through his head, unbidden. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She nods, leans in. Lets him wait. "Gonna read your book."

He lets out a fast breath and Kate laughs, shoving him lightly in the shoulder.

"God, you're easy."

He and Martha return home a few hours later—crisis averted—to the sight of Kate and Alexis giggling over a pizza. His heart soars.

"What's so funny?"

Alexis turns to greet him, offering a mischievous grin. "Nothing. Just girl talk."

Uh oh. He turns to a frowning Kate. "Whatever she said, it's lies."

"Castle," she returns solemnly. "You're not the man I thought I knew.

His stomach plummets. "What? What'd she say?"

Kate just studies him for a moment before she grins slyly at Alexis. "You're right. He does lean to the left a little."

"Only when he's stressed."

"I never even noticed that before!"

Castle panics, trying to stand as straight as possible. "What—what leans?"

The two of them just break out into another fit of giggles.

Alexis decides after dinner that she'd like to hone her poker skills, and Kate is fast to agree.

"Alright," Castle acquiesces with a grin. "What are we betting with?"

"Candy?"

"Gummy bears it is."

He leaves Alexis to source a pack of cards as he finishes up with the dishes. Kate nudges him. "Want any help?"

"No, no. Go sit. Get ready to lose."

She raises her eyebrows at him in challenge but gives in, and he joins the three of them a few minutes later around the coffee table as Alexis deals out a hand of Texas Hold 'Em.

There seems to be an unspoken agreement between him and Kate to let his mother and daughter win a few rounds each out of courtesy (and a little bit for Rick's benefit, because he always delights in Alexis's terrible trash talk every time she 'calls his bluff'), but they both start to get slightly more competitive as the night stretches on, until both Martha and Alexis are out of bears and it's just Rick and Kate left holding the cards.

"Do me a favor, Kate. Beat his pants off."

Kate grins at Martha before she cuts her gaze back to Castle.

"Yes, please," he leers. "Beat my pants off, if you dare."

She rolls her eyes.

"Do us proud," Alexis pipes up, leaning over Kate's shoulder to try and see her cards.

"To hell with pride," his mother counters. "Make him cry like a little girl."

"Alright," Kate returns easily, leaning back a little. "I'm all in."

Castle's gaze flicks to the board, then back to his cards. She's got a novice glint in her eyes which means she's almost definitely got a good hand—his is better. He knows it.

"Sorry to disappoint," he says at last, shrugging in practiced resignation. "I fold."

Kate cries out in victory and slaps her cards down on the table—a ten-high straight, Castle was right, he would've beaten her—pumping her fists in triumph as she scoops the mountain of gummy bears across the table towards her.

"Never underestimate an actress," she gloats, "especially not when it comes to her poker face."

Martha applauds gleefully. "Well done, kiddo. Although, I have to say, that last game did go on for a while."

"Well," Kate defends, "if you don't mind me saying, you do fold a lot."

"I just don't believe in stringing along a bad hand," his mother grins. "Why waste time?"

"That's because your game isn't Texas Hold 'Em, Mother, it's strip poker." Castle gets a flick in the ear for that.

"Well, obviously I prefer strip," she retorts. And then she winks at Kate. "Because even when you lose, you win."

Alexis lets out a long sigh. "You guys are paying for my therapy after this."

Everyone else dissolves into laughter.

"Right," Castle says, recovering. "In the name of preserving my daughter's precious sanity, should we call it a night?"

He ends up walking Kate to her bedroom again. It's becoming a bit of a routine.

"Hey," he says curiously as they head up the stairs. "Did Alexis say anything… bad about me earlier? When you guys were talking."

Kate turns to him, clearly a little amused at the nerves in his voice.

"No," she says gently, squeezing his hand briefly in hers. "As much fun as it would be to continue torturing you, I actually like you a little bit more now." And then she smiles, leaning in until her mouth is right there by his ear. "Kitten."

Castle groans, rocking backward. But then— "So you admit it. You do like me."

She softens, her expression warm. The only warning he gets is the barely-there flicker of her eyes down to his lips and then she's shifting forwards, listing into him and planting a soft but firm kiss on his mouth. All the breath leaves his lungs.

Her eyes drift open afterwards, need and vulnerability both fighting for their place in her searching gaze.

"Stay?"

The first thing he notices when he gets into the room is that his portrait of Linus the lion has been taken down.

Kate smiles sheepishly when he points it out. "He was staring at me. Sorry."

Castle just shrugs. "Hey, no worries. Here."

He grabs a rolled up poster from the corner, unrolls it, and tacks to the wall so there's at least something nice there for her to look at.

Kate stares at the newly-revealed Chagall print, grinning. "I can't believe you have that."

He turns to her. "Well, it's not exactly the real thing. You like Chagall?"

"I do. It feels like how being in love should be." She points to the center of the painting, motioning at the woman in the middle, the depths of her surroundings. "Floating through a dark blue sky."

Castle nods thoughtfully. "With a goat playing a violin."

"Yes," she agrees, her tone very sincere. "Happiness wouldn't be happiness without a violin-playing goat."

"I want a rematch, by the way," Kate says, slotting her toothbrush back into the cup by the sink.

He rinses, catching her eye in the mirror. "Why?"

She cocks an eyebrow. "I'm not an idiot. I know you threw your hand."

Castle considers playing dumb, but he knows she'd never fall for it. "How'd you figure it out?"

"That's not the point."

"Oh, my mother told you, didn't she?"

Kate looks away. "No. Anyway. Rematch."

"Fine," he grins. "What are we betting? Clothes?"

"You wish. Gummy bears again."

He narrows his eyes. "No dice. Gotta raise the stakes."

"Oh yeah?" Kate bites her lip. "Name your price."

"Bam said the lady!" Castle hoots with glee, raking in the gummy bears with a massive grin. "Winner takes all."

Kate rolls her eyes. "You're such a dork."

"A dork that's won a night off the sofa-bed," he taunts. And then he relents. "But look—I'm not gonna make you sleep on that thing."

"No, hey. You won fair and square."

"Nuh uh, end of discussion. You're not sleeping on the sofa-bed."

She shoots him a coy look. "The bet was you get to sleep on the bed. Nothing about me leaving it."

Rick blinks. "Right." He has a sneaking suspicion that she threw her last hand, but he's not about to push it. "I…Kate, seriously, you don't have to—"

"Castle," she huffs, shaking her head at him softly. She shifts a little closer on the mattress.

He studies her for another few moments, searching for any traces of hesitation in her gaze and finding nothing. Just anticipation.

"Okay," he says finally.

Kate's face breaks open into a smile and she gathers up the rest of the cards from the bed, stacking them onto the nightstand before she peels back the covers and motions for him to come and join her.

He moves slowly, giving her way more space than necessary as he settles himself into his side of the bed.

She just eyes him with curiosity and then shifts over until she's right there next to him, her lips pressed together in a shy smile. This time it's her turn to be tentative. "Can I…?"

"Of course," Castle breathes, stretching his arm out and letting her settle down against him. She lays her head on his chest, throwing a leg over his lower body for good measure and releasing a relieved little sigh once she's comfortable. Her hand migrates to his sternum, thumb stroking soft patterns over the fabric of his shirt.

Rick flicks off the bedside lamp and wraps his arm around her shoulders.

"Goodnight, Kate."

Her lips skim the underside of his chin.

"Until tomorrow, Castle."

Breakfast the next day is a choreographed dance, and Castle can't help but think of this same practiced ease that he gets to see in the Ryans' kitchen whenever he stays for a meal.

He stands at the stove while she gets everything else set up—juice on the table, cereal for Alexis, toast at Martha's request—but she just keeps on drifting back to him, winding her arms around his torso from behind every few minutes just to watch the bacon fry over his shoulder.

They eat as a family, swapping laughter, trading stories, passing plates to one another across the table in the golden glow of morning. At one point Kate makes Alexis laugh so hard that she almost spits juice everywhere, and the sight alone is enough to fill a hole that, until Kate, he never really even knew existed in the first place.

It starts to cool a little during the day, the heatwave finally breaking as the sun slips behind a darkening cover of clouds. But as the warmth dissipates, the humidity builds and despite the milder temperature, Castle discovers that not even his AC can do very much to drag the dampness from the air. The kitchen ceiling fan clacks in a slow, lazy circle as they cool themselves with his mother's silk hand fans and hold chilled soda bottles to their foreheads, damp dish rags slung around their necks.

Kate sits up suddenly. "You know what would be fun?"

"What?"

"What if we watched some Temptation Lane? It was my parents' guilty pleasure. And my mom always used to put it on when I was sick, feeling blue, or it was too hot to move."

"Same here!" Alexis pipes up. "Well, my dad, not my mom. But when I was nine, my mom kind of kidnapped me to Paris, and the whole thing was pretty overwhelming, so Dad took time off work and stayed with me and we just spent days on the couch cuddled up watching it. Best kind of medicine."

Kate glances at him with a coy smirk. "Couldn't agree more." His heart skips a beat and before he can muster any sort of comeback, she turns back to his kid. "And oh—we should put Martha's episodes on! They're my favorite."

His mother preens. "Great taste, kiddo."

Rick chuckles as he shuffles over to the living room and rifles through their box set until he finds the right season.

Everyone else trails in his wake, the redheads draping themselves atop the two overstuffed armchairs on either side of the couch, conveniently leaving the loveseat to him and Kate. (Subtle.) The actress doesn't seem to mind at all, immediately snuggling into his side as he squishes in next to her and Alexis presses play.

It takes the two of them about half an episode before they fall into a deep dreamless sleep.

He wakes to a silent house, Kate passed out on top of him, her head tucked beneath his chin as she dozes.

He spies a note on the coffee table, just out of reach. He leans up to try and get a better glimpse but the movement jostles Kate and she lets out a disgruntled half-awake huff of air as she begins to stir.

"Morning," he jokes quietly.

She props her chin on his sternum, smiling up at him sleepily. "Hey, how long was I out?"

He checks his watch. "Just over an hour, I think. Same as me."

She rubs her palm into her eye and yawns, "Where'd your mom and Alexis go?"

"Not sure. Hold on." Rick stretches out and grabs the note, his eyes skimming it quickly. "Alexis is at a friend's party and Mother is—" he squints "—'getting up to no good' in Brixton. Her words, not mine."

Kate laughs. "Well, guess that means we have the place to ourselves. And—" She plucks the note from his grasp and turns it for him so he can read the back. "I think your mother wants us to get up to no good."

Fresh bottle of tequila in the kitchen and limes in the fridge. See you in the morning, kiddos ;)

He grimaces. "So sorry about her. She—"

He's just about to finish his apology when the lights go out and everything plunges into darkness.

Chapter Text

Kate tenses. "What just happened?"

"Probably a ghost or evil spirit," he teases.

She finds his ear in the darkness just to flick it. "Ha, ha. Funny."

He grins. "Just a blackout, don't worry. Old neighborhood. Happens all the time."

"Spooky."

"Annoying, mostly. Hold on, I'll check the fuse box."

They disentangle themselves from one another as Castle stands, stretching a little to dispel the post-nap soreness.

She calls out to him once he's flicked a few of the switches in the box—to no avail. "Anything?"

"Nope. Must be bigger than just our house. I'm gonna call Mother and Alexis, make sure they're both okay."

Both his mother and his daughter report back to him that they're fine, stop worrying, but he suspects that the blackout must be city-wide if they're both experiencing it too.

"Hey," Kate says, rifling through the drawers as he comes back into the living room. "Everything okay with them?"

"Yep. Alexis says she'll just stay at her friend's place and Mother assured me she'd figure something out. What're you looking for?"

"A lighter," she huffs. "Or matches. This place is very disorganized."

Rick grins. "Sorry about that. Matches are beneath the stove, here."

He fumbles his way into the kitchen and grabs the box. Kate follows close behind, smiling gratefully when he passes it to her.

"You found the candles?"

She nods.

"Perfect. We can light them, and then what do you say we break into that tequila that my mother bought?"

"You're awfully eager."

He cracks a smile. "Well, we can't let it go to waste."

Rick can't put his finger on it, but there's something about being alone with Kate under the cover of this strange, candlelit darkness that's making his head spin. He feels a little more attuned to her every movement, every noise—it's illicit. Dangerous.

She strikes a match. The rasp of wood against sandpaper makes him shiver.

"So," Kate says, watching as he sets two shot glasses down on the table next to the tequila. "You wanna play twenty questions, Castle?" She leans towards him, lowers her voice. "Truth or dare? A little walk on the wild side?"

Rick's breath catches. She's teasing him, and they both know it, but the deliberate husk in her tone is absolutely getting to him anyway.

"How about you tell me your story?" he counters.

She huffs, leaning back. "You already know it."

"Not from you." He pops the top off the tequila bottle.

"I wouldn't know where to start."

He sets the bottle aside. "Why do you like mysteries so much?"

Kate freezes, her eyes cutting to his. There's a long moment where the sudden wariness in her gaze almost makes him take back the innocuous question, but then she takes a breath.

"My parents liked them," she confesses quietly. Off his silence, she keeps talking. "It's how they met—mystery section at their university library."

His heart clenches.

"They were both studying criminal law but were drawn to classic pulp like Raymond Chandler when they needed…an outlet, I guess. My mom always used to tell me that there was something refreshing to both of them about the way justice is done right in mystery books, even if it's not always like that in real life. Characters get what they deserve, you know?" She swallows hard, looking down at her hands before she continues. "Good people don't just die for no reason."

Castle reaches forward and curls his fingers around hers, squeezing gently. She lifts her head and gives him a small, sad smile.

"My mom would've loved you," she admits.

"Yeah?"

"My dad? Not so much."

He opens his mouth to protest and she grins.

"—Kidding!" she giggles. "He'd try and act super scary, but he's actually a total softie. Really loved milkshakes. Strawberry." And then Kate shakes her head a little, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. "Sorry, I'm rambling. You don't want to hear this."

"Yes, I do," he returns immediately. "Kate, I—of course I do. They sound incredible. What makes you think I wouldn't want to hear you talk about them?"

She studies him for a moment, hesitating. "Just… t's in the past, I guess. Most people tell me I need to start moving on already."

God. "They're your parents," he insists, heart shattering for her. "That's not…you shouldn't—"

"Rick," she interrupts softly. "It's okay. Really."

"No, it's not," he blurts. "Tell me about them. Please, Kate. Anything you want. I'm not going anywhere."

He's coming on too strong and he knows it—but when he finally looks at her, she's just staring at him. Eyes wide in disbelief. Like she can't quite wrap her head around a single other person caring enough to want to know.

"Alright," she says. "Um…okay. Well, they met in law school, like I said. But they were friends for a long time before they actually got together, except my mom says that within a few months they were already so close that they were kind of just dating anyway. She…she knew it was him. From the start. At least, that's the way she tells it." Kate laughs. "Dad's version of events was a little different. He likes to claim that guys were throwing themselves at her left and right, and the only reason that she finally chose him in the end was because their names sounded good together."

Castle chuckles, trying to ignore the devastation of the way she can't seem to decide whether to refer to her parents in the past or present tense. "Classic. Jim and Jo, right?"

She smiles fondly. "Jim and Jo. They were—oh, Castle, they were just perfect. Maybe it's because that's just how you see your parents when you're a kid, but…" Kate trails off. "They were so in love. Even after twenty years of marriage. Sometimes Mom would have to go on work trips for a few days at a time, but no matter how many times she went, Dad would always make sure to be waiting there in the airport for her when she came home. Normally with a bouquet of crappy supermarket flowers. And she just…she lit up, the second she saw him, every time. You'd think it would start getting old eventually, but it never did."

"God," he whispers, hollowed out by it. "They loved each other that much?"

She shakes her head. "More. I've never seen anything like it. Like, they argued, sure—family of lawyers, can you even imagine—but Dad was literally incapable of staying mad at her. And she was the same. Within the day, they'd be scheduling a make-up Remy's date."

He lights up. "Oh, Remy's? I used to love that place!"

"No way!" Kate grins. "Same here. Family favorite. God, the burgers."

"Screw the burgers. Remember the shakes?"

"Oh, those shakes," she groans, clearly picturing them. "We ate there like, at least once a week. It was bad."

"Worth it, though."

She nods. "Absolutely. That was where my dad discovered his love of strawberry milkshakes, actually. He always used to get chocolate and then steal half of Mom's anyway, until one day she just interrupted him halfway through an order to get him a strawberry shake as well. He never went back."

"She sounds like a real force of nature," Castle smiles.

"Oh, she was. And stubborn as a mule."

"So that's where you get it from," he teases.

"Hey!" she protests.

He laughs. "Were there any other family traits you inherited?"

Kate thinks for a moment. "I definitely looked more like my mom than my dad. He used to say that I had her eyes. I guess I must've, because his were blue. And apparently I had her smile, too. Mom was convinced I had his ears, of all things, but I think maybe she just said it to make him feel better." She smiles at the memory. "She was good like that."

"Sounds like you're the perfect mix of both of them," Castle says quietly. "Determination, humor, passion, drive. Kindness. Intelligence. Beauty."

