Disclaimer: Castle and its characters are the property of AW Marlowe and ABC. The words, ideas and opinions expressed in this one-shot are mine.

Meet The Parents

A/N: Mild spoilers for 5x08 "After Hours"

"Remind me why we ever thought this was a good idea?" groans Kate, wiping her hands on the front of his apron.

"Eh…that would be your good idea, Detective," corrects Castle, offering her a towel instead.

"Suddenly you're all about the facts?" she teases, turning to look at him with one eyebrow arched in amusement and her hands on her hips. "Think I preferred the crazy theories, Castle."

"Oh yeah? I'll remind you of that when you're scoffing at the 'Roswell meets Homeland' concoction I've been working on."

They're cooking together, in his kitchen, roasting a chicken and a mountain of vegetables in preparation for a dinner with both their parents. Castle is the one wearing the apron, and Kate had been 'supervising' until he cut his finger peeling a sweet potato, and she had to take over commis chef duties while he held his digit under the faucet to staunch the blood flow.

"We've been dating for months. You said it yourself. In fact, 'kill two birds with one stone', was the exact, rather vicious, phraseology you used, as I seem to recall."

"I just thought…well, Martha knew about us from day one, obviously. Though I was getting into the closet rather than coming out of it, thanks to you! But instead of taking my dad out to dinner alone…"

"No. You're right, Kate. I agree," he reassures her. "Your dad and my mom only met that one time - in a hospital corridor after Montgomery's funeral while we waited for you to come out of surgery. I had your blood on my hands, the front of my shirt… It's about time we offered them some happier memories of you and I together. Ones that don't involve me getting into a fist-fight with your boyfriend while your father steps in to referee."

"Oh god, don't," groans Kate, laying a hand on his chest and then stepping into him so he can wrap his uninjured arm around her back and pull her close for a hug. "I'm glad I didn't have to witness that," she tells him, hiding her face in the fragrant warmth of his neck as he kisses the top of her head.

"Actually, I'd rather you had witnessed it than go through the nightmare you were facing at the time."

"Water under the bridge, Castle," she murmurs, pressing her lips against the soft skin beneath his ear, then hotly flicking her tongue against his earlobe to distract him from that dark corner of his heart he's drawn back to from time-to-time with her clever mouth and the press of her warm, live body against his.

"Come on, let's get that finger fixed up," Kate tells him, wrapping her hand around his wrist, and leading him towards his bathroom.

The food is in the oven, the table is set – an exquisite floral centerpiece, vintage Steuben glass candlesticks, Irish linen napkins, the whole nine yards – and the wine is breathing. Kate spots the fancy Riedel decanter sitting on the dining table, the ruby red liquid glowing like a gemstone in the firelight.

"Oh, did you warn your mom about my dad?" asks Kate, staring at the expensive, swan-shaped carafe.

"Mentioned it in passing," he tells her casually, ushering her ahead of him into the bedroom, his hands resting lightly on her hips. "But I didn't think you'd want to make a big deal of it, so…"

"As long as Martha doesn't offer him any wine. That would be awkward. Or…or drink too much herself. You know how she can get…" says Kate, wincing at how that sounds as soon as the words are out of her mouth, because she likes his mother a lot.

"I'll stay on top of it. Don't worry. And Kate, we hunt killers for a living. I'm sure we can handle our parents."

She looks at him appraisingly under the bright, sparkly light cast by the halogen spotlights in his en suite. He looks heart-stoppingly handsome tonight.

"We're really doing this, aren't we?" she grins, smoothing her hands across his chest, the rich, dark ox-blood fabric of the shirt he's wearing, lifting up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his jaw.

"Two only children bringing their parents together for a civilized meal. What could possibly go wrong?" says Castle, running his hands down over Kate's bare arms until his fingers bracelet her slim wrists.

She's wearing a new silk blouse she bought especially for the occasion – flowing black and burnt orange that works well with her skin tone, and they kind of match, though she keeps telling herself that happened entirely by accident - and her hair is piled high on her head, bangs swept to the side in a style reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's.

He thinks she looks beautiful, and it's on the tip of his tongue to say it when she interjects.

