86. Easy like Sunday morning

Beckett wakes up on Sunday with a sensation of visceral dread and wondering why on earth she had thought that this was any sort of a good idea. However, she can’t cancel now.  She can do this.  All she has to do is be Detective Beckett of the Twelfth Precinct.  That’s how she’d realised that she can cope with Castle’s family: think of them as witnesses.  She dresses accordingly: pristine make-up, formal white button down, navy dress pants, a tailored navy blazer under her coat.  When she looks in the mirror she is outwardly perfectly composed.  She ignores the sling.  It’s been two days, so she can leave it off.  Detective Beckett does not wear a sling.

When she arrives at Balthazar, a carefully calculated five minutes after ten, Castle and family are already seated. She can see Alexis laughing at Castle, and Castle’s look and posture of absolute parental adoration towards Alexis.  She nearly turns and runs out the door.

She can do this, she tells herself again, and tries to calm the gnarly twist of envy in her gut. She is Detective Beckett, scourge of criminals and murderers, top cop, and she can do this.  The thought of proving Dr Burke wrong helps enormously.  Getting one over on that far-too-clever shrink would be immensely satisfying.  She walks over to their table without a hitch.

“Hey,” she says generally. Castle notices her style of dress instantly, and adjusts his mental assessment of her tension level to suit.  That would be high.

“Beckett.”

“Detective Beckett, hi!”

“Hello, Katherine darling,” all come simultaneously. The last causes Beckett to elevate her eyebrows and Castle to stare dropped-jaw at his mother. Darling?  His stomach drops to his toes.  Oh God.  His mother has a plan.  Oh, God.

“It’s so nice to see you. Richard barely mentions you.”  Good.  She does not want to think about being picked over and discussed by the collective Castles.

“I expect it’s all going into his writing,” Beckett says, apparently completely unflustered. She looks at Castle, and grins.  Only he would notice the tension below it.  “I hope I get to see an advance copy.  After all, as your inspiration I think I should be able to edit any parts that are inappropriate.”

“What? No, no, no.  No spoilers for you.  It would ruin the surprise.”

Beckett slips into the seat next to Castle, carefully left vacant for her.

“Hm,” she emits sceptically. “Is that just a way of ensuring that I can’t object?”

“Oh, Dad’s always like this with his books. No-one gets to see them in full beforehand.  He won’t show me any of this one,” Alexis says aggrievedly.  “Says it’s not ready.”

Beckett catches Martha’s interestedly inquiring glance at Castle, and internally cringes at her flash of envy that Alexis has clearly been privy to Castle’s previous efforts. Just like family ought to be: involved in each other’s lives.  But – it’s okay.  It’s how families should be.  Treat it like a case, Kate.  Watch the interactions and don’t get involved.  She breathes slowly and lets the feeling wash through her.  She’s got this.  Plenty of people don’t have families, and they cope.  She can too.

“I never reveal my genius,” Castle says pompously, to noises of disgust. “Unlike the menu, which is a work of revealed genius.  Shall we order?”  Much to his amazement, the deflection works.  Everyone turns to the menu and pretty soon orders have been given, orange juice and coffee have arrived, and small satisfied noises are heard around the table as caffeine – and in his mother’s case, champagne – have done their work.  Castle manages to press a reassuring knee against Beckett without anyone being able to detect it, and is much comforted when she presses back.  Everything is proceeding nicely.

“Dad said he was going up to the Hamptons at the weekend,” Alexis says happily. “He must need to concentrate.  He only ever goes on his own when he’s got a deadline.  Well, when he’s past a deadline and Gina’s threatening to shoot him.”

“You must have missed a lot of deadlines, kiddo,” Martha says sardonically. “You were up there three weeks ago, claiming you needed to write.”

“You know Gina,” Castle points out acerbically.

“You should see Richard’s beach house, Katherine. Far be it from me to brag” –

“Really?” Castle interjects, and receives a glare.

“ – but it’s quite impressive. Of course it doesn’t compare to really successful writers” – Castle winces – “but it’s not bad.”

“Thank you, Mother, for that contribution.”

