58. Baby, it's cold outside

Cuddles in front of the fire or not, his Kat is beginning to shiver. In addition, fur or no fur rug burn is a serious possibility and would be really quite uncomfortable.  By contrast, his bed is just through that doorway right there and is soft, comfortable and will not induce burns of any sort.  He sits up, keeping his cuddled up Kat on his lap – she’s still wearing her bra, now somewhat disarranged and noticeably damp, and her panties, which are also noticeably damp – and then brings them both to standing without letting go. Kat letting go is, it seems, almost as likely as a magnet letting go of iron.

“Bedtime,” he rumbles into her ear, and adds a wet lick along the nerve. She stays still, so he simply picks her up, sweeping her into his arms, and aims for his bedroom.  She doesn’t fight it in the slightest, only nestles into him with her own arms round his neck and a sated smile on her face.  He drops her in the middle of the bed, shucks his shirt and pants before she’s worked out where she is, and leans over her in a dangerously predatory fashion.

“My Kat,” he says definitively, sure that here she both is, and will accept being called, Kat. “Let’s see if you purr.”

“Miaow,” she giggles. Really, truly giggles, and then scrapes nails down his chest.  “Let’s see if you purr.”

“I don’t purr,” Castle growls. “I make you purr.  And then I’m going to make you scream.”

“You think?” definitely-Kat, who didn’t even try to kill him for calling her so, smirks.  “I think you’ll be shouting my name.”

“You first, Kat. You’ll be first.”

This is not fair.  He’s using all his size and weight to make sure she can’t find freedom to play.  She can’t even move her astonishingly flexible legs to tickle him with her toes – her hands are currently firmly held at her sides by his, and his mischievously mobile mouth is nibbling its way southward from her sternum and she knows what he’s going to do and just for once maybe she doesn’t care that she’s losing a game and oh oh oh he’s drawn a warm wet circle in her navel and it tickles and teases and tantalises and she’s squeaking and squirming and soaking and he’s still moving south and whiffling the neat curls and he is so close to where she wants him and so close to what he should be doing and it’s not fair that he isn’t.

And then he does. His tongue circles firmly and she doesn’t even try to stop the high-pitched cry.  Okay.  Scream.  But he’s not satisfied with just the one scream, or with just the one lick.  His tongue is wickedly talented and he’s using all that talent on her: tracing through the folds, flicking lightly over nerves and then sliding in a little way but not far enough more Castle! and he’s still holding her hands in his so she can’t direct his head and his shoulders are holding her apart and oh god oh god oh fuck his mouth and teeth and Castle now Castle! but he stops and grins.

“You screamed,” he says smugly. She can’t say anything at all.  “I liked it.”  He leans back down, and starts again.  This time, when she cries out, he doesn’t stop, and she shatters on his name.

Castle is cuddling her in a very smug fashion. Okay, so he won, but so did she, she supposes rather blurrily.  Still, in a moment she’ll prove that this Kat has claws.  Metaphorically speaking.  She rearranges herself to be suitably draped across his lovely warm chest, and is not disappointed in the lovely warm cuddle that follows her.  She snuggles in, and luxuriates in the strength and comfort surrounding her in her post-orgasmic glow.

After a while, Beckett’s brain and unfamiliar sense of happy mischievousness reassert themselves. Castle has been idly petting her, twisting little locks of hair and playing with her fingers while she lies across him, but now it’s time to wreak a little good-natured and pleasurable revenge.  Payback can be so sweet… She wiggles downward, ignoring the mild complaint this provokes, and spends some quality time applying both her lips and her fingernails to Castle’s flat nipples and broad pecs.  He wriggles very pleasingly, and his breathing is already faster, heavier.  She squirms downward, twining her legs over a solidly muscular thigh, listening to his breaths come harder and acquire a tinge of groan; tracing her tongue over the line of dark hair below his navel, and then moving to the side.  There is a disappointed noise.

Beckett tuts. How unfortunate that to do so she has to turn her head back towards the – er – central column, and even more so that the tip of her tongue flicks out and touches it.  There is an extremely pleasing jerk and noise.  It sounds very like tease.  Damn right she is.  She tuts again at his comment, with the same effect.  Then she drops a couple of carefully placed kisses just out of range of anywhere interesting, and then moves back to amuse herself some more. 

