43. Chapter 43

Kate finds him in the living room with the sliding glass door open to the breeze, the sound of the ocean blanketing them. Castle glances up at her, his head against the back of the couch, and she drops her hand on his forehead, brushes the hair back from his eyes.

"Writing?" she murmurs, leaning over to kiss the skin that's been furrowed in concentration, smoothing it out with her lips. Rick lifts a hand and slides it through her hair, scratching at her scalp before letting her go.

"Yeah. And I want to show this to you."

"I don't like spoilers-"

"No, not the book, it's actually a mock cover for something else. Something new."

She pauses as she rounds the couch, eyeing him, the delight suffusing his face. "Yeah?"

Rick gestures towards the space beside him and she comes closer, drops down next to him. He shifts so that the laptop rests on one of her knees, then minimizes his document. Behind it is an open browser window with a full screen image of a book cover.

As far as covers go, it's not entirely descriptive, but it has a distinctly young adult flair. A woodblock print of a boy's silhouette with a magnifying glass and a pen (a pen?) done in two toned blue. Contemporary, clever, interesting. Rick's name in a tall font at the top, the name of the book at the bottom: Felix.

Kate raises an eyebrow at him, rests her hand on the laptop to steady it. "Felix? What is this?"

"The title's not set yet. But Black Pawn is. . .publishing a young adult series. A new character. Of mine."

She can see excitement in him, but also a faint unease. "His name's Felix," she murmurs, grinning at him. "Felix what?"

"I don't know yet," he sighs and looks down at the book cover. "I've only written a few chapters. I signed a three book contract, so it's a done deal, but. . ."

"What's wrong?" she says softly, glancing back at the book cover. It's a different feel for him, not just because it's children's, but also because the cover art is less traditional. The book might be as well.

"Kate, I. . .I based him on our son."

She glances up at him; he's wincing as if expecting the worst. But she's already seen his eagerness, read it in his eyes. He's been working on this, this book, not Nikki Heat. Which makes more sense now, because he doesn't usually start going at a Heat novel until well into spring. Last minute, as always.

"Okay," she says finally, not sure what's wrong with him.

"You don't mind?"

"Mind?" She glances again to the cover, a pen and a magnifying glass in the boy's hands. Ah, a combination of them. Cute. "Is Felix the name of a detective writer too?"

"Sort of. One of the earliest mysteries in the English language was written by Charles Felix, a pseudonym for Charles Warren Adams. Before even Wilkie Collins's Moonstone. Anyway, it's a tribute to that, and I think it sounds fun, but."

"It does sound fun. Reminds me of the cat."

"Eh," he grumbles and strokes the side of the keyboard with his fingers. So he's still worried about something. She's not sure what.

"Okay, so he's modeled after Dash. Sensory stuff too? Or just, you know, name-wise and personality."

"Oh, some of it is in there. The sensory stuff, but I don't give him a diagnosis or label or anything. Like we haven't for Dash. It's just stuff he deals with. He's actually. . .see, the thing is. . .what I don't know if it will work or not, and I need your help deciding, is that. . ."

"Spit it out, Castle."

When still he hesitates, Kate lifts her hand and brushes her fingers against his neck, propping her arm on the back of the couch. He sighs and sort of melts into the cushions.

"He's their son too," he says finally. "In my head he is. But I don't know if I should-"

"Whose?" she prompts, nudging his ear with her fingers, her thumb hovering over the soft baby hairs on his earlobe. "Whose son?"

"Nikki and Rook's."

"Oh." She blinks and leans in to him, kisses his jaw. "That's. . .I love that."

"Yeah?" He turns and her fingers brush his cheek; she smudges her thumb under his eye, noticing for the first time the dark circles, the puffiness. "I know that the Heat series hasn't gotten them that far; I know it's way way out there too, I mean. It might not even seem in character for them to have kids at all, but it lets this one be set sort of in the future, so Felix has these cool gadgets and stuff-"

"I love it," she murmurs and moves to press her mouth against the signs of his distress, his anxiousness, feeling his eyelashes as he closes his lids. She moves away long enough to speak. "I love that you're getting them there. You could've listened to your agent and the publisher and kept it safe, but the risk. . .the risk brings such great rewards, Castle."

She feels his hand come up between them and curl around her neck, keeping her close. She wouldn't move anyway, curled up on the couch next to him, his need and his desire and his love for her all wrapped up together into this complicated man and yet, so very simple.

He did it for her, she knows that. He's ignoring the best advice, ignoring the critics, and he's slowly giving Nikki Heat what she deserves - a life. Love.

