Chapter 2: Don't you cry

O'Leary picks up a more definite rustle from the baby monitor, followed by a funny little noise. It doesn't quite sound like the babies. This, he considers, is a matter that should be investigated. He sneaks upstairs as quietly as a mountain can sneak, and opens the bedroom door.

On balance, that was a major mistake. His eyes haven't really adjusted to the darkness before two enthusiastic small furballs have dived past his ankles and made a break for freedom. They're halfway down the stairs before he's reacted, and his first reaction is not polite.

"Holy shit, Beckett!" he wails. "Couldn't you have told me you were plannin' on shiftin'?"

The kittens stop their helter-skelter escape at the bottom of the stairs and look, wide-eyed, back up at the unusual sight of a wailing mountain. Then they meep at each other, one bats the other and takes off, and suddenly there are two mischievous little fluffballs skittering around the wooden floors and sliding into the cushions because they haven't quite learned how to stop. O'Leary follows them down and wonders what the hell he is going to do now.

He hasn't quite decided about that when there are two odd small sighing noises and the kittens are suddenly panther cubs. Still adorably cute and fluffy, but he's none too sure how he feels about the rather more obvious teeth and claws.

"Beckett," he says to the empty air, "you an' me are gonna have words." Suddenly it's all become horribly clear. Fairway, O'Leary remembers, is near enough to Central Park. Aw, hell. His one consolation is the amount of fun he is going to have embarrassing the crap out of both of them. He doesn't think either of them had thought that the babies-kittens-cubs would have woken when their parents shifted. One thing's for sure, though, they're still synced.

Dammit.

He looks at the two cubs play-fighting – he hopes it's play, because one of 'em's got a damn good grip on the other's ear – aw, no! It's crying. He separates them, and pets the crying one. He guesses it's David, if only because the other bears an extraordinary (even if feline) resemblance to an embarrassed Beckett (not that he or anyone else sees that very often). He cuddles and pets David till he's happy again and emitting something that might be a baby purr, and picks up Petra.

"You," he says firmly, "are a naughty girl." He taps her gently on her ebony nose. "You're not to hurt your brother." She mews at him. It doesn't exactly sound like she agrees. He taps again. "You just stay right here in time-out for a minute." That was quite definitely an attempt at a growl, last heard when Beckett realised he knew what they were. He hangs on to Petra – not being stupid – in a way that ensures her small but sharply gleaming claws are not in contact with him. "Nope. You don't get to scratch me." She yawns, and shows off pointed teeth. "Or bite. You just behave."

A minute later he puts her down. Two minutes later they're fighting again, though there is no ear biting. O'Leary settles himself down on the floor with them and makes sure that there is no real violence, separating them cautiously and only occasionally getting scratched. He's got this. He'd prefer it with a pair of tough gloves, but he's got it. They are so cute he'll even forgive them the scratches.

After a bit he thinks he really ought to put them back in the cot, an' maybe they'll go to sleep. It'll give him time to tidy up a bit.

David is quite happy to be picked up. Petra, on the other hand, thinks that it's a lovely new game from her favourite giant. She mews happily and slithers herself round the floor, evading his huge hands. David spots her playing chase and starts to squirm and wriggle too. O'Leary, scared to hold him too tightly because so many things, such as cups and people, turn out to be rather depressingly fragile when he grips hard, puts him down, and then watches with utter horror as the two cubs take off for Castle's office. He is damn sure they're not allowed in there. It's full of breakables.

About that point, he discovers that even panther cubs are a lot faster across the floor than he is. Size is not always an advantage, especially when you start from a prone position. Fortunately, the cubs tear straight through the office and – oh crap – straight into somewhere O'Leary has absolutely no desire ever to see, being Beckett and Castle's bedroom. There are some things to which even friends should never be subjected. Ever. Beckett is going to owe him a Great Lakeful of beer. He contemplates the joy of revenge, for an instant, and wonders whether telling Esposito that Beckett's nickname used to be butterfly would suffice. (Not pretty fragile things. No. Think Muhammed Ali type butterfly.) He decides that it would be a good start, and, extremely reluctantly, follows the cubs.

