castle fanfiction, castle/beckett - the ends opening into new ends always (7/10).

[recycledstars]

Part IV: Fall.

New York City. October, 1925.

She rapped on his door before dawn. Once, twice, by the third impatient sound he realised he wasn't simply caught up in his latest detailed imagining. He hurried to the door lest it wake his mother or daughter.

"Mrs Sorenson," he said, surprised to see her.

She made a face at the formality, even though she would have been sour with him if he’d ignored it and he'd have endured endless rounds of "what would the neighbours think?" Perhaps she simply thought it was redundant given that she was standing on his porch at four o'clock in the morning looking as wild as the night she came from.

"Let me in," she managed in reply, staring at her shoes. "Please."

He stood to one side and ushered her into the hall. She pulled of her coat, folding it over her arm and turned back to stare at him, questioning his inaction. He appeared frozen in the doorway.

"Could you get my suitcase Rick?" she asked in a small voice, gloved fingers reaching up to wipe away the kohl her tear tracks had left behind.

He complied silently and closed the door, refastening the deadbolt.

She knew his house well from previous visits, or at least, the four front rooms but she ignored the entrance to his study and continued to the staircase. He followed obediently, like a curious pup. "Kate, where are you going?" he asked quietly when she halted suddenly, distracted by one of Alexis' sketches hanging in the hall.

"This is lovely," she breathed, fingertips brushing against the charcoal, "She's very talented."

"Mmm," he nodded, "Kate."

"I left Will," she pulled her wedding rings from her pocket and held them in her palm for him to inspect. "I asked him about the documents we found and he was awfully mad. It's not like him," she held a hand to her face carefully, "But I'll be damned if I was going to sit back and let him beat on me."

"Oh honey," he put his free arm around her shoulders but she shrugged it off.

"That's not why I left," she said evenly. The edge to her tone made him disinclined to even think up his usual smart remarks. "Knowing he's involved, knowing he knew for all these years and kept it from me, I couldn’t stay. I could never forgive him for that, I know it; I knew it the moment he told me it was true."

Castle had the sense she wasn’t done, so he let her go on while he considered that information.

"I'm sorry for what I said," she apologised as though it was necessary; unlike her to Will, he could forgive her anything.

“I shouldn’t have tried to hide it from you,” he responded. “I just wanted more time, I wanted to be sure.”

“You didn’t want me to shoot the messenger,” she accused, with the hint of humour it required.

“I didn’t want it to be true,” conversely, in his tone, humour was absent. “I knew it would hurt you.”

She reached down and curled her fingers around the handle of the small travelling bag. Their hands entwined clumsily until she managed to prise it from his grasp. "I’m also sorry to be a bother. I didn't even think... it's so late. I just didn't know where else to go."

"You're always welcome," he told her, "You know that. You can stay as long as you'd like."

"I know you don't have a reputation to speak of but I'd quite like to preserve what's left of mine," she made a valiant attempt at humour. "I'll stay with my father, but for now, I'd just like to rest."

"Of course," her dress was damp under his hand and clung to the small of her back as he guided her down the hall. "This is the spare room," he announced, stopping in front of a dim doorway on his right and groping for the light switch.

"I was rather hoping I might go to bed with you," she said as he found it, light flooding the room beyond just in time to catch his reaction. She stole a glance from beneath her lashes. "You look taken aback."

The light snapped off. "I'm a little surprised, that's all."

"Are you telling me that all this time you've been teasing Mister Castle?" she sounded downright predatory. That was one of the things he’d come to love about her: once she decided to do something, that was that, Lord help anyone or anything that stood in her way.

"It's just," he pulled her into the spare room and closed the door behind her, "I'm just so used to hearing that the bank's closed, especially with you."

She laughed, light and breathy and right in his ear. "Well then. Cash or cheque?"

"Oh definitely cash," he told her, holding her by the elbows and leaning down to claim her mouth. He kissed her by instinct and memory, her mouth soft beneath his. She grew more insistent though, opening her mouth to his and letting her tongue grace his briefly. Her arms folded behind his neck, and she used them as leverage, pressing her hips against him. He let his fingers slip against her dress, and, with the other hand, trace the exposed skin of her shoulder, along her collarbone and along the line of her jaw.

