29. TwentyNine: Sunday

Twenty-Nine

When Kate finds her father sitting at their usual booth, she sees the hesitance on his face even as he stands to hug her in greeting. Not just hesitance, but disappointment as well.

"Dad," she says, confused by it, but not sure where to go next, why it's there.

"Hey, Katie." He clears his throat and steps back from her, sits down at the booth. "You have news for me?"

Kate sighs inwardly because of course her father knows her too well; it must be written all over her face, this thing with Castle. It's no surprise to him then, and she wishes, for a moment, she could still surprise him.

"Yeah, I do," she says with a little grin. She can't help that either, and her father gives her a quick glance, then pauses.

"Katie?"

"Yeah?" She bite her bottom lip and shrugs at him. She doesn't have a good way to say it, other than-

"Did you get him?"

Did she get him? "Well. I - I guess I did," she laughs, brushing a hand through her hair. Kind of a strange way to put it-

"Are you serious?" her father breathes out. "Kate. Are you - are you okay?" He's staring at her incredulously, and Kate's a little ticked that her father seems to think she's so bad at life that she's-

"Oh." It hits her in a rush, what her father is asking. "No. Dad. It's not - this isn't about mom's case."

But instead of darkness and more disappointment, all of her father's hesitation, all of his sorrow, vanish with a brilliant and easy grin. "It's not? It's not. Oh, Katie, I'm - I'm so glad it's not."

She sits back in the booth, a little stunned by his relief. "Dad."

"Not that I don't - no, Katie, I just want more for you than living in the shadow of your mother's death. I want us to get together for brunch because of good news, and not just updates on our sadness. You know? I want you to-"

"Dad," she interrupts, biting her lip to keep from smiling, but then letting it go as she realizes she has no need to hide it. "Dad, I don't think you need to worry about that anymore."

He lifts both eyebrows in question, leaning forward on the table.

She prolongs the moment, relishing it, and then she snags his fingers and squeezes. "I quit my job, Dad."

"What? Why? What happened?"

She debated, on the whole ride here, what to tell him about it all, what to share. She's spent so much of her adult life shielding her father from the worst of it, but after last summer, their roles were reversed once more.

"I told you about the thief at the Montgomerys? Well it was related to Mom's case. Castle tried to get me to stop, but I wouldn't - we got in a fight-"

"Katie," he sighs, and his eyes darken with sadness. For her. He's a good man, she realizes suddenly. He was lost for a time, but she has her father back.

She gives him a small smile. "Actually, it's okay. It's better than okay."

"You seriously can't believe you're better off without-"

"No, Dad. Jeez. I mean." She gives him a mock glare. "Let me tell the story, would you?"

He chuckles and holds both hands up in surrender. "Please continue."

"So. Castle told me to drop it, but all I could think was that we were just so close. This was my chance to end it, to finally have it solved and done and then-"

"Then you'd be free."

She sighs and brushes a hand over her eyes, wiping the ghost-like tendrils of that feeling away from her. "Yeah. Dad, I-" She pauses and takes a breath, knowing how this will sound to him. "I chased after the guy who shot me. I-"

"Katie. God, Katie, I wish you wouldn't-"

"I was wrong. I know. I nearly died. He was stronger than me, and it was a near thing-"

"Kate," he groans, rubbing his hand down his face. She's struck by the realization that Castle does that too, makes that same movement when he doesn't know what to say to change her mind, when she's being stubborn and he thinks she's wrong. Frustrated with her. Does she inspire this in everyone she loves?

"Dad, I'm sorry; I know. I'm so sorry. Ryan brought the cavalry, saved my life; the shooter got away. And all I could think - all I wanted at that moment. . ."

Her father's hands are tight over her own, squeezing. She can tell by his face that he's expecting her to say that all she wanted in that moment was to get the guy, to make chase. And she's ridiculously proud of herself for being able to say no, that's not the case.

"Castle," she says, lifting her shoulders in a shrug.

Her father frowns. "What?"

She hums and laughs at him. "I mean - he's all I could think about. Rick. I didn't want to die, but more than that, I wanted. . .him."

"And then?" her father asks, his face wide open in surprise. "I mean. I hope there's an 'and then' to that statement, because wow. Katie. Wow."

She bites her bottom lip, feeling stupidly shy all of the sudden, and rubs her finger over the lip of her water glass. "And then. . .and then I quit. And then I wandered around for a while, making sure I knew what I wanted and how to get it. And then I couldn't figure out how else to - how to make it right except go find him. And then. And then, wow was part of it," she says quickly, sliding a look up at her father.

"Okay. Well I didn't need to know that." He laughs at her, his eyes joyful in a way she's not sure she's seen since before her mother's death.

"Yeah, well you asked."

"Okay, so the wow part I'm guessing is. . .uh, well you guys are together?"

"Yeah," she says softly. "And. Well. This weekend is the first one in weeks we haven't been together."

"Oh. Wow."

Kate grins at him, lifting an eyebrow, and he actually blushes, turns his eyes away from her to study the menu. Of course, it's at that moment the waitress comes over in a rush, apologizing for the wait, and flips her notebook to a clean receipt, poised and ready.

Her father clears his throat and gestures for Kate to order first.

Outside the diner, her father takes her by the hand and squeezes, brings her to a halt before she can head for her bike. The motorcycle helmet dangles from her fingertips and he takes it from her, looking thoughtful.

"You're being careful, right, sweetheart?"

"I'm not being reckless, if that's what you mean." She curls her fingers around his and leans in to kiss his cheek. "I have - there's more than enough to live for."

He nods and hands her back the helmet. "You should really get a car, Katie."

She grins at him, pats him on the shoulder. "Not going to happen, Dad. Besides, Castle has plenty."

He laughs, looking startled. "You're kidding me."

"Not kidding. I think three, four?"

"No," he laughs again. "I mean - you do realize what that sounds like you're saying?"

"His cars are my cars?" she offers, biting her bottom lip again to keep from laughing.

He must be able to tell that she's messing with him, trying to get him to blush again, because he narrows his eyes at her. "So. Does this mean I can start hoping for grandkids again?"

Oh jeez. She blushes and hides her eyes, groaning at him.

He laughs and it resounds in the warm afternoon light, bouncing around, makes her lower her hand to look at him. He's kidding, but she also sees that he's not kidding too. And suddenly it strikes her how small their family has been for the last decade, how it's been just the two of them and that was never enough, not with the giant hole in their midst.

Grandkids? Oh God, it's - too much. And - and still the image is tantalizing; it shimmers in the air, the idea that there's a future for their sad, two-person family now, there's a chance for joy again, a chance that it doesn't die with the two of them but it goes on, branches out, grows.

Oh jeez, with Castle. Richard Castle.

"Okay, all right. Katie." Her father grips both of her hands, her helmet swings between them as he anchors her. "It was a joke, sweetheart. You just take this one day at a time."

"I'm okay," she says, shaking her head. "I'm not - okay, I am a little freaked out. So let's - uh - let's just table that discussion."

"Pretend I never said it."

She bites her lip and winces, but he's just smiling at her, indulgent and loving. He caresses her hair and kisses her forehead.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Now go find Rick. Have whatever life you want, Katie."

Yes. She can do that. Have an actual life now.