Silent Night, Ferret Night: A short Castle WIP, Chapter 3
Title: Silent Night, Ferret Night, Chapter 3
WC: ~3100
Rating: T
Summary: "I'm sorry, Beckett." Ryan was sorry. Sorry dripped from every syllable. "I'm sorry. It's . . . ferret related."
Spoilers: Set at the very end of Secret Santa (5x09), so spoilers for that.
A/N: Again, thank you for following me down this ridiculous path and being so nice about it with your reads and reviews and encouragement. More grateful than I can say. I'd be lying if there wasn't some cackling here. Espo is off the reservation.
The plan was they'd all go in this time. Castle was sticking to his back-up-critical-in-all-things-ferret-related argument, and Kate had countered with something about Alexis proving herself to be an invaluable distraction and not leaving his mother alone in the car on Christmas Eve.
Castle hated the plan. There was absolutely no room for a quickie in the plan.
Alexis and his mother were further up the block, their heads bent toward one another as they struggled side-by-side along the narrow path someone had cleared down the length of the sidewalk. Alexis was doing most of the heavy lifting to keep the two of them upright and more or less moving in a straight line. She sang along quietly with her grandmother-a compromise to keep her from waking the entire neighborhood with her solo version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus."
Castle trudged behind Beckett. He scowled miserably at the stiff, upright line of her back as she moved briskly and efficiently toward Ryan's apartment building. Really briskly. He was falling behind again. He broke into a trot. He'd only gone a few steps when his foot came down hard in a slushy puddle with a frozen bottom. He skidded wildly, banging his sore arm against a No Parking sign.
"Whoa!" He clung to the pole and tried to regain his balance.
"Keep up, Castle." Kate didn't bother to turn around.
Obviously she didn't bother. No one cared if he remained upright. No one cared if he was having trouble with straight lines. Not his kid. Not his girlfriend. Not his mother. Well, maybe his mother, for all the good that would do either of them.
No. None of them cared. There'd be no arm-in-arm harmonies for him. Not that he could sing harmony. But maybe Kate could. She probably could.
"Hey, can you sing harmony?" He jogged to catch up, his near-fall already forgotten in his eagerness to learn something new about her.
"What?"
"Can you sing harmony?" he repeated. "You probably can. You're probably great at it. You're great at everything. Is there anything you're not great at?"
"Castle." She did turn around this time. She turned around and her jabbing finger was on the job. It caught him solidly in the ribs. Ow. At least she was giving his arm a break. "Focus!"
"Sorry. Sorry," he mumbled and ducked his head. He looked up to apologize again and suddenly got a look at her. A good look. The color was high in her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and sparkling and, yeah, there was a whole lot of pissed off behind that. But that wasn't all.
"You're having fun!" He jabbed her. He couldn't help it. She was going to deny it. She was sputtering already, but he knew-he knew-he was right. It demanded jabbing, even if jabbing got him killed. Which it might. Because he'd totally just jabbed her in the boob.
"What is wrong with you?" She slapped his hand away.
Castle ignored the question. They didn't have that kind of time and anyway, he'd pretty much just gotten away with a boob jab, so he was feeling reckless.
He looked left, then right. He grabbed her by the lapels and pulled her into a miraculously nearby doorway.
"You, Kate Beckett, are enjoying this." He said roughly as he backed her up against the the brick. "Don't deny it. I know your enjoying face!"
Kate brought her forearms up between them and broke his hold on her coat. "What are you talking about? I am wandering the streets of New York on Christmas Eve with you and your family, looking for a ferret. I asked my best friend to . . ."
"Don't say prostitute herself!" he pleaded.
"I was going to say 'lie to another friend,' but now that you mention it . . ."
"Please don't mention it!" Castle winced. "I'm having pimp issues and . . . that . . . that is not the point because you are having fun."
He kissed her before she could protest again. He loved that he could do that. He loved that he could just do that now.