Kate softens a little more with every new descriptor, her eyes damp. "You're just saying that," she rasps.

"I'm not," he insists. "I'm seriously not. It takes two pretty incredible people to raise a daughter as great as you."

She sniffs a little, looks away. "I'm not great as you seem to think I am."

He tilts his head, curious. "What makes you say that?"

She takes a careful breath. "Um. After they died…"

There's a long, silent moment.

Castle wordlessly picks up the bottle of tequila from the coffee table and pours them both a shot each.

Then they knock them back together, both of them chuckling a little afterwards at the look on the other's face.

"Alright," Kate says then, steeling herself. "Here goes."

"Take your time," he murmurs.

"After my parents died," she starts again, slowly, "I was in…a bad place. Obviously. Really bad. I mean, I'm sure you'd know all of the stories if you ever did a deep dive, but clearly you haven't, so." She shoots him an appreciative smile for that. "Long story short, I lost my way. Everything was just so dark, for so long, and then all of a sudden I was a model…you can probably imagine how that went. Lost, naïve nineteen-year-old, brand new to the industry, without even my parents there to drag me out when things got rough?"

His stomach clenches. She never stood a chance.

"Drugs were just…a given, in a career like that. And I was just so deep in my grief that I didn't even see it happening until it was way too late. I took literally anything that would give me even a moment's relief from that—emptiness. The loss." Kate shakes her head, ashamed. "Turns out, that makes you an addict pretty quickly. Chasing every high."

"You can't blame yourself for that, Kate. You were all alone."

She just shrugs. "But I do. I made the choice to do that first key. Nobody else. I made the choice to keep…going back to it. Over and over."

"There's not a soul on earth who wouldn't try and find a coping mechanism after a loss like that," he says with a placating hand over hers.

"A coping mechanism would've been one thing," she mumbles. "Drugs, Rick. Hard drugs. You know how stupid you have to be to go down that path?"

"Not stupid," he murmurs, soothing his thumb across her knuckles. "Human."

Kate shuts her eyes, bitter tears leaking down her cheeks regardless. "My life could've been so different."

"But look at you now," he maintains. "You went to rehab. You got yourself clean."

After a few tentative seconds, her eyes open again. "Not just me."

He tilts his head in question.

Kate swallows, reaching into the neckline of her shirt and hooking her thumb on a thin silver chain. She tugs it all the way out to reveal the pendant—except it isn't a pendant. It's this tiny, delicate ring, glinting in the low light. "My mom's wedding ring," she explains quietly, before pulling her sleeve back to show him the heavy timepiece that he's noticed a few times now. "And my dad's watch."

She sighs. He waits. Silent tears slip down her face.

"I don't remember the accident," she whispers, her hand trembling in his careful grip. "Sometimes I wish I did. I don't know. We were just—one minute, we were driving home from this cabin that we had upstate. My parents were squabbling over the radio; I think we were about to stop for lunch somewhere. And then the next…"

Her jaw clenches. He holds her hand a little tighter.

"I remember waking up in this hospital. I was so scared, and I kept calling out for my parents, asking where they were, and nobody would—would tell me—"

She chokes back such a grief-stricken sob that Castle can't take it anymore. He gives up on all pretenses, taking Kate by the shoulders and hauling her into the circle of his arms. She goes willingly, pressing her face tight into the crook of his neck as she finally lets herself go.

"There was this bag," she gasps, her voice muffled against his skin. "This plastic bag of their stuff, everything they were wearing in the car, just sitting on the chair next to my hospital bed. And I—I saw it, and I just knew. I knew."

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs, pressing one hand to the back of her head and the other to the space between her shoulder blades. She shakes her head a little, like she wants to tell him that it's okay, but it's not. He knows it's not. There's no force in the world strong enough to ease the agony of a loss like this.

He gives her a few minutes to get her strength back, holding her against him as she softens bit by bit into his embrace.

"The ring and the watch were in the bag," she whispers eventually. "So I just put them on. Told myself I'd never take them off again, and I didn't, for the longest time."

There's a pause. "But?"

"But then rehab," she admits. "I finally woke up one day and realized how badly I'd fucked my life up. And I was just so ashamed. Addicted, emaciated, tarnishing my parents' memory for every day that I kept living like that. When I checked myself in, they wanted the chain with the ring on it for safety reasons, and so I gave them the watch too. I promised myself that I would only let myself wear them again if I got clean and started living a life that my parents could be proud of."

"So you did it," he murmurs, pulling away to look her in the eyes. "You recovered. You made them proud."

Kate nods, giving him a little smile. "I hope so. Haven't touched a drug since."

"And what about this?" he asks, motioning to the thin silver bracelet that she's also been wearing every time he's seen her.

"This was a gift, actually. From Matilda King. My old mentor in the fashion industry. She introduced me to Royce—um, my ex. The photographer." Kate hesitates at the way he stiffens. "She didn't know what he was when she introduced me to him. Just that he was the guy all the girls wanted—he made people into stars."

She pauses for a long moment and he takes the opportunity to sweep some of the stray hairs back from her forehead, his heart breaking for that endlessly vulnerable version of Kate who got so badly swept up into this guy's trap.

"He made me feel so special. I was drowning—and he was dry land." She falters. "I was just so in awe of him, Castle. So I didn't question it…didn't see the signs." Kate tilts her head up a little, blinking back tears. "He started supplying me drugs, making sure that I had this—Pavlovian response to him. I was literally addicted to the guy. And every time I started to resist it, he'd make some bullshit up about how I was just too high, too paranoid, he was only looking after me, that he only ever gave me stuff that I asked him for. So I let myself believe him. I was so young, and so stupid."

She takes this deep, shuddering breath and Rick knocks his forehead softly into hers. Kate presses into the movement, lets it ground her. He's here now. She has him. "Before I knew it, he was the one holding me underwater."

Castle smooths his thumb over the steady thrum of pulse in her wrist. She tangles their fingers together, holding him tight.

"Matilda noticed the bruises," she says, pausing. "I think maybe everybody did, but she was the only person to actually ask me about them. When I finally told her the truth, she got me help. Blackballed Royce." Kate smiles a little. "And when I got out of rehab, she had a fresh start ready for me. A role in Temptation Lane."

Kate takes off the bracelet and flips it over, shows him the inscription on the inside.

STAND TALL, KID. - MK

"And she gave me the bracelet. For getting myself sober. So this," she says, motioning to the little silver band, "is for the life that I saved. And these…" she points to her ring, her watch, "are for the lives that I lost."

She forces a smile.

"So I guess your Nikki Heat has a backstory now, Castle."

He smiles back. "Oh, I don't know. I was thinking about introducing more of a hooker-by-day, cop-by-night thing in book two."

She laughs, the sound of it lighting up the room. "Well, don't bewilder your audiences with substance on my account."

"Matilda sounds like an amazing woman," he says sincerely, steering them back to the original conversation. "I'm glad you had her."

Kate nods. "She's always kept an eye out for me."

"So what happened after Temptation Lane?"

"I fell in love with acting. Got a chance to pretend I wasn't just the girl with dead parents. I could be anyone, you know?" She takes a breath. "It gave me hope again. And people started taking me seriously. All of a sudden I wasn't just the pretty girl with killer cheekbones."

He presses his thumb to some of the tear tracks lining the side of her face. "Really killer."

She puffs a small laugh, swiping at the remaining tears once he's moved away again.

"My new film's getting critical acclaim. Oscar buzz, you know?"

"No way. That's amazing!"

Kate gives him a bittersweet smile. "That's why I visited him last week—Royce."

He tenses. Right.

"I knew he had those—photos. Of me. And I was willing to pay for them, anything, but he… he wanted to ruin my career like I ruined his, so…"

"He sold them to the highest bidder."

She nods.

Castle pulls back from her a little, aware of the way his fists clench. Rage is seething through him but he's determined not to let it affect her.

His nails are digging deep into his palms though, and when his knuckles go white—she notices.

"Hey," she murmurs, reaching for his tensed fists with careful fingers. "You okay?"

"Sorry," he returns, loosening his hands into her hold. "Just thinking about how I'm gonna put a bullet through this guy's head."

Kate smiles softly, shaking her head a little as she uncurls his fingers, presses her thumbs to his palms. "Wouldn't want you to go to jail on my account." She starts tracing mindless patterns into his skin—the tightness in his chest loosens.

"But then I'd lose the opportunity to defend your honor," he jests.

She rolls her eyes and cracks a smile. "You and your chivalry. But if you do end up in the slammer somehow, I'd get you out."

Castle cups her cheek reverently. He searches for something meaningful to say, something adequate in response to her promise to break him out of prison someday. And anything to get the wounded look out of her eye.

Kate leans into his touch. "What about you?" she asks, her voice soft.

"What about me?" he returns.

"I wanna know your story," she urges. "C'mon. I told you mine. Tit for tat."

He grins. "Not sure there's much to tell."

"I don't believe you." She nudges his shoulder. "Spill."

Rick sighs. "Well," he starts, a little nervous. "I never knew my dad. My mother always said they loved a lifetime the night they…" he clears his throat. "And, uh, I guess I just grew up all over the place. Wherever my mom could get work on a stage. Pretty rough and tumble—missed a lot of school." He scratches behind his ear. "But I really loved it, you know?"

She smiles. "Yeah?"

"It was art for the sake of art. So many fascinating stories. Mother insisted I was meant for the spotlight—that acting was my true calling—but I preferred watching from the wings."

"You don't choose the theater. The theater chooses you," Kate quips, quoting his mother from earlier.

He huffs a laugh. "I don't know, maybe she was right. Not like writing has got me anywhere."

"It will," she says, such absolute certainty in her tone that it makes his chest hurt. "But, hey, if somehow it doesn't, you make a mean scene partner. Talent definitely runs in the family."

Rick shrugs off the compliment with a small smile. "In any case, I got shipped off to boarding school when I was a little older and the Edgewyck boys didn't appreciate any flair for drama, so I stuck to scribbling things in the corner. I was a scholarship kid anyway, so I never exactly fit in the way I wanted to." He sighs, a little sheepish. "Got expelled a lot in my high school years. Just couldn't sit still. Head always in the clouds, cooking up schemes and stories."

"Class clown?" she teases.

"Funniest kid three years running," he winks. Sobers. "And then I met Meredith after college. Kyra had just left me and…" He smiles fondly. "It was kind of the best thing to ever happen to me."

Kate softens.

"You know, I still remember…" he trails off, already caught up in his favorite memory. "When Alexis was born they handed me this—tiny person, all bundled up. She just…stared up at me. And when I looked down at her, this feeling hit me. Like I'd been struck by lightning. It was love. That instant, inexplicable love you can only feel for your child." He takes a slow breath, a little choked up by it. "In that moment…I knew. I knew my life had changed forever."

"You're such a good father," she murmurs, her voice so tender. "Was Meredith not…?"

She leaves the question hanging on purpose, and he nods ruefully. "She wasn't interested in being a mother. We were both so young, and I know, in her own way, she loves Alexis, but I'm not sure it's ever been enough. So I tried to be the best dad I could be."

"You did a hell of a job. She's amazing."

He offers her a melancholy lift of his lips. "I wish that I didn't have to do it all alone. Always felt like I was kind of just the plucky sidekick in my marriages. I wish I'd had…a partner."

There's a beat.

"Do you want more kids?" Kate asks quietly.

"I'd like the option," he replies in a soft murmur.

She stares at him for a long moment. And then her lips curl up into this shy, careful smile.

"You never know, Castle. Maybe third time's the charm."

Kate licks the salt from the web of her hand and then downs her third shot of the evening, biting into the lime for good measure even as she winces at the light burn of the tequila. It's all one fluid motion, a preternatural smoothness, and Castle just watches, mesmerized.

"Your turn, cowboy," she grins, holding out a lime wedge for him to take.

He pours himself a third shot, picks up the shaker. She watches intently, her gaze tracking his every movement.

He licks up the line between his thumb and forefinger, sprinkling the salt onto the glistening strip of skin. Her pupils dilate to saucers.

He goes to lift his hand to his own mouth, and then—

"Wait."

His whole world tilts on its axis as Kate's hand darts out, her fingers closing tightly around his wrist. Before he can say another word, she's leaning forward, pressing her mouth to his thumb and licking a slow, torturous line up the salt path between his fingers.

"You taste good," she murmurs, stealing the shot glass from his other hand and knocking it back with more grace than Castle has ever seen.

He watches the endless line of her throat as she swallows; he can't breathe. He doesn't remember how to.

"I wanted to thank you again, by the way," she says, her eyes finding his in the hazy darkness. "For the dedication."

"I meant it," he manages finally, almost stumbling over the words. She still hasn't let go of his wrist. Her skin is warm. "You are extraordinary."

Kate soothes her deft fingers around to his pulse point. She considers him for a long moment. "So then why don't you want me?"

He almost chokes on his disbelief. What? "Of course I want you," he lets out, astonished. "Always. How could—what do you mean?"

She ducks her head. "You won't kiss me back."

"Kate, no, I—" He nudges her chin up, desperate for her to understand. "I just need to know…what you want. It's not—this isn't just a fling. Not to me."

"Castle." She whispers his name like she's already mourning him. This broken thing in her mouth. "How can you…I've thought about you every day for three months. Of course it's not a fling. I don't want that. I don't—"

"—What do you want?

Kate locks eyes with him.

"You," she breathes. "I just want you."

Her fingers trace over his lips.

A bolt of lightning crashes outside—he crashes into her.

She gasps at the contact, fisting both hands roughly in his hair.

The taste of her is fuel to the fire and he's quick to ignite.

Kate carries a current with her everywhere, and under his hands, he feels her go live. She whines into his mouth, encouraging him, begging him, rocking down into him and haphazardly clawing at his flannel pants. Foregoing tenderness—foregoing sense, time, space—Castle drags her down into the cradle of his hips, holding her there as she groans his name, letting her feel just how badly he's been wanting her this whole time.

"Bedroom," she gasps, her whole body trembling against the raging storm of his. There's a streak of lightning outside and it throws her features into sharp, urgent relief, every line of her lit in blinding white and desperate for him. "Take—take me to bed. Please."

There's no vocabulary in the world for all of the things he wants to say to her, so Rick just stands on shaking legs and does his best to bring her up with him. She arches into him as soon as they're upright and he uses every last ounce of his restraint to try and hold himself back from her, if only for a moment, for a heartbeat.

She senses the lull in his movements and pulls away a fraction, staring up at him with her mouth open, chest heaving.

"Sorry," he whispers, shaking his head a little. "It's just…you're here."

She softens. All of the urgency seeps from her at once. "I'm here."

Kate takes his hand, suddenly more gentle than he knows what to do with. She pulls him slowly with her over to the candles in the corner, bending down to blow two of them out before she takes the third and holds it between them, offering herself up to him in the hallowed golden glow of its flame. He studies the play of shadows across her face and she lets him, keeps letting him, her whole body lit by a soft, hazy halo.

"Bedroom," she murmurs again, this time leaving the sentiment with an unbearably tender kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth. She leads the way and he follows, wordless, traipsing up the stairs after her in the candlelight.

Kate tugs him inside. Her eyes are dark; her touch soft.

She shuts the door.

The storm breaks.

Chapter Text

Castle blinks his eyes open, taking a moment to adjust to the soft golden light spilling through his curtains.

Something stirs beside him and he twists toward the source.

A breath catches in his throat. Kate.

She's already awake, but only just, her eyes wide and sleepy as she blinks across at him.

"Morning," she murmurs, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her lips.

He's speechless for another few seconds. She's just—so beautiful. It's like all the light in the room is catching and reflecting from her perfect features, bathing her whole body in this burnished glow.

"So it wasn't a dream," he manages finally.

"No," she giggles. "No, you definitely…weren't dreaming."

"For the record," he grins, "you were right. I had no idea."

She matches his smile, leaning forwards to drop the lightest of kisses onto the edge of his nose. "So you liked it?"

"Yeah."

"Even the part where—?"

He nods eagerly. "Especially that part. I loved that."

"Good," she returns, her gaze warm. "Me too."

Castle pauses for a second, weighing his next words carefully. "You're…on board with this, right? It's not just some, oh-I'm-hiding-from-the-press, I'm-in-crisis thing?"

"No." Kate shakes her head earnestly, her eyebrows knitting together. "Not for me."

"Okay," he exhales in relief. "Me neither."

She considers him. "Rita Hayworth had this famous part of hers…Gilda. And she used to say—they go to bed with Gilda, they wake up with me. Do you feel like that?"

"Like what?"

"Men went to bed with the dream…and they didn't like it when they woke up with the reality." She swallows, her gaze shy when it meets his again, "...do you feel that way with me?"

"Kate." Castle draws a hand up to her face, gentle as he knows how to be. She presses softly into the contact, and his heart just breaks for all the times she's been made to feel like she needs to be more than who she is. "You are lovelier this morning than you have ever been."

She studies him for a moment, her expression so stunned that it makes his chest ache.

"But it is, uh, surreal, that I'm allowed to see you naked," he says.

She rolls her eyes, biting back a grin. "You and every person in this country."

