Whisper: Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Most of these characters are not mine at all, but they are memorable. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe. The others? Yeah, they're mine

A/N: This story begins in the wee hours of the morning after the conclusion of The Long Game. At the end of that story, Richard Castle and Kate Beckett were sitting down in a bar at the Hamptons in the evening simply trying to regroup. Alexis was out on the beach getting 'lessons' from Elena Markov (whatever that happens to mean), while Jackson Hunt has left for who knows where. You may want to review that story again to catch up, as this story begins where that left off, some four plus hours later, still out at the Hamptons. This will be a relatively short story taking us into the Thanksgiving holiday.

There won't be a lot of action – physically - but this story is necessary for where I want to take this AU next. The Long Game set up a couple of scenarios that cannot be ignored and need to be dealt with before we continue.

Early Friday Morning just after Midnight, March 23, 2012 – 12:21 a.m. – at Castle's Hamptons Home

The cab pulls into Richard Castle's driveway at his Hampton's getaway home, some twenty or so minutes after midnight. Well, the term 'getaway home' isn't entirely accurate. For the time being, this beach house is Richard Castle's home – his only home, his new permanent residence.

Last month, the now-deceased Scott Dunn took care of that, blowing his city loft to smithereens and beyond – leveling the entire building. And that destruction was the least of Dunn's atrocities.

A family dead, two cops dead, a cabbie dead. Alexis kidnapped. FBI profiler Jordan Shaw's daughter taken as well. Castle's mom. Beckett's dad. Both taken. All touched – horribly – by the monster that was Scott Dunn.

And along the way, some curious developments have assaulted the once exciting but relatively safe world of Richard Castle. A heartbreaking lie that has rocked him, from the woman of his dreams. A lie of omission of his own exposed. A dead-and-buried friend resurrected, only to betray Castle and those he loves.

He was shot. Sniper style. That on the steps of the courthouse as they were leading him back to jail.

Yes, he was in jail.

Oh, and he has met a father he never thought he would see, and a sister he never knew existed. Okay, technically she is his half-sister, but he's not quibbling.

So, yes, Richard Castle has lived a lifetime in just under a month. And he reacts the way any mature but rocked-to-the-core man reacts. He is out to live the set-up to a perfect joke.

A man walks into a bar with a beautiful woman . . .

Castle steps – or half stumbles, to be more accurate – out of the cab, and offers a fifty dollar bill to the cabbie, as Kate gets out of the cab on the passenger side.

"Keep the change," he tells the grateful, long-time New Yorker.

"Are you sure, bud?" the cabbie asks, his eyes hopeful.

"You got us home safe and sound," Castle smiles, "which I promise you I would not have been able to do tonight."

"This morning" the cabbie corrects him.

"See what I mean?" Castle smiles, as the Cabbie nods his head, chuckling, and begins to pull away. Castle walks slowly to the walkway leading to the front door, where Kate waits patiently – nervously.

It's been a good night. For the first time in . . . well, ever, he and his favorite detective have taken the opportunity to talk. Really talk. Not about a case. Not about a perp. Not about the precinct, or the latest Nikki Heat novel. They've done something absolutely essential for a healthy, long-term relationship to survive: They talked about nothing. It was an opportunity to find out whether or not there really is something here beyond innuendo, flirts, and lust-filled thoughts.

Both have been pleasantly surprised. It had turned into an interesting night.

A few hours ago at a local bar and grille at the Hamptons

"Ground rules," Castle had said suddenly after a few minutes of awkward silence when they first sat down and ordered drinks.

"You're kidding, Castle" Kate has wondered, incredulously.

"Well, the silence here is absolutely deafening, detective," he had responded.

And in a moment of pure God-does-have-a-sense-of-humor irony, both had day-dreamed similar thoughts.

"Will I ever be something other than 'detective' to him?" Kate had wondered.

"Will I ever be Rick to her? Or am I doomed to be Castle forever?" he had wondered.

Fortunately, the notion of ground rules proved to be more than a conversation starter. It took the edge off of things, and turned the night into what it should have been all along. Drinks and snacks between two very good friends.

Friends searching for something more.

Friends wanting more, but missing that critical ingredient necessary for a good, slow, sweet baking.

Trust.

Neither trusts the other right now – and for good reason. After a year of lies, of omissions, of secrets – well, yeah, the loud silence was the comfortable alternative. So ground rules helped.

"No work talk, no book talk," Castle had begun. "I don't know about you, but I need a break from all of that."

"Sounds good," an almost relieved Kate Beckett replies with a wistful smile, taking a sip of the Moscato that Karen the waitress has just brought to the table. She watches as Castle takes a long drag on the spiced rum and coke concoction.

"Never heard of Sailor Jerry," she muses to him.

"Then you're not much of a drinker, detective," he smiles in return, then continues. "And if you don't mind, no talk about anything from the past month or so. This guy here," he says, wiggling the glass in his hands, "is to help forget all that."

"It won't help," she warns him. She's trying to keep things light. And yes, she enjoys a drink as much as the next guy or girl. But not to forget. It doesn't work. She almost mentions her dad, but stops. As it turns out, her companion is astute enough to see her train of thought.

"You're probably right," he gives her. "But he tastes pretty good. Is it okay if I just enjoy the taste for a bit?"