He turned his head to break the kiss, letting his cheek rest against hers, thumb and forefinger still mapping the opposite side of her face. Her breath was heavy and warm against his cheek.

"You ok?" he asked her, lips moving against her skin.

She nodded, still breathless. "Very."

"You're sure this is what you want?"

She pressed her hips against his slowly, hands twisting in his shirt. "Why are you trying to talk me out of it?"

Her tongue tasting the skin exposed by his shirt sent a shudder through him. "Oh I'm not, believe me. But you’ve had a rough night,” he hesitated, uncertain.

“That’s exactly why I want to do this.”

“Well that’s not the right reason,” he stilled her hands with his, pressing her palms flat against his chest. “I don’t want to be a stopgap, or something else you regret about tonight.”

She bit into her lip, torn. “Well well, the writer grows a conscience,” she said softly, only half sarcasm.

“You know that’s not why,” he told her, “Well, it is, partly. But it’s selfish too. I don’t think I could bear it if you hated me afterward.”

“I promise you I could never hate you,” she breathed it, clutching his hands and staring at him though he could barely make out the lines of her face in the dark. They were loaded words. The subtext sparked a kind of unrestrainable hope in the centre of his chest. He smiled, in spite of himself.

“I just,” she let go of his hands and rested her palms against his shirt, edging her fingers towards his shoulders, “Can’t think about it all now. It’s such a mess Rick. I have no idea what I should do tomorrow or the day after that, but right now I’d just like to not think about any of it.”

She pulled his mouth to hers by the collar of his shirt. “Would you mind distracting me?” she whispered against his cheek when he was properly senseless from the kiss, “I’d be so awfully grateful.”

As a seductress, she had either practice or skill - he didn’t really like to think about which - but it was her next words that moved him the most, though he would never admit it; she might realise just how much power she had over him, and that would be the end of him. She turned to his other cheek, kissed it said, “I wanted it to be you, to do the distracting, so very much.”

“If you want to stop Kate, you'll tell me?" he asked.

With that, her hands left his and fumbled with the buttons of her dress. It fell to the floor with the clatter of beads.

"We've both done this before," she said, with an impish laugh, "And somehow I doubt it'll go any further than I want it to." She demonstrated her point with a light pinch and he jumped in silent pain before giving her a displeased look.

She smiled sweetly and pulled the strap of her slip down her shoulder. The silk fell to the floor. She stepped out of it, moving closer to him. He stepped back, but reached out to touch her. She was cold from the rain that had dried on her skin and his fingers were warm against her exposed body. He traced the curve of her waist lightly, stepping backward to distance his body from hers. She shivered under his touch, anticipation raising her heart to deafening behind her ears. The world and all its ills were quiet for a moment; her mind, still reeling from the night’s revelations, found pause. He let his thumbs brush the underside of her breasts, fingers guarding her rib cage. She stood completely still. His thumbs made another pass, higher this time, and they lingered. Her breath hitched.

He stepped closer, leant down and kissed her softly, spinning her around and stepping backwards until her shins hit the edge of the mattress. She sank down onto the bed willingly, and her hands grabbed at his belt. He took them in his and shook his head at her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in a voice smaller than usual.

“Nothing,” he promised, sitting beside her and edging her back up the bed with his hands, “Just, not yet.”

“Why?” she felt his hands in her hair, unpinning it deftly so her curls fell down her back. He let one hand tangle in them, pulled her mouth to his by her hair. Before he kissed her he answered, “I want to enjoy you for a minute first.”

He brought his hands to her breasts again, his palms rolling over her nipples in lazy circles. Her body was tense, but she felt herself relax, wriggling her toes against the blanket when his mouth found her neck. He let his tongue taste the hollow above her clavicle before sliding his left hand down her torso to her hip and replacing it with his mouth against the swell of her breast. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth by her teeth to silence her gasp of surprise.