"Oh, God, yes—sorry. I'm an idiot."

She chuckles. "What is it about men and nudity?" She tilts her head with a raised eyebrow. "Particularly boobs—how can you be so interested in them?"

"Actually, I don't know really—let me just have a quick look…" He lifts the sheet and peeks under it. "No, beats me."

Kate laughs, swatting him away before she slings her arms around his neck. "So—what would you like to do today?"

He shrugs playfully. "Um, I don't know. We could read," he suggests, kissing up the column of her throat.

"We could watch TV," she hums.

"Yeah. We could get something to eat," he murmurs, his mouth skimming the curve of her cheekbone.

She giggles. "We could do that, yeah."

He stares at her in slack-jaw awe—she's just so unlike her usual self…bashful, almost. "Yeah."

Then she leans forward and presses her lips to his, letting out this soft exhale like she's been waiting to do that all morning. He cups the back of her head instinctively, drawing them further together, and she responds eagerly to the touch, her mouth opening on a quiet moan.

"Cas—Castle," she manages, breathless already, arching into him. He shifts a little until she's beneath him again, using his free hand to coast down the expanse of her torso until her hips rock sharply up into his. "Please."

"Please what?" he grins, nipping once at her lower lip and then breaking away to press his mouth to the line of her jaw.

"Just don't stop," she breathes. "Please don't stop."

They lie there for a while afterwards, sated and recovering from round four, so wrapped up in one another that he loses track of where her body ends and his begins. Eventually Kate smiles a little—he feels the movement rather than sees it, the curl of her lips against his throat.

"Something funny?"

She shakes her head, pressing a butterfly kiss to the skin there. "Just you." Then she rolls over and leaps out of bed with a big grin and grabs a garment off the floor.

"I'll be right back."

Castle makes the bed while she's gone, throwing on a pair of boxers for the sake of it before he takes a seat on top of the covers.

The door opens and Kate walks in again—wearing none other than his favorite white button-up. His mouth goes dry.

"Breakfast in bed," she announces, showing off the tray of toast and coffee that she's wielding. "Or, lunch. Brunch."

She comes over to the bed and he can only really stare. Kate sets the tray down on the middle of the mattress, folding her legs carefully beneath her as she regards him for a few seconds.

"Can I stay a bit longer?"

His heart pounds. "Stay forever."

Kate's soft, answering smile lights up the whole room.

And then she glances at the breakfast tray. "Damn—I forgot the jam."

The doorbell rings.

Castle sighs.

"I'll get the door, you get the jam."

Kate darts left into the kitchen, and he heads down the corridor, foregoing a pair of pajama pants and hoping that he doesn't end up scandalizing the postman in his underwear.

It's only once he opens the door to an explosion of paparazzi that he realizes the gravity of his mistake. A million cameras flash, and all at once they're clamoring for questions, this terrible burst of noise and blinding light.

Castle slams the door shut. Jesus Christ.

The walk back to the kitchen feels a little like a death march. Kate stands by the fridge, munching on a piece of toast as she eyes him with curiosity.

"What?"

"Um."

She tilts her head at him and then traces his steps back down the corridor. "You're up to something," she grins, throwing a wink back at him as she reaches for the latch.

He understands about two seconds too late what she's about to do.

"Kate," he cries, "no. Don't—!"

But she opens the door to the same explosion.

In a split second she's back inside, leaning against the door for support, her chest heaving.

They're both silent for the longest time.

"Oh my God," Kate breathes at last. She turns to look at him, horrified. "And they got a photo of you dressed like that?"

"Undressed like this," he grimaces. "Yeah."

"Jesus."

She calls someone right away. He doesn't know who, but he suspects Lanie from the unabashed panic in her tone.

"It's Kate," she lets out. "The press are here. No, there are hundreds of them. Turns out my brilliant plan wasn't so brilliant after all." She sighs. "Yeah, I know, I know. Just get me out then."

She hangs up.

"Damnit."

And storms upstairs.

Rick races up after her, entering his room to find her already almost dressed.

"Are you—okay?"

She glares at him. "What do you think?"

"I don't know how this happened," he manages.

"I do," she bites. "Someone in your family said something to someone. Or maybe you did."

She's packing, throwing all of her stuff into the one bag she turned up with, every movement fraught with anger.

"That's not true. You know that's not true." He takes a step towards her and she stiffens. He lowers his voice. "C'mon, they wouldn't do that to you. Not on purpose. And I would never betray you like that. How could you even think that?"

"How can I trust anything that you say?" she hisses, finally turning to face him. "Am I just supposed to believe the entire British press just woke up this morning and thought Hey—I know where Kate Beckett is. She's in that house with the blue door in Notting Hill."

He sucks in a breath. "How can you—because of everything we've been through together! Especially this past week. Every day, all I've wanted to do is make you smile—to keep you safe. I told you this was the place and I meant it. Why the hell would I jeopardize that?"

"Why did you have to go out in your goddamn underwear?" she groans, ignoring him entirely now. "This is such a mess. I came to you to protect myself against more crappy gossip and now I've landed in it all over again. For God's sake, I have a boyfriend."

Castle freezes. The air goes cold. "...You do?"

Kate cuts her eyes to him. "As far as they're concerned, I do." She sighs. "And now, there'll be pictures of you all over the internet."

"I know that," he says gently. "But we—we can figure this out, right?"

"Figure what out?" Kate zips the bag up angrily, dashes into the bathroom, grabs her toothbrush, and slams it into a side pocket. And that's it. Every trace of her removed. "It's the perfect situation for you," she mutters. "Minimum input, maximum publicity. Everyone you ever bump into will know. Well done you, you slept with that actress. We've seen the pictures."

Castle clenches his jaw. "That's not fair," he manages quietly. She knows he's not that guy. She has to.

"Who knows," she retorts, "it may even help business. Buy a thriller from the guy who thrilled Kate Beckett."

She stalks out of the bedroom and slams the door behind her before he even has the chance to defend himself.

Castle chases her down the stairs, desperate not to let her leave like this.

"Kate, wait—can we talk about this, please? Have a cup of coffee with me."

"I don't want a goddamn cup of coffee," she snaps. "I want to go home except my pipes just burst, so I don't even have a home."

"Yes, you do."

She looks at him. The doorbell goes. She moves from the kitchen into the corridor. He follows.

"I thought—" he sucks in an unsteady breath. "I thought this wasn't just a fling to you."

She sighs, suddenly defeated. "God, I don't know." Her eyes find his; they always do. "Maybe we're just kidding ourselves. We're from different worlds, Castle."

He doesn't have a response to that. Can't find one. Every placating word is torn from him by the devastating blow of her resolve.

She takes a step towards him, trying to be gentle. It doesn't work. He's cleaved in two. "This relationship makes absolutely no sense on paper. And I signed up for the fame when I was nineteen. You didn't."

"So what if we don't make sense on paper?" he chokes. "We don't live our lives on paper."

"I know that," she murmurs, running a hand through her hair. "I do. It's just that…I've dealt with this garbage for ten years now. You've had it for ten minutes. Our perspectives are different."

"Maybe," he acquiesces, "but what's the big deal if they know about us? Isn't this just a blip on the internet continuum? Why do you even care what they say?"

Her fists clench. "It's my life. Mine. Of course I care about what they write about me," she snaps. "I have nothing else. Nobody else. Everybody is—gone, Castle."

"I'm still here," he says uselessly, feeling every part the abandoned little kid. "If you'd let me…I could be here for you."

He watches the hard line of Kate's throat as she swallows; looks away from him.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Her voice is quieter now. Exhausted. "This story gets filed. Every time anyone writes anything about me, they'll dig up these photos. The internet lasts forever—I'll regret this forever."

"Right," he lets out, blinking fast. "Fine. I'll…do the opposite, if that's okay with you, and always be glad you came." He shrugs, defeated. "I—yeah. Always."

Kate goes still, studying him for a moment, eyes glittering with tears.

"What do you want me to say here, Castle?"

"Say you'll stay," he whispers. "Say you'll at least try and give this a chance."

"And then what?" She's going for angry but the words just come out sounding a little devastated. "Upend my whole life and move here?" Her voice cracks. "Put down roots and have little Castle babies and grow old together? Live happily ever after?"

His heart sinks. "Would that be so bad?"

"I just…" There's a moment where the look in her eyes is so achingly apologetic that he almost has to take a step away from her. "I don't think we can have the fairytale, Rick."

"You wouldn't have to—upend your life," he tries, but he knows it's futile. This tragedy is all just playing out in front of him like the end of Roman Holiday. They're not beating the odds; they never stood a chance. "I'd follow you anywhere. It wouldn't matter where we lived."

Her breath catches at that, the collective we. This life he's imagining where their circumstances become a matter of ours rather than hers alone.

"Look," he continues, taking a careful step closer. "Every fairytale has terrible trials that only the worthy can transcend. So you can't give up. That's the deal. We want the happy ending—we can't give up."

She blinks. A single, perfect tear spills down her cheek and he has to resist every urge to press his lips to the trail it carves. "Castle, I—"

The doorbell rings, and whatever she was about to say crumbles to dust before it can leave her mouth.

"I have to go."

"Don't," he pleads, his voice like dying embers. "Please, just—Kate. Don't go. Please don't leave me. Stay with me, okay?"

"Rick—"

"—I love you," he blurts out. A final appeal; the heart of the matter. "I love you, Kate."

She looks at him like she's been shot in the chest. Just stands there, frozen, all of the color leaching from her face until he's left staring at a ghost.

And then, against all odds, she surges forward and kisses him. Her lips are ice, cold and perfect—the feel of goodbye. "I'm sorry," she whispers, the words pressed desperately against his lips. "I'm so sorry, Castle." One more sweet kiss, soft and warm. "I can't."

She pulls away, tears streaking down her face, her gaze flickering around the room, deliberately avoiding him. That alone—the cowardice; the refusal to face this head on—ignites a spark somewhere deep within his chest, feeding the low flame of anger that he's been trying to extinguish since the start of this.

"If you care about me at all," he grits, fists clenched, "please don't do this."

Kate opens her mouth, but the doorbell goes again. She slips on her sunglasses. A faint rasp—"You're better off without me."

And something snaps. He takes a ruined breath. "That's such bullshit."

Her hand freezes, fingers perched on the doorknob.

"You said you wanted more—that you wanted me." He squares his chin. "Or was that all a lie?"

Kate steps backwards, stricken.

"Just another part of your brilliant plan, right?" he adds; a calculated stab. "Just another place to hide." She shakes her head, but he keeps going, twisting the knife. "And for the past week—you've been treating my life like it's your personal jungle gym." His voice is sharp. Slicing. "God, was any of it real?"

A mewled sound breaks from her chest. "I didn't…plan this," she croaks. "I didn't plan any of this."

There's a vulnerability in her tone; sincerity—but all he can see is red, his anger too hot and all-consuming.

"You know what, this isn't about us anymore," he rebuts. "The thing is—you've been caught up in fame for so long, you're afraid to find out who you are without it."

A vein on her forehead pops. "You don't know me, Castle. You think you do, but you don't."

"I know you crawled inside your parents' death and didn't come out," he hisses. Kate visibly flinches, a flash of pure anguish that almost stops him in his tracks—but not quite. "I know you hide there in your grief, the same way you hide in these fake PR relationships with men you don't love."

She just keeps staring at him. Fury in her expression that dares him to continue.

So he does.

"You could be happy, Kate. You deserve to be happy." He meets her gaze through her dark shades and holds it. Never once looks away. "But you're afraid."

There's a long, awful moment.

"This is over," she whispers finally. "Whatever this was—we're done."

And then she turns away from him one last time.

She unlatches the door with careful, shaking fingers, and the minute it cracks open, there's a cataclysm of camera flashes, reporters screaming her name as they all close in on the house. He's momentarily blinded by it, and he only has enough time to catch Lanie and two bodyguards shepherding Kate away before the door slams shut.

He's alone in the corridor.

She's gone.

He wakes to a hand on his shoulder.

Rick sits up, blinking in the darkness, his mouth open and asking for Kate before he can even think to suppress the sound of her name.

Alexis's face fills his vision instead, soft and concerned.

"Dad?"

"Alexis," he mumbles, his lips dry. "Hey. Time'd you get back?"

"Just now," she says quietly. "How long have you been like this?"

He follows her gaze down to the table, to the half-empty bottle of scotch still clutched in his left hand. Oh. Oops. He'd forgotten.

"Not long," he lies. "I'm fine, really. Just took a quick nap."

She just frowns at him. "On the kitchen table?"

He swallows. "Yep."

"Dad…" Alexis sighs, pulling out the stool next to him. "What happened?"

"I told her how I felt," he shrugs. The room pitches to the right and he grits his teeth against the sudden tide of nausea, clenches his eyes shut. "I told her I loved her…but it wasn't enough."

It turns out to be nobody's fault. Not really.

Rick answers the phone a day after the disaster, not knowing or caring about who it is on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Rick? It's Javi."

"Oh," he says. Javier never calls. "Hi."

"I heard about the Kate thing, and I…" his friend trails off. "I think I gotta confess something."

"What?"

"Lanie and I hooked up," Javi says, all in a rush, so nervous-sounding that Rick almost laughs.

"Um…congrats?"

"No, it's—ah." A deep breath. "She called me out of nowhere, one thing led to another, you know how it is."

"Look, no offense, but—"

"—She told me that Kate was with you."

Oh. Hm. "...And?"

"I told Kevin. At the Twelfth. We were just talking, it slipped out—"

There's a long, sinking moment of realization and all the breath leaves his chest at once. "Oh," he says quietly.

"I didn't tell anyone else," his friend continues, "I swear. But I—one of the workers must've overheard us, I don't know, it was such a busy day, and I just can't think of how else the news would've gotten out—"

"—Javi," he interrupts, sighing hard. The knowledge hurts, but he can't exactly blame his two closest friends in the world for getting overheard by a few builders. "So it was an accident. You're fine."

"I feel awful."

"It's fine. Really. I appreciate you telling me."

"Free drinks for life, bro, I promise. If there's anything I can do to make it up to you—"

"Look, I've gotta go." Rick shuts his eyes. "Tell Kev I say hi."

He hangs up before Javi can get another word in. And then he just sits there, unmoving, for the longest time.

Summer 2009

The rest of June passes by in a blur.

Not only did Kate take his heart, but she took the only copy of his manuscript—along with any spark of inspiration to write something new.

(Back to square one.)

He dedicates all of his attention to the bookshop, even though everything about it just reminds him of her now. He switches out the Raymond Chandler display for Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie, and he stops ordering Patterson altogether. Any books of his that remain are banished to the back of the store.

It doesn't help much.

And despite everything, he finds himself waiting for her. Every time the store bell rings, every time he spots a tall brunette on the security footage—he wonders. He should be mad at her, and he is—but it never seems to last. All of the anger just dissipates into sadness in the end and he wishes they could just do what her parents did—work it out, head to Remy's, laugh about everything over burgers and shakes.

But it never happens. Kate never comes back to him.

Still; he waits.

She wasn't ready, and he knows that now. Maybe he wasn't either—God knows they both have their own baggage to work through—but it would've at least been nice to try. To give this thing a shot, despite the odds, the baggage, the distance.

A month passes though, and then another, and maybe his stomach still twists every time someone asks about the latest Patterson, but it does get easier. Sort of. At times.

The worst thing though is the sudden attention he can't seem to shake. 'Celebrity' probably isn't the word he'd use, but the sudden influx of brand-new customers in his tiny bookshop doesn't exactly go unnoticed. Hopeful women in search of the man who managed to score Kate Beckett, journalists begging for his side of a scandalous tell-all, fans of Kate herself who all seem totally convinced that if they hang around in the aisles for long enough, she'll just magically appear around the corner.

He hates it.

The local press starts calling him the white whale, for some reason, framing him as this elusive catch, and Martha lets him know in no uncertain terms that the rumor around town is that the claims for him being able to reel in the world's most famous film star tended to be…on the larger side. God.

Admirers flock to the shop, and the frenzy only seems to grow when it should really be dying down by now. Before he knows it, there are women asking for autographs, for pictures, for him to sign their chests. With every newly-bared set of boobs for him to sign, Rick can't help but understand exactly why Kate acted the way she did about her inescapable fame.

It's not what the movies make it out to be. Not at all. It's constant and violating and awful. More than anything, he wants to go back in time and apologize to Kate for ever acting like this was anything less than it is.

He gets it now, why she thought she was doing him a favor.

He just wishes he had a way to tell her that.

Fall 2009

The next thing he knows it's early September and he's dropping Alexis off at the train station for her final year of school as rain pours down in huge droplets.

They sprint together to the sheltered walkway just outside the station, already soaked to the skin. She turns to him right before they get to the ticket gates, taking her suitcase from him with a reluctant smile.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself?"

Rick nods. He knows she's been worried about him—everyone has—but he owes it to his daughter to at least try. "I promise."

Alexis throws her arms around him one more time. "I love you," she whispers. "I'll be back soon."

"Love you too, sweetheart." He squeezes her shoulders. "Now go—you're gonna miss your train!"