"You and me both, Castle," she replies with a crooked smile.

Yeah . . . awkward. Both realize it. But what did they expect?

"Why is this so hard?" he asks.

"What?"

"This," he replies. "We've known each other for four years. We've been through life and death situations. We've helped each other. We've hurt each other. And I've . . ."

He stops short of completing his sentence, instead going in a safer direction.

"You'd think we'd have something to talk about," he says talking another protective gulp.

She begins to open her mouth, probably to argue that last point, he figures. But he's not ready to talk about that either. Kind of stupid of him to bring it up in the first place.

"This place," he begins, changing the subject, giving them a topic. "This place has been here for over forty years. Mother actually knows the owner. I had to chuckle when you pulled us into the parking lot. It's where I would have brought us."

"See," she smiles, her nerves settling just a bit more. "We think alike even for something as simple as which bar to go to."

"I guess we're already good at starting over," he half chuckles, taking another sip. From there, the conversation had turned to topics that neither of them had ever even considered broaching with the other.

Kate's college years. Ex-boyfriends. Rebelling against Mom and Dad who were on the other side of the country.

Castle's years in private school on the east coast. Rambunctious actions that got him suspended, expelled, repeat.

She lost her virginity as a high school senior. He lost his . . . a little earlier.

They were surprised to learn – after counting on blurred fingers – that they have slept with the same number of partners. That little gem had reduced them both into a fit of giggles.

His first story was a ghost story about a spy, written in high school for a contest. She won a poetry contest with a short poem about . . . you guessed it, ghosts.

They laughed to discover that she loves beer and bikes. He hates beer, and loves sports cars.

Alexis never came up. Nor did Jim Beckett. Nor did Roy Montgomery or Jackson Hunt, or Elena Markov. Even Espo and Ryan ended up – intentionally or unintentionally – off limits. Their conversation ranged from child years in church, to baptism, to school years and pranks and dates. They laughed over the first time either smoked a joint. And all the while, Karen continued to bring drink after drink, first with grilled wings, then chips, then more drinks.

About half an hour ago, they laughed as both had the state of mind to realize they needed a cab, but neither could figure out how to get a cab. Fortunately, Karen had taken care of that as well.

Back at Castle's Hampton's Home, just after Midnight, March 23, 2012 – 12:24 a.m.

Castle and Kate walk gingerly and quietly up the steps inside the home, careful not to wake anyone. The house is dark, everyone long asleep. She walks in front of him, and he tries – somewhat unsuccessfully – to pry his eyes away from the swaying and swinging derriere that glides up the stairs in front of him. He blames it on Sailor Jerry.

They reach the landing when he points down the hall to the right.

"Your room is down the hall, last door on the left" he tells her. "I know you didn't bring anything to sleep in –"

"Who says I sleep in anything?" she replies, her words just slightly slurring.

"Touche," he agrees. He thinks about pushing the topic, but decides against it. It's been a good night. Far better than he could have imagined, all things considered. There's no need to push it. He suspect there will be a repeat of this evening. Perhaps many repeats.

"There are toiletries in there," he tells her. "You mentioned that you aren't going into work until Tuesday?" he reminds her.

"Yes, Gates gave me a couple of days off," she responds, still grateful for the time off.

"Good," he continues. "Maybe you and Mother and Alexis can go into town in the morning. There are couple of really nice boutique shops. I'm sure Mother can help you find something," he says with a roll of the eyes.

"Okay," she replies, surprising herself with how easily she has agreed to this. To staying here. No strings attached. To shopping with his mother. Probably a few strings come with that one.

She surprises him with a kiss on the cheek. A kiss that lingers just a second longer than either expect. She breaks away, walking down the hall to her room.

"Goodnight, Castle," she tells him softly as she walks away, and he smiles with a simple wave.

"Goodnight, detective," he tells her, and once again, similar thoughts pound both the writer and the cop.

"Still the detective," she muses to herself.

"Still on a last-name basis," he notices.

They walk to their respective rooms, neither looking back until they both get to their doors. Both risk a side glance back to each other, forcing embarrassed smiles as each quickly slips into their respective rooms. Now this is getting ridiculous. They both feel like high school freshmen getting caught taking that extra glance. It hits both of them – right about the same time – that perhaps that isn't a bad thing. Perhaps they deserve a little junior high / high school excitement. Perhaps a little novelty-of-youth will do them both some good.

She closes the door behind her, and leans heavily against the solid wooden door, her head back and eyes closed, unable to contain the smile that grows broadly. She whispers a soft but audible 'thank you' to the heavens, and is startled by a young voice in the darkness.

"Thank you for what, detective?" Alexis asks her, sitting on her bed.

Meanwhile, Richard Castle closes the door behind him, smiling a bit more nervously. He wants to trust her. He really does. He trusts that woman with his life. With his daughter.

His heart? That's another matter. He turns on the lights and is met with a similar surprise to his companion down the hall.

"Hello, brother," Elena smiles at him, sitting cross-legged on the floor at the foot of his bed. She wears jeans and one of his dress shirts. Again.

In both rooms, Richard Castle and Kate Beckett have the exact, identical thought.

"I guess tonight is not over yet," both of them think silently to themselves.