“It’s ok,” he murmured against her skin, “You don’t have to be quiet. Well. Not too quiet.”

She nodded, mutely, in response. He let his fingernails rake over hip lightly and let his tongue tease her nipple. The sensation flooded through her and all the thoughts abruptly halted. This was the relief she had wanted, the inability to do anything but want and feel. His fingers were tracing a path up along the inside of her leg; tentative or teasing, she couldn’t tell which. She moved beneath him in one sudden thrust, until they were repositioned more appropriately. He paused, surprised.

“Touch me,” she requested softly, leaning back on her elbows to watch him do it.

He complied readily, smearing his fingers against the slick heat between her legs. His exploration was slow and unhurried. He moved up to kiss her, searching her face for clues. He was cataloguing her reactions. One finger curled inside her provoked a soft moan, two, a gasp. His thumb slipping against her clit brought her hips up against his hand and she mewled into his mouth. With his free hand, he traced the side of her face, thumb brushing along her cheekbone, fingers ghosting along her jaw.

She stretched beneath him and he let his mouth slip to her neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh too lightly to be truly painful. That brought words of encouragement. He let his mouth travel along her shoulder, along the curve of her breast to her stomach. His unshaven chin scratched against her skin, but the kisses in its wake were feather light. She writhed underneath him, laughing softly when he found a ticklish spot and bringing her fingers to his head, threading them through his hair with a small sigh.

She groaned in protest when he drew his hand away and half-sat to glare at him.

He laughed at her. “Patience, love.” He kissed the inside of her thigh, bare and white against the contrast of her stockings. “But I do appreciate your enthusiasm.”

He moved his hands lower, palms slipping against silk as he pressed her knees apart. She eyed him curiously in the dim light of the streetlamp outside the window.
He reached up to clasp one of her hands before busying his mouth between her legs. That earned a startled keen, that she felt pulled from her involuntarily. She clutched at his hand. His tongue lapped against her clit, and when he brought his free hand up and curled two fingers inside her, she felt overwhelmed by pleasure. Her body filled with warmth and she shuddered against his hand, flopping back against the mattress and pulling the pillow over her head to muffle the sound of her cries.

She held it there for a long time after he let his head rest against her thigh and stilled his fingers. He kissed her hip and spoke into her stomach, “Kate?”

“Mmph,” she said into the pillow.

He laughed softly, the trembling of his body against hers making her want him all over again.

She pulled the pillow away cautiously.

“What’s wrong darling?” he asked, crawling up her body and looking anxious. She shook her head and curled into his side, running her hands along his chest. “That was new.”

“Good or bad?”

She laughed. “I think you know the answer to that. And now you’re wearing far too much clothing.”

She rolled off her stockings while he made quick work of what he was wearing. She slid under the covers and he lay down beside her, running his hands along the curve of her waist, “Better?”

She tried to kiss him in the dark but her lips found his nose instead. She repositioned herself and opened her mouth to his, her hands slipping down his chest to tactilely inspect the results of his efforts. “Much,” she leaned over to huff in his ear, her hands closing around his erection. He pressed his body into hers in response, murmuring encouragement between their faces. She was blinking at him from beneath her lashes, suddenly feeling much more in her element.

He grabbed at her wrist to still her hand and pressed his mouth to hers in a bruising kiss, rolling her onto her back. She inhaled sharply at the feel of him inside her and rocked her hips against his slowly. He paused, “Ok?”

She nodded, then thought better of it and added. "You'd better be careful. I don't want to have a baby."

"You're a romantic, you know that?" he kissed her forehead.

"Stop beating your gums and get on with it," she said as he twisted his hands through hers on the pillow.

He moved slowly at first, but the realisation of a long held desire proved too much for his self-control. He had loved her for longer than he really remembered, but never so much as that moment. It was the way she moved with him, the tiny hitches in her breathing as it grew faster, the way she pulled one of her hands free of his and wedged it between them, bringing herself to orgasm with her eyes pressed closed and her teeth biting at her lip. She clenched around him, and groaned into his mouth and his thrusts grew more erratic. Finally, his body tensed and he thrust higher, against her stomach, coming in a heady rush. She brought her hands to his head and stroked the back of his neck gently, hugging his curled body to her chest. When his breathing slowed, she released him and rolled onto her stomach, trailing the tell-tale signs of sex over the sheets.