By the time she’s finished unfulfilling flicks and tiny touches of her fingers, Castle’s commentary has reached an interestingly falsetto pitch and his hands are clamped round her head – but he’s just managing not to move her where he wants her.  It’s pretty clear where he wants her.  She’ll get there in her own good time.  Anticipation will improve matters, and besides which, he teased her excessively and with relish.  Sauce for the Castle goose, and all that.  She curves her fingers around his base and flickers the tips of her nails over the sensitive skin.  He groans.  She slides firmly up and down.  More groans, interspersed, as she continues, with some very naughty words. 

Finally she does what she’s been hinting at for some time, and dips her head to take him in her mouth and that’s what drags her name from him, over and over and over again until he’s devoid of words and explodes.

Castle pulls his Kat up over him again and tucks her in. Later, they can play some more.  Later.  He loves this – yes, playful Kat.  He drifts off with her curled into him, on a cloud of happiness and affection.

Beckett wakes with a slight feeling of unreality as a result of the completely unfamiliar room. Sometime in the night she’s rolled out of Castle’s arms, but there’s a hand on her hip which is anchoring her to the one familiar presence here: Castle’s wide body and spicy male scent.  She feels great.  She’s slept like a stone, for the first time in a long time, not worried by anything, not fretting about anyone.  She turns over and finds that she’s being observed by a pair of warm blue eyes.

“You’re awake,” he says superfluously.

“Mmm.”

“It’s nine o’clock.”

“What?”

“I’ve been awake for a while.” Beckett peers out of still-sleepy eyes and notices a mug on Castle’s nightstand.  “You didn’t even twitch when I got out of bed.  You must really have needed the break.”

She flops back. Castle leans over her.  “But we’ve still got plenty of time before we need to leave.”  His smile turns lazy.  “I can think of at least one way to pass the time.”

Beckett smiles back up at him. “Give me a minute, and then let’s see what your …pastimes… might be.”  She slips out of bed, naked as Eve, and shortly returns with no embarrassment and a slinky sashay for good measure, as confident in her own skin as a Persian cat.  Castle, sitting on the bed waiting for her, clearly appreciates her.  She slides on to the bed and then on to his lap.

“God, you feel good,” he rumbles, and moves slightly to slide through her. She hums, and nips at his neck.  He turns her head, and kisses her hard and deeply, and when she’s clinging to his shoulders and wholly responsive lifts her to bring her down around him, slowly, and she’s perfect and tight and hot and wet and she’s gripping him and he slides her up and down on him, and then they’re moving in rhythm and then they’re gone.

“I need a shower,” Beckett says, “and then we’ll need to go. I have to be home for later.”  She doesn’t look happy about it.

“Shower, then. I’ll follow you.”  He’d like to join her, but she’s right: they do have to leave, and if he joins her they’ll not be out of the shower till the hot water runs out. With the size of his hot water tank, that would be tomorrow.

“Thanks, Castle,” Beckett says as he pulls up at her block. “That was” – she pauses – “just what I needed.”  But now it’s over.

“Any time, Beckett. Any time.”

“See you tomorrow.” She even drops a light-hearted kiss on him, and swiftly pulls away before it turns into more.

“Till tomorrow.” He’s grinning happily at her.

She watches him pull away into the traffic, and goes up to her apartment, the weight of seeing her father in a few hours re-descending on her shoulders. She spends that time attending to her chores and definitely not second-guessing what her dad’s going to say.  She reinstates her bright, sociable, loving shell and pushes down the worry and terror that he’s going to start down a line that she doesn’t want to talk about.  Whenever it tries to pop back up, she picks up the stone Castle had given her on the beach and turns it over and over between her fingers, forcing herself to think only of how much she’d enjoyed the weekend, how much it had provided ease and respite.  How much he had provided ease and respite.

But this evening she’ll have to do it on her own.   She couldn’t ask Castle to come with her, just like she couldn’t ask him to be there when the therapy session was over.  Only she can save herself, and she has to save herself.  Somehow, she has to keep her dad saved while she saves herself.  And on that thought it’s time to go.