Even more fortunately, there is nothing in the Castle-Beckett bedroom to sear his eyes and make him need to scrub his brain. (He is also very firmly not thinking what two full-grown panthers might be doing in Central Park, because he just knows he won't like any of the possible answers, and he doesn't really want to have to arrest his pals. Central Park is, after all, his precinct.) He doesn't look at the tall wooden post more than once, clocks the deep scratches, shudders at the still-crystal clear memory of Beckett's claws over his femoral artery, and follows the kits into the bathroom. He shuts the door.

In less than half a minute, the bathroom has become chaos incarnate. David is tugging very hard at the toilet roll, in which he has wound himself and can't get free. He isn't pleased. On the other hand, he is immobilised, temporarily, which O'Leary thinks is an unexpected bonus. He picks up the mummified David and in default of any other safe place plops him in the bath. One naughty cub dealt with, he can concentrate on Petra. She's sneaky, and the bathroom is not small.

O'Leary sits down, folds his arms, and waits. He's really hoping that not playing will make Petra come to see why not. Reverse psychology. It works on her mother. Sometimes.

A small black nose pokes out from behind the sink pedestal. O'Leary looks bored. It's followed by some whiskers, and then a little black furry face. O'Leary re-crosses his arms, and turns away. Petra mews, loudly and demandingly. David wails from the bath as he finds that he can't get out. O'Leary ignores both of them, except for taking a quick snap of David to amuse the cubs' parents and show to any later girlfriends which David might have (should stop him having as many as Castle is reputed to have had).

Petra lays her ears flat in an extremely irritated fashion reminiscent of her mother (O'Leary thinks with malicious satisfaction that Beckett is going to have hell to pay trying to control her, and considers this to be perfectly fitting), and manages a respectable effort at a juvenile growl. The rest of her emerges, stalks towards O'Leary, and, when he continues to ignore her, jumps into his lap, bares her teeth, runs out her claws – and finds herself picked up in the same way as earlier and as a result is pathetically squeaking in disgust.

"Gotcha, troublemaker," he grins at Petra, who is vocally unappreciative, and follows up by plucking David out of the bath, still swathed in most of a roll of expensive toilet paper. Eventually David works out that claws and teeth will defeat the wrappings, and manages a certain amount of extrication. A small white tuft continues to adorn one ear.

O'Leary exits the bathroom, bedroom and office with the cubs dangling bonelessly, one from each giant hand, mewing miserably at being deprived of their fun, shutting each door firmly behind him, and then plonks his enormous self back down on a cushion. He glares at the cubs. David meeps cutely, and tries to look adorable. Petra glares right back at him. O'Leary detects a considerable resemblance to their parents. He does not detect any resemblance to sleepiness, and sighs. The cubs' fur ripples. He glares some more, which has no greater effect.

"You," he says generally, "are a pair of troublemakin' terrors." They appear to regard this as a compliment. "You should be asleep." This does not find favour either. "It's not playtime." They both make cross little growly noises. "You're both goin' back to bed." Larger growly noises, and a certain display of teeth and claws. "That won't work on me," O'Leary points out. "Your mommy's gun don't work on me, and you two ain't nearly as scary as her." They mew. He expects that it's vehement agreement. "Bed," he says firmly. "Now."

Upstairs, he puts on a nightlight, turns back now he can see and shuts the door firmly behind him, and then puts the two cubs into the cot. A second later they are kittens. The fluff-ball kits make an escape attempt. O'Leary puts them back. They try again. He puts them back, again. They try a third time – and he catches them mid-jump just before there's another sigh and he has two very cross, tired babies wailing loudly at him. He can't help tucking them against his broad shoulders, and patting them very gently. The wails diminish, and then cease. He puts the two little forms back into their cot, where they snuggle together and appear to be asleep again, and vacates, switching off the nightlight, as silently as he can, breathing a sigh of relief.

Downstairs, O'Leary decides that the cushions are no more untidy than when he arrived, and declines even to consider any form of tidying of the bathroom. He is not going through the bedroom ever again. He flumps down on the couch, regards the sheddings of kitten and panther fur on his jeans with a sigh, and wonders where he can find either several beers or Castle's whiskey. He deserves it.

At that inapposite moment, the door opens and the reprobate couple enter. They look extremely self-satisfied and they have definitely been up to some very adult mischief.

"Hey, O'Leary," Beckett says, followed by Castle's pleased rumbles. "All okay?"