He curled around her and let his fingers rest against her hip, tracing patterns absently.

"Do you think less of me?" she asked quietly, her face angled away from his as they shared the pillow.

"Too soon to tell, but I suspect I think a lot more of you honey. There's certainly more to think about."

"I'd better not read about this in that book of yours Ricky," she covered her hand with his, stilling his ministrations by lacing their fingers together and holding their hands between her breasts.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he kissed the back of her neck, letting his teeth scrape at the beginning of her shoulder.

"You should go," she murmured quietly, showing no intention of actually letting him. "This might be hard to explain to your daughter."

"Or my mother," he buried his face in her hair, "Then again, she's done much worse. But you're right; I am still trying to pretend I'm a saint, at least in front of Alexis."

"To what degree of success?" he could practically hear the height her eyebrows rose in her voice.

"Moderate," he answered, distractedly. "You smell like cherries."

She shifted in his arms until she faced him. They both took pause to look at each other for a long moment as the pale light of dawn slipped under the drapes. The stillness was disturbed only by a few birds ushering in the new day with song. Something had shifted; it made him nervous and comfortable at the same time, and for one of the few times in his life he found himself with nothing to say. He traced the curve of her cheek with the back of his fingers, thinking that perhaps some things didn't need words.

Kate's eyes began to feel heavy. She yawned and let them slip closed, leaning into his hand. "Stay with me until I fall asleep?" she asked, stretching her legs out beneath the covers.

"Always," he dropped a kiss to her forehead and let her curl into his shoulder.

--

The slow drumming of rain on the roof of the brownstone pulled her from sleep, but barely. She burrowed instinctively into the warmth of the unfamiliar sheets and stretched her limbs, catlike. Hugging the pillow close to her body, she sighed when the pleasant ignorance of sleep was replaced by the physical reminders of the previous night. Her tongue found the inside of her cheek gingerly, and she curled her toes against the linen at the more pleasant ache between her legs. Deciding the consequences of that particular action could wait until after coffee, she sat and drew the sheets up under her shoulders. Rummaging in her hastily packed things, she found a nightgown and a robe. Pulling them on, she extracted herself from the covers and stood in front of the mirror on the nightstand for longer than she would willingly admit trying to tame her curls into something approaching presentable. She needed to bathe, and dress properly. She resolved to go in search of the bathroom, silently praying she might avoid Castle, at least until she was properly put together. She had the nagging suspicion that he would have a lot to say to her, and it was hard to concentrate when you felt underdressed.

Martha was sitting in the hall when she poked her head through the door, cautiously.

“Good morning dear,” Castle’s mother smiled, “Richard said to let you sleep, but since you’re awake let me show you the bathroom.”

“Yes,” Kate smiled gratefully, “Thank you, Mrs Rogers.”

“Darling we’ve talked about this before.”

“Martha,” she corrected herself slowly.

“And it never was missus anyone,” Martha finished for her with a grand sweep of her hand. Privately, Kate thought that if someone told her Martha Rogers was the original flapper, she’d believe them, though many of the imitations lacked the class and flair of the original.

The older woman took her by the arm and led her across the hall. “Here you go, I had the housekeeper leave out extra linen,” The older woman’s fingers found her chin and angled her face to inspect the damage, “Honey he did a number on you.”

Kate squirmed slightly, feeling uncomfortable. “Nothing permanent,” she lifted her nose without realising.

“Definitely not,” Martha patted her arm, “But I’ve picked up some tricks in the theatre over the years which will cover it right up, just the same. I’ll bring my things down after you’re done here.”

“Martha I don’t want to be any trouble,” she protested.

“Nonsense, it’s no trouble. Now if you need anything, holler.”

