L'amour de deux lapins: A première vue, Epilogue-A Prequel to L'amour de deux lapins, NOW COMPLETE
Title: L'amour de deux lapins: A première vue, Chapter 2
WC: ~2700 this chapter, ~6800 total
Rating: K+
Summary: "He's not . . . He wants to explain that he's not. That he didn't even know what he was walking into. He didn't even realize this place was here. Even though he must have walked past it a hundred times, he had no idea."
A/N: This epilogue is a bit of a chronological cheat. It's technically chapter 1.5 of the original "L'amour" story.
It continues in the vein of utter shamelessness. And the blame goes in the general direction of Cora Clavia who was ENTHUSIASTIC about the idea of Castle at the center of a multi-bunneh pile up.
This is it for this little prequel (and incidentally, at one point earlier this evening, this epilogue was about 1100 words-Brain is such a CHEATER).
Thank you all for hopping (see what I did there?) on the bunneh train with lovely reviews and gifs and prompts and general delightfulness.
For the third and final time, dedicated to Berkie Lynn and the RL Batman.
"It could have been worse."
He's pushing it. It's stupid, but he can't help it. She's not saying No anymore. She's not saying much at all, but in a good way. In a great way.
She's kneeling up over the back of the armchair. Her arms are loose, resting on either side of her chin, and her face is soft and full of absolute delight.
She rolls her cheek to rest against the leather chair back and shoots him a look. It's definitely A Look, but he's fearless tonight.
Now he is, anyway. He's pushing it. Because she's not saying No any more.
"Worse. Really . . ." It's A Look for sure, but there's this tiny little smile that goes with it, too. Something entirely new and he thinks his heart might burst.
"Totally." He skims the back of his fingers along her arm. "I was covered in them at one point. It was like the snuggliest retreat ever."
She snorts and turns her attention back to the floor.
They've pushed the armchairs at right angles to each other and blocked the exits underneath with couch cushions and throw pillows.
The rabbits are scouting their limited territory below.
The dark one leads. She takes tiny hops around the perimeter of the space, wedging her nose under the baseboard at the wall and prodding at the the cushions as the most obvious points of weakness. Occasionally she scoots backward. She gives the big one A Look and he moves in, shoving with his head or turning around to kick out with his enormous back feet.
Kate holds her breath. She tenses whenever they get any movement in the cushions at all. They spent an anxious half hour earlier coaxing the little one out from under the wine refrigerator. Kate did, really.
They'd been sitting on the floor behind the kitchen island with their legs outstretched, the soles of her feet pressed to his, while the rabbits scrabbled between them in seeming contentment. There'd been a noise. A car backfiring out on the street or something, and the little one had just taken off in an absolute streak.
Castle had hardly even seen where she'd gone, but Kate was after her in a heartbeat. Face down on the floor, talking softly to her. He'd just hung back. Tried his best to soothe the big rabbit who was doing his damnedest to go after her. Hell bent on the impossible task of wedging himself into the narrow space.
Kate had been absolutely calm through the whole thing. She'd just lay there patiently, offering her fingers and talking until the little rabbit edged out all on her own.
But her hands haven't really steadied since. Not quite.
She's worried now they'll get out again. That the little one will disappear somewhere. That she might hurt herself.
She's worried and he knows she's not quite half convinced that he really does know a guy who will come through and deliver a rabbit containment system before midnight. She's worried he hasn't though this through.
"Have you ever even had a pet, Castle?"
"I suppose you won't let me count imaginary ones," he says. That gets him another Look. He shakes his head. "Then no. Always wanted a dog, but mother would always look horrified and declare that it just wasn't practical."
"And you just kept asking, didn't you?"
"Over and over and over," he admits. "But as much as I'd love to cast my mother as the villain, she was probably right."
Kate tips her head toward him again, surprised. "Castle, did you just admit that some things are impractical?"
"Were," he corrects. "Were impractical. We are living in the future, Beckett, and all things are possible."
He reaches his hand down between the chairs. The big bunny rolls back on to his haunches. He sits up and flails his front paws playfully at Castle's fingers.
Kate laughs and roughs a hand over the rabbit's head. She wiggles her fingers to join in the game, but the little one thumps testily. The big rabbit's attention shifts back to his duties.
"So it's not impractical now. But back then?" She pulls her arm back up. She folds it along the back of the chair and rests her cheek on her forearm like she's settling in for the story.