By October, every tree in the city is suddenly awash with colors—electric reds and yellows and oranges that line every street as the leaves finally start falling from their branches. The sight makes Rick want to turn over his own new leaf, if not for himself, then at least to fulfill his promise to his daughter.

At her prompting, he eventually decides to dust off his old Derrick Storm books—they're not perfect, but they're a good start, and at least polishing up all of his bygone novels gives him something to do.

A month later, he sends a revitalized copy of Storm Rising to a book agent friend he deals with sometimes for the shop, just to get her opinion. She promises to take a look, but he doesn't expect to hear back. He's been hit with forty-seven rejections in his so-called writing career.

What's one more?

Winter 2009

The trees lining the street are bare and spindly, the first flakes of snow falling from the sky when he receives a call from Paula.

"Ricky—hey! How you doin'?"

"Hangin' in there," he provides, his desk chair creaking as he leans back in it. "What can I do you for?"

"Well, you're not going to believe this, but I loved what you sent me so much, I passed it along to a publisher buddy of mine. And they went absolutely gaga for it."

He sits forward in his chair, hope sparking in his chest. "Does that mean they want to publish it?"

"Not exactly," she hedges.

He scratches under his chin with a frown. "I don't understand."

"They're not looking for a new spy character right now, but they are looking to revive an old one—a major re-launch of a major franchise. A certain British secret agent."

He nearly falls out of his seat, gasping, "You mean—"

"Shhh! Don't say it, you'll jinx it."

Shut. The. Front. Door.

"He's the reason I became a writer," he marvels.

"I know!" she squeals. "I told 'em you're my go-to thriller guy. And that you have a unique knack for the genre. So they're wondering if you'd like—"

"Yes."

Paula puffs a laugh. "I haven't even told you the whole deal yet."

"Whatever it is, I'm in."

When Alexis arrives home for winter break later that day, she's so happy to hear his good news that she insists on a snowball fight to celebrate. They both emerge an hour later, each grinning ear to ear and caked head-to-toe in snow.

He gets to work on the book pretty much right away—it's surprisingly easy to just bunker down and get on with it, words flowing across his laptop screen with an effortlessness that he wasn't sure he'd ever feel again. Especially after Kate.

The outline and first few chapters are done before he even knows it, and there's something vitally uplifting about fitting himself back into the role of writer that he's been longing to fill again for so long.

Things are easier for a little while. He spends the rest of the season either pitching in at the Twelfth or stopping over with Javier for dinner at the Ryans', with Alexis and Martha tagging along whenever they can.

Kate drifts to the back of his mind; a lingering ache in his heart. He still thinks about her— constantly—but the memories are a little lighter now, less of a devastating weight to bear. Alexis is a beacon of light, cycling through all their traditions, whether it's dragging him outside for ice-skating and sledding adventures or baking cookies and drowning their place in tinsel and pine.

She lugs him to all of the Christmas markets in the city during her third week back, determined to somehow find the perfect gift for everyone in their little group. Broadway Market ends up giving them the best results, and by the end of the afternoon they're both carrying at least a dozen things each between them as they trail down the road again for a final time. Alexis, to her credit, keeps up the pace, ooh-ing and ahh-ing at every new stall until they finally reach a little gazebo filled with coats and jackets towards the very end of the street.

"Oh!" she exclaims, pointing to the stall with renewed exuberance. "Get that one for Gram. She said she was missing her mink."

Rick stops.

Shit.

His mind goes immediately to Kate—of her in that ridiculous coat, the shy glimmer of gratitude to her gaze as he slung it over her shoulders that night after the cinema. He takes a stuttering breath and tries to stop himself from wondering if she's out there buying presents for anyone. Or maybe not. Maybe she doesn't celebrate—he imagines that winter must be an awful time for her anyway, since it's around the time she lost her parents. These cold snaps that he loves so much can only possibly put her right back in the backseat of that car.

God, he hopes she's okay.

Spring 2010

Alexis seems a lot happier to head back to school for her final semester—she's so much less worried about him now that a few months have passed, and he's glad to see it.

And once she's gone, he completely knuckles down. Between dinners with the Ryans, renovations for the Twelfth, and working at the bookshop with his mother, he doesn't have a lot of free time—but he's at his laptop whenever he can be, every spare minute used to churn out page after page of the new novel.

In no time, he's come up with the first draft of his very own James Bond manuscript. It takes a little bit of brainstorming to come up with a decent title, but eventually he lands on a name that feels at least somewhat befitting of the world's most famous spy series.

A Rose for Everafter.

March brings blossom back to all the trees in his neighborhood, soft white petals floating down onto the sidewalk whenever Rick leaves the house.

Things are...better now. There's a little more spring in his step, aided entirely by the ego boost of his new publisher loving the first draft of the novel. He spends most of his time working on edits.

He's been cooped up all day today, tinkering with and re-tooling scenes, and he's admittedly growing a little restless of staring at his laptop screen for so many hours at a time.

Rick heads downstairs in search of a snack, his eyes snagging on his mother in the living room as she watches something on the TV.

Oh. The Oscars. Of course.

He thinks back to this time a year ago, coming down to see his mother watching Kate's exposé on this same TV, meeting her in his bookshop the very next day. It's bittersweet—to say the least—but he knows that she's in the running this year, and in spite of everything, he hopes to see her win.

"Richard!" his mother calls. "Want to come watch with me? They're about to announce best actress!"

He considers staying no, but the idea dies in his head the moment his gaze catches on Kate's face on the screen. It's a little devastating—she looks as gorgeous as she always did, more so—dressed to the nines in a tasteful floor-length black gown with her hair swept up into this beyond-perfect updo that he can only really stare at. The dress is sleek and strapless, showing off the golden expanse of her chest, the impossibly graceful line of her shoulders, and Rick swallows. Hard.

"Yeah," he manages. "Yeah, I'll watch."

He takes a seat beside his mother as the presenters run through the list of nominees, and maybe he's biased but he could swear that the camera lingers for an extra few seconds when they read out Kate's name.

"And the Oscar goes to…"

Martha grabs his hand.

"Kate Beckett!"

The whole theater bursts into rapturous applause—him and Martha, too, both of them clapping and whooping for her despite how ridiculous it feels to be cheering at the TV. The shot pans to all of the big names in the industry, every single one of them on their feet, ecstatic for her.

Kate, for her part, looks absolutely astonished, and Rick can't help but tear up a little at how badly he knows she deserved this. He's so proud of her, he doesn't even try to fight the grin that breaks across his face as she makes her way up to the stage. She takes the Oscar with shaking fingers and Martha caws, apparently just as choked up as him.

He watches, entranced, as she starts to speak.

"God," she starts, taking a moment to just stare down at the statue in her hands. "Wow. Really—I can't believe this. It's…just a dream come true. Thank you to the Academy for this honor." She pauses again, making sure to look right into the camera for the next part of her speech. "Mom, Dad—this one's for you. I owe you guys everything. And I…I love you both. So much. I hope you're watching this, wherever you are."

He wipes away a tear right as Kate does the same onscreen. There's not a dry eye in the whole ceremony hall, by the looks of it.

"I also want to thank Matilda King, who, truthfully, is the reason I'm even still here at all." She smiles ruefully, shaking her head a little in disbelief. "I've spent a lot of time recently thinking about how I got here...the long hours, memorizing script pages and developing my craft. As actors, we spend our days in our imaginary worlds, fighting, loving, dying—but we don't do it alone. Because anything that's good in our art comes from truth. And the truth is I'm here because of the people in my life who inspired me."

There's a long beat. Rick feels utterly bewitched.

"My mom named me after Katharine Hepburn," she says next. "She was a trailblazer—known for redefining roles for women in Hollywood, on and off the screen. I wear pantsuits on almost every red carpet in honor of her." Kate grins a little, and then swallows, clearly considering her next few words carefully. "Another actress who inspired me is Martha Rodgers."

Beside him, his mother gasps.

"She was a big soap opera star back in the 70s—most notably Temptation Lane, which was my first ever gig—and she recently helped me through a tough spot. Her advice to never back down, even when it feels like the world's against you…changed everything for me."

He nudges Martha. "When'd you guys talk?"

His mother just shushes him.

"My mentor Matilda King told me to stand tall," Kate continues, taking a deep breath. "So to any other aspiring actresses out there—that's the best advice I can give you. Stand tall, never back down, and—believe in yourself. And one day, you'll be…extraordinary."

Extraordinary. Rick's breath catches hard in his throat. She's staring right at the camera again, something swirling deep in the intensity of her gaze, focused and deliberate like she's trying to communicate a sentiment beyond words.

It looks like she's about to say something else when the music starts playing, signaling the end of her time. She nods, then grins, holding the Oscar up in the air in celebration as the crowd explodes into an even louder round of applause than before.

Thanks to Kate name dropping Martha in her speech, she finally gets the funding to put on the one woman show she's been working on. She's over the moon, and he is too—he knows how hard she's worked on it, even if the mostly-autobiographical script is, at times, a little fabricated.

"Maybe you should find a way to talk to her," his mother suggests over breakfast a few days later. "She's obviously thinking about you too."

Rick furrows his brow. "She didn't say anything about me."

Martha just gives him a long look.

A little over a month later, it's time for Alexis's graduation. He's emotional for the entire week leading up to the ceremony—his baby girl, all grown up!—but that doesn't stop him from applauding louder than anyone else in the room when his daughter makes her way across the stage to collect her diploma.

A first-class degree in international law—she's going to change the world.

The first vestiges of summer start creeping in soon after, the days growing steadily warmer as the world keeps turning around his little bookshop in Notting Hill. He's flicking the AC back on before he knows it, the cool house a welcome respite from the heat of the city outside.

There's a fancy envelope in the mailbox when he gets home from the store one day and Rick tears it open, intrigued.

An invitation—to the Grand Opening of The Twelfth, no less.

He grins. It's finally here.

June 2010

Despite the radiant sunshine streaming in through the windows of the bookshop, Rick finds himself moping again. It's coming up on a year since the last time he saw Kate in person, and—he misses her. The brightness of summer hasn't been quite bright enough to distract him from that particular ache.

Alexis rushes in out of nowhere, a flurry of red hair and excitement, the sight of her alone enough to light up his day a little.

"Hey, sweetheart—"

"—I have something for you," she cuts in, grinning a little madly. "Something that will make you love me so much you'll want to hug me every single day for the rest of my life."

He raises an eyebrow. "I already plan on doing that."

She rolls her eyes, smiling fondly even as she thrusts a mysterious scrap of paper in his direction.

"What's this?" he asks, unfolding it.

"The phone numbers of Kate Beckett's agents in London and Los Angeles," Alexis declares triumphantly.

He blinks. "...And what am I supposed to do with these?"

"Call her."

Confusion creases his brow. "You want me to call her? I thought—"

His daughter throws a hand up, interrupting. "I know I haven't always been Kate's biggest fan," she starts ruefully, shrugging a little. "But…I miss her too. And she made you happier than I've ever seen you."

"Alexis—"

"Just…do something," she entreats. "I can't do another summer of you staring off into the distance. I want my dad back."

His heart breaks a little at the sadness in her confession. He considers the paper and nods at her. Alexis smiles, her eyes crinkling with it, and drops a kiss to his cheek before she heads out again with a tinkle of the shop bell.

As soon as she's gone, he crumples the paper and tosses it into the trash can.

He just can't. The possibility of rejection is too much for him to bear.

But Alexis is right. He needs to do something…

He has to move on.

For real this time.

It's been a while since they've managed to get the whole group back together, and it's a joy to see everyone again as they all gather around the bar of the Twelfth.

Jenny motions for everyone to raise their glasses. "I have a little speech to make and I won't stand up because I can't…" she pauses, grins. "...Be bothered."

The group titters with laughs.

She winks. "A couple years ago, my husband had an idea. And a new friend. And now, all their hard work is finally paying off. Tomorrow, we open! And tonight, we celebrate Alexis—who is now officially joining the adult world."

Everyone clinks their glasses, smiling. (Even Rick, who decidedly would prefer it if his daughter would just stay little forever.)

"Since it's an evening of announcements," Javi pipes up, "I also have one."

The group turns to stare at him, all a little intrigued by his sheepish grin.

"I am officially—off the market," he announces.

Jenny and Kevin both let out a loud whoop.

"Wait a minute," Rick interrupts. "I'm one of your best friends and I don't know anything about this. Is it someone we know?"

His friend shrugs, looking down all of a sudden. "Lanie and I have been keeping in touch," he provides nervously.

"Oh." Rick swallows, processing. It takes about four seconds for him to realize that everyone's staring at him—especially Javi, intently—so he pastes on a smile as best he can. "That's great, man. Happy for you."

The room sighs in relief. (Jesus, he's been walking around with a dark rain cloud over his head, hasn't he?)

"Any more announcements?" Alexis asks in jest.

"Actually, yeah," Rick says, taking a quiet breath. "I feel like I should apologize to everyone for my behavior over the last year. I have, as you know, been a bit of a zombie. But I hope everyone knows that I've turned a corner and intend on being totally happy going forward."

It's unclear whether anyone actually believes him (his mother and daughter both fix him with identical dubious looks) but the group raises their glasses again anyway, exclamations of hope and cheer ringing out across the bar.

A few hours later, the remnants of their evening—empty glasses, crumbs of chocolate cake—litter the bar top, while Kevin plays on the antique piano in the corner, an old keepsake of Uncle Colin's. Martha stands by him, singing along to Piano Man, their melodious harmonies a warm and comforting background noise.

Alexis and Jenny are squared off in a corner together, chatting quietly, while he and Javi relax in a booth, swigging the last dregs of their pale ales.

"Hey, um—sorry about earlier," Javi says after a while.

The writer cocks an eyebrow in askance.

"The thing with Lanie," he elaborates. "I should've said something sooner." He rubs the back of his neck. "I just…I didn't want to distract you when it seemed like you were finally doing something for yourself and well, I thought maybe you'd finally laid the ghost and didn't give a damn about Kate anymore."

Rick's lips lift in a small half-smile. "I appreciate that. You're a good friend, Javi." He picks up his drink. "And yeah, I'm totally over her." He drains the rest of its contents.

Javi scrutinizes him, unconvinced. "Look, I know I'm no relationship expert, but if I've learned anything—it's that the hardest things are sometimes the ones most worth doing. And you didn't hear it from me, but I happen to have it on good authority that Kate misses you like crazy."

His heart lurches. "What?"

Javi tugs a tabloid from the inside of his jacket and plops it on the table between them. "She's been back in London the past six weeks filming her new movie on Hampstead Heath."

He zeroes in on the photos of Kate, traitorous rays of hope filtering through his dark rain cloud. She's here. "Oh."

Javi gives him a sympathetic smile and claps him on the shoulder.

"So not over her, in fact."

Chapter Text

Rick treks up the large grassy knoll, his heart pounding with anticipation the whole way. Hampstead Heath sprawls before him, inundated with a huge film crew and hundreds of extras, and Kenwood Estate looms in the distance, looking bigger and somehow more intimidating than he's ever seen it.

He cuts his way to a path that leads him toward the house and a security barrier.

A guard notes him. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, um. I was looking for Kate Beckett." Rick tries to sound authoritative, but it clearly doesn't work very well. The guard just narrows his eyes.

"Does she know you're coming?"

"No, no. She doesn't," Rick admits.

"I'm afraid I can't really let you through then, sir."

"Oh, right. I mean, I'm—a friend. Not a crazy stalker. But…yeah, no. You basically—"

"—Can't let you through."

He nods, defeated at the first hurdle. And then, right as he's about to turn and leave, Rick sees a trailer door open.

Kate steps delicately down onto the gravel, looking—extraordinary.

His heart almost stops.

It's been one thing catching her on tabloids and TV screens on occasion over the past year, but seeing her in person again is…another thing entirely.

She's in this Regency-era velvet dress that looks like it was made for her, swathes of fabric shimmering in the sunlight as she moves. Her hair is done in these gorgeous, extravagant ringlets, the updo framing her face so perfectly that Rick feels a little paralyzed by the sight. She has a cluster of people about her. Hair, make-up, costume, and the assistant who came to collect her in the first place. A veritable entourage. He's never seen her like this, he realizes—in the middle of the filming process—and it stuns him how well she seems to fit into this world that he knows next to nothing about.

She walks a few yards, then casually turns her head.

And sees him.

A flare of surprise flashes across her face before she manages to school her expression—and then something new, darker, a disjointed emotion he's not sure he's ever seen before. If not…longing, then at least something close.

Rick does a small, awkward wave. She pauses as the whole paraphernalia of an upcoming scene passes between them—props and extras and then two real life horses being led along by their handlers.

But then she begins to walk through it. Followed by her cluster, she makes her way towards him through the fray.

When she reaches him, the security guard steps away a little, and her people hold back. Kate's mouth opens, closes again. She can't seem to stop looking at him.

"Castle," she says finally.

Nobody's called him that in a year now.

"I just found out you were here yesterday," he says by way of greeting, because he worries that saying her name right now might finally be the thing to break him.