She nodded her reluctant consent as she disappeared into the bathroom. She’d come to be quite fond of Martha; she was intimidating at first with the sheer force of her personality and passion for life, but once you were acclimated to that, the affection for her family and their friends was the more obvious trait. There weren’t many people whose help Katherine Beckett would willingly accept, but the actress played the perfect mix of mother and friend.

The water was pleasantly scalding beneath her fingers as she filled the tub. She pulled the tangled mess that was her hair, rain-soaked and pillow-dried, off her face and pinned it to her head. Her robe was hung over the peg on the back of the door and she slipped, feet first, into the warmth of the water. The soap made her skin smell of him and when she was clean, she lay back against the rim of the tub and let her eyes close. She nearly fell asleep until Martha knocked on the door to check on her.

After she had dressed, they spent the next twenty minutes taming her appearance. The actress worked miracles with a series of compacts. Kate watched on in the mirror as the blue stain that spread across the right side of her face disappeared. She finished up looking a little more made-up than usual, but the blow was hidden, for the sake of her pride and prying eyes. Martha also ran a comb and some kind of lotion through her hair, pinning sections back gradually and finally, weaving it into a chignon at the base of her head. By the time she was finished, Kate felt almost presentable. The actress ushered her downstairs and into the kitchen. They were making coffee when her son entered.

“Good morning,” he called to announce his presence.

“Castle,” Kate jumped, startled. “Your mother said you were working.”

“I’m a writer,” he smiled, “I work in the front room.”

Martha saw she had been forgotten, and, with an unnoticed nod in their direction left the room.

“Ah,” Kate nodded once in understanding. Her heart had picked up speed in her chest at the surprise of his intrusion coupled with the fact that she had no idea what to say to him though she knew they’d have to talk. She turned back to the welcome distraction that Martha provided, but was surprised to find her absent. She blinked once then took a deep breath to steady herself. When she faced him again, she was smiling and gesturing with the pot, “Coffee?”

“Mmm, please.”

She fixed two cups in a stretched silence that even he couldn’t fill with words. She stole a quick glance in his direction, and found that he was staring at her. He held her gaze expectantly, and she felt her cheeks grow hot beneath all the powder hiding her embarrassment. What did people say in such instances? The weight of the previous night hung over her. It pressed the words out hurriedly and with slightly less precision than usual, “If you’re working today,” she began, “We can take a break from working on the case. I’ll take my things over to my father’s and get settled.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” he told her over the rim of his cup.

“Thank you Castle, but I couldn’t.”

“I just thought…”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“No, I don’t mean to be forward,” his brow knitted itself into a state. “I thought your plans might have changed. You’re welcome to change them whenever you’d like; my offer is standing.”

She suddenly felt the need to explain herself.

“I’m still married,” she said softly, with her hand resting on his arm.

“Yeah, I know,” he adopted her quiet manner, “But…”

“And we still have a murder to solve partner,” her tone turned light, but her eyes pleaded with him and her fingers squeezed his arm too tightly for him to believe the levity in her words.

She watched his mind turning behind his eyes, unable to read the thoughts but following their passage across his face. He looked as though he was about to argue with her several times, but after a minute of silence, he finally looked away, staring out over his mug through the window. “I love you, you know,” he told her as an afterthought.

Smiling, she raised herself on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I know,” she whispered into his ear.

Her tone was wicked and probably inviting trouble, which he gave her without hesitation with a hand on her waist pulling her body closer and the swift turn of his head before she had a chance to pull away. He kissed her fiercely, one hand on her face holding her mouth in place. When he was done, she was breathless.

“This isn’t a game for me Katherine,” he all-but-growled, eyes boring into hers.

He smelled so clean and appealing and it was a kiss that left her with very few doubts about his intentions, so she gave in to the little tremors of anticipation bursting throughout her extremities and began to want, wholly and unthinkingly. His lips moved along her jaw to her neck, teeth finding purchase beneath the collar of her blouse. She brought her hands to his arms, leaning back against the counter, mouth opening silently in pleasure.

She made a small noise of protest when his lips left her neck and he took a step away from her.

“Don’t start something you’re not willing to finish my dear,” he told her seriously, bringing his hands up to rest on her elbows.