It's . . . unusual. They talk. Of course they talk. They do the life story thing in bits and pieces. But it's unusual for her to ask like this. Head on and for no other reason he can see than she's curious.
It's unusual, but not unwelcome. Not unwelcome at all.
"Well, we moved a lot. And a lot of time there wasn't money for that kind of thing. Some places weren't really keen on children, let alone pets." He keeps his eyes on the rabbits. It's easier, though he's not sure why he needs it to be easier. It was a long time ago. "And sometimes the apartment math just didn't work out."
"Apartment math?" She smiles down at the rabbits like she's telling them this is going to be good.
He smiles, too, thankful for whatever magic this is that has her like and open and asking for stories even though he knows she's still worried. That he blindsided her with this and she has every right to freak out a little.
"Apartment math," he repeats. "Small place, so small dog. And we mostly lived in some not great neighborhoods . . ."
". . . so not safe for a woman or a kid to be out walking something small," she finishes.
He nods in confirmation, and she's quiet, then. He's about to ask. He wants her story, too. He doesn't think she ever had pets, but he's not sure. He wants to know, but something tells him to wait.
He glances up and catches her staring. She's watching him watch the rabbits and she looks . . . smitten. With him. With the rabbits.
He goes warm inside-bright and full and over the moon with it all-and he thinks his question can wait. Because he caught her staring and she looks fond and happy. She looks smitten, but curious, too. Like she's not done asking yet, so he waits.
She nods. Like she gets it. Like she's grateful he's giving her the chance to ask. "What about Alexis? Did she ask over and over and over?"
"She did," he sighs. "And I was the villain of the piece."
"You grew out of it?" she sneaks a quick look down at the rabbits like she's worried again. Like she might start up with No again any second. "Wanting one?"
"No," he says quickly. "Never. I just . . . I wanted her to have something. I wanted her to have everything I missed out on."
"But?" she prompts softly when he doesn't go on.
"When she was about four, she was having a hard time. I thought about it then. Meredith was gone a lot, and she had to come with me when I was traveling. She was good. She was always good, but it was hard on her. I thought a pet might be something . . . stable." He rests his cheek against the back of his own chair and reaches out to trace the path of a long curl sweeping over her shoulder.
She watches. She listens.
"I was writing one night and it was way past her bedtime. I heard her crying. I thought she must be having a nightmare, but she was sitting there in the corner of her room with this mostly dead mylar balloon in her lap. Some bribe or consolation prize from Meredith." He breaks off and she waits for him now. She catches his fingers as they trail off her shoulder and tucks them with her own underneath her cheek. He turns toward her in the chair, leaning closer.
"She was sobbing so hard she couldn't talk," he says finally, surprised at how helpless he still sounds-how helpless he still feels after all this time. "And when she finally could, she said she missed the balloon. That hurt to have it and then be without it."
They're quiet, then. She presses her lips to his fingers and doesn't say anything and he's grateful. He still worries that he was wrong.
He's more than grateful when she tells him her own story. When he doesn't even have to ask. When she just turns her face toward him and starts.
"I had goldfish." She thinks a minute. "Three, I think. Or four."
"Three or four." He smiles and cranes his head back toward the rabbits. "Don't worry, guys. I'll remember there's two of you."
"Jerk." She laughs and nips at the hand still trapped under her cheek. "They were school bazaar goldfish. Won them a few years running throwing ping pong balls into their bowls. Not exactly hearty."
"Nothing fluffy, though?"
She shakes her head.
He frees his hand and traces his fingers over her cheek. He pictures it. Little Katie Beckett wrapping her arms around some happy, slobbery creature. Holding her arms out and letting something tiny hook its claws into her and climb her from ankle to shoulder.
The picture dissolves abruptly. It suddenly occurs to him that maybe she didn't. Maybe this is something she's never once wanted.
"Did you want one? Something to snuggle?" He sounds anxious. He is anxious.
She laughs though. She sees the panic. Hears it and she laughs. She turns her lips to his palm.
"I did." She smiles wide at him and then bounces up higher on her knees. She dangles her arms and hooks her chin over the chair back. "I always did, but my dad's allergic to pretty much everything."
The little rabbit is standing at the exact center of the small space. She's peering at the chair bottoms. Intent.
Kate laughs down at the two of them. Her nose wrinkles as the big rabbit suddenly starts turning himself in circles as fast as his big body will allow.
"What's he . . . . ?"
The words break off as the big rabbit lets his momentum carry his broad flank into the cushion. He jolts it a few inches under the chair, but it stalls.