“Oh, no trouble, darling. I think you should show Katherine the house and the beach.  After all, she’s already seen the loft” – Castle has a premonition of her next words just too late – “and Katherine, it would be just lovely if you came back.  It was so nice having you for dinner.  We should make it a regular occurrence.”

Beckett takes a mouthful of French toast before she answers. Her voice is surprisingly – to Castle – serene.  “I’m afraid I really can’t predict when I’m free.  We’re so busy that the shift patterns and on-call rota is very heavy right now.  Maybe when it’s all calmed down again?”

Martha looks a tad thwarted. It dawns on Beckett that she is trying to matchmake.  Bit late.  “But surely you have some time off?”   It further dawns on Beckett that Martha is trying to press her into coming to the loft.  Soon.  She’s not ready for that.  This morning’s brunch is about as far as she thinks she can go, and she’s rapidly revising that opinion as Martha keeps pressing her point.

“It would be great if you came again,” Alexis chimes in. “You can tell me all about what you do as a cop.”  She smiles mischievously.  “And about all the trouble Dad gets into.”  Beckett hears Castle choke on his eggs.  Maybe not all the trouble.  Only the printable trouble.  But she can’t face the loft, and she certainly has no intention of attempting to watch Alexis with Castle in their home in the near future.  She’s already stressed, just from this meeting.  The thought of seeing Alexis’s reactions and the way in which she’ll undoubtedly tease her father does nothing for Beckett’s composure or stress levels.

“The next time you have time off, even if you’re on call, you really should come by,” Martha says, rather more forcefully than Beckett appreciates.

“I’m afraid that the job comes first,” she says flatly. “I have to do my share of the work.  If I’m on call I have to be ready.”

 “But” –

“But no.” Beckett just about manages not to snap.  “It’s not possible till we’re not so busy.”  Castle’s hand finds her knee under the table.  It doesn’t really help.  She doesn’t need pushed. 

Martha harrumphs. “Well, really” –

“Mother, enough. Beckett has a job to do.  Unlike you, she doesn’t rely on someone else to provide her with a home.  She’ll come when she’s able to, and you nagging her isn’t going to change that.”

“I do not nag, Richard.” Martha pronounces.  “I do wonder why, if there are so many murders suddenly, they haven’t made the news and you haven’t been called to the precinct to shadow Katherine.”  She regards them both beadily.  It’s clear that she’s still planning to push the point.

Castle fixes his mother with an ominous stare. Before matters – that is to say, her temper – deteriorate further, Beckett puts her cutlery neatly together on her empty plate, drains her coffee, folds her napkin and manages something that bears a vague resemblance to a contented smile.

“Thank you very much for brunch,” she says politely. “It’s been really nice seeing you all, but I have to get home and get ready to go on-shift.”  Castle’s hand clenches on her knee.  He knows that she isn’t on shift today – but that’s not what Beckett said.  She hasn’t, technically, lied, but she’s given a very misleading impression.  He also knows that Beckett has reached her limit, and is sensibly leaving before it all goes wrong.

“Bye, Detective Beckett,” Alexis chirps. Martha harrumphs again.

“Ridiculous,” she mutters. “Can’t the city afford more police?  Oh, if you have to go I suppose you have to go.  It’s a crying shame.”

“Bye, Beckett,” Castle says.

Beckett escapes without – quite – fleeing. As soon as she’s outside she takes a series of very deep breaths, and then goes straight home.  When she gets there she collapses on her couch and tries very hard not to scream.  That… had been far more difficult than she expected.

But she did it. Take that, Dr Burke.  She did it.  Mostly.  She still found it very difficult to look at their happy family.  She definitely felt envious of that.  But Dr Burke had said she’s allowed to feel like that.  It’s okay to be upset by it.  Just as well.  She is.  She really is.  She grabs a handful of Kleenex just in time.

Some time later, the tear-smudged remains of her make up removed, changed into shorts and a tank top, she unrolls her yoga mat and goes through her forms, still sniffing occasionally. The forms help.  Yoga has always helped, if not cured.  She bends and flexes, ensuring that she only works through asanas in which she doesn’t place any weight on her right wrist, and when she’s done she’s calmer.

