54. Chapter 54

He tells her his dream because she asks, even though he's not sure that he should. He knows the final result of this conversation will be No, love, this is more than enough but he'll give her this first.

"I wanted lots of brothers and sisters when I was a kid," he starts, rubbing his hand up and down the side of her arm, over her shoulder. The warm beach air and the salt he tastes when he breathes is enough to keep them both relaxed, but he likes how sometimes she shivers when he trails his fingers over her skin.

What he really wants is to be done with this conversation and move inside with her, undress her slowly, run his hands over her belly as she shivers under him.

"You did?" she asks, sounding surprised. "Were you. . .you were lonely."

"Mm, yeah. But I like people. I like lots of people around me. So I wanted brothers and sisters to boss around and hang out with and have productions-"

"Productions?" she laughs, raising her head and looking up at him. "Like. You mean you wanted to put on plays of your own? Stage some theatre?"

"Yeah," he grins down at her, then sits up a little, getting into it. "I had these stories in my head - pirates or cops and robbers or Indians - and sometimes I could convince my mother's friends or the kids on the playground to act them out. I was the director and the stage manager and the starring role. It always evolved into some war or dramatic death scene, lots of agony and tears."

"That's adorable," she laughs, and Kate Beckett laughing is just - breath-taking. They're both sitting up now, but she stays close to him, her leg thrown over his, a hand on his chest for leverage as she watches him. "I can just imagine that. A rather Dashiell-looking Ricky Rodgers swashbuckling-"

"Hush, woman," he nudges her shoulder with his, loosens his arm around her so she can move if she wants to. She doesn't though. "Stop making fun of me. So yeah, I wanted a big family when I was a kid. I think ten was the number I settled on, ten of us. Kids I mean. So nine brothers and sisters. I had them all named, and they had their own personalities. They were like imaginary friends really. I even had a twin. Of course, when I went to boarding school, that fell away. The guys in the dorms became my brothers, basically. So I didn't need the imaginary ones."

She traces her finger over the side of his jaw, watching him, and he wonders what she's thinking. Kate shakes her head and draws her knee up, sitting away from him. "Ten?"

"No, Kate," he says on a laugh. "I'm not asking for ten kids. I'm not sure either of us would survive."

"I'm not sure we would either," she smiles back, and her face is tender even if she also looks relieved.

"But hey, I'm sure I don't need to tell you this - you're an only child too. I bet you begged for brothers and sisters, didn't you?"

Kate tilts her head and her hair falls over her shoulder, a dark shadow in the navy light of the ocean night. "No. Actually."

"No?"

"I didn't want any brothers or sisters. I liked it being just us, the three of us. I felt special. I never wanted anything else to interfere. I was the center of their world."

Castle's chest clenches because - oh wow - is it strange to be grateful to her parents for making her feel special? He makes a mental note to tell Jim thank you for that. "I'm glad you weren't lonely."

She gives him a flickering smile. "I wasn't lonely, but I was often alone. But you know me, Castle. I like it. I need it."

"Yeah."

"And you need people."

"Just you."

It pops out of his mouth before he even knows he's saying it, and while he might have censored these things years ago, kept it quiet, he's long since given up on that. And Kate, of course, doesn't react the way she might have five years ago. Her smile breaks open and burns, and then she leans back into him, pressing that burning smile to his neck, branding him, her arms going around him.

"I love you, too," she smiles.

He embraces her, drops a kiss to her cheek, feels her settle in against him, her knees on either side of his hips as she curls up on his chest. Like a cat, or a kid. Not really a Beckett move, but he's not even sure he could tell anymore what Kate's classic moves are. She's this woman he lives with, loves, who used to be identifiable because he'd memorized every line and facial expression and movement of her body and now-

Now she's all those things but more. And the more of it is what he'll never reach the bottom of, never see an end to, never fully comprehend.

She's right. There is a God, because only God could do this, create this, the way it is between them. This is unlike anything he's ever known, and it lasts. It goes on forever.

"Kate," he says finally, his arms still wrapped around her, his mouth at her ear.