O'Leary casts her a dyspeptic glance. "While you two have been makin' mischief all over Central Park – an' don't bother denyin' it, because I know you have" – Beckett blushes guiltily, and Castle's ears colour though he's sporting a very smug smile – "you forgot that cats are nocturnal."

"Big word, O'Leary. Do you know what it means?" Beckett tries to divert.

"Sure I do. It means that they wake up at night and want to play." He sounds like the arrival of an avalanche.

Beckett sits down hard. Castle stares at him. "They woke up?" Castle says faintly. "Oh my God."

"We never thought of that," Beckett adds. Her blush brightens.

"Um… what happened?"

"I went up to investigate a strange noise and the kittens came sailin' out, hit the stairs before I could catch 'em" –

"They can't do stairs yet."

"You think? They did them pretty fine tonight."

"They could've been hurt!" Castle says. "How did you let them escape?"

"How did you not tell me you were plannin' on shiftin?" O'Leary bats straight back. "Least then I'd've expected furballs not babies!"

"So they got down the stairs – Hell, Castle, that means we need to get a stairgate. With mesh so they can't sneak through." –

"Never mind your domestic logistics now, Beckett. You left me with the furry terrors. I guess that's when you pair shifted to panther, 'cause suddenly I got two fighting cubs. Petra bit David."

"Nothing new. D'you tell her off?"

"Sure. Tapped her nose and gave her time out."

"'Kay."

"So they messed around for a bit – no more bitin', but that girl of yours fights dirty" –

"She comes by that honestly," Castle mutters, not quite quietly enough, and squawks as Beckett twists his ear –

"an' then they took off for your office." Castle emits a very strange strangulated wail-scream. "Went straight through, through your bedroom" –

"They are not allowed in there!" Beckett says crossly. "Not without us."

"Tell them that," O'Leary mutters dryly. "Anyways, they ended up in your bathroom. You can tidy that up," he adds, unabashed. "Your boy liked the end of the paper. Wrapped himself right up in. I took a photo."

He displays the photo. The parents of the small Nemeses snigger evilly.

"That's one for the album when he gets his first girlfriend," Castle says.

"Really?" Beckett says wryly. "How exactly were you planning to explain to her that he was a panther kitten?"

"Oh." He droops. "Keeping this secret is so not cool," he complains.

"Damn right," O'Leary says. The other two glare at him.

"Look, we're really sorry. I never thought they would wake up," Beckett apologises.

"Yeah."

"Next time, take them with you."

"We would do, but they'd run off in the Park and we'd lose them. I don't wanna spend all night trying to find them."

"I don't wanna spend all night dealing with them throwing up because they've eaten the squirrels," Castle says wickedly.

"Shut up, Castle."

"Squirrels?" O'Leary asks. Even for Castle that's a little random.

"Trust me, you don't wanna know about the squirrels."

But O'Leary's intelligence has taken a few leaps. "You guys chase and eat the squirrels? Man, that's cold. They're cute."

"Would you prefer we ate the people?" Beckett enquires, acidly.

"Waal, no," he admits. "But Beckett, squirrels are cute."

"And they give Beckett tummy upsets," Castle says. "Which is why we have" –

"Shut up, Castle." Beckett gives him a deadly glare. He shuts up, rather too late.

O'Leary grins, very widely. "I get it," he says. "Bit unplanned, those twins?"

Beckett grumbles into thin air. Castle looks conscious.

"Let's have coffee," Castle tries. "O'Leary, wanna drink? I think you might need one, and if you don't need it you sure deserve it."

"Yeah," he rumbles. "I think I do." He pauses, as an idea occurs to him. "You could always make them little harnesses and leads. Or buy them at the pet store. Like for small dogs. That way you could take 'em with you. You could hold the lead in your teeth."

The other two regard him as if he's crazy.

"But O'Leary," Beckett says saccharinely, "that would spoil all your fun, next time round." He raises a caterpillar-eyebrow. Beckett holds his gaze right back. "After all, you did a great job. You're very cool with cats."

Fin

Thank you to all readers and reviewers. Much appreciated, especially guests whom I can't thank directly.

Hawkie - thank you for the round up review. Always appreciated.

Next up, the M- rated Choices, as a reply to several people who were worried about how Castle became a shapeshifter.

Suggestions in this insane, fluffy universe welcome, and if they spark inspiration then I'll write them.