70. 72: Monday

72

Kate keeps waking up that night, has these strange, frustrating dreams that tug at her consciousness, leave her staring at the ceiling in a hazy mixture of irritation and incomprehension.

Obviously no, she's not in freaking Naples, and why the hell would she be chasing after a suspect without a gun and handcuffs? Like that's ever a good idea. Ugh.

Dreams are stupid.

The early morning light finds her curled in bed, eyes closed against the lack of sleep; but at least she can roll and stretch all she wants, doesn't have to share the wide expanse of her mattress, doesn't have to listen to Castle's soft snores as sleep eludes her.

And when she decides she's had enough, when she sits up and swings her legs out of bed, he's not there to crack an eye open and complain about how early it is, Kate, come back to bed, it's a vacation.

She closes her eyes for a moment, lets out a long exhale, willing herself to forget about all the annoying little things that she's still, childishly, clinging to. She's got good reasons to be mad at him; his sleeping habits are just not a part of it.

She's being unfair to him, to them both. They deserve better than this.

She will be better than this.

But she can't lie; it's a relief to be moving around in her kitchen, making coffee, cooking breakfast without having to worry about waking anyone, having to sustain some sort of conversation.

And her apartment is - her space. Hers and hers alone. Her home. She doesn't have to share it; she doesn't have to ask anyone if she can eat the last of the cereal. (She should probably go grocery shopping, actually).

So what if her place has been broken into? So what if people are trying to scare her into hiding? She will not be scared; she will not hide. She's done nothing wrong, and Castle's concerns about her safety?

They're valid no matter where she is. Nothing will stop these guys if they're out to get her. She remembers Maddox on the roof, how powerless she was against him, how utterly vulnerable, and she has to square her shoulders, harden herself against the shiver that wants out.

Castle just wants her by his side at all times, and that is-

not acceptable.

He will have to work on his anxiety, just like she will have to work at her visceral need for time alone. So they can - meet somewhere in the middle. She doesn't want to be unjust to him.

But he hasn't been fair to her either. He knows her. He should know better than getting all these things fixed without even telling her-

She spent last night rearranging the things she has left, so her apartment will look a little less bare, and there was no avoiding the shiny new computer on her desk, a replica of the old one that got busted in the break-in. She didn't touch it though.

He means well.

She knows he does.

But it's still her life. Shouldn't she have a say in which computer she gets?

Kate shakes her head, breathes deeply to soothe the bubbling frustration, the sparks of anger. What she needs - what she needs is a distraction. What she needs is to not be fingering her phone, embers of guilt rising because she hasn't texted, hasn't called.

He hasn't either, and calling him right now... It would be for all the wrong reasons.

She wants them to be able to talk this out, without yelling, have a reasonable, adult discussion. And maybe, yeah - maybe they need a day apart in order to do that.

Kate rinses her empty mug and puts it in the dishwasher, heads for her bedroom. She'll take a shower, get dressed, and she'll read one of the manuscripts she has left. Good thing she's been smart about it: she saved the best ones for last.

A knock at her door distracts her from the book (okay, not a book yet, but it should be - that's how good it is) and Kate slowly unfolds herself from the couch, vaguely annoyed at having to stop in the middle of a chapter.

Crap, is it one in the afternoon already?

Her stomach rumbles and she presses a hand to it, realizes that she's completely starved. Oh. Well.

She's surprised there hasn't been a second knock on the door by now; maybe it's not Castle, after all. Maybe he's being patient. Right.

She goes to the door, undoes the bolts; her mouth drops open when she sees the man standing on the other side. Not who she expected.

"Dad," she says, hoping her voice holds some measure of happiness among the breathless shock.

Dropping by unannounced is just not - something Jim Beckett does. Ever. She cannot bring another instance of it to mind.

"Katie," he greets with that closed-mouth smile of his, stepping closer to give her a hug. She lets him, remembers to hug back just in time.

"Is everything alright?" she can't help but ask, even though she called him last night to check on him, let him know she was back.

"Yeah, course it is. Why wouldn't it be," her father answers, blue eyes light and teasing as he pointedly glances into the apartment, clearly nudging for an invitation. Unless he's wondering if she has company. Jeez.