"Yeah, my dad's an easy-going guy, and he already likes you. And Martha is…"

"Dramatic, loud, opinionated, nosey, blunt, did I say loud?" he asks, looking down at Kate's paling face. "And verging on alcoholic at times. What could possibly go wrong?" he repeats, like a mantra he might slowly be losing faith in.

"Oh god. This is doomed, isn't it?" groans Kate, pulling a box of Flintstone Band-Aids and a tube of antiseptic ointment out of the medicine cabinet.

"Hey?" whispers Castle, tipping her chin up so she's looking right at him. "Will it make the slightest difference to you and me if they don't get along? Hmm?"

"Yes, but…" she starts to protest, as she cleans out the cut, gently pats it dry, and then efficiently bandages him up.

"Kate, look at me?" he tries again, his voice soft, determined to get her to look at him for this, ducking his head this time so that they're eye-to-eye. "Will you love me any less if your dad hates my mom?"

"No," she says indignantly, and he knows that she knows exactly what he's just done when he sees the blush rising on her cheeks, flushing them that attractive shade of pink he loves; a perfect accompaniment to her beautiful, full mouth.

Because he just forced a roundabout confession of love from his girlfriend, and she's too tongue-tied right now to call him on it.

"Then we're golden. You love me and I love you," he repeats out of pure devilment, watching her struggle to pull herself together, her lip now drawn between her teeth, eyelashes blinking rapidly while she fiddles with the little paper strips she removed from his Band-Aid.

He's not sure if she's fighting to say the words for herself, or whether she's considering socking him in the gut. Either way he seems to have distracted her from her immediate panic.

He starts putting the first aid supplies away while Kate lingers by the vanity, trailing her finger down the length of the shiny chrome faucet, lost in thought, red lacquered nails he knows he's going to enjoy against his skin later tonight, when the buzzer sounds.

"They're here," she hisses, gripping his arm, smokey, dark eyes growing wide with panic.

"Deep breaths," Castle reminds her, leaning down to kiss her dark red lips. "I love you. Don't forget that, what ever happens."

He leaves the room to answer the door before she can summon the courage and the words to tell him that she loves him too. And she slaps her palm against her forehead in frustration that she's failed to force the words he finds so easy to say past her lips once more.

When he opens the front door, Martha is standing on the other side by herself having forgotten her key, Kate's dad evidently running a little late.

She strides into the loft, eyes a little wild and glassy, waving an imperial hand in the air, and crying out, "Well, something smells good," and Kate starts to relax a little, because this sort of behaviour seems so normal to her now.

But when she fails to see Kate standing in the doorway of the office, and follows it up with a sotto-voce, "So, when does the alcoholic lawyer get here? And Richard, pour me a large glass. You know how dull shoptalk bores me to death, darling," Kate cringes, and the butterflies in her stomach take flight once again.

Not thirty seconds later, there's a loud knock at the door, and Castle hurries over to answer it before Kate can beat him to it.

"Jim, welcome. Come on in. Good to see you," her boyfriend tells her dad, welcoming him with a hearty slap on the back and a warm handshake.

Her dad looks so pleased to see Castle, and then his eyes light up when he sees Kate, making her nerves dissipate completely. Because Castle is so right - he loves her and she loves him…

What on earth could possibly go wrong?

She catches Castle's hand, just before he leads her dad over to meet his mother afresh, and she tells him with her eyes as much as her words, "You were right. Me too," she nods, eyes sparkling and full of everything she can't yet express.

It's still in code, but it's an admission, and he'll take it over every fight they've had, every cross word, every stupid misunderstanding they had to endure before they finally got to this. He squeezes her fingers to let her know that he understands, their eyes locked, smiling as this perfect moment seems to stretch out endlessly just for them.

And then they both distinctly hear his mother speak, the hint of a slur coating her words…

"So, Jim, how do you like your women? Strong like your whiskey, I hope?"

They stare at one another in open-mouthed horror.

Because Martha is flirting with Kate's dad, she just broke the ultimate taboo, she's drunk already, and…

"She is so dead," mouths Castle, turning towards his idiotic mother.

"Not if I get to her first," hisses Kate, chasing after him.

And so the nightmare begins…

A/N: Felt like writing a little fun preamble to tonight's show. I'm so looking forward to this scene. Happy Castle Monday, guys. Liv x

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