And if he'd had any doubt before-any doubt at all that she was having fun-it was gone. Because that was her enjoying face. And her enjoying tongue and teeth and whoa . . . hands! Cold, cold enjoying hands and unnnnnnfff.
"Castle, what the hell," she broke away and stiff-armed him.
"No, you what the hell!" He shot back. Because, really, what the hell? He wasn't the one with his hands up her shirt. Which was kind of an oversight, now that he thought about it. He leaned toward her, but she ducked away and retreated to the opposite side of the doorway. "Just admit it. Admit you're having fun!"
"Castle I am not . . . ." Her shoulders sagged suddenly. "I'm having . . . a little fun."
"Ha!" He pulled her to him and kissed her nose. "HA! Fun-haver!"
She shoved him away again, but she was smiling now. "Castle, I meant it. What I said. I want to make new traditions, but . . ."
He brushed her hair back from her cheek and tipped her face up. "But figgy pudding isn't really your speed."
"It's not even that." She toyed with the the buttons on his jacket and didn't quite meet his eyes. "Your place looks beautiful and I missed that. I didn't even realize it until I was there and everything was all lit up. I've missed all that. And I was having a good time, Castle. A really good time. But this . . . everything's crazy but this . . ."
"Mayhem. Intrigue. Nefariousness." He dipped his head and pressed a smile and a kiss against to the blossom of color on each of her cheeks. "This feels like us."
"Yeah. This feels like us." She returned the kiss and flashed a dazzling smile that faded just as quickly. "Except for the ferret."
"The ferret is not us," Castle agreed as he drew her arm through his.
They hurried along the narrow path, side by side.
Esposito dressed quickly and silently in the corner of the bedroom, keeping clear of anywhere the light touched. Bit by bit, he joined the shadows as he covered his body with the pitch black fabric. His armor.
He tugged insistently at the fasteners at his wrists and ankles, double checking-triple checking-to ensure they fit snugly against his skin and moved with his joints. No gaps. No exposed skin. Dear God, no exposed skin.
Patting the pockets at his waist he found the flat case and worked the lid off soundlessly. He tested each square of pigment with a fingertip. Thankfully, they were all still soft and usable, even after such a long time.
Muscle memory guided him through process. A dab of green here, a strong line of brown, grey at the edges. He hardly needed the mirror to tell him he'd done well. His features were broken up by the paint, patternless, irregular, and unrecognizable as a face.
He crossed the room carefully, pivoting around the corner of the bed. He bent his knees to spread his weight evenly across the squeaky floorboard. He paused in the doorway to the bedroom.
He stood a moment. Watching. Lanie slept on, content with her iron grip on his pillow.
He thought about crossing the patch of shifting light to smooth her hair back once more-to steal a final kiss-but he wouldn't risk it. Let her sleep. Let her dream that she'd saved him.
He eased the bedroom door shut and made his way through the darkened apartment by instinct. He ducked around the entertainment center and braced a hip against the heavy recliner. As quietly as he could, he levered it away from the wall until he had enough room to crouch behind it.
With sure fingers, he found the seam in the wall, invisible even in full light. He pressed the corners in familiar sequence and waited for the give of the panel under his palm. Setting the panel aside, he reached in withdrew the heavy lock box. He thumbed the combination and cupped his palm over the lock to muffle the click of the latch as it released.
The lid squealed as he lifted it. Esposito froze. He forced himself to count his heartbeats. Stillness prevailed.
He reached inside and withdrew a long, flat wooden box and a vial not quite filled with clear liquid. The box slid open easily in his fingers to reveal a stainless steel syringe. He carefully worked the syringe free of its housing and plunged the needle through the vial's rubber top.
He drew the liquid up, watching with satisfaction as it climbed the column visible through through the clear window in the syringe's barrel. He tapped the sidewall with a fingernail, grinning as a bubble sped to the top of the column of liquid and burst.