"I was going to call," she tries. "But…I didn't know if—"

"—Miss Beckett?" her assistant cuts in, clearly under pressure to keep things moving. Rick spots Lanie in the distance giving their whole group a bit of a death stare, and he fights a grin.

Kate winces. "Sorry," she says to him. "Filming's a bit behind, and it's our last day."

"Yeah, no, of course." Castle shakes his head a little. "You're clearly busy. I should…go."

"No," she lets out, too fast. He cuts his eyes to hers again and she falters. "Just…there are things to say."

Hope sparks in his chest. "Okay."

"Wait for me?" The words are soft, anxious. Tentative and uncertain, as if—even after everything—she worries he might actually have it in him to say no to her.

"Always."

Her eyes brighten and she takes this deep, careful breath, her chest rising and falling like she's been holding it in the whole time.

"Drink coffee," she says finally. "There's lots of coffee."

And then she's swept away again, the entourage descending, four people at once touching her hair and costume as they move back towards the estate.

Lanie comes to find him soon after, motioning for him to follow her.

"You're here," she notes, her tone sharp and curt.

"Uh, yeah." He scratches a spot behind his ear. "Better late than never, right?"

Lanie narrows her gaze. "Thought you'd written our girl off."

A chuckle of irony from him. "Thought she'd written me off."

She crosses her arms, her mouth a thin no-nonsense line. "You've been busy, Mr. White Whale."

He huffs a wry laugh. "Well, I wouldn't believe everything they say in the papers, Miss PR."

She eyes him with skepticism. "And what about what your friends say?"

Rick shoves his hands in his back pockets; rocks back on his heels. "Look, I don't know what Javi told you, but he just thought he was looking out for me. There hasn't been anyone else and I still…" He rubs his jaw. "I miss her too."

Lanie softens her stance, but suspicion lingers in the arch of her eyebrow. "You never called."

"I didn't know she was here and I didn't think she wanted me to. She said we were over. So when she never called me, I…"

The PR woman scoffs a chuckle and shakes her head. "You two are gonna be the death of me, Good Lord." She passes him a visitor's badge. "Just…go easy on her, yeah? It hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows."

There's a long moment as he absorbs her statement and he's not quite sure what she means...but he nods nonetheless. "I will."

And then— "Are you a Jane Austen fan?"

Castle balks. She— "This is a Jane Austen film?"

Lanie's mouth quirks. "Kate was dead set on it."

They're clearly about to shoot a pretty complicated scene—waves of extras suddenly appear on the green, with a huge moving crane rolling slowly in behind them. Him and Lanie end up next to the sound desk.

"This is Tory," Lanie says, pointing to a sound tech nearby. "She'll give you a pair of headphones so you can hear the dialogue."

"Thanks."

"How's Javi, by the way? I was gonna stop by the Twelfth later."

Castle smiles. "He's great. Congrats by the way. The guy hasn't stopped smiling."

She grins back, pleased.

Tory the sound woman hands him the headphones. "Here you go. The volume control is on the side."

"Great, thanks."

Rick slides the headphones on and surveys the scene—they're standing a full eighty yards from the action to allow for a sweeping wide-shot. The whole thing is pretty damn cool. Lanie shoots him a thumbs up and then bustles off in the direction of the main house, clipboard in hand.

Kate stands in the distance, chatting to her co-star—a distressingly handsome guy he recognizes from some Scotland Yard BBC drama that his mother watches. Detective Inspector Hunt or something.

"Producers are crazy if they think we're getting this done today," Hunt grumbles.

Kate shrugs noncommittally. "We have to. I gotta be in Toronto on Thursday."

"Oh, stop showing off."

Rick notes—with some relief—that she doesn't seem to be that interested in interacting with her co-star. Hunt is more her usual type, and he's so much more a part of Kate's world than Castle ever will be—from what he can tell, though, she's barely even looking at the guy, just fiddling with the neckline of her dress while they wait for the scene to be set up.

Hunt studies an extra a few yards to their left. "She's hot," he quips. "Great arse. Enormous. Reckon she'd get a drink with me? And then, you know…"

"I'm not listening," Kate sing-songs.

"Oh, c'mon. I'm just showing a little appreciation. No harm, no foul."

"Yeah, well, I think you and your droopy little excuse for an 'arse' would be well-advised to keep quiet," she snarks.

Back by the desk, Castle laughs. That's his girl.

"So, okay. The scene," Kate says to Hunt, back to business. "Anne makes a speech about how women aren't allowed to feel. She disses Wentworth. And you say…"

"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope…"

Persuasion. Nice choice. Fitting.

"Right. And then I've got that long line," she nods.

"Who was that rather difficult chap you were talking to on the way up?" Hunt asks then.

Kate pauses. "Oh," she says haltingly. "Uh, nobody—no one. Just some…guy from the past. I don't know what he's doing here. Bit of an awkward situation."

Rick's vision blurs and the world wobbles. Her unwitting confession feels like a physical blow to the chest, robbing him of all breath…guess Javi and Lanie got their intel wrong—she doesn't miss him at all.

He dazedly takes his headphones off, managing a quiet murmur of, "Thanks."

"Anytime," returns the sound tech, oblivious.

He walks away; the swell of hope in his chest deflating like a balloon.

He never stood a chance, did he?

He's just a fool.

"What's going on?"

Rick looks up as his mother walks into the living room. He's halfway through their DVD collection, systematically hunting down every Kate Beckett feature and tossing them all into a box labelled charity shop.

"I think I'm gonna donate some of these old movies," he says mildly. "Too much junk in this house."

Martha squats down beside him, gasping when she catches sight of some of the titles in the box. "No!" she cries, so vehement that Rick actually startles a little. "You can't trash these. They're classics. I'm not allowing this."

He turns to face her, his already-bad mood worsened by the melodrama.

"Oh yeah? How about you start paying rent around here?"

His mother falters, fixing him with a hard look. "Richard, love is not a switch. You can't just turn it off."

He picks up the box.

"Watch me."

Rick buries himself in his work the next day, doing the accounts in a dark, unlit file room at the very back of the bookshop. He's been at it for hours when the door cracks open, spilling light across his desk. He recoils like a vampire would from the sun when Martha pops her head in.

"I hate to disturb you when you're cooking the books," she says brightly, "but there's a delivery."

He massages his forehead. "Can't you just deal with this yourself?"

She hesitates. "It's not…for the shop. It's for you."

Rick sighs. He stands with a wince, making his way into the main part of the store with his mother behind him. She's in a suspiciously good mood.

He turns the final corner—and stops dead.

"Hi," Kate says.

She's…here. Again. Dressed in a simple blue skirt and top this time, no sunglasses, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders in soft caramel waves rather than the darker flat-ironed look she used to be so intent on keeping up.

"Hello," he manages.

Her figure is framed by the sunlight streaming in through the shop window. She looks, heart-breakingly, angelic as ever.

"You disappeared," she says next, her voice almost shy.

"Yeah, sorry." He swallows. Somewhere behind him, he hears as Martha shuffles away, making herself scarce. "I had to…leave. I didn't want to disturb you."

She studies him, frowning a little. "Right. How have you been?"

"Fine. Everything's pretty much the same." He shrugs, pauses. "Oh—uh, the Twelth's grand opening is later today."

She smiles slightly. "I heard."

He thinks. Oh right. Javi told Lanie. Lanie told Kate.

"And you—wow. Awards, glory, the Oscars…"

"Oh no," she huffs. "It's all nonsense, believe me. I had no idea how much nonsense it all was, but it's—yeah. Nonsense." Kate swallows, and he'd swear she sounds almost nervous. "Well, yesterday was our last day filming and so I'm, uh, off now. But I brought you this from home, and I thought I'd…give it to you."

She passes him a long, flat parcel, wrapped neatly in brown paper. Heavy too. Rick swallows, taken aback. Their hands almost brush as he takes it from her. She brought him—a gift?

"Thank you," he lets out, fighting a million conflicting emotions. "Should I…?"

"No, don't open it yet." She smiles sheepishly. "I'd be embarrassed."

"Okay," he says. "Well, thank you. I don't know what it's for. But thank you anyway."

"I actually had it in my apartment in L.A.," she mumbles, "and I just thought you'd…but, when it came to it, I didn't—I couldn't…"

Kate trails off, and he actually feels a pang of sympathy for her. She can't seem to look him in the eye, or even put together a full sentence.

"It's alright," he says gently. "Go on."

"I wanted to call you," she says finally, all in a rush. "So many times."

"But you didn't."

Kate swallows, hearing the blame in his words and taking it readily. "I didn't. I didn't know—how. I mean, I was so awful to you, twice, and I wanted to be…someone worthy of…" She sighs, shaking her head. "So the gift was just sitting in the hotel. But then…you came, so I figured, you know."

Rick shakes his head a little. He, in fact, does not know.

"The thing is…" Kate wrings her hands. There's a long pause. "The thing is…"

"What?" he prompts softly. "What's the thing?"

She finally looks at him. Opens her mouth.

Just as the store bell jingles. And in walks his least favorite customer—the annoying one who's constantly asking about travel books.

"Don't even think about it," Rick orders. "Go away immediately."

The customer is taken aback and therefore completely obedient. "Right. Sorry." He leaves.

When Rick looks back at Kate, she's fighting a grin.

"Sorry," he says. "You were saying?"

"Yes. The thing is…" She takes a breath. "I have to go away today but I wondered, if I didn't have to go, whether you might want to—hang out a bit. Or, a lot maybe."

Rick feels his breath catch. The whole world tilts a little on its axis.

"But yesterday. That actor asked you who I was—"

Kate's eyes widen. "You heard that?"

"I was by the sound desk," he admits. "I heard everything. It sounded like you didn't want…anything to do with me."

"You expect me to tell the truth about my life to the most indiscreet man in England?"

He bristles a little at the defensiveness in her tone, but just as he opens his mouth to retort, Martha appears beside him.

"So sorry to disturb. It's Alexis on the phone."

So not the time. "Can you tell her I'll call her back?"

"You don't think I tried that? She said she really needs to speak with you."

"Okay," Rick grants, never one to decline a call from his daughter. "Yeah. Great timing."

He shoots Kate an almost-apologetic glance and then ducks around the corner to the landline.

"Alexis? Everything okay?"

"Dad!" she chirps. "Everything's fine, don't worry. I just wanted to call and let you know—I got that job I was telling you about!"

He grins, his heart leaping for her. "The firm in New York? No way!"

"Yeah! They emailed me this morning—I just didn't open it until now because I was so nervous."

"That's amazing, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you. Seriously. You worked so hard."

He hears her little huff of pleased laughter down the line. "Thanks, Dad. Anyway, that was all. I just wanted you to be the first person I told. How are things on your end?"

Rick swallows. "Uh—they're alright."

"You hesitated."

"I did not."

"Did too. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says, a little too fast. "Well, sort of. Mostly nothing."

"Dad."

He grimaces; folds. "It's Kate. She's—sort of here."

"Here? As in here here?"

"In the bookshop," he admits.

"Oh my God," his daughter gasps. "What are you doing talking to me?"

"Sorry about that," he says when he returns. Kate hasn't moved.

"That's fine," she says with a small smile. "There's always a pause when the jury goes out to consider its verdict. How is she?"

"Graduated with honors," he says proudly. "Just got offered a job in New York."

"New York? That's amazing," she says sincerely. "You must be so happy for her."

He smiles. "I am."

"And I heard you're writing again—a certain…British secret agent who must not be named?"

"Yeah, uh." Rick scrubs a hand down the side of his face. "Dream opportunity, you know?"

She nods. "Any new muses?"

His mouth twists with a smirk, "...Why do you ask?"

She shrugs. "I just wanted to see how big the club is."

He frowns. "There is no club. You of all people should know that."

Kate blinks. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just…" he sighs. "God. It's been a year, Kate."

"I know," she says, her face falling. She takes a step towards him. "And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for that, but—"

"—But what? A whole year, I've been right here. An entire year of just waiting for you to open your eyes and see that I'm…" he meets her eyes, anguished. When he speaks again it's quieter, more desolate, the words sapped of all hope. "I was right here."

Her eyes glimmer with tears—and so do his.

"Castle…"

He shakes his head, swallowing hard over the lump in his throat. "Can I just say no to your kind request and…leave it at that?"

She takes a sharp, agonized breath.

"Yeah," she murmurs. "That's fine. Of course. I...yeah. Of course. I'll just...be going, then." She turns away from him, swiping roughly at her cheeks. "It was—really nice to see you. Even after…even still."

"Look…" He at least owes her an explanation. "With you, I'm in danger."

Her head quirks to the side. "I have bodyguards—"

"No," he corrects, smiling sadly. "Not like that. More like…you are just the most maddening, challenging, and frustrating person I've ever met. And I lo…" he falters; edits himself. "I care about you, Kate."

Her stoic expression cracks.

"I care about you," he murmurs again. "But I just don't think my heart would ever recover if you cast me aside for—the third time. There are too many photos of you everywhere, too many shows and movies. You're on every bus, in every newspaper, and you've managed to infiltrate my DVD collection to a pretty unbelievable degree. You'd leave me again and I'd be...well. Fucked, basically."

"Right," Kate lets out quietly. "You've made your decision, then."

"I live in Notting Hill. You live in Beverly Hills. We're from different worlds, right?"

She's silent. Her gaze drops to the floor, like she can no longer bear to try and bridge the impassable gap between them.

"A year," he reminds her, the ache of lost time so sharp that he feels it in his chest. "I waited so long for you to…see me. To come back to me."

Kate cuts her gaze to him now, fire in her eyes. "I do. I do see you, Castle. And I'm—I'm here now. We can have the happy ending."

"It's not…that easy," he rasps, wishing, even after everything, that it could be so simple. But maybe Kate was right. Maybe they don't get the fairytale.

"I thought that you would—"

"Welcome you back with open arms? Despite how long it's been?"

"Look, Castle, I'm sorry." She steps closer. "I hate that I hurt you. That was never what I wanted."

"But you did hurt me. I told you how I felt and you just left. Didn't look back."

A pregnant pause. She can't seem to meet his gaze.

"You were right," she says finally.

He raises an eyebrow in askance.

"I was hiding," she continues. "After my parents died, something inside me…changed. I put up these walls. And I don't know, I guess I just didn't want to hurt like that again. But, um…" she takes a steadying breath. "This past year…I've been talking to a therapist—getting help, trying to be better. And I…I'm ready now. I really am." She gives him a long, careful look. "I want to stop pushing away the people that matter."

He holds her gaze for so long that it starts to make him feel a little dizzy.

"The fame thing isn't really real, you know," she murmurs after a long, quiet moment. "Don't forget—I'm also just a girl…standing in front of a boy…" her voice lowers to a quiet rasp, "asking him to love her."

He stills at her words; a frozen statue—as if Medusa's turned him into stone.

Kate steps forward and tentatively reaches up until her hand is pressed soft to the line of his jaw. It's the first time she's touched him in over a year and he worries for a moment that the lightning strike of their connection is going to electrocute his heart.

She stays there for a moment, just looking at him. Taking him in. So close that he can feel her breaths puffing out gently against his skin. Slowly, she leans in a little further and drops the gentlest of kisses to his cheek.

A tender whisper of, "Bye."

And then, with a tinkle of the shop bells, she's gone.

Chapter Text

"What the hell was that?" Martha hisses, smacking him in the shoulder with a paperback.

"Ow!"

His mother rolls her eyes. "You've been pining after her all this time, but when she's actually right in front of you, heart in hand, you turn her away?"

"She didn't even say she loved me," he protests, rubbing his shoulder. "Just asked if I loved her."

"Well, don't you?" Martha exasperates.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know anymore."

His mother lets out a sigh of her own. "Oh, Richard."

Rick meets Kevin, Jenny, and Alexis in a booth near the back of the Twelfth, congratulating his friends on the success of the opening—business is clearly booming—there's already a bustling crowd filling the pub. He sticks on his best attempt at a smile, but it's clear his dark cloud is doing a pretty good job of dampening the mood. Everyone's looking at him with these somber expressions despite the lively atmosphere.

"What do you guys think?" he finally asks. "Did I do the right thing?"

Alexis shifts in her seat, glancing at the group, and breaks the stilted silence. "Uh, yeah. If it's what you want. Then, yes—you did the right thing."

"Yeah," Jenny nods, agreeing. "Always good to go with your gut."

"Kev—what do you think?" Rick presses, determined to hear an answer that isn't just another half-hearted placation.

"Never trust a vegetarian." Kevin lifts his beer bottle. "You're better off."

Rick clinks his own bottle against his. "Cool. Great. Thanks."

Martha arrives back with a fresh drink in hand and Javi in tow.

"C'mon. The new customers can wait. We need your input," she says, urging the ex-soldier into a seat.

"On what?" Javi returns, squeezing in next to Kevin and Jenny, while Martha scooches into a spot right by Rick.

"Rick just turned down Kate Beckett," Jenny explains.

Javi's jaw drops. "Bro, are you serious? What kind of idiot—"

Kev elbows him hard, dragging a finger across his neck in a blatant signal to shut it down. Javi deflates. "I mean, ah. Good choice."