"Oh, uh, come in," Kate offers belatedly, her cheeks too warm. "I'm - I was reading."

She moves out of the way, closes the door while Jim steps in. He takes a few steps before he pauses at the threshold of her living room. She looks too, sees it through his eyes, the empty shelves, the walls bare because she hasn't replaced her frames yet, the missing armchair. She feels a sudden need to explain.

"I haven't had time to fix everything yet - there was a lot of stuff I had to throw away. But give me a week and it'll be-"

"Kate," he says, a gentle chide, as he turns to her. "Do you think I'm here to look at your apartment and make judgments?"

Right. Her breath comes out in a great whoosh, her muscles suddenly relaxing, and she cannot for the life of her understand why she's so nervous - it's her father.

She just - he was unexpected. That's probably it. This is not a good time for unexpected, not when Castle's paranoia is rubbing off on her, despite her best efforts.

"Why are you here, Dad?" she asks curiously, knowing he won't take offense. They're too much alike.

He lifts up his left hand, and she notices for the first time the plastic bag that hangs from his wrist, the delicious smell that surrounds it.

"Thought we could eat lunch together. I figured you probably didn't have a lot of edible food left in your kitchen-" he glances at the fridge and cupboards as if he can see right through them, "and well, I wanted to see my daughter. That okay with you?"

He doesn't wait for her answer, and sits comfortably at the table, starting to unwrap the bag's contents. After a second of hesitation, Kate joins him, sinking into the next chair as her mouth waters.

She still thinks he's not telling her the whole truth, but the burgers and the fries - oh, he bought them at the diner they usually meet at, how sweet - are way too enticing for her not to give in.

They eat in silence; they usually do. Silence is their thing, hers and her dad's, and between them it's never uncomfortable, never awkward. It's just who they are.

She can feel his eyes on her as she finishes her fries and reaches for her drink, though, and she knows he has things to say. He's here for a reason.

And she's curious to hear it.

"Got a call from Rick last night," her father says at last, never one from small talk. Something in her swells in indignation (he went to her dad? Seriously, how old is he?) and she opens her mouth to let it out-

"Now, don't get all worked up, Katie. He was only calling to see how I was doing, let me know you guys were back. Which I found rather thoughtful, actually. But imagine my surprise - you'd called about twenty minutes before, for the exact same reason."

Oh, shit. Really? Ugh. Castle.

"That seemed to indicate a certain lack of - communication, on both sides," Jim goes on, clear eyes studying her, seeing too much. "I happened to point that out to him, and he admitted, reluctantly I must say, that you'd had a fight."

Great. Just great. Her father is here to give her relationship advice. Kate drops her face to her hands, feels childish for doing so, pushes her hair back as she straightens.

"Dad, it's not that big a deal. People have fights all the time-"

"Ah, but see, by this point, I was intrigued. So I nudged a little, asked a few more questions-"

"I'm sure you didn't have to push very hard," she mutters under her breath, regretting the words as soon as they're out.

"Kate," her dad scolds, giving her that straight, no-nonsense look that sends a spike of shame through her chest. "The story Rick told me - believe me, he wasn't trying to make himself look good. And he didn't ask me to be his advocate, if that's what you're implying. Honey, I'm not here to defend what he did. I'm just-" he sighs, presses his lips together, bobs his head at her. "I thought maybe it would help to have someone else's experience to compare it to."

Someone else's. Like...his?

"Right, because you and Mom always fought so much," she says, her voice heavy with irony and disbelief.

Jim shrugs. "We had...our moments. It wasn't always easy."

She stares at him. Tries to recall her parents arguing, and comes back empty. "Really?" she asks, feels the tentative nudge of relief at her heart. "Because I... I can't remember you guys fighting. Ever. You just - you just seemed so in sync, all the time, the perfect couple, and I-"

"Oh, sweetheart."

She raises her eyes; it takes her a moment to realize her father is laughing at her.

She chews on her lower lip, doesn't want to let it bother her, even though it does, it always does, even now that she's thirty-two and not seven anymore.