He savored the heft of the full syringe a minute before securing it through the custom loops running along his left forearm. He paused in the act of setting the lock box to rights, the vial in his hand. After a moment's thought, he pocketed that, too. He worked the fastener a few times, getting a feel for it and experimenting to determine how quickly he could get at the if he needed to reload.
He didn't plan on needing it.
Jenny-Castle had to believe it was Jenny; there was no way he would ever be able to look Ryan in the eye again otherwise-Jenny had gone all out in decking the halls for their Christmas Eve baby-making session.
It was a chamber of horrors. Everyone could agree on that. Everyone except maybe his mother. His mother was flitting about, wondering aloud-distressingly aloud-about the mechanics of the "conception wedge" and pronouncing it a lovely shade of holly berry red. It was a Christmas-themed conception wedge. Dear God.
"In Xanadu did Mrs. Claus a merry pleasure dome . . . Hey, that scans." Castle looked pleased with himself.
Kate looked . . . less so.
"It's like . . . an elf harem," she grumbled as she fought her way free of a swag of gauzy green fabric shot through with silver.
It was everywhere. Waves of green and red undulated across the ceiling, studded with clusters of plastic greenery and berries; falls of the same fabric were draped over picture frames and mirrors and floor lamps. Those were starting to smolder, judging from the smell of it. The floor and furniture were littered with silky, festively bedazzled pillows.
The tree was decorated entirely in babies. Dozens of babies: Delicate silver filigree, blocky pressed tin, felt, ceramic. Castle was pretty sure he saw a macaroni art baby near the top, but he couldn't bear to check.
And it wasn't just the tree. There were babies everywhere. Everywhere. Garlands of them. Mobiles. The table tops were scattered with tiny baby silhouettes punched out of some kind of stiff, foiled paper.
"These are Valentine's Day decorations!" Alexis studied a medallion dangling from the ceiling. "Someone cut off their bows and arrows and taped back their little wings!"
"Valentine's Day was 10 months ago! That is like . . . supervillain levels of planning." Castle tapped a string of three and watched, fascinated, as they spun in the hazy lamp light. Their disturbing little diapers were painted-hand painted, if he weren't mistaken-in bright holiday colors. "Ryan never stood a chance."
"The decor is the least of our problems. Doesn't help, though." Kate ran a hand through her hair as she surveyed the space. "It could be anywhere. The damned thing could be anywhere."
"Oh, God." Castle hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself small as his eyes darted from the fabric-draped ceiling to the heaps of pillows he now couldn't but think of as ferret forts. "You're right. There's like a jillion places for it to hide. It's a ferret funhouse!"
"Oh, dear . . ." The thought even seemed to take a little of the wind out of his mother's sails. She gingerly picked up one foot, then the other as if she expected to find the ferret plastered to the underside of her shoes.
No such luck, thought Castle glumly.
"So we clear the place. A grid system. We'll start with the bathroom, so we can shove everything out of the way in there," Kate said, firmly. "All the pillows off the floor. Strip the ceiling."
Alexis nodded and set to work clearing fabric from the lamps and flat surfaces. His mother carried on as she had been, picking up oddly shaped, unsettling things and speculating what role they might have been destined to play in Ryan and Jenny's soirée de création.
"Be careful," Castle warned. He batted at a length of material to make sure it was 100% ferret-free before reaching up to untack it from the molding. "He's a climber. And a tool user."
"Tool user?" Alexis paled.
"Castle . . ." Kate sidestepped to elbow him, but he was on the move.
"Totally. You know the scar under Ryan's ear?" He sounded excited. Oblivious.
"Oh, yes!" His mother gave a low whistle. "Devastating. Gives him just that hint of danger."
Castle's eyes widened as he leaned in over her shoulder. "Paperclip nunchuck."
Alexis gasped and dropped a pack of ornament hooks she'd picked up. She clutched her grandmother's hands as they both looked around nervously.
"Castle!" Kate grabbed his elbow and marched him down the hall toward the bathroom. "You're scaring them."