A silence falls…nobody else seems to have anything to say.

Kate's package sits on the table surface, partially opened. Jenny flips up a corner of the torn paper. "She got you a painting?"

He nods mournfully. "One of my favorites. I have a print of it up in my room."

Jenny's mouth drops open a little before she manages to school her expression. "A Chagall? And this is—the original?"

"Yeah," Rick sighs, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands. (Oh, God.) "I think it might be."

"And what's this?" Kevin asks, pointing to a small lump haphazardly taped to the far corner of the frame.

Rick's brow furrows—he hadn't noticed it before. He peels the wrapping back a little further with Alexis's help and eventually they work the mysterious second gift loose. When he removes the brown paper and twine, a sleek hardcover book appears. And in big block letters, the title.

Heat Wave.

It's exactly how he imagined it; exactly what he pitched to her during one of their talks—deep red, striking, the words accompanied by the silhouetted figure of a woman who doesn't appear to be sporting much except for the gun that she's holding, ah, strategically, in both hands.

Beneath that, his name in bold typeface. His name. Richard Castle.

"Is that the book you based on her?" Alexis breathes.

He nods wordlessly, still processing.

She…bound his manuscript. Created a cover and…

He cracks it open to the dedication page and discovers a blue sticky note, emblazoned with a neat, blocky script that he knows is hers without even having to think about it.

To the extraordinary RC. I believe in you—I never stopped. Love, KB.

Rick can't look away. He just stares and stares, unblinking, irretrievably caught in the snare trap of her belief in him, speechless.

I believe in you—I never stopped.

Growing impatient with his gawping, Martha leans over his shoulder to steal the sticky note and show it to the rest of the group.

Their faces are priceless. Five matching expressions of barely-concealed shock.

Before anyone can say anything, the door bangs right behind them as a group of friends leave the game den.

"Been so long since we've had a local with a pool table!" one of them cheers, the rest of his group chiming in with their noises of slightly drunken agreement.

Kevin grins.

"And thank fuck," one of the other men pipes, socking his friend lightly in the shoulder. "Can finally prove once and for all that I'm better than you."

They disappear around the corner in a haze of laughter.

Rick tilts his head a little. "I thought a pool table wasn't in your budget?"

Jenny, Kevin, Javi glance at each other, all of them suddenly looking strangely evasive.

"Guys. Spit it out."

"It's from Kate," Kevin confesses quickly, averting his eyes.

"You're kidding."

"Dude," Javi bites at last. "She gives you a priceless painting. She gives us a pool table. She makes a hard copy of your own book. And the—I mean, the dedication? C'mon. Are you really going to let her get away like this? Isn't she a part of the pea-pod or whatever?"

Rick sighs, clenching his eyes shut for a moment. "I—God, I don't know."

Martha huffs quietly and he cuts her a sharp look. She just shrugs, waving a blasé hand through the air. "Don't you scowl at me, kiddo. I mean, we both heard what she said to you in the bookstore."

That piques everyone's interest. Kevin probes first. "What'd she say to you in the bookstore?"

Rick sighs. "It was sort of sweet actually," he admits. "I mean, I know she's an actress and everything, so she can deliver a line, but, um. She said that…just because she's famous doesn't mean that she's not—just a girl…standing in front of a boy…asking him to love her."

Everyone takes in the words.

There's a long, heavy pause.

Rick looks down at the sticky note again and the realization hits him like a double-decker bus.

She does love him.

"Shit," he says quietly. "I totally fucked up, didn't I?"

The whole group erupts in a loud cry of, "YES!"

He jerks back at the force of their exclamation. (Jesus Christ.) And then—

"Kev, how fast is your car?"

Kevin's red Kia screeches to a halt outside and everyone piles in all at once. Rick wasn't actually expecting anyone to come with him—it's the day of the Twelfth's grand opening!—but the boys had waved him off, both insisting that this is far more important business. Besides, Kevin had assured him, their manager Karpowski is top-notch. She can handle it.

"If anyone gets in our way," Kevin says, turning to look at everyone else in the car, "we can just tell them we're cops."

Javi snorts. "And when they ask us to switch on the siren?"

The door slams shut as everyone finishes cramming themselves into the back seat, except—

"Where's Jenny?" Kevin asks.

"She said she wasn't coming," Alexis answers.

"Fuck that. Javi—in the back!"

Kevin shoots out of his door, rushes around the car and whisks Jenny out of her wheelchair. She squeals, laughing into his neck—Kev just kisses her soundly and gently places her in the passenger seat. Then he smoothly folds and slides her wheelchair into the trunk as Javi clambers in next to it.

Next, Kev jams the key into the ignition with all the flair of Bond himself, grimacing a little as the engine sputters a little and promptly dies.

Rick can't help but laugh. (Of course the universe would fail him now.) "You sure you'll be able to get us there?"

His friend turns to glare at him from the driver's seat. "Hey. It's no Ferrari, but this baby can drive. You'll see."

He restarts the ignition and this time, it roars to life.

The car shoots up Stanley Crescent, tires screeching a little as Kevin takes swerves through the traffic. Everyone's hanging on for dear life in the back, Javi clutching Rick's headrest from behind, as his free hand frantically presses his cell to his ear.

"Pick up, pick up," he implores, and then curses when he presumably gets sent to voicemail.

Rick winces. "No dice?"

"No dice," Javi confirms. "Sorry, man. Lanie's phone must be off."

"We're just gonna have to stop Kate ourselves," Rick says determinedly. He leans forward a little in his seat to talk to Kev. "Where are you going?"

"Down Kensington Church Street, then Knightsbridge, then Hyde Park Corner."

"What?" This from Alexis. "No, that's crazy. Go along Bayswater—"

"That's right," Jenny pipes up. "Then Park Lane."

"Or you could go right down to Cromwell Road," Rick adds, pointing the way out of the windshield. "And left."

Kevin swats his hand out of the way. "No!" And slams the brake, the car lurching to a sudden halt. "All of you—be quiet! I will decide the route. My car, my rules. Alright?"

Everyone balks; a chorus of murmured Alrights.

Kevin grumbles under his breath as he eases the car back into first with a concerning rattle of the gearbox. "James Bond never has to put up with this sort of shit."

The car veers right—illegally—across Piccadilly, then pitches the wrong way down a one-way street and somehow screeches to a stop right outside the Ritz.

Rick launches himself out of the car and sprints into the hotel with Alexis following close behind.

"This is so exciting!" she whispers as they approach the desk.

"Is Miss Beckett staying here?" Rick pants, out of breath and a little desperate.

The receptionist eyes them both suspiciously. "No, sir."

"How about—Miss Drew? Or Adler, maybe?"

"No, sir."

"Jessica Fletcher?" he tries. "Or, I don't know, Cagney? Lacey?"

"What about Velma?" Alexis adds. "Or Daphne?"

"Clarice Starling?" Rick attempts.

The receptionist just shakes his head. "None of those, I'm afraid."

"Right," Rick sighs. Of course. "Right. Fair enough. Thanks." He turns, despondent, and he's almost at the door when the receptionist stops him in his tracks.

"There was a Nikki Heat in room 147," the man says haltingly. "But she checked out an hour ago. I believe she's holding a press conference at the Savoy before flying to America."

"Bam said the lady!" the writer cries and then he leans all the way across the desk and kisses the Ritz receptionist squarely on the cheek. Alexis bursts out laughing, shooting the dumbstruck man a double thumbs up as Rick pulls her away with him.

Rick presses himself back into the seat as the car speeds through London all over again. They're making pretty good time until Kev spots a flood of red brake lights ahead and groans. Within seconds, they're completely stuck at the edge of a junction where no one will let them in.

Javi shakes his head firmly. "Oh, fuck this."

He shoves open the door and hauls himself over Rick's lap to get out of the car, racing off into the road before anybody can even think to stop him. With both hands outstretched, he boldly stops the traffic coming in the opposite direction, and—miraculously—it works. He commands the scene like an army general, barking out orders. More cars halt without question and the ex-soldier waves the red Kia through a cleared path.

Everyone hoots as their car finally speeds forward, not slowing down as Javi yells at them to, "Go, go, go!"

Martha unbuckles her seatbelt and leans almost all the way out of the window as they roar past him.

"You're our hero!" she shouts, blowing him a dramatic farewell kiss.

Javi makes an equally-dramatic play of catching it, only to lose his concentration and very nearly get hit by an oncoming car.

They pull to a firm stop outside the Savoy.

Rick leaps out and slides over the hood of a nearby car blocking his way like the star of an action movie.

He whips around, beaming at his friends. "I've always wanted to do that!"

Kevin just rolls his eyes and waves frantically in the direction of the hotel. "Go!"

Rick sprints inside and rushes up to the main desk, trying his level best (and probably failing) not to look like some kind of madman.

"Excuse me," he says in his most serious voice, squinting at the Savoy Man's name tag. "Ah, LT. Where's the press conference?"

The Savoy Man—LT—frowns, his features stern. "Are you an accredited member of the press?"

Rick swallows. "Yep." He flashes a card.

The man's frown deepens. He crosses his arms. "That's a Blockbuster video membership card, sir."

"That's right," Rick says, nodding sagely. "I work for their in-house magazine." He mimes a terrible set of quotation marks. "Movies are our business."

"I'm sorry, sir—"

Just as Rick's heart starts to sink, the door flies open again and Alexis darts into the lobby, pushing Jenny along in front of her with Martha tailing behind.

"He's with me," Jenny says assertively.

LT blinks. "And you are?"

"Writing an article about how London hotels treat people in wheelchairs," she intones, one eyebrow raised.

"Of course, madam," he returns, a little flustered. "It's in the Lancaster Room. But I'm afraid you're very late."

"Oh, fine, that's fine," she says, but Alexis elbows Rick subtly once LT turns away to sign them all in.

"Run!"

He runs.

Every wall in the hotel is covered in mirrors and he gets confused at least twice, twisting and turning down the endless corridors until he finally reaches a door marked Lancaster. He enters slowly, gaping a little at the giant hall as he slips unnoticed into the crowd of people. There are rows and rows of journalists, with paparazzi snapping pictures near the front of the room and a whole spread of professional TV cameras at the back. Kate clearly gives press conferences very rarely, because this one is positively presidential.

She sits at a table on a stage on the far side of the room beside Lanie, looking as radiant as ever. On her other side is her PR boss—Roy, if Rick remembers correctly—firmly marshaling the questions.

"Yes," Roy says, pointing to someone in the crowd. "You."

"How much longer are you staying in the UK then?" asks a man's voice—oh, wow. It's that Schlemming guy from Rick's accidental stint as a journalist all those months ago.

"No time at all," Kate says into the microphone. "I fly out tonight."

"Which is why we have to round it up now," Roy fills in. "Final questions." He points at a journalist he seems to know.

"Is your decision to take a year off anything to do with the rumors about Will Sorenson and his present leading lady?" asks the journalist.

"Absolutely not," Kate intones.

"Do you believe the rumors?" another reporter queries.

"It's really not my business anymore." She shrugs nonchalantly. "Though I will say, from my experience, that rumors about Will...do tend to be true."

The whole room seems to love that answer, everyone eagerly scribbling it down in their notebooks. The door behind him creaks a little and Rick glances over to see Jenny, Kev, Alexis and Martha filing in.

The next question comes from someone right beside him.

"Last time you were here, there were some fairly graphic photographs of you and an American guy—so what happened there?"

Kate's jaw tightens. He catches the movement from all the way across the room. "He was just a friend." She swallows; looks down. "I think we're still friends."

Now or never.

The writer shoots a hand up.

"Yes," Roy says, pointing at him. "The gentleman in the brown jacket."

Castle clears his throat. "Yes—Miss Beckett—are there any circumstances you two might be more than just friends?"

Kate's head snaps up at the sound of his voice, a hopeful flicker in her gaze as she searches for him in the crowd, warmth playing over her features when she finally finds him. "I hoped there would be, but…no." She tilts her head a little, an eyebrow raised in question. "I was assured there weren't."

"And what would you say—" he starts.

"No," Roy interrupts, "it's just one question per person."

Kate perks up in her seat. "No, let him—ask away." She tucks a loose strand of her behind her ear. "You were saying?"

"Yes." He swallows. "I just wondered if it turned out that this—person…"

The journalist next to him pipes up helpfully. "His name is Rodgers. Rick Rodgers."

"Thanks," Rick nods, fighting a smile. "I just wondered if this Mr. Rodgers realized he'd been uh—what do you say here—a daft prick?" The room gasps. "Yeah, if he realized he'd been a daft prick and got down on his knees and begged you to reconsider, would you, maybe…" he sucks in a breath, "reconsider?"

There's a moment of tense, unbearable silence—and then Kate's face lights up with a brilliant grin. "Yes," she says, looking happier than he's maybe ever seen her. "I'm pretty sure I would."

Rick's heart soars. "That's very good news. The readers of Sky Mall will be absolutely delighted."

Kate whispers something to Roy.

"Tom," Roy says slowly, "if you'd like to ask your question again?"

Demming nods. "Sure, yeah. Uh, Kate—how long are you intending to stay here in Britain?"

The whole room holds its breath. Kate locks her gaze with his and smiles her biggest smile yet.

"Indefinitely."

The press finally seems to get what's going on—the room ruptures into an explosion of camera flashes and questions and noise, but Rick barely even notices. He only has eyes for Kate.

When he eventually glances over at his friends and family, Kevin's pressing a jubilant kiss to Jenny's lips while his mother wraps Alexis in a delighted hug. Everyone's smiling, laughing, applauding, and Javi bursts through the door right on time, red-faced from sprinting all the way from the junction to the hotel. He catches the overjoyed expression on Rick's face and makes a beeline for him, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin and a shout of congratulations over the deafening noise.

Javi turns to the front of the room and waves until Lanie sees him—she's instantly up and out of her chair, making her way through the crowd before she launches herself into his arms with a joyful burst of laughter. He whispers something to her and Lanie giggles, pulling back from the embrace just to kiss him hard enough that Rick has the urge to clear his throat and look away.

Now there's an idea. He looks back at Kate; she's getting up from her seat, her thoughts in sync with his.

Rick rushes forward and the crowd parts for him like the red sea. Her eyes follow his path all the way through the room, until finally—finally—he's rushing up the stairs towards her, blockaded for a moment by two burly bodyguards until she huffs and motions for them to let him through.

And then there's nothing else between them.

Kate surges toward him, still smiling even as she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him in front of the entire world. Cameras flash, reporters shout—and it doesn't matter, none of it matters, the whole room fading to nothing as their lips meet again and again and again.

She parts from him when they both can't breathe anymore, eyes glimmering with tears, a smile breaking her face wide open—just so utterly happy. It's like staring at the sun.

"I love you," she whispers.

Castle stares at her in awe.

"Sorry for not saying it sooner," she continues, dropping her gaze. "I just—"

He interrupts her apology with another kiss, eager and joyful, his heart singing. She loves him. She loves him.

Kate breaks away with a laugh, and then she spends a moment just taking him in, her eyes shining.

"I'm sorry too," he rasps. "For being a colossal idiot and—"

She interrupts him with a kiss and presses her thumb to the tears escaping down his cheeks, stroking softly and shaking her head a little like she can't believe he's really here.

He can barely believe it either.

"Still up for happily ever after?" he murmurs.

She grins that famous grin.

"Always."

Chapter Text

1 year later

June 2011

Kate squeezes Castle's hand gently in hers.

"You ready for this?" she asks softly, her gaze searching his.

He squeezes back, smiling despite the nervous butterflies. "You bet."

She grins as the limo pulls to a stop, keeping her hold on him as they step out of the car together.

"Look!" shouts one paparazzo. "It's Nikki Heat!"

"And Jameson Rook!"

In an instant, the crowd is transformed, hundreds of cameras flashing as the photographers react to the arrival of Hollywood's favorite power couple.

Castle proudly links arms with Kate as they make their way onto the red carpet. She looks stunning—she always does—but today more than ever, stealing the show in a midnight blue pantsuit with a neckline plunging low enough that the press is already going wild for it. (So is he.) It's the day of the Heat Wave premiere in New York City and she has truly pulled out all the stops: a tasteful diamond necklace catches the light from every angle as she poses for the cameras, her hair's pulled into this long and gorgeous ponytail, and she's wearing a pair of killer black stilettos that make her legs go on for miles.

He stands tall beside her in a classic pinstripe tuxedo with a sharp bowtie and his hair slicked back like he's a real life James Bond.

Rick grins to himself at the thought of the superspy. The past year has been a whirlwind.

The Bond novel he ghost wrote had published to rave reviews, and when Nikki Heat had been released under his own name a few weeks later, it shot to the top of every bestseller list in a matter of days. The whole world had gone crazy for it—whether people were driven to the book by his association with Bond or by the now-famous story of his own fairytale romance with his muse—it didn't matter, because within the month, there was a movie deal on his doorstep and his only stipulation had been that he wanted to write the script and the studio had to hire Kate to play the starring role.

Her caveat, in turn, was that she would only play Nikki if she was given a producer role in the film—and the studio had agreed wholeheartedly. With Kate's invaluable help, Castle polished off a complete Nikki Heat screenplay in under a month, and production for the movie started pretty much right after that.

