Perfect day

The phone wakes Beckett far too early for comfort.

"Beckett," she slurs, barely coherent.

"Beckett." It's the happy singsong of someone who's clearly had several more hours sleep than she has. "Beckett, wake up. It's ten thirty on a beautiful day, and I've been abandoned. I'm all alone. Come out with me."

"I'm asleep. Go 'way."

"You can't be asleep if you're talking to me," says her nemesis reasonably. "Come on. It's sunny and warm and you can't leave me all alone."

"Can too. Wanna sleep."

"Not going to let you. You've got ten minutes before I'm at your door."

Still grumbling to herself, Beckett falls out of bed and into the shower. It wasn't Castle who had to finish the case paperwork before he went home. But the sun's streaming through the window and the skies are the clear blue of late spring, before the humidity of summer spoils it all, and maybe some sunshine is just what she needs. Even if it comes with Castle attached.

Castle's at the door just after she's scrambled into jeans and jumper, looking particularly pleased with life.

"Why'd you wake me. I wanna sleep. Didn't get in till two." She's still sulky at being woken, and not at all afraid to show it.

"It's a wonderful day. What better than to spend it with me?" She rolls her eyes. "Come on, we're going to Central Park." He's got a bag.

"What's in the bag?"

"It's a surprise," he says childishly. "Not telling you." And he tugs her by her arm to the door, all sloppy enthusiasm and puppy-dog eyes.

When they get to Central Park Castle heads straight for the carousel, buying them both cotton candy and insisting that Beckett has to eat it. She growls for effect – it doesn't make the slightest dent in Castle's self-confidence – but swirls it on to her tongue. She hasn't had cotton candy in years. The sticky, sugary strands remind her of going to Coney Island as a child. A little Detective Beckett falls away and a little piece of Kate takes its place. She smiles happily.

Cotton candy all finished, Castle's looking at her with a very strange expression. It's a mix of confusion, amusement and not a little desire.

"What is it, Castle?" she snips. "Has my hair turned green or something?"

"No..." he's a little closer, and she's remembering why normally she makes sure to wear heels. Flats mean that he's really quite a lot bigger than she usually likes to notice. Especially when he's looming over her and rather too close for her peace of mind.

"But you've missed this fragment of candy." And he leans in and slides his thumb over the corner of her mouth. "See?" He's grinning triumphantly as she glares at him, licks the candy off his thumb. A flutter runs through her stomach. "Can't let you wander round with candy on your mouth."

"I think I learned to wipe my own face some time ago, Castle." But the gesture and the flutter peel away another slice of Beckett and put back another piece of Kate.

"But that was much more fun, now, wasn't it? Admit it."

Of course she won't. He doesn't expect her to. But he's got a plan for today, ever since he woke up and saw the sunshine, with the lyrics from a song on some documentary on late night TV still running through his head. He's going to make this a perfect day.

He moves her along, aiming for the Sheep Meadow at a gentle amble. "Slow up, Beckett, this isn't one of your crime scenes. No hurry."

In the middle of Sheep Meadow he stops. Beckett glances behind her when she realises she's gone several steps without him, has to retrace to where he's looking round and nodding happily. "This'll do."

"Do for what?"

"A picnic, what else?" and he pulls out of the bag a rug, a flask, two glasses and an assortment of small savoury tidbits and sweet confections, enough for two.

"Drink, Beckett?"

When the liquid hits the glasses – and who but Castle would bring proper glasses to a park picnic, rather than plastic beakers? – it's dark red and there's fruit floating in it. She gazes at it rather suspiciously. This is beginning to feel like a carefully designed plan, not a spontaneous day out because Castle can't stand being bored. She tastes it gingerly. It's delicious.

"What is this? It's great."

"Sangria, Beckett. Have you really never had it before?"

"No, I was in Kiev, not Madrid. They do vodka there, even with picnics." She takes another mouthful. It's smooth and gentle on her palate. This is – nice. Really nice. No stress, no pressure, no body, no suggestive comments making her feel pursued. Another sip, and another. Imperceptibly, she's relaxing.

When the picnic's over, she doesn't want to move. She's lying on her front watching the world go by, for once without her cop eyes. It's warm, she's warm, and why should she go anywhere anyway?

"Come on."

"Don't wanna. I'm comfy here."

"You have to." And he tugs her up by the wrist, shakes the rug out and packs it neatly away around the flask and glasses. They've finished the sangria, and Beckett is faintly noticing that the world has slightly fuzzier edges than it did two hours ago. It's a good feeling. A bigger chunk of Detective becomes Kate.

She's not sure where he's taking her now. But as they walk their fingers brush together and then he catches her hand and keeps it. That feels good, too.

Castle's jubilant. He's got to hold her hand and she isn't stopping him. He'd skip, but he doesn't think that would be manly.

When he leads her into the Zoo she giggles. "The Zoo? Really, Castle?"

"Yes. C'mon, it's full of fluffy small cute things. And fluffy large cute things."

"Do you mean the pandas or are you hoping for a compliment?" It sounds snarky, but she's still smiling and all in all right now he thinks she's closer than she's ever been to like liking him. And he's still holding her hand and she's still not stopping him.

The pandas are cute. So are the polar bears, and the deer, and the tamarind monkeys. And Beckett is all slightly giggly and (he thinks) a little buzzed with the sangria and less fierce buttoned-up Detective and more relaxed Kate than he'd contemplated was possible. So when they go to see the sea lions and Beckett lurches into him to avoid the splashes he thinks that he can put an arm round her shoulders and not be courting death. And he's right. She snuggles into his side and in flats she is just the perfect height for cuddling.

When the sun starts to cool and they're exiting the park Beckett recognises that she's let Castle keep his arm round her for most of the afternoon and she hasn't thought once that it's inappropriate or pushy. In fact, she's liked it. They fit very neatly together.

He steers them back to his Tribeca loft for dinner and wine, and offers up a movie. "Whatever you like, Beckett." She picks out some semi-generic rom-com that seems to fit the way the day has gone and curls up on his oversize couch. She's not surprised when he tucks in next to her and wraps his arm around her.

"Been a perfect day, Beckett. Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes. But it's not quite perfect."

"Why's that?"

"You haven't kissed me yet."

So he does. She's right. That makes it perfect.

Just a perfect day

Drink sangria in the park

And then later when it gets dark

We go home

Just a perfect day

Feed animals in the zoo

Then later a movie, too

And then home

Oh, it's such a perfect day

I want to spend it with you

Oh, such a perfect day

You just keep me hanging on

You just keep me hanging on

Lou Reed.