"I'm preparing them," he argued. "This is war, Beckett! And you weren't the one who was attacked mid-closet nookie!"
A wave of memory crashed into Kate. The scent of toner and coffee filters and that weird bathroom cleaner that smelled like St. Joseph's baby aspirin. And him. The smell of him. The feel of him pressed against her in the close confines of the precinct supply closet. She flushed and grabbed at a breath, trying to catch up with the sudden, runaway pounding in her chest.
Castle was there before she could. His hands were there. On her shoulders. In her hair. At her waist, pulling her through the doorway to the tiny bathroom.
"Not." He kissed her. "That it wasn't." He kissed her again. "Worth it."
And then he wasn't pulling anymore. Then she was pushing, and the backs of his thighs were hitting the vanity, and that was pretty convenient because she seemed to be looking for a lap to climb into. And it just so happened he had a lap if he could remember how hip joints and sitting worked.
Bathroom quickie! Genius!
"No, Castle," she whispered as her teeth gave his bottom lip a last, long tug. "No."
"No . . . it wasn't worth it?" He reached for her, but she ducked away.
"Oh, it was worth it." She smirked. He couldn't actually see her in the dark, but he knew she was smirking and he'd show her. Just as soon as he could catch her, because again with the ninja cop shit and did the Academy teach evasive maneuvers in bathrooms the size of postage stamps or what?
"No to the other thing." She brushed by his knee
"What other thing?" He closed his eyes and grabbed at her. Something-the patron saint of the still-pretty-drunk, the Force, something-guided his hands directly to her belt loops. Ha! He dipped his head and kissed her collar bone, letting his stubbled cheek drag over her throat.
The left side. Something about the left side of her neck drove her absolutely crazy and he was not above using this carefully gathered esoteric knowledge to achieve Bathroom Quickie. "What other thing, Kate?"
"The other thing . . ." she whimpered.
Just a little, but still a whimper. Yes! He grinned triumphantly.
That was a mistake. Because she knew. Immediately. Of course she knew.
"That other thing, Castle . . ." She wasn't whimpering now. She was using that I-will-reduce-you-to-a-quivering-heap-of-former-man-and-you-will-thank-me-for-it-later voice. And not in a good way. "That other thing where we don't do any more damage to your daughter's budding sexuality than this place already has."
"My . . ." He shot upright. "My daughter's . . . Oh that is mean. Kate Beckett, you are mean."
She laughed. Because she was mean, she laughed. But then she had him by the shirt front against the back wall of the bathroom door and that was a little less mean.
She kissed him. A long, lingering thing, and the jury was still out on whether not that was mean because she was backing away a second later, and he wasn't finished.
"Clear the bathroom, Castle. I'll be peeling your family off the . . ."
He couldn't tell which came first, the shriek or the thud or the war cry. War cry?
Kate was through the door and down the hall before any of them faded away. He hustled clumsily after her, batting at fabric and baby mobiles as he went.
His mother was standing on the coffee table, babbling and gesturing wildly with a forest green bolster pillow.
"It had a hat! A Santa hat! With a little bell!"
Alexis stood between her grandmother and the now wide-open door, her arms spread protectively. Because she was awesome. His kid was awesome and he had to remember to figure out how to get a pony overnighted to Manhattan on Christmas Eve.
Castle stumbled over to them, his foot tangling in a discarded pile of fabric. He grabbed his daughter's shoulders and shouted over his mother's escalating cries to ask if she was ok.
Alexis nodded and said something. She was pale, shaken, but her voice was steady.
At least Castle assumed it was steady. With Kate suddenly joining in, he couldn't really tell.
Kate. Shit. That was Kate's talking-the-bad-guy-off-the-ledge-or-shooting-him-if-that-was-easier voice. And there was a man's voice, too. A scary man's voice.
Castle whipped around, pushing Alexis behind him, further from the open door. His jaw dropped as he looked into a pair of eyes he'd hoped never to see again. War Cry. Shit.