"I should clarify," she murmurs. "I never wanted siblings until my mom died. After my dad started drinking. I was alone and lonely then. And I wished for a sister, a brother. Someone to share it with - the burden of grief."

He squeezes her tighter, stunned, because it never occurred to him, not once when he wrote Nikki Heat, not while he followed her at the 12th, not even when she told him the story of how she got her father's watch - it never occurred to him to think she might have been so very alone. That loneliness might have driven her as much as the grief.

"Kate, that's. . .breaking my heart."

"It's okay. You were there," she says easily and lifts up from his chest, both palms planted on his shoulders, a saucy look in her eyes that makes him smile.

He knows she's doing it on purpose, keeping it light, but it still works. "Oh yeah? How was I there?"

"You want me to say something corny like, 'You were in my dreams' but that's not what I mean, Castle." She rolls her eyes at him. "I mean. Your books. I read all your books. I've told you this."

"Oh," he laughs, strokes his hands up her back to tug her down again. She comes, falling gracefully to his chest, wriggling a little to get comfortable. He squeezes her thighs and feels her knees squeeze him back. "I just didn't think of it like that."

"You kept me company. I was okay. I made it."

"You did," he agrees. "Strongest woman I know. And I'm including my mother."

She murmurs something against his neck that he doesn't hear, then kisses the skin below his ear. "So what's our conclusion here, Castle? More kids or what?"

He sighs. "Kate."

"Decision time."

"This is ridiculous. What are we possibly going to call a third one? The good names are all taken," he grumbles.

She laughs and lifts up again, looking at him. "You mean, all we have left are Sherlock and Agatha Christie?"

He grins back. "Exactly. Do you know how long it took me to find Ellery's name?"

"Must've been hard, Castle," she murmurs, but she sounds like she's being facetious. "So hard you gave up on a middle name and just used mine."

"That was the only part I was sure about," he retorts, lifting an eyebrow at her.

"Ah," she smirks, clearly loving it. She loves it. She does. She loves that he named Ellery after her. He can tell. "Well then. Names. That could be a problem, if we keep with the mystery writer theme."

"There's Rex Stout," he offers. "He wrote Nero Wolfe."

"Oh. Um." Kate bites her lip.

He laughs. "Yeah, Rex is uh. . .reminds me of dinosaurs."

"Reminds me of a dog."

"Well, what else? Uh, Raymond Chandler, Ian Fleming, James Hadley Chase, Ross Macdonald, Carter Dickson, Conan Doyle, Dorothy Sayers, Agatha Christie-"

"Chase? Seriously. Because having a son named Dash isn't enough. Chase and Dash."

He grins back at her, kinda loving that, but not the point. "Charles Dickens wrote crime solving into Bleak House. And then there's Wilkie Collins, who's given credit for the first great mystery novel-"

"The Moonstone. I've read it. It's long. I liked The Woman in White better."

"You would. It's more romantic."

"*I* would?" She tugs on his ear, clearly indicating that's his forte. "Still, Wilkie is a terrible name."

He laughs, but he totally agrees. "Not good at all. Really, it's impossible, Kate. There are no good names. I just went through this trying to find a character name for the young adult series."

"Oh, good point. I like Felix for a character, but not. . .not for my kid," she says, sounding apologetic.

"No, you're right. Good for a character, memorable, but not good for calling our possible son down off the slide or telling him not to hit his sister. And for a girl-?"

She laughs, and he feels her fingers trace over his ribs. "You like Poe. Does he have any good character names?"

"Oh hell no, Kate. I'm not naming my kid after one of his stories. Seriously, his stuff is so dark and depressing and - while completely awesome - not appropriate."

She chuckles against his skin, her fingers making a path to his waist, trailing around, aimless but distracting. "Not even Annabel Lee?"

"Oh, he has plenty of girl names. There's Helen and Lenore and. . .you know he was in love with his thirteen year old cousin? Married her. His thirteen year old cousin. I couldn't do that."

"I'm not your cousin, but-"

"Don't start with me, Kate Castle," he growls, squeezing her thighs again. But of course, his head is filled with Edgar Allan Poe, and dark birds tapping on the window, and telltale hearts pounding under the floorboards.