The little red stone is in her pocket as she leaves; her hand in her pocket, turning it and turning it. She’s turning it again when she’s going up to her father’s apartment.

“Hi, Dad,” she says.

“Katie. Good to see you.”  He hugs her.  She manages to hug him back.  “I got a pie from Fairway, like you wanted.”

“Yum,” she says, with a well-counterfeited semblance of happiness.

Dinner, and especially the pie, is delicious: the pie warmed and slathered with whipped cream. Beckett demolishes her portion in short order.  Dinner has been accompanied by light conversation in which her dad hasn’t asked anything difficult, and Beckett is consequently less tense and rather less guarded.

“Let’s play Sorry, Dad.”

“Okay.”

They set it up and begin.

“So, I guess you’re over your stomach bug?” Jim asks.

“Yeah. It was nasty,” she says, with emphasis.  “Had to take a couple of days off.”

“Really? That sounds pretty serious, if you had to take time off.  Why didn’t you tell me?”  The question is silk-smooth, stiletto-sharp.

“It was just an upset stomach, Dad. Couple of days at home sorted it out.  It’s not like you can do anything except wait it out.”

“You sounded pretty upset Monday morning. If you weren’t feeling good, why’d you go to work?”

She shrugs, and moves a piece.

“Katie.” She flicks a glance at him.  “You didn’t have a stomach upset.  You had a temper upset.  Why were you so upset at Julia Berowitz?”  He is determined to get to the bottom of this.  He might not have been much of a parent for ten years, but something’s wrong with Katie and he’s going to find out what.

“I must’ve already been sick. She wasn’t listening to you and she should’ve.  Normally it wouldn’t bother me, but I guess I just wasn’t on my game.”

Jim raises a very disbelieving eyebrow. “You didn’t look sick to me, and you didn’t sound sick on Monday morning.  You lost your temper, both times.  You haven’t done that in years.  Why were you so upset, Katie?  You’ve heard the story before.  I told you it, when I got dry, when I asked for forgiveness, when I made amends.  Why did you get so angry last Sunday?”

Beckett says nothing.

“I’m your dad, Katie. I just want you to be okay.  But you weren’t okay, and I don’t think you’re really okay now.  Tell me what’s wrong, Bug.”  He’s almost pleading.

“Nothing’s wrong, Dad.”

Jim looks exasperatedly at his daughter, who is as downright infuriating and obdurate as she was aged fifteen and all teen attitude and negativity. “Do I have to remind you of what you said on Monday?  You said you were still trying.  What are you still trying to do?  You saved me.  There’s nothing more you need to do.”

She’s still silent. Then she speaks.  “There’s nothing wrong, Dad.  Stop worrying.”

“You’re worrying me, Katie. You lose your temper, you don’t take my call, and now you’re telling me there’s nothing wrong when it’s clear that there is.  It all started because of the Berowitzes, didn’t it?  Why’d you get so involved with them?”

“They needed help. Their son was murdered, and I caught it.”

“That’s not what I mean. Why did you search Manhattan for her husband?  That wasn’t your job.”

“She called me. Protect and serve, Dad.  That’s the job.” 

Jim barely restrains a sharp answer. Katie is evading everything he asks and he is becoming quite seriously annoyed with her.  He is also quite certain that there is something much more important that she isn’t telling him.

“Yep, it is,” he says innocuously. “Suppose you can’t help it.”  He has an idea, and completely changes tack.  “So you said you had Rick round to dinner on Tuesday?”

“Yes,” Beckett says, with some relief. This subject, she feels she can handle.  “He’d never had Georgian cooking or wine before.”  She expounds happily on her dishes and the dinner for a few minutes.

“Sounds lovely,” Jim says, and smiles. He’s just had a really good idea.  “Now that we’ve been for dinner at theirs, they should all come for dinner at one of our places.  Reciprocity.   That would be really nice.  I had a great time with them all – even if Martha Rodgers’s dress colours would stop the traffic in Times Square.  Do you think I should get sunglasses?”