"Where is he?" Esposito's tone was flatly terrifying. "Where is the furry bastard and what did he do to my partner?"
WC: ~3100
Rating: T
Summary: "I'm sorry, Beckett." Ryan was sorry. Sorry dripped from every syllable. "I'm sorry. It's . . . ferret related."
Spoilers: Set at the very end of Secret Santa (5x09), so spoilers for that.
A/N: Again, thank you for following me down this ridiculous path and being so nice about it with your reads and reviews and encouragement. More grateful than I can say. I'd be lying if there wasn't some cackling here. Espo is off the reservation.
The plan was they'd all go in this time. Castle was sticking to his back-up-critical-in-all-things-ferret-related argument, and Kate had countered with something about Alexis proving herself to be an invaluable distraction and not leaving his mother alone in the car on Christmas Eve.
Castle hated the plan. There was absolutely no room for a quickie in the plan.
Alexis and his mother were further up the block, their heads bent toward one another as they struggled side-by-side along the narrow path someone had cleared down the length of the sidewalk. Alexis was doing most of the heavy lifting to keep the two of them upright and more or less moving in a straight line. She sang along quietly with her grandmother-a compromise to keep her from waking the entire neighborhood with her solo version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus."
Castle trudged behind Beckett. He scowled miserably at the stiff, upright line of her back as she moved briskly and efficiently toward Ryan's apartment building. Really briskly. He was falling behind again. He broke into a trot. He'd only gone a few steps when his foot came down hard in a slushy puddle with a frozen bottom. He skidded wildly, banging his sore arm against a No Parking sign.
"Whoa!" He clung to the pole and tried to regain his balance.
"Keep up, Castle." Kate didn't bother to turn around.
Obviously she didn't bother. No one cared if he remained upright. No one cared if he was having trouble with straight lines. Not his kid. Not his girlfriend. Not his mother. Well, maybe his mother, for all the good that would do either of them.
No. None of them cared. There'd be no arm-in-arm harmonies for him. Not that he could sing harmony. But maybe Kate could. She probably could.
"Hey, can you sing harmony?" He jogged to catch up, his near-fall already forgotten in his eagerness to learn something new about her.
"What?"
"Can you sing harmony?" he repeated. "You probably can. You're probably great at it. You're great at everything. Is there anything you're not great at?"
"Castle." She did turn around this time. She turned around and her jabbing finger was on the job. It caught him solidly in the ribs. Ow. At least she was giving his arm a break. "Focus!"
"Sorry. Sorry," he mumbled and ducked his head. He looked up to apologize again and suddenly got a look at her. A good look. The color was high in her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and sparkling and, yeah, there was a whole lot of pissed off behind that. But that wasn't all.
"You're having fun!" He jabbed her. He couldn't help it. She was going to deny it. She was sputtering already, but he knew-he knew-he was right. It demanded jabbing, even if jabbing got him killed. Which it might. Because he'd totally just jabbed her in the boob.
"What is wrong with you?" She slapped his hand away.
Castle ignored the question. They didn't have that kind of time and anyway, he'd pretty much just gotten away with a boob jab, so he was feeling reckless.
He looked left, then right. He grabbed her by the lapels and pulled her into a miraculously nearby doorway.
"You, Kate Beckett, are enjoying this." He said roughly as he backed her up against the the brick. "Don't deny it. I know your enjoying face!"
Kate brought her forearms up between them and broke his hold on her coat. "What are you talking about? I am wandering the streets of New York on Christmas Eve with you and your family, looking for a ferret. I asked my best friend to . . ."
"Don't say prostitute herself!" he pleaded.
"I was going to say 'lie to another friend,' but now that you mention it . . ."
"Please don't mention it!" Castle winced. "I'm having pimp issues and . . . that . . . that is not the point because you are having fun."
He kissed her before she could protest again. He loved that he could do that. He loved that he could just do that now.
And if he'd had any doubt before-any doubt at all that she was having fun-it was gone. Because that was her enjoying face. And her enjoying tongue and teeth and whoa . . . hands! Cold, cold enjoying hands and unnnnnnfff.