Not closure, but a chance to move forward, to create something instead of watching everything get destroyed. And Kate isn't sure why she needs that for a fictional character, why it's so important, but Castle seems to understand. So Nikki grows ever closer to that moment. . .to Felix.

"Felix," she says softly, laying her head against his shoulder. "I think you can make it work, Castle. Does he solve crimes?"

"Yeah."

"Are his parents clueless about his hobby?" she chuckles.

"Yeah, see, that's where I'm having trouble. He'd be as independent and curious as they are, wouldn't he? So I think, yeah, he gets into some trouble, but no kid wants to read about a boy detective who asks his parents for help."

"No, no they don't," she agrees. Kate lifts her head to balance her chin on his shoulder, kisses the side of his neck where she can reach. "So, pretty clueless, huh?"

"Guess so. Which irritates me. Would Rook really-"

"You're not Rook."

He sighs.

"And I'm not Nikki. We wouldn't be clueless. But an independent boy running down clues in New York. . .reminds me of of that Foer book. Remember?"

"Yeah," he nods and shuts the lid of his laptop, dislodging her spot on his shoulder to put the computer on the coffee table. When he leans back, she curls around him, sliding her arm across his ribs and drawing her knees up against his thigh.

"Remember how his mother was really still watching over him? Even though he felt like he was doing it all on his own?"

"Oh, that might work. If he has a few adults who help him out. Yeah, that's good. I mean, his parents *could* know a little, right? They could know he's helping his friends at school or whatever."

"Does he get in serious trouble?"

"There's some serious trouble," he says, grinning at her. "Not any good unless he's risking it, right?"

"Okay. So yeah, I think it's okay if they know their son is doing some of this. Nikki's a cop, so what if she's trained him-?"

"Oh. Wow, I should've asked you about this a long time ago. That's perfect. Regular sparring with his mom. Cool." Castle reaches back for his laptop, so she moves away, watches him eagerly get back into it. He types a few notes to himself, and then she sees a whole scene spread out before him, like a vision, and he's already writing, already gone.

Kate sighs, biting her lip on a smile, and ruffles his hair as she stands up. "I'm gonna take a bath and read."

Castle hums a little, maybe in acknowledgement or maybe just in a reflexive response. It's easier to be amused by him when she's on vacation, she realizes. If they were at home and she'd been curled up next to him, doing things *his* way, only to have him ignore her in favor of writing again. . .yeah, she probably wouldn't be amused right now.

But this gives her the chance to relax in a hot bath, be lazy and restful and still for awhile. She's in the middle of one of his books, of course, but it's on the ipad and she's not taking that into the bath with her.

"I'm going to borrow one of your paperbacks," she adds, grinning to herself as she stands over him. He hates it when she reads any of his books in the bath; she gets damp fingerprints all over and warps the pages. Kate likes her books to look like they've been read, to feel comfortable and homey, but Castle wants to keep them pristine.

When he says nothing, she leans over and touches her tongue to his ear. "I'm going to get them all wet," she purrs.

Castle jerks, clutching at his laptop as it slips, gives her a startled look. "You're wet?"

She grins wide, keeps from laughing only by digging a fingernail into her palm, and brushes her hand against his forehead. Smooths his hair back. "Not yet, stud. Keep at it. I'm taking a bath."

"Oh. Oh, a bath." He blinks and looks down at the laptop, then back at her, clearly torn. She's impressed that she at all competes with the lure of words.

"It'll keep. Come find me when you're all written out, Castle."

Castle writes eight pages of pure scene - and then a few more of outlines for the next couple of chapters - and then back to that scene, which morphs into a longer one with Felix and his mother, Nikki, sparring in their home gym. He feels more confident about writing the kid now that he's talked it over with Kate-

And speaking of Kate.

Castle puts his laptop on the counter of the bar to keep it out of his kids' reach, then goes hunting for her.

It's been hours since he got lost in the writing, and Kate's finished her bath and is in their bed, curled up around a pillow, book spread over her arm, fast asleep.

Castle kneels down beside her, slowly eases the book out - one of his, The Preservationist, damp and wrinkled a little, the minx - and sticks a receipt into the spot where her arm was playing at bookmark. He lays it on the bedside table and turns back to his wife.

Kate's mouth is parted, her chin buried into her shoulder. Her dark lashes sweep her cheeks, her hair in a mess around her face, still half pulled back for the bath but falling down. Her make-up is all gone, even the eyeliner and mascare, so it's just the natural glow of her skin from the recent sun, the beauty mark under her eye and at her cheekbone, the little scar at her jaw that no one ever sees unless they've been as close as he is now, close enough to catalog every minor imperfection.

