April's Fool

Disclaimer: Yeah, I still don't own Castle.

A/N: The premise was inspired by the novels of Pamela Aidan, along with a tweet from WriteRCastle. I am working on Chapter 2 of Over the River now, and plan to post by afternoon tomorrow. Also, reviews are like chocolates. You can never have too many. Feed me?

As promised, a present for Mai. Let's be silly and "schemy" and sneaky more often. And for Stella: I'm sorry. Stay with us, we love you... And as always for the dear CuffedBunnies, without whom I would have no Castle at all.

Hope, Always

The trip had been a bad idea. He knew that before he went, but now he was sure of it. He thought Vegas would be a distraction, but mostly it only wore him out more. He thought getting away from here would be getting away from her. He was wrong. Getting away from the real Beckett did nothing to help him get away from his Kate.

She, apparently, could not be excised from his mind, from his dreams. Oh, he had tried to keep himself busy enough that it wouldn't matter. But, it hadn't worked. Every stupid thing he had done, she was there looking at him with those eyes. Disapproving, of course. Begging him to go home, to her.

And as he stood in the foyer of his loft, he knew that was exactly what he had done. Because this, this was where his Kate really lived. She had for quite some time, really. When he was alone at night he saw her there in place, belonging. Curled up in his office with the book, looking up at him with a smile from some paperwork she was going over on the sofa in the living room, getting a drink in the kitchen, and...everywhere. It was a comfort to him at first. Like an image of things to come. But now, it was just torture.

It took him a few minutes to spot a large box on his dining room table. Stepping over to it, he found a note from Alexis tucked underneath it. It read: This was sitting by the door when I came home.

The loft was empty, as near as he could tell. Or maybe just sleeping. The jet lag affected him too much for him to be sure. He stared at the box. The paper was bright, and busy in a way that he couldn't quite make out in the darkness. He picked it up, to take it into his study. It surprised him with its weight. So heavy, like everything else these days.

Once the box had been set down on his desk, he reached into his pocket and took out his cellphone. He hadn't switched it back on since the flight. He powered it up, and set in on his desk beside the box. He flicked on his desk lamp, bathing the area around him in dim, warm light.

The message alert from his phone startled him. He looked down at it in confusion, only to see the message box in the center of the screen. Beckett. Damn. He picked up the phone; thought about switching it off again. But that only served to bring her message into view.

Happy Birthday. Left your silly gift at loft. Better one coming when I see you. - KB

The lightness of it made his heart twist. Here, alone he has less control of the switch. He turned back the box. The first thing he noticed was that the paper wasn't store-bought. Curiosity wouldn't let him ignore that. He leaned in for a closer look.

Comic book pages. She'd taken comic book pages, or copies of them, and created her own wrapping paper. Ones she had mentioned, or ones that he had. He tried not to give too much thought to how long it must've taken her, because he knew how busy her schedule was.

There was something in this gift, in the playfulness of it, that caused the protective layer of ice he'd been allowing to form around his heart crack. It was so like his imagined Kate, the one who loved him, he could barely stand it. But it warmed him anyway.

She wasn't being deliberately cruel, he knew that. Even in his anger with her he knew she never meant to hurt him. He didn't think was really capable of it. Not without her own pain and anger to fuel it. But even then, not cruelty. She had been trying to protect him. Spare him the loss of his illusions for a while longer. Because she did care, even if she couldn't love him. He knew that, believed it. She didn't mean for this to hurt. Silly gift.

It's the day. Ever since they found out that his birthday fell on April Fools' Day, she and the boys had taken to giving him silly little gag gifts for his birthday. The silly gift.

He'd always been a paper ripper, but he couldn't rip this, not this. He removed the wrapping carefully, avoiding the slightest tear. Then he folded it just as carefully, opened his desk drawer and tucked it beneath the cover of a proof copy of Frozen Heat. The one he was saving for her. Still. Because the switch might be faulty.

Only then did he get a good look at the present. He stared. She gave him a box of firewood? He looked closer. The box read: Java Logs. Seriously? There was a note taped to the top in her neat, practiced hand.

I figured since I owe you so much coffee, these might give me a necessary advantage. Got to be at least a hundred cups worth, right? - Kate.

The ice cracked further. The warmth filled him enough to make his throat burn, ache. A hundred - oh God. Kate. He loved her - will always love her.

He laughed out loud. "That's cheating," he said to the empty office.

"It is not cheating!" Her voice came back almost immediately, rich and playful and indignant. He looked up sharply, startled at the sound. The office was empty, yet she was there, his phantom, fantasy Kate. She leaned back against the bookcase, her beautiful eyes alight with mischief and laughter and something else he was now convinced only she could possess.

He sent the text to distract his mind from her. A real message to override the fantasy. Not silly. Lovely. Thank you, he sent. It sounded distant enough. He hoped.

"It's not cheating. It's creative. You know it, and you love it."

Distraction had failed. He tried again. Rick got up from the chair, went into the living room. He removed the false log set, capped off the gas line that usually provided fuel. It took him a matter of minutes to convert the gas system back to the original log burning setup.

He went back to the office, pulled one of the fire logs from the box, then slipped back to the living room to set it up. There was nothing to light it with, they usually used gas. He went back to the office to dig through the drawer.

"You know it was perfect, Castle," his beautiful phantom insisted. "Come on, coffee and a roaring fire? Not even you can top that."

He let his eyes go to the image of her again, warm and inviting. "It hurts when you look at me like that," he said quietly, his voice rough with it.

The mischief feel from her face, replaced with a soft, sad smile. "You love it," she said again.

"I love you." The response was as automatic now as it was honest.

She smiled wider, her hands dropping to her sides. Apparently, she thought he was being cute. But then she leaned back again, recrossing her arms in front of her. "I know."

The message alert chimed again, startling him.

"You see?" His Kate nodded to the phone on his desk.

He looked, and it shattered him. Always. He reached out and pressed both buttons on his phone, creating a screenshot of the message window. The picture would already be uploading to the vast information cloud. Safe, in case he deleted the original message when the harsh light of day came.

Shattered was the only word he had. Shattered like that icy shell of indifference he had erected to protect his heart. The collision of his own fantasy with the real thing had obliterated his fragile, already faulty defenses. Opened him to hope again, at least for the night.

He found a match, and after considering the possibilities for a long moment, left the phone behind. But he took her note with him. He didn't spare a look back for her, for his Kate, because he knew she would follow. It didn't matter where he went, she always followed.

Once he had the fire going, he settled back on sofa, Kate's note cradled in his hands. He swore he could feel the sofa give just above where he had laid his head. He smiled at the nearly there sensation of fingers ghosting through his hair, mirroring his own as they traced her name on the paper, over and over.

Soon, he was lulled into the shadow of sleep, where he knew she was waiting.