"Castle, what the hell," she broke away and stiff-armed him.
"No, you what the hell!" He shot back. Because, really, what the hell? He wasn't the one with his hands up her shirt. Which was kind of an oversight, now that he thought about it. He leaned toward her, but she ducked away and retreated to the opposite side of the doorway. "Just admit it. Admit you're having fun!"
"Castle I am not . . . ." Her shoulders sagged suddenly. "I'm having . . . a little fun."
"Ha!" He pulled her to him and kissed her nose. "HA! Fun-haver!"
She shoved him away again, but she was smiling now. "Castle, I meant it. What I said. I want to make new traditions, but . . ."
He brushed her hair back from her cheek and tipped her face up. "But figgy pudding isn't really your speed."
"It's not even that." She toyed with the the buttons on his jacket and didn't quite meet his eyes. "Your place looks beautiful and I missed that. I didn't even realize it until I was there and everything was all lit up. I've missed all that. And I was having a good time, Castle. A really good time. But this . . . everything's crazy but this . . ."
"Mayhem. Intrigue. Nefariousness." He dipped his head and pressed a smile and a kiss against to the blossom of color on each of her cheeks. "This feels like us."
"Yeah. This feels like us." She returned the kiss and flashed a dazzling smile that faded just as quickly. "Except for the ferret."
"The ferret is not us," Castle agreed as he drew her arm through his.
They hurried along the narrow path, side by side.
Esposito dressed quickly and silently in the corner of the bedroom, keeping clear of anywhere the light touched. Bit by bit, he joined the shadows as he covered his body with the pitch black fabric. His armor.
He tugged insistently at the fasteners at his wrists and ankles, double checking-triple checking-to ensure they fit snugly against his skin and moved with his joints. No gaps. No exposed skin. Dear God, no exposed skin.
Patting the pockets at his waist he found the flat case and worked the lid off soundlessly. He tested each square of pigment with a fingertip. Thankfully, they were all still soft and usable, even after such a long time.
Muscle memory guided him through process. A dab of green here, a strong line of brown, grey at the edges. He hardly needed the mirror to tell him he'd done well. His features were broken up by the paint, patternless, irregular, and unrecognizable as a face.
He crossed the room carefully, pivoting around the corner of the bed. He bent his knees to spread his weight evenly across the squeaky floorboard. He paused in the doorway to the bedroom.
He stood a moment. Watching. Lanie slept on, content with her iron grip on his pillow.
He thought about crossing the patch of shifting light to smooth her hair back once more-to steal a final kiss-but he wouldn't risk it. Let her sleep. Let her dream that she'd saved him.
He eased the bedroom door shut and made his way through the darkened apartment by instinct. He ducked around the entertainment center and braced a hip against the heavy recliner. As quietly as he could, he levered it away from the wall until he had enough room to crouch behind it.
With sure fingers, he found the seam in the wall, invisible even in full light. He pressed the corners in familiar sequence and waited for the give of the panel under his palm. Setting the panel aside, he reached in withdrew the heavy lock box. He thumbed the combination and cupped his palm over the lock to muffle the click of the latch as it released.
The lid squealed as he lifted it. Esposito froze. He forced himself to count his heartbeats. Stillness prevailed.
He reached inside and withdrew a long, flat wooden box and a vial not quite filled with clear liquid. The box slid open easily in his fingers to reveal a stainless steel syringe. He carefully worked the syringe free of its housing and plunged the needle through the vial's rubber top.
He drew the liquid up, watching with satisfaction as it climbed the column visible through through the clear window in the syringe's barrel. He tapped the sidewall with a fingernail, grinning as a bubble sped to the top of the column of liquid and burst.
He savored the heft of the full syringe a minute before securing it through the custom loops running along his left forearm. He paused in the act of setting the lock box to rights, the vial in his hand. After a moment's thought, he pocketed that, too. He worked the fastener a few times, getting a feel for it and experimenting to determine how quickly he could get at the if he needed to reload.