"Katie," he says tenderly, reaching for her hand. She lets him have it; he'll tease her for sulking otherwise. "I'm not laughing at you. It only amuses me, to see how determined we can be to hold on to our illusions, our own version of things. But Kate," he goes on, growing more serious, "just because your mother is dead, doesn't mean you should make her into this... paragon of perfection."

Kate opens her mouth to speak, but he won't let her. "Your mom wasn't perfect, Katie. Neither am I. We had to work at it, every day, and we had to be honest with each other. And we fought, oh, of course we did. So many times. Johanna was stubborn, and she always had trouble understanding that not everybody thought like her, worked like her. And you know me - I'm a quiet guy, too reserved, some people would say, and I could never bring myself to say the things that needed to be said. The things she needed to hear. So every now and then, sparks would fly. We always tried to keep you out of it, as much as we could, and I'm glad we seem to have succeeded so well, but..." he shakes his head, smiles. "Don't think it was easy."

Kate takes a moment to absorb his words, stunned to realize how much she needed them. She - wow. She's been doing thar, hasn't she? She's been subconsciously comparing every one of her relationships to her parents', and none of them - none of them exactly passed the test with flying colors.

Her parents made it look so easy.

And it was all a mirage?

"Was it worth it?" she asks finally, her voice tripping over the words, emotion thick in her throat. "All that effort?"

Her dad simply looks at her, and smiles.

Oh. Right.

Yes. Stupid question.

Castle wrenches open his front door. He's struck dumb on seeing Kate Beckett there. Smirking a little.

Like yesterday didn't happen.

"So."

He lifts his eyebrows at that and she comes on into the loft.

"You called my Dad to tattle-tale, Castle?"

"No! No, I-" He stutters to a stop. Shit.

She's still smirking, eyebrow raised, and she draws in closer, her hand wrapping around his forearm and releasing the glass from his fingers. She pushes him back into the living room, sets the glass on the table, stands for a second over him as he sits on the couch at her direction.

Then she sits beside him. His heart is pounding and he can't think of a thing to say. Might be a good idea to keep quiet though.

He did call her dad. Yeah, he did. He's not going to apologize for that either, so if she thinks-

"You and I need to have a conversation," she says, and even though her lips still quirk up at him, her eyes are serious.

He swallows hard and tries to marshal his defenses. He's not wrong. She's got to-

"Castle. Start over. Okay?"

He lifts his gaze to her, and something there in her face reminds him-

This is Kate.

Kate.

He takes a breath. "Okay. Start over."

"I think in my. . .haste to have you, I skipped over the part where we talk about stuff."

In her haste to have him?

Castle grins. "Oh yeah?"

She rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, you wanted me pretty bad," he says, can't help the grin. Still he's reminded that they were, actually, in the middle of a fight when she came to his apartment that night at the beginning of the summer. "Yeah, we - there were things that got said, which we never unsaid."

"I thought that night I unsaid a lot," she mutters.

He snorts. "You said things. Loudly. Kinda gasping too."

She lifts a startled look to him, her mouth open, and then laughter bubbles up out of her like relief.

He leans his elbows on his knees and his shoulders sag in similar relief; she sounds happy, even if they're in the middle of this. And that's good, that's okay. They can make it through if she's still happy with him.

Shit, his chest feels like it's been broken open. He didn't realize how tightly wound he's been all day.

"So," she says then.

"So," he echoes, shrugging a little at her.

"Say it, Castle."

"No. You go first. Then I know-"

"You can't treat me like Alexis," she blurts out, then presses her lips together with another eye-roll. "You shouldn't even treat Alexis like Alexis."

He sighs, laces his fingers together. He opens his mouth to defend himself, and she shakes her head, a short jerk that he's seen before - at the precinct, when she's in her element and he's just got to shut up and follow orders.

Even though words are on his tongue to bite back at her.

"I'm an adult," she says carefully. "And I have - you know me, Castle. Jeez. I don't know how you thought this wouldn't blow up in your face."

"Because I was under the assumption you're a rational human being-"

"Castle."

Who loves me too. But he shuts up.