She does not want to think about Martha’s extremely unsubtle efforts to convince her to come to the loft. She does not need matchmade or interfered with: the state of her probably-relationship with Castle is far too fragile to be poked and prodded at – and until she’s able to say the words and make good on the implied promise it’ll remain that way.  But, she thinks, but that’s why she wants to go to the Hamptons again: somewhere that she might be able to speak.

Somewhere that she might be free of her demons long enough to say I love you.

Castle is not best pleased with his mother’s meddling. He manages not to say anything that might really let the cat out of the bag, but it’s quite difficult.  Fortunately, Alexis chatters happily about school, her friends, her sleepovers, her extra-curriculars and life in general without requiring much input other than an occasional question and hums of encouragement.  His mother reposes herself in a second glass of champagne, which keeps her content.  At least, so he’d thought.

“So, kiddo, why won’t Katherine come to dinner? Have you upset her?”

“No, she’s busy.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? What have you done?”

“I never expect anything of you, Mother, and am rarely disappointed. This time, though, I expect you to believe the truth.  Unless you want to call Beckett a liar to her face.  That’ll be sure to keep her away from the loft.”

“I still don’t believe it,” Martha mutters. “Something’s up.”

“I stopped telling you anything when I discovered you were using it in your off-off-Broadway improv works, at around age fourteen. Why would I change that now?”

“Dad, I wanna see Detective Beckett’s dad again. He was really interesting.”

“Yes, kiddo. He was.  Cultured and mature.  So different from most of the people I spend my time with.”  Castle glares at his mother.  “What?  If the cap fits, darling…”

“If you’ve finished insulting me, I think brunch is done.”

“But Dad, can’t you invite Mr Beckett back again?” That’s a discussion Castle has no intention of having with Alexis.

“Not till he and Beckett have time, pumpkin. Have patience.  They’ve got lives of their own, and Mr Beckett is a senior attorney, so he’s pretty busy.”

Alexis makes a face and then sticks the tip of her tongue out as Castle retaliates with an equally ridiculous grimace. At that inopportune moment the server comes with the check and is not quite able to conceal her amusement at the byplay.  Castle settles the bill with a minimum of embarrassment at being caught mid-moue, and the family depart before – from Castle’s point of view – the day can go any further downhill.

Alexis disappears as soon as they’ve reached the loft, but unfortunately Castle’s mother does not. Two glasses of champagne before noon appear to have loosened her tongue and emboldened her.  She’s already far too bold for Castle’s liking.

“So, darling” – she’s back to darling?  Oh, God.  This is not going to go well.  “I understand that you might not want to talk in front of Alexis, but what is going on with you and dear Katherine?”

“Nothing is going on that you need to know about, Mother. Leave Beckett alone.”

“So there is something going on. I knew it.”  Castle barely restrains a groan, and considers the benefits of matricide.  “Why won’t she come to the loft?”

“Probably because you’d grill her as if she were a burger, Mother.”

Martha tosses her head. “I would not,” she says indignantly.  “But it’s clear something is wrong with her and if she’d only come here I’m sure I could give her some maternal advice.”

Castle loses his patience.

“Mother, Beckett’s mother was murdered.  The last thing she likely wants is you trying to be maternal.  It’s not your natural demeanour.  And Beckett certainly doesn’t need your advice.”

“I’m sure I could help. Every girl needs a mother.”

“Mother, no. Just for once, leave it.”

“Well, kiddo, in that case I’ll give you some maternal advice.”

“Yeah?” Castle says cynically.

“Don’t blow it.”

Beckett’s phone beeps some time later.

You okay?

Fine, she sends back, and thinks no more of it.   She’s not weeping any more.  She got through this morning.  She can do this.  She should be very pleased with herself.  Small steps forward – but the important word there is forward. 

About half an hour after that, her door sounds. On opening it, she’s mildly surprised to find Castle on the other side.

“Hey.”

“You didn’t have much brunch, so I thought I’d bring you some more,” Castle says, producing a box.

“What’s that?”

“You’ll see,” Castle says mischievously. Beckett makes a grab for the box, fails to reach it as Castle raises it above his head, and realises slightly too late that the net effect is that she’s less than an inch from Castle’s chest and she is still in shorts and a tank.

Castle, it is clear, did realise.   Something about the way his other arm has snaked around her waist tells Beckett that she’s been suckered.