He didn't plan on needing it.
Jenny-Castle had to believe it was Jenny; there was no way he would ever be able to look Ryan in the eye again otherwise-Jenny had gone all out in decking the halls for their Christmas Eve baby-making session.
It was a chamber of horrors. Everyone could agree on that. Everyone except maybe his mother. His mother was flitting about, wondering aloud-distressingly aloud-about the mechanics of the "conception wedge" and pronouncing it a lovely shade of holly berry red. It was a Christmas-themed conception wedge. Dear God.
"In Xanadu did Mrs. Claus a merry pleasure dome . . . Hey, that scans." Castle looked pleased with himself.
Kate looked . . . less so.
"It's like . . . an elf harem," she grumbled as she fought her way free of a swag of gauzy green fabric shot through with silver.
It was everywhere. Waves of green and red undulated across the ceiling, studded with clusters of plastic greenery and berries; falls of the same fabric were draped over picture frames and mirrors and floor lamps. Those were starting to smolder, judging from the smell of it. The floor and furniture were littered with silky, festively bedazzled pillows.
The tree was decorated entirely in babies. Dozens of babies: Delicate silver filigree, blocky pressed tin, felt, ceramic. Castle was pretty sure he saw a macaroni art baby near the top, but he couldn't bear to check.
And it wasn't just the tree. There were babies everywhere. Everywhere. Garlands of them. Mobiles. The table tops were scattered with tiny baby silhouettes punched out of some kind of stiff, foiled paper.
"These are Valentine's Day decorations!" Alexis studied a medallion dangling from the ceiling. "Someone cut off their bows and arrows and taped back their little wings!"
"Valentine's Day was 10 months ago! That is like . . . supervillain levels of planning." Castle tapped a string of three and watched, fascinated, as they spun in the hazy lamp light. Their disturbing little diapers were painted-hand painted, if he weren't mistaken-in bright holiday colors. "Ryan never stood a chance."
"The decor is the least of our problems. Doesn't help, though." Kate ran a hand through her hair as she surveyed the space. "It could be anywhere. The damned thing could be anywhere."
"Oh, God." Castle hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself small as his eyes darted from the fabric-draped ceiling to the heaps of pillows he now couldn't but think of as ferret forts. "You're right. There's like a jillion places for it to hide. It's a ferret funhouse!"
"Oh, dear . . ." The thought even seemed to take a little of the wind out of his mother's sails. She gingerly picked up one foot, then the other as if she expected to find the ferret plastered to the underside of her shoes.
No such luck, thought Castle glumly.
"So we clear the place. A grid system. We'll start with the bathroom, so we can shove everything out of the way in there," Kate said, firmly. "All the pillows off the floor. Strip the ceiling."
Alexis nodded and set to work clearing fabric from the lamps and flat surfaces. His mother carried on as she had been, picking up oddly shaped, unsettling things and speculating what role they might have been destined to play in Ryan and Jenny's soirée de création.
"Be careful," Castle warned. He batted at a length of material to make sure it was 100% ferret-free before reaching up to untack it from the molding. "He's a climber. And a tool user."
"Tool user?" Alexis paled.
"Castle . . ." Kate sidestepped to elbow him, but he was on the move.
"Totally. You know the scar under Ryan's ear?" He sounded excited. Oblivious.
"Oh, yes!" His mother gave a low whistle. "Devastating. Gives him just that hint of danger."
Castle's eyes widened as he leaned in over her shoulder. "Paperclip nunchuck."
Alexis gasped and dropped a pack of ornament hooks she'd picked up. She clutched her grandmother's hands as they both looked around nervously.
"Castle!" Kate grabbed his elbow and marched him down the hall toward the bathroom. "You're scaring them."
"I'm preparing them," he argued. "This is war, Beckett! And you weren't the one who was attacked mid-closet nookie!"