The casting of Rook was a whole other issue entirely. Hundreds of actors had auditioned, and somehow every single one of them was just…missing something. Too square-jawed, too hunky, and nobody quite rugged enough to pass as the charming reporter that Castle's readers had all fallen in love with. Anyone who did seem like an adequate fit then promptly fell short in the chemistry tests with Kate. Not one candidate had been able to maintain the kind of flirtatious, easy-going camaraderie with her that the part required.

It wasn't until the casting director caught a moment between Rick and Kate that he suggested Rick himself read for the role. They'd been nearing the end of a long day when she had made her way over to him and demanded, without preamble, that he slice the bottom third of her blouse clean off because Nikki wouldn't be caught dead wearing a shirt this long. He had just laughed and taken the proffered scissors, cutting diligently through the fabric as he fired back one of Rook's more playful lines about the virtues of a good crop top.

Castle had waved the suggestion off at first, but Kate had brightened at the idea and insisted he at least give it a try. She did always say he was her favorite scene partner when he practiced lines with her and he is the son of Martha Rodgers, so he figured—what the hell, right?

Before he knew it, he was officially cast as Jameson Rook and acting opposite his girlfriend.

His mother, of course, had been given a cameo role. She insisted on something that would make a splash, so they had her character get killed off in spectacular fashion. He and Martha are actually closer than ever—she's helped him so much, privately coaching him and cheering him on the sidelines every day. He's not sure he's ever seen her so proud.

She arrives on the red carpet with Alexis as her date a short while after him and Kate do, dressed to the nines in a shimmering purple number as she waves Castle down through the crowd.

He beckons them over, grinning and wrapping both his mother and his daughter into a huge embarrassing hug once they're close enough. Kate does the same, giggling a little like she always does as Martha embraces her warmly and spins her around.

"You guys made it!" he says excitedly, swiping two flutes from a tray as one of the servers swans past. "Champagne?"

"Don't mind if I do," his mother says, and then she winks. "Box office sales must be slipping if they're only serving the soft stuff."

Kate tries and fails to hide her snort while Castle just rolls his eyes, grinning as he passes the second flute to Alexis. "Sales are going great, I'll have you know," he retorts. "Speaking of, how's your show doing?"

"Oh, amazing," Martha says, lighting up. "Who knew a one woman show could be so popular? And on Broadway, no less."

Alexis nods beside her. "Gram's still selling out the theater every night. You guys should read some of the reviews."

"I have been," Kate pipes up enthusiastically. "The audience loves you, Martha. Seriously."

His mother smiles, genuinely touched by all of the attention. "Well, I wouldn't have an audience at all if it hadn't been for you," she says to Kate, who just flushes and shakes her head.

"That's not true. I'm sure you'd have made it regardless."

Rick nods, a little choked up all of a sudden with how much their lives have changed from just this time a year ago. Not only is his mother living her lifelong dream of starring in her very own Broadway show, but Alexis is thriving too—she's turning heads at the firm in New York even as a junior associate, providing break after break in so many high-profile cases that the NYLJ has already started calling her 'one to watch'. (Not that he's been obsessively keeping track.)

His mother and daughter live together in a loft that they found in SoHo, and he couldn't be happier for them. This used to be the kind of life that they could only dream of.

"Hey, is that Javi?" Alexis asks suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie.

Castle turns—sure enough, there Javi is, walking into the room with Lanie on his arm and Kev and Jenny following close behind them.

Kevin catches sight of him first, waving eagerly as he points Rick out to the rest of his group. They all break into matching smiles and make their way over, choruses of greeting ringing out as everybody says their hellos in turn.

"So glad you guys could all make it," Castle says eventually. "I know how far it was for you guys to come."

"Don't be silly," Jenny chastises warmly. "Of course we came. Wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Yeah," Kevin adds. "Hell, Rick Castle's big break? Who'd say no to that?"

"Depends on whether he can actually act," Javi smirks. "This Castle guy."

Rick grins. His friends were all pretty quick to take up Castle as a nickname once they found out that he was serious about using it as a pseudonym, but that hasn't stopped either Javi or Kevin from still teasing him about it every now and then. He doesn't mind one bit—even with the affectionate joking, it means more to him than he knows how to articulate that everyone was so immediately on board with calling him this name that he chose for himself.

"Guess you'll just have to wait and see," he returns easily.

Lanie rolls her eyes. "Don't listen to them," she says. "Javi's just secretly jealous that he'll never be an actor."

"Kevin, too," Jenny agrees, her eyes twinkling.

"Too bad," Alexis says. "You guys could've been like a modern-day Laurel and Hardy."

"Who's Hardy?" Both men ask the question at once and the whole group bursts out laughing.

"Alexis is right," Kate muses. "I mean, the comedic timing clearly wouldn't be a problem."

"Business partners in this life and acting partners in the next," Rick grins. "You guys could definitely make a run of it. I'd watch your show."

Javi huffs indignantly. "Nah, bro. I'm no actor. We'd be partners doing something badass, like…CIA stuff. Or crime."

"Or police work," Kevin pipes up, pointing at a nearby Heat Wave poster. "Like Detective Heat over there."

The group pauses. "Nah," Castle says finally. "I don't see it."

"On the subject of partnerships," Martha chimes, "how's that pub of yours doing?"

Kevin smiles. "Really great, actually. Officially the most popular pub in Notting Hill, as of last month's Time Out guide."

"That's incredible!" Alexis exclaims, before shaking her head a little. "God, I miss that place. Don't get me wrong, I love New York, but none of the bars here even come close to the Twelfth in terms of that…warmth and fun spirit."

Everyone nods, agreeing, and Castle watches as Lanie gives Javi a subtle nudge. The ex-soldier tilts his head at her and she telegraphs something with a slight widening of her eyes—a conversation without words. Rick smiles. They've been closer than ever now that they're finally living together, and it's a big joy to witness.

Javi clears his throat. "Uh, actually," he starts, "pretty soon you might not…find yourself missing the Twelfth so much."

Alexis narrows her eyes. "If you're planning on kidnapping me and forcing me to start buying drinks in your pub again, you know all you have to do is ask."

The ex-soldier laughs, shaking his head. "Ah, no. Not that." He swallows, flicking his eyes to Kevin, who just nods encouragingly. "A couple of weeks ago, Lanie got offered this amazing job. Full-time director of a PR agency—so no more crazy hours, no more shitty contracts, and just a whole lot more choice in terms of where she goes and who she works for."

"Lanie!" Kate gasps, engulfing her best friend into an ecstatic hug. "I'm so happy for you! This is amazing!"

Lanie returns the embrace, smiling wider than Castle thinks he's ever seen her as everyone else offers their own congratulations. "Thanks, guys. Gotta admit, I'm pretty excited."

"You should be," Kate agrees, squeezing her hand with another little grin before she returns to Rick's side.

"The job is New York based, actually," Javi says next. "And instead of trying to make long distance work, I figured, why not just move out here with her? So—me and Kev talked, and we decided that we could make a go of expanding the bar business overseas."

He motions to Kevin, who looks like he's about to start vibrating with excitement. "Go ahead, bro."

"We just closed a deal on a place called The Old Haunt," Kev finally lets out, beaming. "It's this run-down bar in Tribeca, and—"

"—The Old Haunt?" Castle cuts in. "No way. I used to go there all the time!"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah! It's legendary. All the great writers drank there."

"How well did you know the place?" Kate asks, a smile playing at her lips.

"I was there almost every day. Wrote my first novel in one of those booths."

Kev raises his eyebrows. "Explains why you're so excited."

"It's loaded with history," he nods eagerly. "First as a blacksmith, then as a bordello. It only became a bar during Prohibition as a speakeasy, and it was one of the best. I swear, you can still feel the vibration of every notorious episode of glamor and debauchery in its walls."

"Easy, Richard. It's just a bar," his mother demurs, rolling her eyes affectionately.

"No, no." He huffs. "T.J. McChucklenuts is just a bar. The Old Haunt is the last of a dying breed. A proud institution standing up to ruthless gentrification. It's a classic—"

He's cut off by the sudden, ever-devastating press of Kate's lips against his, hot and brief and just hard enough to make his stomach flip.

"What was that for?"

She grins. "You talk too much."

(Oh, he is so in love with her.)

"Anyway," Kevin interrupts, smirking, "Castle's right about The Old Haunt's history. It's part of the reason why we went for the place—so that we could restore it back to its former glory."

"Well, I'm sure you'll do it proud," Rick says sincerely. "I can't wait."

"What's gonna happen to the Twelfth?" Alexis asks.

"Nothing," Javi assures her. "We're not selling it, and both of us will still be flying back to London pretty regularly to check in on how things are going. But Karpowski runs that place like the Navy, so I doubt there'll be any problems."

Something clicks in Rick's head and he realizes all of a sudden why Javi was so nervous when he was announcing this earlier. "So you're all moving back to New York?"

There's a long moment.

"We are," Jenny confirms. "But we'll come back and visit you all the time."

"All the time," Kev repeats earnestly. "You'll be sick of the sight of us."

Castle smiles. "You guys don't have to look so worried. This sounds incredible. I had a feeling you'd all start to make your way back to New York eventually."

His friends let out collective sighs of relief.

"Besides," he adds, taking Kate's hand in his. "I'm actually pretty busy myself. This might not be my last project. Kate and I just got offered a Mr. and Mrs. Smith reboot, and there was this other offer for this show called The Americans as well." He shrugs. "I'm pretty sure I'd act in anything if it meant I could star alongside her."

"Wow," Jenny says, taking that in with the rest of the group. "So you're thinking of becoming a full-time actor?"

"Naturally," Martha interjects with a dramatic flick of the wrist. "It's in his blood. I always knew this day would come."

Rick snorts. "Not quite. I'll still want to dedicate most of my time to writing, and I'm probably going to limit my career just to projects with Kate rather than doing anything on my own. But I definitely don't think I'm done with this whole acting thing."

"So you'll be like…part-time writer, part-time Kate Beckett co-star," Alexis supplies, smiling.

"Exactly!" he says, nodding eagerly. "I'm already about halfway through the second Nikki Heat book, so who knows. Maybe that'll be my next role."

Javi laughs. "Living the dream, bro. You get to write your books about your girlfriend—"

"—inspired by my girlfriend—"

"—okay, fine, inspired by her, and then you get to star in the film adaptations of those books…with your girlfriend who they were based on in the first place?"

"Crazy, right?" Castle grins. "My brain starts hurting when I think about it too hard—too meta."

"But practically perfect in every way," Kate says, resting her head against his shoulder. "To be honest, I'm not really interested in projects without Rick in them anymore. So we're probably just going to work together as often as we can."

"Partners," he murmurs softly.

"Partners," she confirms.

Everyone just watches them for a few seconds, taking in the moment.

"Well," Kevin says finally, holding up his champagne glass as he subtly wipes at his eyes. "I think this calls for a toast. Castle, you're the writer. You wanna do the honors?"

"I'd love to." Rick nods, clearing his throat. "Uh, okay. Two years ago, I thought I would never write again. And then Kate walked through the door of my bookstore…and my whole world changed."

He swallows.

"But it wasn't just her. None of this would have been possible if I hadn't had all of you by my side, and it's such a privilege to be surrounded by so much magic." Castle takes a breath. "So this is…to us. All of us. My family."

"To family!" Everyone clinks their glasses together with beaming smiles, all a little overwhelmed with the reality of how far they've all come since that fateful day in March 2009.

"For the record," Kevin says, "I said toast, not speech-that-will-make-everyone-cry."

Rick smiles as the rest of the group dissolves into slightly-teary laughter. "I'll have to work on that next time."

A voice suddenly resounds through the room from the speakers dotted around, letting everybody know that the film will begin in five minutes—if the audience could please take their seats then that would be greatly appreciated.

His mother makes a thrilled noise as everyone starts making their way through the reception hall towards the theater. "At last!"

Kate squeezes his arm gently. "You nervous?"

"A little," he admits. "Mostly just excited, though."

"Same," she says, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. "Now come on, our seats are waiting."

Truthfully, he is feeling nervous. Just not for the reasons that Kate might think.

The real weight isn't in his chest, but in his pocket—a gleaming engagement ring, heavy as his thumping heart.

Rapturous applause. The whole audience is up on their feet the moment the credits start rolling, whoops and wolf whistles rising up from every corner of the room. Castle beams, and Kate does too, holding on tight to his arm as they both turn and survey the uproar surrounding them.

"They loved it," he lets out, so quiet and awed that only Kate hears him.

She cups her hand to the back of his head, carding her fingers through the softer hairs there as she holds his gaze. "Told you so."

And then she's kissing him, soft and sure, smiling against his lips until they both have to break away.

"Thank you for believing in me," he whispers.

Kate knocks her forehead against his. "Always."

Everyone decides on Remy's for a celebration dinner, but they all claim they need to freshen up first, so they agree to meet back up in an hour or so.

(Rick had asked them to come up with some excuse to delay their arrival so he could steal Kate away and propose.)

"Before we go back to the hotel," Kate murmurs, once everyone's gone their separate ways, "You know how you were saying you wanted to visit my parents' memorial bench?"

He's been dropping hints for weeks, trying to Jedi mind-trick her into suggesting they go and he can't believe it actually worked. He barely manages to school his expression—totally zen—and calmly nods. "I do."

He remembers the first time they came back to New York together, almost a year ago now. With Alexis's new job out here and the possibility of Martha's show opening on Broadway, Rick had known that he was going to have to come to terms with this city again sooner rather than later. He had told Kate as much, but there was never any pressure for her to follow him out and he'd made absolutely certain that she knew that. The last thing he had expected was for her to take his hand and ask to come with him.

But she wanted to come home. So they did it together.

Their first few visits had been—tough. The flight alone was agonizing, and he still now has to blink hard against the memory of Kate's body stiffening as the New York skyline came into view for the first time out of the plane window. There was so much grief that first time, such anguish to the way Kate would physically flinch at certain landmarks, street names, and hole-in-the-wall cafés.

I'm here, he had reminded her, over and over. Say the word and we can leave.

But the pain hadn't lasted forever. Castle had been determined to make new memories for her in every space where the old ones lingered—good memories. And by their third trip out she was falling back in love with the city. He'd made mental notes of all the sights that made her breath catch and done stupid things, simple things—ice cream breaks and handwritten notes and hailing one of those ridiculous horse-drawn carriages in the park—to try and at least assuage the grief, if not banish it completely.

He knows that this loss isn't just something he can patch over with a few sweet gestures. He knows that the sadness will never leave her entirely, and that spontaneous ice creams in Chinatown can't fix the devastating hope in her eyes when she looks over her shoulder at the sound of her name in the wind. He knows that there are shards of her lost innocence left all over the city that she won't ever be able to retrieve.

He knows that the life that she lived here once is a shadow now, a phantom still trapped in the footwell of that crumpled up car.

But he also knows that together they can build something out of the ruins that were left to her in this city—a new life. A softer epilogue.

Kate smiles gently. She holds out her hand to him and nods once, slowly, the certainty in her eyes telling him everything he needs to know.

"I think I'm finally ready."

They spill out of the theater through a secret back entrance in a fit of giggles a minute later.

Kate pulls a pair of rose-tinted glasses out of her purse and tugs him to the nearest subway station, keeping her head down as they make their way down to the platform.

"We're on an undercover mission," she whispers, threading her fingers between his as they both do their best to blend into the wall of the station.

"People on an undercover mission don't tend to say that part out loud," he returns, but he grins at her and presses a lightning-fast kiss to her lips.

"Doesn't matter much anyway," she chuckles, carding fingers through his unruly hair. "It's New York—no one cares."

Sure enough, when they both covertly glance around, every other person is oblivious. It's one of the best perks of being in the city, really—the ability to hide in plain sight.

(They should come back more often.)

They hop off the one line at 125th Street and take a slow, lazy stroll toward Riverside Park, hand-in-hand.

He notices the way Kate's fingers grip his a little tighter with every new step they take towards the park gates and eventually he pauses, turning to face her. She's ghost-white.

"Hey," he murmurs, waiting patiently until her flickering gaze meets his. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Her jaw works and he watches the movement, eyes soft. "I want to," she says finally, her voice breaking. "I do. I just…"

Kate trails off, exhaling a sharp breath.

"You just?"

"Just miss them," she mumbles finally. "I don't think I've ever been to this park—without my parents before. I don't know how to be here without looking for them."

Castle takes a careful step towards her. "So look for them," he says quietly.

She blinks. "What do you mean?"

"Let yourself search," he murmurs. "And you'll find them. In the trees. In the footpaths. In the way the sun hits the water when it starts to set."

Kate's eyes fill with tears. "What if I don't?" she whispers. "What if I can't find them? What if it's been too long?"

"Then you'll find me," he says easily, playing up the shrug for her benefit. "Can't say I'm much of a substitute, but a couple of tabloids have been calling me ruggedly handsome as of late—"

"—I love you," she blurts, laughing through the tears as she draws her free hand up to cup his face. "God, so so much."