“I think that might be a little obvious, Dad,” Beckett says, utterly without thought. Invite them all back?  She barely made it through the first dinner, what with both Castle’s happy family setup and her own dad being so comfortable with the Castle family.

“Maybe. So, what do you think?  Invite them all round?  I’ll help you cook.”  He looks at his daughter.  She’s turned a little white.  His concern that she had been off at Rick’s reasserts itself.  He is going to push this, though.  “Next Saturday, if they’re all free?”  Katie’s face has tightened up.  “After all, you said there was nothing wrong and you’ve clearly fixed things with Rick, so there should be no problem.  I’ll be delighted to see them again.  It was great, the way they welcomed me in.  Martha’s clearly had an interesting life, and I’d love to hear more about the theatre from a backstage perspective.  Alexis was really cute, as well.  Totally different from you, though.”

“Yeah. Not exactly a rebel type,” Beckett manages to force out in a relatively cheerful tone.

“Not if she wants to know about being a lawyer before age eighteen. Anyway, I’d really like to have them over.  They’re so easy to get on with.  It’s great being around them.  It’s just like being part of a family again,” he says thoughtlessly.

“Is it?” Beckett can’t stop the hurt snap.

“What do you mean?” She almost stops breathing, stone-still.  “What do you mean, Katie?”  Jim hesitates, suddenly realising that he’s fallen over something serious. 

“Nothing. It’s really nice you got on with them so well.”

“That implies that you don’t get on with them,” Jim says, legal ability to analyse the slightest textual nuance to the fore. “Don’t you like Rick’s family?”

There’s an unpleasant pause. Beckett can see the void opening under her feet.  Say no, and her father will question.  Say yes – because she does like them, it’s just the easy, happy relationships that catch her on the raw and make her feel guilty and unhappy and not good enough – and her father will force her into this dinner.  She is not hosting the dinner.  She just can’t.  She just can’t bear seeing her father being part of their family when he’s just said that they’re a better family than she is.  She barely made it through the dinner at Castle’s, where she could leave.  She can’t do it at hers, where she couldn’t leave.

And then the void swallows her anyway.

“Why don’t you like being there? They’re a nice family, and it was great to be part of that again.  They were nothing but nice to you, and you’re involved with Rick, so what’s up, Katie?  We taught you better than that.  ”

It’s all too much: the implied telling-off, the accusatory tone. Her father shouldn’t force her like this.  He’s been picking and pushing and forcing the issue for a week and she’s been hiding the truth from him for years to keep him safe and all she gets in return is told off because she’s not behaving properly and the chance to watch him fit right into someone else’s family when he’d ruined it all for her and doesn’t even remember that he did.  And now he’s outright told her that being with her isn’t being a family.  All her previously unacknowledged pain, all the hurt she’s never dealt with, comes to the fore.

“Yeah, you did. When you were still able to set an example.  When Mom was still here.  Before you got drunk for five years and I had to walk away because I wasn’t enough for you to want to live.”

Jim goes white. “Katie…”  But she runs right over him.

“I don’t want them in my apartment and if you invite them here I won’t come. You can play happy families with a happy family all you want, Dad, if I’m not enough of one for you.  I wasn’t enough to save you and it looks like I’m still not enough now.  It doesn’t matter what I’ve done to try and keep you safe because it’s only you who keeps yourself sober.  Nothing to do with me.  I’m done trying.  I’m done.”

She’s crying as she stands up and walks out, Jim static, frozen and white behind her, calling Katie, Katie come back too late as the door shuts.  He’s dialling her phone frantically, over and over, but she doesn’t pick up.  He’s her father, and she won’t even take his calls – just like years ago.  She won’t take his calls: it just rings straight through to voicemail, over and over.

He dials another number.

“Ed? Ed, can I talk to you awhile?  I think I’ve really screwed up.  Katie…  I knew there was something wrong and I wanted her to tell me about it.  I thought… I thought… I’m her dad, and I just wanted to help.  But she lost it and she said… she said she wasn’t enough and she’s done trying.  I really thought she understood that she was everything that saved me, but she’s just walked out on me and she thinks she doesn’t matter to me.  Ed, what do I do now?”