Ferret Calm, Ferret Bright, Ch. 2-Sequel to Silent Night, Ferret Night and A Business of Ferrets
Title: Ferret Calm, Ferret Bright, Ch. 2
WC: ~1300 this chapter, 2400 so far.
Rating: T
Summary: "Kevin and Jenny's place is wall-to-wall cheer and slightly tipsy people. Castle tries to see it for what it is: A neat, welcoming space all dressed up for the holidays. Their last hurrah with friends before the baby arrives. He tries to see that, but he's having flashbacks."
A/N: Thanks for reading chapter 1. Sorry this isn't the madcap adventure of last year, but Brain is not very madcap as things wind down. Anyway . . .
One more chapter of this story, then an epilogue that will tie back to Material Witness.
He's not looking for her when he finds her. Really. He's letting it go. Giving her space, telling himself she's a big girl and all that. That she'll ask if she's not ok and there's anything he can do. Anything she wants him to do.
He's on his way to the bathroom. Working up to being on his way to the bathroom. Because he's not really over the whole bathroom thing from last year. Babies and saddles and rubber duckies and whatever was in the tub. He still doesn't know. He still hasn't decided whether knowing or not knowing is worse.
Lanie and Esposito never saw it. They'd never had their hopes pinned on a really quick quickie only to flip on the bathroom light to find . . . whatever it was. There's been no group therapy vis-à-vis the bathroom and he just needs a minute.
He thinks he's hearing things at first. A phantom bell and he picks up his feet quickly. He claps his hand over his mouth and muffles a yelp. There's nothing, though. No furry body snaking along the baseboards or eyeing up his pant legs. There's nothing and he thinks it's just bathroom flashbacks.
But there it is again. Hardly a second later. A definite jingle and a low voice coming through the cracked-open bedroom door. It's Kate. He knows it's Kate and he's not imagining it.
His feet carry him down the hall. He's not spying. He's not looking for her. He just wonders who she's talking to. He wonders if she's ok and tells himself he'll just peek. He'll just check and then he'll give her space.
That's his plan, but it's weird. Her voice keeps coming. Low and conversational, but no one's answering. It's a monologue with occasional bell. It's weird, and he ventures too far. His body blocks the light from the hall. He realizes too late. His shadow falls over her, and she looks up.
He can't really see her face. Just the glimmer of her eyes and deep shadows. There's a tiny lamp burning on the dresser and she's sitting on the floor, her back to the bed piled high with coats and scarves and warm winter things.
He should say something. He should apologize or ask if she's ok. If she wants to go or she wants him to go or why she's sitting in the dark. But he's tongue tied by the sight of her, curled up and little in the shadows.
"Caught me," she says and her face tips into the light a little.
She looks . . . sheepish? Not too annoyed, he thinks, and it pulls him closer. Another step and he cracks the door a little wider.
"Being naughty, Detective?" He cringes the minute it slips out of his mouth. It's leering and forced and he just meant to check on her. And if she wasn't annoyed before . . .
But she laughs. Smiles at least. She shakes her head and curls her shoulders in. "Just hiding."
"Oh," he says and cringes again. Because he sounds like he just got shot down by the girl of his dreams at the seventh grade dance. "I'll . . . . "
"Castle," she says sharply. His head snaps up. She's annoyed now. But she's holding out one hand, too. She's reaching toward him. "Not hiding from you."
"Oh." He snags her beckoning fingers and lets her reel him in. Tries hard not to beam like a complete goober, but she's rolling her eyes and shaking her head again. Indifferent success at best, but he doesn't care. She's not hiding from him. "Ok."
He folds himself down beside her. Pulls his knees up and knots his fingers on top. He holds on to keep from wrapping himself around her.
She's huddled over her own knees. Cross-legged and bent forward. She's staring down at nothing. She might not be hiding from him, but she's prickly. Sad and ill at ease with it. She's hard on herself. Always, and it's worse lately. She won't take coddling from him, so he holds on.
They sit quietly. Laughter and Christmas music filter in. Through the vents and the cracked-open door, but the bedroom is a haven. Just a few things in red and green. Pillow shams and a green garland on the mirror over the dresser. Less, in-your-face Christmas and he thinks that's why she's here. Why she's hiding. He sees her empty wine glass tipped on its side and bites his tongue. He doesn't ask any of the things he wants to ask.
She breaks the silence. Sooner than he'd have thought. Nowhere near as soon as he'd like.
"She's depressed. Lila's depressed."
She says it suddenly. A flick of her finger and the sound of a bell. She draws her hands back and rests them on her thighs and Jesus.
He says it out loud. He jerks back and stares, because there's a ferret in her lap. The ferret. Complete with jaunty, evil Santa hat and that's what the bell is about. That's who she was talking to. She's been hiding out, talking to a depressed ferret and this is the biggest Christmas fail ever.
He thinks so. She doesn't seem to agree.
She gives a sarcastic snort. Kate does. The ferret is silent and staring. Just as sarcastic, though. The ferret is always sarcastic.
"Don't be a baby, Castle. I've got her."
"I didn't . . ." He stammers. Forces himself to breathe deep and settle. "I didn't know it . . ." Kate glares and he backpedals. Corrects himself, because apparently she's bonded with the face of evil. ". . . she . . . Lila . . . I didn't know she was here."
"No one's supposed to, I think." She nudges the twitchy little nose up and scratches under its chin. Her chin. "Esposito," she says and the whole snaky body twitches like she remembers.
He hopes she doesn't. He really hopes she doesn't. He's got to be her least favorite person ever. She blames him for everything. He's sure of it, even though it was a team effort. The wastebasket and the bag and the other bag. And the whole putting her young in the oven . . . her young.
"Are they . . ." He turns to her, aghast. His voice drops to a whisper. "They're not all here?"
Kate drops her eyes and shakes her head. She's sad. Sadder. It's a sudden, further descent he doesn't really understand. "No. They're gone. All the little ones are gone."
"Ah," he says, because he has no idea what else to say. He presses his fingers harder into his knees and buries the urge to run. To grab the thing. To grab Kate and save them both.
"They get depressed." Kate cups her palm over the ferret's back. A comforting press of warmth and damned if the evil little beast doesn't look unhappy. The ferret. Damned if she doesn't look depressed. "I read it."
A chuckle escapes. He tries too late to choke it back and makes it worse. Louder and uglier.
"What?" She jerks her shoulder away. Shields the ferret and turns her own face away too late. Her cheeks are burning and he feels like the worst kind of ass. "I did."
"I know," he says quickly. He runs a hand down her back and leans in to risk a kiss behind her ear. "It's just . . . are you being me? Are we doing a thing where you're me and I'm you?"
She swivels her head toward him, eyes narrow, but there's a smile playing at her lower lip.
"Come on, Kate. " He's bolder now. He brushes his fingers along her cheek and smiles wider. Forces himself not to recoil when the ferret sits up and takes notice. When she gives him a hard stare with her beady little eyes and jingles her bell in threat. "That's totally something I would say."
"Shut up," she says. It's grumpy enough, but she ducks her head and shoves closer to his palm.
"I can do that." He slides an arm around her shoulders. Leans his head against hers and crowds her with his knees. "I can be you for tonight."