"What's your favorite?" she says softly, melting against him. He uses it so infrequently - calling her Kate Castle - because it's so powerful. Putty in his hands.

"Short story. 'William Wilson.' About a man haunted by his doppelganger. Creepy."

"Mm, what else is your favorite?"

"Mysteries? You know this."

"Tell me," she says, curling her fingers at his hips, her mouth at the hollow of his throat. It's amazing how she can fold up her long body into this little, strong thing thoroughly seducing him. He brushes his fingers down the knots of her spine, feels her tongue at his clavicle.

"Nancy Drew."

She laughs, interrupting that delicious thing she was doing to his chest. "Nancy Drew?"

"She was hot."

"You couldn't see her."

"I could see her," he says back. "Oh, I could see her."

"Horny boy," she mutters, but her mouth is back at his collarbone, her teeth grazing him, her fingers sliding between them; his stomach muscles flutter at her touch.

"Yes, definitely. She was hot, and she solved crimes, and she was recklessly courageous."

"Mm," Kate murmurs, and slides up to press her mouth to his jaw.

"Nancy - Nikki - Kate - I think you're getting us off-topic here," he says, struggling to pay attention to whatever it was they were talking about. What were they - oh yes - kids. Having another kid.

"I think I'm right on target," she says, her voice dark in his ear. "You called me Nancy Drew. And Nikki. Sounds like we're right on target. . ." She skims her hand over his thigh; he flinches, can't take much more than of this.

Castle presses her hips down into his, finds that sultry voice of hers with his mouth, goes after it, his tongue glancing across her teeth, along the roof of her mouth. She gives that little whimper that puts steel in his bones and makes him jerk upright, wrapping both arms around her, putting his feet to the floor, ready to carry her back into their bedroom to make her whimper some more, just like that, breathy and needy and overcome-

"Wait, wait," she murmurs, sounding breathless, but not nearly as out of control as he'd like. She pulls back from him.

"Too late. Conversation's on hold." He tangles his fingers in her hair, tries to kiss her again.

"No," she laughs, her thumbs at his temples as she holds his head away from her. "No, wait. Kids. Do you-"

"No, Kate. I don't. But I wouldn't mind pretending like we're trying-"

She makes a noise like frustration that ends up a laugh, her eyes seeking his even though he keeps leaning in to kiss what parts of her he can reach, ignoring the question in them. When she curls her fingers in his hair and tugs, he meets her eyes and tries to gather his wits again.

"Castle."

She's amazing. And focused. What again? Kids. Kids. Okay.

"If you end up pregnant in five years, okay, that's fine. I'll love it. If you end up pregnant when we get home, I'll love it. If we both go back to the 12th and solve mysteries and then go pick up our two kids from school, I'll love it. But Kate, no. No, love. When you said I need people, and I said I just need you - that's the truth of it. I just need you."

He hopes that ends it, hopes that she understands. It's not about what he can envision for them, it's about what they already have.

"I love our family," she says back, her eyes still questions. "I love this. But if you can see a little Chase or Sherlock or-"

Castle shakes his head at her and stands, bringing her up with him, pleased by the surprised little noise she makes as she clutches his shoulders and wraps her legs tighter around his waist. "If I ever do imagine that, it goes in a book instead. What I see now are two awesome kids who endlessly fascinate me and run us both pretty ragged. And even better, what I see in front of me is a woman who wants to give me my dreams even if she's not so sure about her own. And Kate. Kate." He sighs, drops his forehead against hers, closes his eyes because sometimes looking at her is too much, especially when she looks like this - eager to please. How often does Kate Beckett look like that? "Kate."

She kisses him, gentle, a brush of lips, the moist heat of her breath. "I get it. I understand."

He nods, tries to swallow past it, but he's wordless now. Without words to give her, which he hates, because that's his one job in this relationship - to be the one with the words.

"You love me," she whispers against his mouth. "You love what we have. And more would be more to love, but not necessary given all that we have."

"Yes," he agrees, grateful she has the words, and understands. "Yes, that."

"I love you too, Castle. Show me how much."

And then - finally - he gets to carry her inside.