Chapter 22

Esposito's looking at the murder board glumly when Ryan comes in holding a newspaper, practically jumping with excitement.

"Hey, Esposito, look at this!"

Esposito looks at the photo on page six and whistles. "Uh-oh." It's Castle, going into a lingerie store. The article underneath reads "Millionaire mystery writer and man-about-town, Richard Castle, was spotted yesterday in a lingerie store in East Hampton, buying for an as-yet-unidentified brunette. Looks like everyone's favorite bachelor is off the market again. Rick's been single for a few weeks since he broke up with the publisher of the Nikki Heat series, inspired by Detective Kate Beckett of the NYPD's Twelfth Precinct. It hasn't taken him long to find a new love interest. What does this mean for the Nikki Heat books - will Detective Beckett still be Rick's muse? Will this new interest appreciate the "research" for Nikki Heat?" There's a second, smaller, picture, taken from behind, of Castle with his arm curled around a figure that the two detectives instantly identify as Beckett.

"Looks like he got her."

"Yeah, but how long will that last when Beckett discovers she's in the paper? She's not exactly keen on publicity."

Beckett's getting dressed and grumbling audibly about still not getting to drive the Ferrari when Castle's phone beeps. It's a text message from Ryan.

Hey Castle. Better keep the papers away from Beckett. You're on page six. Can't tell it's Beckett 'less you know her, but you're out there.

Oh fuck.

It's too soon. He hasn't convinced her yet. Two choices, hide it and hope she doesn't find out, or honesty and hope she doesn't walk out. He sits down heavily and considers which one is more likely to be repairable. If he doesn't tell her, and then she finds out about the article and interrogates him, then he'll have destroyed all the hard-won trust he's built up and she will certainly leave. And he'll deserve it for lying. If he does, it's perfectly likely that she'll put her barriers all the way up and still leave. He doesn't like either option, but there aren't any others. Truth or lies, Rick. He knows which way he has to go. He just has to get the courage to do it.

Before he's come to the point, his phone rings. It's Paula. She's not happy.

"What the hell is this, Rick? I've got every gossip hack in New York on my back wanting to know what you're doing and who she is. How am I supposed to manage your PR if you don't take at least a bit of care about where you're seen and what you're doing? Is this one so good that you've left your mind in your dick? I suppose your detective's finally told you where to get off and this is you consoling yourself. Couldn't you at least warn me, Rick, so I can spin the story?"

"Paula," he starts, and pauses. "Look, I'll have to call you back."

She's still sputtering "Rick, don't you put the phone.." as he rings off.

Looks like the timing's been set for him. It'll have to be right now.

Beckett's got her feet tucked up in her corner of the couch, reading, wearing the dress and looking delectable. He takes a moment just to look, spotting a fragment of lace. He wants to unwrap her, have what might be one last chance to love her slowly before he has to tell her that the gossip columns are on the case and watch her back away.

He attempts to assemble words which might, if he's really lucky, be enough to draw the sting of truth: that he really wasn't thinking through the haze of Kate's mine and so he's let the world know about them before there's even really a them for the world to know about.

He sits down next to her, close enough to put an arm round her shoulders, and for a wonder she unconsciously leans into him. He wants so badly just to kiss her and forget that this is happening, that the future he was hoping for might be slipping away from him. "Kate," he blurts. She looks up, startled by his tone and the use of her first name.

"Mmm?"

"Kate, we need to talk." She looks stricken, and suddenly he remembers that – only two days ago – she was crying on the decking, expecting him to ditch her. "No. No. I don't mean like that." This is all coming out wrong already. "I don't want you to go." There's a miniscule relaxation of her shoulders and he hugs her closer. "Don't kill me. Promise you won't kill me till I've finished talking."

She nods, unconvincingly. He takes a deep breath, because if he stops now he'll never be able to do this, and plunges on.

"I just got a call from Paula. Someone took a shot of me yesterday in East Hampton and a shot of both of us and the photos are on page six, but you can't tell it's you with me because it's from behind." He runs out of words and breath alike. She's absolutely motionless in the crook of his arm. He can't see her face because her hair's fallen across it.

"Oh," she says finally, tonelessly. He wants to say please don't hate me and please don't leave and maybe even it doesn't matter because I'm going to marry you and take care of you and love you for the rest of my life but self-preservation intervenes and he manages to stay silent. She's still motionless.

"So. Well. Are we going to play this whole affair out on page six? Is that how this goes, Castle? Paparazzi and gossip columnists just waiting for any snippet they can get? You're the one in the public eye. Tell me how I keep my life private. Tell me how I do my job."

"I…I don't know. I only know that I'm not letting you go just because some asshole took a photo and sent it to the papers. I'm not giving this up. You. Us." He's squeezing tighter and tighter and both arms are round her now. "I can't let you run away from us again. I won't. You're mine."

The raw possession in his voice hits home. It's abruptly clear to Beckett that she's fundamentally misunderstood what's going on here. Castle, rich playboy, isn't playing any more. He's really, really serious. Some time when she wasn't looking, the game changed. Oh. Oh.

"Castle," she hesitates. She isn't sure she's ready for the answers she's about to extract. But suddenly she needs to know. "Castle." It's her firmest interrogation tone. "Why did you do all this? Invite me to the loft. Bring me here." Take me to bed. "What is this?"

"I couldn't wait any more. You knew there was more going on between us than just me following you around for Nikki Heat but you wouldn't admit it and then I kissed you in that alley and you kissed me back but you just wouldn't talk about it" - his voice is rising – "and the only thing I could think of to do was get you to the loft to show you there was more to it but then you ran away" – he's very nearly shouting and his grip is so tight it's painful – "and…" – his tone drops to a guilty mumble – "…and I might have over-reacted a bit - a lot - and I'm really, really sorry but I thought you'd gone and I just couldn't stand it so I had to get you back and make you see." He runs down.

Oh. That's...unexpected.

"See what, Castle?" She needs to hear the next sentence.

"See how much I love you."

Oh.

She turns her face up and pulls his head down and kisses him, and then it's a confused mess of hands and mouths and his shirt is off and her dress is round her waist and neither of them has any control of this at all and as he pushes into her he's pleading Kate, Kate and she's pulling him into her and begging him not to stop and then it all goes white.

Eventually, much later, they're curled together on the couch, sated.

"Now what?"

"Mmm," he hums. "I think we should stay here till Tuesday and stay in bed all that time." Not a bad thought, but not quite what she means.

"No, I mean after that."

He hasn't thought that far. Inchoate ideas about moving her into the loft or telling Paula to tell all known and unknown gossip columnists that he's off the market for good or just marrying her tomorrow swirl about his head. And honestly, as long as she's going to be with him he doesn't care about any of it.

"Long-term? Long-term I want to marry you. Short-term – come on, and kiss me, Kate."

Finis.

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