“I’m not,” she assured him and let her tongue dart out to wet her swollen lips. The flush in her cheeks crept down her neck to the curve of her blouse. “I think we want the same thing Castle.”

“So stay for a few more days,” he begged as she moved closer, arms closing around his middle and head resting against his shoulder.

She shook her head, “I have to go. But we’ll work from here, as usual.”

He hugged her to his chest. “I like having you here.”

"Oh Castle," she sighed, "What will people say?"

"They'll probably keep saying what they are already," he mused flippantly.

She made a displeased noise in the back of her throat at his joke, but didn’t pull away. He was probably right. She found herself unable to care very much.

--

She spent the afternoon installing herself in her father’s house, in the room she had slept in as a child and he spent it working on his novel. She had been half-pleased half-mortified to learn that the publishing house was so taken with the first that they wanted him to write another. She was distracted from the dramatic shift in their relationship by Lanie’s pressing for the story of what had happened with Will. They were sitting on her bed which they had just made up. She leant back against the covers and told it, dreading the inevitable conclusion, and paused when it came.

“You have to promise not to tell Javier anything about the rest,” she warned.

“You have my word,” her friend looked confused. “Though I don’t see what Javi could have to do with any of it.”

“Well, after I left I … somehow ended up at Castle’s. And I stayed there. I didn’t want to wake up my father and you live so far uptown and at that hour,” she trailed off, “Besides, I didn’t want your neighbours to gossip.”

“I understand,” Lanie’s eyes narrowed in a way that indicated that she definitely did understand, more than what Kate was plainly saying. “So you stayed at Castle’s. And I can’t tell Javier. Because. I knew you liked him. And it’s so obvious he’s completely goofy over you.”

“I wish you’d stop saying that,” she admonished. “Everyone acts as though they know it better than I do.”

“Well maybe it’s just that when you take a step back from something, you can see the whole picture,” Lanie told her sagely. “Tell me what happened. I want all the details. I’ve been boring you for months with tales of Javi and now you can repay the favour.”

“I’m not sure there’s a great deal to tell,” she was being deliberately coy and Lanie could sense it. “You’ve already decided for yourself what happened and I’m sure your imagination does it a lot more justice than it deserves.”

“Well, am I right?” her friend pushed.

She stared at her hands. “Yes. But Lanie… I don’t know exactly what I’m doing. I wasn’t thinking. I… Will and I are still married.”

“Technically.”

“Actually,” she insisted. “And I’m afraid it doesn’t reflect particularly well on me that the very moment I leave my husband I’m with another man. Please don’t tell me that it’s excusable because you’re convinced I’ve been stuck on him for months now. If it’s true, I’m sure it makes it worse.”

Lanie patted her shoulder, comforting. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“If only it were the heart that sang the loudest.”

The impish remark garnered a delighted crow of laughter out of Lanie. “You can be so wicked,” she told Kate, “Which is lucky, because sometimes you can be so proper. I could hardly stand it if you weren’t. So, how was it?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you. You’ll tease me for it.”

“I swear I will not.”

She rolled onto her side. “You won’t be able to resist. I couldn’t have imagined it. It was so different. And part of me is glad I did it, even if I’m sure it was wrong.”

“Katherine Beckett,” Lanie smirked at her. “I dare say I’m proud.”

“I don’t think you should be.”

There was a lull in the conversation. They lay on their backs and stared at the ceiling as they had when they were children, risking discipline if they were caught.

“Are you really leaving Will?” Lanie asked quietly, her tone suddenly serious.

“If not for the mysterious money he’s been collecting from the man who killed my mother, then certainly for what he did to my face,” she answered, just as quietly and without the hint of humour her words suggested. “I know it, before you even say it. It will be strange. But we’re not children anymore Lanie.”

It was a simple statement, but it filled the room with a memory-filled silence that lasted long after Lanie left for the subway and haunted her while she searched for sleep in the darkness. Her rest was fitful, and filled by half-remembered dreams of Will, of Castle and her mother, whose face she had started to forget consciously. She awoke to the morning light feeling unsettled, but with renewed purpose. Her uncertainty in personal matters made her more determined to find the missing link between the numerous crimes they had uncovered and their mastermind. She skipped breakfast and arrived at Castle’s door far too early to be considered polite.