"When you go behind my back-"

"You asked me to have your couch recovered. I offered and you agreed. And then I said we should get a new computer and you said yes-"

She holds up her hand as he opens his mouth again, a flare going off in her eyes that warns him. He tightens his hands and lets her have the floor.

"Getting my couch recovered isn't the issue. Castle, getting my locks changed isn't even the issue."

"It's not?"

She groans and presses her hands into her eyes, sighing at him.

Nice. Thanks, Kate. "You wanna tell me what the issue is? Because I don't see how Alexis has-"

"Not Alexis," she says, jerking her head up. Her mouth is pressed so tightly together she looks like she wants to strangle him. Well, not if he gets to her first.

"You are so damn frustrating," he growls, pushing back into the couch and off his thighs. He rubs both hands down his face and hears her laugh.

When he drops his hands, she's still trying not to smile. "Yeah, you said that already."

He said-

Oh. He did.

"Yeah, well. Whatever."

She nods quickly, averting her eyes, and he realizes that he just gave her the equivalent of her So? that she shot off in the taxi yesterday.

Not what he meant to do. Never what he means to do. There should be no doubt.

"Hey, Kate."

She glances at him now, a quick look, but he reaches out and snags her hand. Even though taking her hand doesn't seem to be the way to reassure her - just works on himself - but it's all he's got.

Okay, no. Not true. He's got words too.

"You know I still love you," he says.

She sucks in a breath and gives a short nod. "But you know that doesn't exactly solve the problem for us."

Well. And that wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear in response. "Looks like neither of us get what we want," he mutters.

"Castle," she murmurs, and he hears the admonishment in it, raises his eyes to catch her watching him with a frown. She squeezes his hand and something fierce falls over her face, something tenacious. "Can we do this without sulking? Because it's not attractive. Let's have a real conversation. You talk to me about this-"

"You want me to talk to you? Fine. I told you I loved you and you brushed it aside like it means nothing."

She gives him a steady look, but he sees the way her shoulders hunch just a little, the way she's holding herself stiffly on his couch. "I'm sorry," she says finally. "It didn't seem to be-" She chews her bottom lip and tries again. "The conversation seemed to be about your secret informant, and how you'd hidden it from me, and not exactly the best time to talk about-"

"I meant just now. I meant yesterday," he interrupts.

Her mouth drops open.

"But okay," he says, lifting his eyes to the ceiling, tilting his head back. Can he do this too? Go back there? Maybe they need to. "Okay. Then too."

The silence is so complete it resonates like an entity.

"Why is this so damn hard?" she breathes out.

He jerks his head up and glances at her. Is she crying? No. No, shit, okay. She's not. But-

"It shouldn't be this hard. You're right. I'm a best-selling novelist and you're a - well, were, okay, but still. You're a scarily intelligent woman with bad-ass skills. Between the two of us, we should be able to analyze our issue here and fix it."

She nods, her eyes on him again. "So no more - okay. I need to acknowledge - shit, it sounds worse like that. I love you too, Castle. Is that - I mean, you need to hear that. Okay. I got it."

She's biting her lip so fiercely, her eyebrows knit together, her whole body braced for impact. She looks ready to rumble. To wrestle this thing out. He kinda loves her all the more for it. Makes him willing to overlook how unwilling she sounded. Because at least she looks ready to do battle for them.

"And I. . .treated you like Alexis," he gives. Yeah. "I just assumed that you - okay, yeah, I hear what I'm doing here. Let me think about this before it comes out of my mouth."

She huffs at that, giving him a sly look, a twist of her lips like a smile. She reaches out and snags his hand again, squeezing, and it does him a world of good.

He treated her like Alexis. He loves Alexis.

"But I love you too," he says, shrugging at her. "I - I don't know how to - show me what I shouldn't have done. I'm at a loss here."

"Remember when you GPS tracked her phone?"

He winces.

"Yeah," she murmurs quietly, drawing her hand away from his. "Like that, Castle. Do you know why it was wrong to GPS track her phone?"

"I - because - okay, now you're making me feel like a child."

"Hmm."

He glances at her face and there's a little quirk of her mouth for that one.