“There,” he says, happily smug. “Didn’t think you’d fall for that, Beckett.”

“Didn’t think you were still using high school tricks to try to get the girl.”

“Try? Succeeded, Beckett.”  She tugs hopefully, and doesn’t move either herself or Castle’s encircling arm.  “See?  Got you.  Right where I want you,” he leers, “and I must say I like this style of nearly dressed.”

“Did that line work in high school too?”

“No,” Castle says, “but this did,” and he leans down and kisses her. It’s all very satisfactory… until Beckett swipes the box and disappears with it to put the couch between them.  “Hey!”

“Gotcha,” Beckett says, and opens the box with alacrity. Her face falls.  “What the hell is this?”

“You didn’t have any fruit or vegetables this morning. Not good for you, Beckett.  So I brought you a kale smoothie.  Home made by my own fair hand.”

“Kale smoothie?”

“Yeah. All the vitamins you could possibly need.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Yeah. Look properly.  Lift the lid on the other side of the box.”

Beckett’s face changes instantly. “Cupcakes!”

“Is that better?”

“Yep. You can have the smoothie and I’ll eat the cupcakes.” 

“What? No.  No, no, no.  Neither of us drink the smoothie and we both eat the cupcakes.”

“Okay.” Beckett turns to find plates, not letting go of the box.  Castle prowls up behind her and takes it away.  “Hey!  My cupcakes.”

“Our cupcakes.”  He emphasises the point by swiping his finger across the top of one cake’s tower of frosting.

He does not expect Beckett to turn with the speed of a preying panther, grab his hand and lick the frosting from his finger with a wicked, sensual twirl of her tongue, then meet his eyes with a challenge which almost covers the shadow of pain.  The box is put down, rapidly.  Beckett is pulled away from it, very rapidly.  And Castle descends upon her mouth, hauls her hard against him and keeps her there with a firm hand spread over her ass where she can feel just what her action has done.  Beckett doesn’t seem to be objecting to any of it at all.  In fact, she’s melted into him and has brought one long leg up around his middle and is moving over him in a very seductive fashion indeed. Challenge accepted, Beckett.

His tongue takes possession of her lush lips, keeping her head to his; his hand on her rear pressing her tightly against hard hot weight and not letting her escape him. She’s soft and giving and receptive and his, and he will take that hint of pain away.

“You’re very provoking, Beckett,” he growls darkly into her ear, and nips the lobe. “And very provocative.”  His fingers skate across the bare skin at her midriff, then dip fractionally below the waistband of her shorts.  She wriggles.

“Is this what you do when you’re provoked?” she husks. “Maybe I should provoke you more often.”  She runs a naughty hand down his stomach and somehow manages to insinuate it between them, where it curls over the thick outline.  Ohhhh.  More… around it.

“If you provoke me, I’ll have to respond appropriately. Like this.”  He detaches her fingers and keeps close hold of both hands, behind her back, dipping her so that he can trace down her throat and into the valley between her breasts, nudging her tank out of the way.  Just before he takes her nipple into his mouth, he stops.  “Or like this.”  His other hand runs down over her spine, past the hand imprisoning hers, over her ass and cups between her legs, not quite pressing on her.  She emits a thin noise of need and desire, and tries to force the touch.  “Not yet,” Castle rasps.  “You provoked me.  You’re going to get what your provocation deserves.”

“What?” she half-gasps.

“Me.” His fingers find the edge of her shorts and slither underneath, dancing along the edge of her folds, slicking through damp heat.  Wriggle turns to writhe under his touch.  “Provoking you.”  It’s turned to a deep, velvety whisper, straight from her ears to her core.  Just his words hold the promise of heat and hardness, waiting to fill her.  She curves into his frame, and lets his strength envelop her: her hands free to bite into his shoulders, her mouth hot against his.  With his arms around her and his hands on her, she’s safe from everything but him.  It’s far too late for her to be safe from him.

Castle’s fingers tempt and tease and entice her body to surrender to him, to let him take her anywhere he wants to go – everywhere she wants to go. She gives in and allows him to play her as he chooses, owning her mouth and then sliding fingers over her until he’s breathing in her soft moans; slipping thick digits in and out till she’s repeating his name, over and over because he’s all that there is.