He didn’t mind. He was wearing the clothes he had been wearing the day before, and his study showed all the signs of what she was beginning to recognise as a productive night of writing. He disappeared, leaving her poring over the work they had done, and reappeared in due time dressed and washed. She tried not to notice how enticing he smelled as he hovered at her shoulder. “What is it that has you at my door so early?” he asked, closer to her ear than she had realised.

She stepped away, only briefly fazed, and didn’t answer him for a moment, returning to her line of thought.

“We need to find out what Will was doing for that money,” she announced, pulling off her gloves in order to write her husband’s name in the small amount of remaining space on their chalkboards. She drew an underline underneath it and dusted her hands.

“It can’t be anything good,” he warned, “And you know what they say about asking questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

“I desperately want the answers to my questions,” she assured him, “And I don’t think we can solve this case without knowing.”

“Well, I had Ryan look into it,” he leant back in the desk chair and rummaged through the bottom drawer of his desk, “He didn’t find much, but,” he produced a thin manila folder and handed it to her, “He had a few of the usual contacts, some of whom have business dealings with Javier, which probably means they were paying him off to turn a blind eye to their operations.”

“Maybe,” she chewed her lip, thoughtful, “Can you set up a meeting?’

He nodded.

They spent the day visiting all kinds of criminals, most in the illegal trade of liquor. She learned quite a lot about the craft of brewing and of her husband’s reputation for turning a blind eye to certain establishments and distilleries but not others. It was clear he was involved in some kind of deal with the Senator, favouring his enterprises over others. “Every bootlegger and moonshiner has his cop,” Castle told her. “Requisitely. But they all think they’re special.”

She laughed.

It wasn’t a particularly productive round of interviews so she returned to her father’s house for dinner. They ate together. She hadn’t had a chance to properly explain her presence and while they had been close when she was a child, her mother’s death and all it’s consequences had sat very neatly between them for several years. In the end, she couldn’t bring herself to explain that Will was involved somehow in all that they had been investigating. She simply told him that they would be getting a divorce, in that way she didn’t realise she had of silencing any argument. Her father stared at her, told her that he was sorry to hear it and that she was always welcome. It was an olive branch, and he had been extending them more frequently since he had stopped drinking, but this one, she didn’t know how to accept. She asked him to pass the potatoes, and no more was said.

--

From there on it was slow progress until a Saturday in October, just before Halloween. She had arranged to meet Castle at Javier’s to discuss what they had learned during the day, though perhaps it was less for work and more for the relief of seeing him. They had never spoken again of how their relationship had changed; she was unready to consider it and he was afraid to push her. So, while she was almost technically divorced, they still tried to keep things between themselves. She was a little late, and searched for him in the crowd as she hopped down the stairs.

He was in the back corner at their usual table and had slung his coat across the chair beside him to save her a seat. The speakeasy was more crowded than usual, and she fought her way through the short distance from the stairs to where he sat. She sank into the chair and leant her shoulder against his in greeting. He smiled and pushed the gin he had already bought for her in her direction.

She sipped at it.

He groped for her hand beneath the table cloth. She let him take it, outwardly cool but inwardly relieved. She felt discrete. From above the table top, they appeared as they usually did and discussed the case with their usual mix of banter and finishing each other’s sentences but beneath the table cloth, his fingers were twisted through hers and he occasionally traced a pattern against her thumb with his own. She gave him a small, conspiratorial grin and he squeezed her hand in response. Apparently, they held hands now. She was trying not to overthink it. In her situation, she figured overthinking just about anything would send her mind into overdrive.

Ryan arrived about an hour later, bearing a round of fresh drinks. He unloaded them on the table and slumped into the chair beside Castle.

“Heads up,” he said, sounding quietly panicked, “Seems someone down at the police department has started to ask questions about that gangster that showed up outside the Spolano place. I don’t know how they know what they know, but give them a few day and they’re going to want to question you both.”