"I love you too," he promises, dropping a kiss to her palm. "You sure you're up for this?"

She sniffs. Nods. "I'm sure."

Kate starts walking again and this time there's less stiffness to all of her movements, like she's finally allowing herself to take in their surroundings rather than avoiding every memory at all costs.

She takes a deep, careful breath at the park's entrance but she doesn't stop, doesn't slow, just keeps on ambling down the pathway like this is just any other place.

He watches as her gaze shifts from the trees, to the footpaths, to the fading sunlight on the water.

"My mom used to feed the ducks there," she says, pointing to a spot where the bank thins and the river laps at the boardwalk. "She'd always bring them the remains of our stale loaves of bread until she read this article one time about how bread is actually super bad for ducks. After that, she used to make us buy this specialty bird seed instead."

Castle grins. "Now I just feel terrible about all the bread I've ever fed to the ducks in my life."

She nods solemnly. "You should. It gives them indigestion."

The sun sets as they continue to walk, suffusing the whole park with a vivid orange glow for a few minutes before it dips below the horizon and leaves their surroundings bathed in a dusky purple instead.

He knows when they're approaching the memorial bench because of the way Kate's footsteps start to drag, her hand tightening in his again.

They round a corner—and there it is.

The bench sits beneath a cherry blossom tree in full bloom, tiny pink petals drifting down to the surrounding grass in the soft light. It's in the perfect place, tucked away from the beaten track but still overlooking the river as it drifts by. She leads him over, each step a milestone, her breaths coming hard and fast until they're right there in front of it, the bronze plaque shimmering.

"Even on the worst days, there's a possibility for joy," she reads aloud.

"That's beautiful," he murmurs.

"Something my mom used to say—one of her immutable laws of the universe," she recounts with a fond smile. She stares at the bench for a few long moments and then steels herself, swallowing hard as she finally takes a seat in this place so important to her parents. She's rigid for a while longer until her eyes catch on a flock of ducks by the water and she finds it in herself to relax a little, motioning to the spot beside her for Castle to come and sit. As he joins her, he reaches inside his jacket pocket and brings out two tea light candles and a silver Zippo lighter.

Kate's eyebrow lifts. "You brought…"

"Thought we could honor their memory," he supplies easily as he sets the wicks aflame.

She stares at him in awe and then she's pushing her mouth into his for an urgent, passionate kiss.

After a soft groan of appreciation, he reluctantly breaks away. "We have an audience," he murmurs, gesturing at the candles.

She laughs and adjusts the tea lights with a soft smile. "Sorry, Mom and Dad."

And then he carefully pulls her hands into his, more nervous than he's ever felt in his life, his heart practically beating out of his chest.

He's really trying to play it cool, but—"Babe, you're shaking," Kate observes, her brow pinching in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just—thank you for bringing me here." He presses his lips together, swallowing hard. "I wanted your parents to be there for this."

Her breath catches. "For what?"

"Kate, the moment you walked into my store, my world turned on a dime. We had a few bumps in the road and it hasn't always been easy—"

She chokes out a laugh. He smiles; squeezes her hand.

"But a very wise man once told me—sometimes the hardest things are the most worth doing."

Her eyes shine. "Every fairytale has its obstacles."

Rick uses his thumb to swipe gently at the tears slipping down her cheek. "That's right," he rasps. "And I want the happy ending—to put down roots with you and love each other for our whole lives."

He brushes a flyaway strand of her hair behind her ear and then pulls back with a quick sleight of his hand, a ring appearing between his fingers. A big blue sapphire with a vintage silver band.

Kate's eyes widen.

He gets down on one knee.

"So…Katherine Houghton Beckett," he breathes. "Will you marry me?"

She covers her mouth with a gasp.

"Oh my god, you're proposing."

He chuckles. "What did you think?"

"I—I don't know. You just looked so serious."

"Course I'm serious. This is the most serious thing I've ever done."

She takes his face between her hands and kisses him hard.

"So that's a yes?" he asks.

Her wide smile drops.

"No, wait."

Castle blinks. "No?"

"No, no. Not no."

"So yes?"

She narrows her eyes. "I'm—"

He squints. "Not yes?"

She squints back. "No. Not not yes. I—" she hesitates, "I—"

"You do know how this works, right?"

Kate takes her bottom lip between her teeth and studies him nervously. "There's something I have to tell you," she says finally, her eyes never leaving his.

He steels himself. "Okay."

She exhales a long breath. And then—"I'm pregnant."

Castle's mouth drops open. "You're—"

Nothing else comes. Instead he just launches himself towards her, wrapping his not-quite-fiancée in his arms and kissing her with a smile so big that it all just dissolves into breathless laughter in the end. His lips meet hers over and over, an intense joy flooding through his veins that far exceeds anything he's ever felt before.

"You're happy?" she asks against his mouth, her eyes sparkling.

He pulls away, resting his forehead against hers with a soft huff of laughter. "Course I am, why wouldn't I be?"

"We hadn't talked about it in a while," she starts, "and—we didn't exactly plan this, so if this changes anything for you…"

"Change—?" He breaks off, incredulous. "Kate—I'm proposing because I can't imagine my life without you." He slides a palm over her abdomen. "Either of you." And then he grins so wide his face hurts. "This is the best news ever. I can't wait for a little Castle baby."

Kate chuckles, sniffing quietly as she wipes a few of her tears away.

"I was thinking we could do a little Rodgers baby, actually," she murmurs shyly. "It's the family name. Same pea-pod and everything. And I could take Rodgers for private use, while we keep Castle and Beckett as our stage names."

He grins like a stupid idiot. "Sounds like a plan to me."

She smiles right back. "In that case, Richard Edgar Alexander Rodgers Castle—yes. Yes, I will marry you."

They walk through the door of Remy's to wild cheering from everyone in the booth, Kevin and Javi both whooping with glee as Kate lifts her hand to reveal the gorgeous ring that sits proudly on her fourth finger.

It takes Castle a moment to register the fact that there's nobody else in the diner except for the waitstaff and he tilts his head quizzically at Kevin as they make their way over.

"Rented out the whole place for us," Kev says proudly. "On your dime, obviously. But still."

Kate snorts and shoots him a grateful look, casting her eyes around the mostly-empty room with a pleased grin.

Lanie squeals—"Let's see it!"

Everyone crowds in to stare at the ring—except Martha, of course, who sits back with a satisfied smile because she was the one who helped him choose it in the first place—and they all seem to approve. Javi whistles under his breath a little and Lanie nods, still peering at the sapphire set in the middle of the silver.

"Big rock," Lanie says appraisingly.

"Optical illusion," Castle returns. "She just has remarkably tiny fingers."

Kate laughs, finally pulling her hand back with an affectionate shake of her head.

Alexis makes a quiet noise from her corner of the table, looking caught when everyone turns to look at her.

"Something wrong?" Rick asks.

"Uh. Not—well. Sort of."

She's clutching her phone and Jenny leans in to see, wincing a little as she takes in whatever it is on Alexis's screen.

"God, they work quick," she says, taking the phone and twisting it for the rest of the group to see.

The headline is hard to miss—PACKING HEAT—and it's accompanied by a surprisingly tasteful photo of the proposal.

He's…not mad, actually. It's a gorgeous shot, now that he's looking at it up close—he's on one knee, face obscured as he stares up at Kate with the ring held glinting between them. Her face is in full view, and she's looking at him with such genuine, unfettered joy in her eyes that it almost looks like a professional engagement photo. The soft light, the cherry blossoms floating down around them, her parents' bench caught perfectly in frame…he might have to let this one slide.

"Damn," Javi says beside him. "Pretty good picture, all things considered."

Kate nods, grinning. "Definitely going next to the Chagall."

A waitress makes her way over shortly after, taking everyone's orders with warm proficiency—she doesn't even falter when Castle orders a one-third-chocolate-two-thirds-banana milkshake with sprinkles.

The food arrives and everyone tucks in, conversation and laughter flowing freely across the table long after the last fries have been picked out of their baskets. Rick isn't sure when this place normally closes but he's pretty certain they'd normally have been booted out by now, and he makes a mental note to leave an extra big tip when Kev and Javi order their fourth round of shakes long after the stroke of midnight.

It's going on one a.m. when Kevin's phone rings suddenly, and everyone lapses into curious silence as he picks up the call.

"Hello?"

The voice at the end of the line is rushed and garbled, so the group has to resort to a study of Kev's increasingly-harried facial expressions to understand a single part of what's going on.

"Right," he says. "Yeah, yes, of course. No, right away. Yep. We can be there. Yes. Okay. Perfect. Bye."

He hangs up, looking a little shell shocked. His gaze flicks to Jenny.

"You know that foster home we were looking into?"

She nods. "The one Colin used to donate to? What about it?"

"Someone just left…a baby. On the front steps."

Everyone gapes. "A baby?"

"A baby," he confirms. "About two months old, they think."

Jenny blinks. "What does that have to do with—us?"

Kev turns to her. "Well, we've already passed all of their background checks. And they've done the house visit."

"Oh," she lets out. "You're saying—"

"Not enough space in the foster home," he whispers. "The baby needs an immediate guardian."

"And we…" Jenny trails off. She can't get the words out. "Us?"

"Us," Kevin confirms, his eyes filling with tears. "Us, Jenny. We're gonna be parents."

"Oh my God," she breathes. "We're gonna be parents."

She finally tears her gaze away from Kevin to look at the rest of their group and then it's just an explosion of activity, shouts of YOU'RE GONNA BE PARENTS! caught between Alexis and Lanie both frantically trying to shepherd them out the door and in the direction of the airport.

"So sorry to cut this short," Jenny manages, right before Kate thwacks her on the arm.

"Don't be ridiculous," she says, "just go!"

She leans down to give Jenny a tight hug and then straightens to give Kevin the same, standing back as everyone descends to wrap the pair in hurried embraces and then all but shove them both into a cab.

"Good luck!" Alexis calls, waving them off as the taxi speeds away to their hotel.

"Don't drop it!" Martha cries.

Two weeks later, Kate's walking down the aisle toward him in her mother's wedding dress with Matilda King on her arm. They didn't want to wait. They'd wanted to get married before she started showing—he'd have been just as happy to elope at the courthouse, but Lanie came to the rescue with her idea to have the ceremony in the very same garden where he and Kate had carved their initials under the moonlight two years ago.

Of course, it helps that they're actually allowed into the garden this time, seeing as they now officially live in one of the houses that overlooks it.

Lanie and Alexis had taken on the seemingly impossible task of planning a wedding in two weeks, and somehow instead of feeling rushed or haphazard, it's all just…exactly right. Gorgeous, subtle, quiet—totally the wedding that he and Kate both dreamed of. Their "altar" is the willow tree, their "venue" is a dozen wooden chairs set out across the top of the grassy knoll.

It's perfect.

And Kate is just the most beautiful sight he's ever seen.

Castle can't help the well of tears as she approaches, impossibly radiant in a designer tiara and veil. Martha's sapphire earrings complete the look. He's speechless.

Matilda passes her off, jokingly fixing Kate's posture—stand tall!—before she heads off to take her seat. The two chairs closest to the altar remain empty, a pair of lilies taking up the spaces her parents can't.

Kate takes his hand. "The moment that I met you," she starts, "my life became extraordinary."

An hour later everyone is up on their feet, dancing along to the music that blares from the speakers set up in the middle of the garden.

Ryan and Jenny are swaying together off to the side, both slightly too enamored with the little girl in Jenny's lap to be paying any real attention to the songs playing. They had a name for her right away—Mary. The sweet little girl gazes up at her new parents with such trust in her big blue eyes that it astounds them both.

Rick finally cuts his eyes away from the three of them to focus on Javi as he approaches, dancing up to him and Kate in a truly unsubtle way.

"So—tomorrow?" Kate asks.

Javi nods. He told them a few days ago he was planning on popping the question to Lanie and now he flashes the ring at them from his breast pocket, smiling excitedly. "Gonna take her to a magic show and then her favourite French restaurant," he says. "Bought her a brand new red dress and everything. Think she'll say yes?"

Kate grins. "I know she will. Now for God's sake go and dance with her before my answer changes!"

They sneak away from the main event as the sun starts going down, the music fading as he and Kate make their way back up to their willow tree. They both keep stumbling a little, falling into one another with a series of embarrassing giggles, too busy sneaking fast kisses to really care about anything else.

Castle feels entirely too giddy for one single glass of champagne and he realizes that he might really just be drunk on happiness, the world spinning around him as Kate trips for a fifth time and winds up pressed against his chest as he valiantly rescues her from tumbling to the ground.

She's very close and then she's just kissing him again, smiling against his lips as he backs her slowly up the hill towards the tree.

"We did it, Mrs. Rodgers," he whispers.

She chuckles. "We certainly did, Mr. Rodgers."

The thrill of their newly-shared last name sends them careening into each other all over again and Rick gasps, somewhat shocked that they finally manage to make it to the willow without crashing to the grass in an undignified heap. He presses Kate up against the trunk and she lets out this noise that he absolutely wants to hear again, her hands drifting dazedly across the planes of his chest as they make out against the tree like teenagers.

He finally pulls away, breathing hard and smirking a little at the way she immediately arches into him for more.

"Later," he promises, pressing one last lingering kiss to her smudged lips before he steps back. (They have their entire wedding night and then they're flying off to the Maldives for a three week honeymoon.)

Kate just smiles, a girlish thing, and turns around in his embrace, searching the bark with him for the weathered incision of their initials.

He finds them first, pointing out their little heart and feeling more than seeing the way she grins at the memory.

"And now we're married," she murmurs, dropping her head back into the cove of his shoulder. "Third time really was the charm."

Castle smiles. "I love you. I love this tree."

"I love you too," she laughs, turning to face him. "And the tree."

"Makes me think about putting down roots," he sighs, kissing her temple.

Kate hums, considering. "Mm. Do you think you'll want to stay here?"

"I don't know," he says carefully. "Do you?"

He's been hesitant to bring it up, unsure if New York is still too haunted for her to be there full-time.

She shrugs, laughing quietly. "I fell in love with you here. And I'll always be grateful for that."

"...But?"

"But almost all our friends are in New York." She fixes his skewed collar. "Not to mention our family."

Our family. His heart sings.

"Besides, I want to teach our kids baseball," she continues. "Take 'em to Yankees games and hop on the Q train to Coney Island." She arches an eyebrow. "And well, we wouldn't want them to grow up with British accents, now would we?"

He chuckles. Then regards her. "You'd really be up to moving back? Even with all the ghosts there?"

There's a long moment—and then Kate's lips twist with a smirk.

"I ain't afraid of no ghosts."

It's a spectacular day—the last day of summer. And, fittingly, their last day in Notting Hill.

Birds sing, flowers sway in the breeze. Kids laugh. Couples stroll. He'll really miss this place.

In the morning, they fly back to New York. They'd lucked into a penthouse apartment at Gramercy Park, both swayed by the promise of its own private garden for residents. And unbeknownst to Kate, he'd bought a park bench as a surprise welcome gift.

He of course had it inscribed—something sweet and simple.

For Kate.

Always, Rick.

And the moment they arrive, Kate and Martha can finally start working on their new play together—he and Kate have both made the decision to take a step back from doing commercial film and TV, at least while they raise their kids, and they figured doing theater was a more reasonable and slightly less public way to keep pursuing the craft without attracting too much attention.

Kevin and Jenny moved back to New York with Mary a few weeks prior, and they're both helping Javi out with The Old Haunt renovations whenever they can. Javier and Lanie are officially engaged, and the plan is hopefully to hold the ceremony in the finished pub itself by spring next year.

It's all been a bit of a whirlwind—and tomorrow, his whole life changes all over again.

But for now, he and his wife are enjoying a final sit on June and Joseph's bench, Kate's head laying in his lap, her hands curved over her swollen belly. She's just entered her second trimester, more glowing than ever. He holds a baby name book, studying it intently.

"Aurelia means light," he announces.

"That could be good—sounds pretty too," Kate hums. "What do you think?"

"Are you sure 'Cosmo' is out of the question?"

"Babe, I swear to God."

"It's not that bad."

"Yeah, but we are not going to be one of those celebrity couples that has some ridiculous name for their kid."

She huffs. And it's the cutest thing (she's always cute when she gets angry). He smooths the wrinkle between her brows with the soft press of his thumb.

"What about…" he pretends to scan the book, "Amadaeus?"

"Okay, now you're just messing with me."

He grins and bends down to kiss her, smoothing her hair back as he goes. She hums into him, her fingers brushing over the faint stubble on his jaw. (She really likes it when he grows his hair out a bit.)

The writer settles back into the bench, folding the book shut as he gazes out at the pond over towards the edge of the garden. It's dotted with wild lilies, all of them in full bloom as they curl vibrantly up towards the sunlight.

"You know what," he murmurs, stroking her cheek lightly. Kate hums, looking up at him with an adoring smile, her eyes so bright in the beaming sunshine that he takes a moment to just soak it in and marvel at how far they've come since the day she walked into his bookshop; how much their love has sprouted and sprung into a full bloom.

"I have an idea."