These are the things he loves the most. The things he gets to see that she usually covers up or that don't get seen because no one studies her that closely - the blood blister at her elbow, the patch of skin that flakes over her eyebrow, the knot in her shin, the shadows under her cheekbones, the stretch marks that feather her hips, the scars which circle her wrists and line her thigh. He loves these things because they make her beauty hurt less, they make her beauty deeper, they make her human and fallible and courageous and his wife.

He should've gotten over the creepy staring thing years ago. He just can't stop though. She fascinates him; every year that goes by layers another veil of experiences and regrets and triumphs, and when he sees these things and knows they are in part due to him, or because of him, or with him, it makes him-

happy. Deeply content. Rich.

To have her.

Since she sleeps like Dashiell, he won't touch her. Won't chance waking her up when she clearly needs more sleep. Kate's been getting up early to run or do reps of free weights in the gym, and he's pretty sure she's doing yoga from memory in the workout room too. She needed rest before they went on this vacation, and he wants to make sure she doesn't need rest *from* her vacation as well.

Castle gets off his knees, wincing as they pop when he stands, and heads for the bathroom. He gets ready for bed, decides to shower in the morning after he runs himself, and comes back to the bedroom to join her.

He turns out the light and slowly eases open the sliding glass door just a crack. It's so heavy that Dash could never push it open, even if the kid did disobey them and wander into their room instead of watch tv in the morning. He feels the warm beach air wash over him, dispelling the air conditioned chill of the condo, and he watches the darkness out over the water that isn't darkness at all, just a glitter of moonlight along blue-black waves and a silvery path up to the sky.

"Castle. . ."

He turns from the view to find Kate still asleep, apparently, or on the cusp of waking. Her lashes flutter and sweep upwards, float down again. She doesn't move; he's not sure she's even seen him.

He heads back to bed and slides carefully under the sheet, easing onto his back to stare up at the dim ceiling and the reflections of moonlight. He breathes precisely at first, trying not to wake her further, and then his rhythm evens out and he closes his eyes, still half-lost in visions of Felix at five or nine or twelve, his parents' clever and mystery-solving son.

He feels Kate stir beside him, opens his eyes and turns his head to look at her. She's still sleeping, but she turns in bed suddenly and curls up alongside him, her hand on his ribs, her nose nudging into the warm space between his cheek and neck.

Castle feels her breathing against him, the edge of her knee touching his thigh, her body curled just next to his. He can't help but lift his left arm and reach across his body to cup the back of her head, grateful and pleased and in love with her.

She sighs, her fingers curl a little, but she's still sleeping.

She's not Nikki Heat, no. She's more. More than he knew back then, more than he thought he knew when he found out her story, more than even the woman he finally convinced to marry him. More than his kids' mother, more than Alexis's substitute mother, more than a wife.

More, even, than his partner. But there's no word for it that he's ever found. Partner does the best it can to explain but doesn't even begin to bring with it all the nuances of this woman.

Partner doesn't give over the look on her face when he crawled into bed with her one late morning a few years ago. She stayed home from work for heartburn - that's what she said it was - intense heartburn, so bad she couldn't straighten up, couldn't take in a full breath - and he was just getting back from dropping Dash off at preschool. She looked at him, curled at his side just like this, and stroked a finger down his cheek.

"I know what we're having," she murmured.

"Oh?" He kissed her finger. "I thought we agreed not to find out. Did the doctor tell you?"

"He didn't. But. Never had this with Dash," she said and drew her knees up a little tighter into her chest. Only eight weeks along. "Heartburn every day, like a knife."

"I'm sorry," he said, and curled on his side to watch her face. She didn't look miserable at all, actually, just certain.

"I'm not," she replied, grinning at him. "This one's different." And she reached out for his hand, laced their fingers, and pulled their joined hands over her still mostly flat stomach. "This one's a girl."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Certain. She was certain. "A baby girl."

And he believed her.

Now, with the moonlight and the shadows under her cheeks, with the lithe figure of her body beneath the sheet and the touch of her soft, damp hair under his palm, she's that woman, the one who knew Ellery before Ellery was ever born, and also the woman five years ago who came straight to him after the doctor's appointment and didn't know if she could do this, and the one who sat out in the living room with him tonight and convinced him that he could do this, he could write this character like their son and do the thing justice. That woman, all of the moments.

The woman who loves him.