Kate swore. Castle opened his mouth in surprise at her language. She rewarded him with her patented eye roll and took a long pull of gin, “What? You gotta way of putting it more succinctly?”

“Brevity, my dear, is definitely your strong suit,” he shook his head, “And you’re right. This isn’t good news.”

Ryan shrugged, “Well don’t shoot the messenger.”

Kate reached over and patted his hand, “We wouldn’t dream of it.”

“They don’t have any solid evidence linking you to the crime, from what I could tell. I didn’t want to snoop around too much, because everyone on the force knows I’m friends with Ricky, but from what I can tell, provided you keep your mouths shut, they haven’t got a case.”

“Since when has that counted for anything in this town?” Castle downed his whiskey. “The senator’s a powerful enemy and we know he’s fixed trials before.”

“Well, there’s no use worrying yerself about it tonight,” Ryan sipped at his own drink. “They won’t be at you until the morning at least.”

“If it’s going to be my last night of freedom,” Castle, as usual, approached the situation with a literary bent that he liked to call flair and she liked to call melodrama, “Then I want to dance with you.”

She smirked, but let him drag her out of her seat. The makeshift dance floor itself was thick with couples - the band that night was a good one - so he spun her around into the dark corner behind them.

“Anyone’d think you had less savoury designs,” she teased.

Behind them, Ryan surreptitiously vacated their table in the interests of maintaining their privacy. He had taken to doing that lately, when they got particularly involved in a lively discussion or when Castle convinced her to dance. Castle bore the full impact of his teasing, but even Kate was beginning to suspect the detective was starting to feel like a third wheel. Lanie and Esposito didn’t help matters. Even Castle thought they were cutesy.

“Maybe I do,” he leant in and whispered it in her ear.

She let him pull her a little closer. By the end of the song, they were no longer dancing, strictly speaking, and she was glad of the dark. He was kissing along her jaw when she mumbled a half-hearted protest, “This isn’t dancing Castle.”

His breath was heavy in her ear. “Is that an objection?”

“More to the location than to the activity,” she murmured, finding herself trapped between the wall and the warm plane of his body. Their mouths met, heatedly, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You’re amazing,” he told her. She leant her head against the wall and pulled his mouth to hers by his collar. “We should stop,” she said again. “Or we should start somewhere else.”

“Lead the way,” he stepped backwards and leant against the wall beside for her, “In a little bit. I need a minute.”

She gave him a smug smile over her shoulder and returned to the table, their coats folded over her arm. She took his hand and gave it a gentle but insistent tug. They stopped at the bar to say goodnight to Ryan and Javier. She dropped his hand before they reached it. He crowded at her back though, so there was nothing for it but to endure the knowing smiles of their friends. She huffed out in a small sigh as they turned towards the stairs.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head and took his hand again, dragging up the stairs, pausing at one of the many entrances to steal a kiss. His hands slid along the small of her back, sending her pulse racing with anticipation. “Come on,” she whispered against his mouth. “Take me home.”

He nodded, temporarily speechless, and let her pull him into the street.

As they hurried through the doorway, her fingers were pulled from his. A potato sack was pulled down over his eyes; he groped blindly, first for her then at the hands ensnaring him. He heard her struggling similarly against their captors but with a lot more success. A man yelled for help and used several unflattering descriptors when her heel found purchase, digging into his ribs. She was threatening to scream, and began to, the piercing cry echoing down the alley before a hand was clamped over her mouth. Then, after a dull thump, she was silent.

“Kate?” Castle yelled, arms pinned to his back by strong hands that refused to budge. “Kate?” he tried again, “What did you do to her?”

“Be quiet,” the weight at his back hissed in his ear.

“Tell me she’s not hurt,” he was pulling toward the direction of her scream; the hessian bag over his head scratching at his cheeks.

“She’s not hurt,” the voice obliged, “Boss wants you both alive. Lucky for me, he didn’t say he wanted you conscious though.”

And then, before he realised what was happening, there was a dull pain at his temple and everything went black.

--
Read Part IV(b)