A wave of memory crashed into Kate. The scent of toner and coffee filters and that weird bathroom cleaner that smelled like St. Joseph's baby aspirin. And him. The smell of him. The feel of him pressed against her in the close confines of the precinct supply closet. She flushed and grabbed at a breath, trying to catch up with the sudden, runaway pounding in her chest.
Castle was there before she could. His hands were there. On her shoulders. In her hair. At her waist, pulling her through the doorway to the tiny bathroom.
"Not." He kissed her. "That it wasn't." He kissed her again. "Worth it."
And then he wasn't pulling anymore. Then she was pushing, and the backs of his thighs were hitting the vanity, and that was pretty convenient because she seemed to be looking for a lap to climb into. And it just so happened he had a lap if he could remember how hip joints and sitting worked.
Bathroom quickie! Genius!
"No, Castle," she whispered as her teeth gave his bottom lip a last, long tug. "No."
"No . . . it wasn't worth it?" He reached for her, but she ducked away.
"Oh, it was worth it." She smirked. He couldn't actually see her in the dark, but he knew she was smirking and he'd show her. Just as soon as he could catch her, because again with the ninja cop shit and did the Academy teach evasive maneuvers in bathrooms the size of postage stamps or what?
"No to the other thing." She brushed by his knee
"What other thing?" He closed his eyes and grabbed at her. Something-the patron saint of the still-pretty-drunk, the Force, something-guided his hands directly to her belt loops. Ha! He dipped his head and kissed her collar bone, letting his stubbled cheek drag over her throat.
The left side. Something about the left side of her neck drove her absolutely crazy and he was not above using this carefully gathered esoteric knowledge to achieve Bathroom Quickie. "What other thing, Kate?"
"The other thing . . ." she whimpered.
Just a little, but still a whimper. Yes! He grinned triumphantly.
That was a mistake. Because she knew. Immediately. Of course she knew.
"That other thing, Castle . . ." She wasn't whimpering now. She was using that I-will-reduce-you-to-a-quivering-heap-of-former-man-and-you-will-thank-me-for-it-later voice. And not in a good way. "That other thing where we don't do any more damage to your daughter's budding sexuality than this place already has."
"My . . ." He shot upright. "My daughter's . . . Oh that is mean. Kate Beckett, you are mean."
She laughed. Because she was mean, she laughed. But then she had him by the shirt front against the back wall of the bathroom door and that was a little less mean.
She kissed him. A long, lingering thing, and the jury was still out on whether not that was mean because she was backing away a second later, and he wasn't finished.
"Clear the bathroom, Castle. I'll be peeling your family off the . . ."
He couldn't tell which came first, the shriek or the thud or the war cry. War cry?
Kate was through the door and down the hall before any of them faded away. He hustled clumsily after her, batting at fabric and baby mobiles as he went.
His mother was standing on the coffee table, babbling and gesturing wildly with a forest green bolster pillow.
"It had a hat! A Santa hat! With a little bell!"
Alexis stood between her grandmother and the now wide-open door, her arms spread protectively. Because she was awesome. His kid was awesome and he had to remember to figure out how to get a pony overnighted to Manhattan on Christmas Eve.
Castle stumbled over to them, his foot tangling in a discarded pile of fabric. He grabbed his daughter's shoulders and shouted over his mother's escalating cries to ask if she was ok.
Alexis nodded and said something. She was pale, shaken, but her voice was steady.
At least Castle assumed it was steady. With Kate suddenly joining in, he couldn't really tell.
Kate. Shit. That was Kate's talking-the-bad-guy-off-the-ledge-or-shooting-him-if-that-was-easier voice. And there was a man's voice, too. A scary man's voice.
Castle whipped around, pushing Alexis behind him, further from the open door. His jaw dropped as he looked into a pair of eyes he'd hoped never to see again. War Cry. Shit.
"Where is he?" Esposito's tone was flatly terrifying. "Where is the furry bastard and what did he do to my partner?"