Kate's on the floor in a second, though, popping it back in place. She dives back up into the chair and leans way over the back, staring down as if she can't quite believe they're still there.
"Kate." Castle smooths a hand over her back. He leans over to rest his chin on her shoulder. "It's ok. They're ok. They're not getting out."
"I know," she says and her voice is strange. It's worried, but her breath catches and her fists clench. She's rooting for them too. She looks up at him, her face half hidden by the sweep of her hair. "Did you see that?"
He nods against her. He saw it. He sees it. He sees the rabbits nosing at each other playfully. He peers over her shoulder and sees the look on her face. It's amazing.
Something bold and stubborn in the little rabbit draws her. She's completely caught up in their adventure. She's as crazy in love with them as he is.
He sees the look on her face and he just doesn't know what to do with it other than lean down and kiss her hair, her jaw, her neck. Wherever his lips land.
It's better than anything he imagined. She turns back and laughs against him and it's a thousand times better.
He's kissing her and she's kissing him and the rabbits are on to their next scheme.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. He keeps kissing her as he moves to silence it. He doesn't want to miss a minute of this, but then he worries that it's Art touching base about the pen. He knows it'll be here. That Art will come through, but he'll take away as much of the worry as he can. He'll take it away and leave her nothing but smitten.
"One sec," he whispers and kisses her one more time. "One sec."
He digs out the phone and snaps two pictures, one of the rabbits and one of Kate sticking her tongue out him.
He turns himself to lean back in his own chair. He glances down at the screen and sees it's a series of alerts from one of the fan sites. A sudden influx, all in a row. It's a surprise and not necessarily a good one. It's kind of the downtime between book and the sites have been slow.
He has a long, sinking moment while the page loads up. Paula's been good about protecting Kate's privacy-their privacy-but they've had a few incidents. People snapping photos of them when it's obvious they're not on the job. A few blind items and the usual rumor mill.
He holds his breath as the thread fills the page. It's a long cascade already, and it takes him a while to scroll to the original post, entitled "Rescue!" He taps the link. It expands to a short loop of video.
The camerawork is shaky to say the least, and the lighting isn't helping things. There's a glare high up and the bottom of the screen is thrown into shadow.
The soundtrack is a blare of nonsense, but it's him. It's unmistakably him, just missing the bulldog's collar and crashing to the floor in a flurry of paws, ears, and plump, cotton-tailed rabbit butts.
It's comical. Or he supposes it would be comical if he didn't have such a dead serious look on his face. Of course, that really just adds to the comedy.
He watches himself. It's odd. He doesn't even remember. In the moment, he just felt like terrain-an obstacle or a target-but he sees himself lifting and shooing and helping rabbit after rabbit escape to the far side of his body. Away from the snarling pair of dogs.
He's nodding and looking off screen to the right and answering someone. Looking back toward stream of rabbits and doing everything he can to funnel them the right way. A volunteer, he remembers now. He was shouting instructions to herd them in that direction. That's why they all went that way. All but two, facing the tide.
The video ends there. A still of the tiny black rabbit sitting atop his knee. The big rabbit is on the floor just below her rearing up. It ends there, with all three of them looking back into the fray.
"Well."
He startles at the sound of her voice. He fumbles with the phone, trying to close the tab, but it's too late. She was watching over his shoulder the whole time.
"Well," she says again, and there's something odd about her voice.
He shifts in the chair to get a better look at her face. To figure out if he's in trouble or if it's something else.
But he doesn't have a chance. She's coming for him. All of a sudden, she's clambering over the arm of her chair and into his. She's sliding her knees on either side of his thighs and taking the phone from his hand. She's winding herself all around him and pressing her cheek to his chest.
She's holding the phone out and her thumb is hovering over the screen. She taps the
post and restarts the loop. She laughs and gasps and presses herself close against him. She says his name and trails off. She presses her mouth against his jaw in a wide smile.
She pauses the video at the moment he is absolutely covered in rabbits. One on each shoulder and the little fawn-colored one on his chest, looking up at him. Another three or four thumping over his lap.
She pauses it and kisses him soundly. She's laughing, but there's a tripping little sigh under it, too. She kisses him and scrubs forward to the end. To the three of them.
"Well." She sighs again, but it's happy this time. It's delighted. "You were right, Castle. It could have been worse."
A/N: Thank you again for your kindness in reviews and in regaling me with all your bunneh tales.