"But yeah. I remember. Because I should've trusted her. Because she's growing up - she's practically an adult. Or was then. Is now." His shoulders slump and he sighs. "She's an adult now."

"And so am I."

He watches her for a moment, remembering suddenly the sick horror in her eyes when he told her about Smith. Accusation there, but more than that - how it killed her for him to have been in on this for a year without saying anything. "I should have told you."

"You should have asked me. It's my apartment."

He shakes his head, wonders why this makes him feel like crying. "I should have told you about all of it. The phone call I got, the deal to keep them from coming after you, the way we could keep you safe. I didn't trust you to want to save yourself. I didn't trust you to love me enough to want to. I didn't trust you."

She nods slowly; he can see she's struggling to hold something back. Or maybe just struggling to let it go.

"You should have asked," she says then, quietly, her voice strong even in its softness.

"I should have asked," he says.

The silence goes on, a breathing thing; it makes his chest hurt as the barbed wire comes out, unwinds, sloughs off in the delicate peace they've signed.

She sighs. "You got me a computer-"

"A gift," he shrugs at her, his heart struggling a little at the look on her face. "Kate. You have to - okay, you don't have to. I hear how that sounds, but I - this is how I do this. I want to help. I want to do this for you because it's like the one thing I can do - what else is the money good for but-"

She shuts him up with a kiss, two fingers at his jaw, flashbacks of memory and the burn of her touch conspiring to knock the wind out of him. He strokes a palm over her cheek, his fingers in the soft hair just past her ear, and he takes from her mouth all that she gives, breath and life and forgiveness.

When she stops, when her thumb nudges his jaw to break them apart, it's not enough, and more than he could have hoped for.

She strokes his bottom lip, down to his chin with that thumb, then lightly kisses him again. "That's not true, Castle." Her mouth ghosts over his again, the heat of her making his body tremble. "More than just a sugar daddy."

He laughs at that, the sound a little giddy with relief. She kisses him again, these chaste things that make his blood dance, make his body settle in and then flare up.

"I don't want you to buy me a computer," she murmurs. "I don't want you to change the locks at my place. I don't want you to wake up at eight just because I can't sleep. I don't want you to have what I'm having when we're at a restaurant."

He can barely hear her over the pounding of his blood through his veins as she keeps working at his mouth, her tongue darting out to slide provocatively against his lips, her fingers keeping him still with their hypnotic stroking.

"I do want you. You understand me, Castle?"

He's making aimless circles on her thighs with his palms, around and around, and he gets it, he understands, he thinks he does, he's not sure- "I don't know."

"It's like at work," she says, painting her lips against his slowly, a delicious friction that sparks all down his body. "With us."

Us. A tidal rush of love sweeps over him and takes him out, leaving him staring at her mouth like its a life preserver, anxious to have it, needing it, drowning without it.

"Partners, remember? You were a tag-along, a shadow, but you made a place for yourself on my team, Castle. At least give me the courtesy of being your equal in this too. I can't be you partner if you're treating me like a child."

He snaps back from her mouth, stunned, aroused and, jeez, shaking like he just ran a marathon and she's watching him with hooded eyes, the want so clear and bright that it takes his breath away.

"Alexis isn't here," he fumbles out.

She smiles slowly at him. "Oh really."

"Partner. I got it. I did. I hear you. And my mother is at her school until six."

He feels the tug of her fingers and glances down; she's laced them together.

And he knows what that signals.

Castle grins and pulls her up and off the couch, leading her back to his bedroom. "This is my favorite part."

"Of course it is," she laughs. "Typical."

He glances back at her, just to see that wide-mouthed smile, the amusement even in her eyes, and she darts in to kiss him, those teeth flashing, tugging at his bottom lip. His body crashes back into the wall; he brings both hands to her hips to steady them, seeking skin under her shirt.

"Castle," she murmurs in between breaths, in between dirty-fierce licks of her tongue, nips of her teeth. "Castle, I love you."

He grunts and wraps his arms around her, crushing, everything crushing, too tight, too much.

She nibbles lightly at his ear. "Make up sex, for the win."

Yeah. Yes. "I told you it was my favorite part."