.

Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue

The loft is quiet when they creep in just before midnight, awash in the golden glow of one table lamp.

Castle takes his wife's coat and hangs it next to his in the closet by the front door. Then he watches as she walks to the kitchen to retrieve two pint-sized tubs of Ben and Jerry's from the freezer, her hips swinging enticingly as her heels clack softly on the hardwood. He's struck dumb by his good fortune to have her here, to be with her here. Back where they began.

Being at the loft is like stepping back in time; it's exactly as they left it, from the calla lilies on the piano to the miniature Brooklyn Bridge on the table behind the couch. Their permanent home is two hundred miles away now, in the middle of Washington D.C.'s cultural casserole. He knows that Kate loves their Georgetown house and the history that comes with a building that was built in 1875, but the loft in New York will always be their heart's home, so they've kept it. It comes in handy for when they have campaign events to attend in Manhattan, like the one they've been to tonight.

Castle comes up behind Kate in the kitchen, not bothering to take off his own polished dress shoes by the door. He slides his hands around her waist, settling them over her hipbones. She works too hard, so many long hours, and he can feel her bones jutting into his palms. The ice cream will do them both good.

She's wearing a navy blue pantsuit and a crisp white shirt. It's a throwback to her wardrobe when she worked for the Attorney General, but this time her hair is down, long and loose instead of a harsh bun or a slick ponytail. She's not wearing any jewelry save for the diamonds on her left ring finger. The other women at the event tonight were bedecked in sequined evening gowns and rented jewels, but Kate had still been the most staggeringly beautiful woman in the room, and Castle was proud to be on her arm. He likes to think she's glad to have him there. It's like the saying goes … behind every successful woman is a charismatic, goofy, entertaining man. Okay, so maybe that's not the exact saying, but Kate's popularity amongst her donors has a lot to do with her husband's warmth and ability to socialize with absolutely everyone.

He captures a ribbon of her hair and twists it around his finger, letting the cool silk wind against his skin.

"You're the most beautiful Senator that ever walked the halls of Washington, you know."

"Mmm, so you tell me," she whispers back.

And she will be for another six years, because tonight the votes were tallied and she won the election for her second term by a landslide. Just like the first time. She's become quite the people's hero, known for her single-minded determination to root out corruption. She's not terribly well-liked by some of her fellow politicians, but some of her allies won their elections tonight as well, so she won't be fighting by herself this term. The tables are turning in Washington, and Castle likes to think it's wholly because of his extraordinary wife. For her upcoming term, she has plans to implement a dozen new security measures that will mean financial records like Bracken's Lazarus accounts can't be falsified as easily, and some others that will make it impossible to change official records like Montgomery did to cover up his involvement with the Pulgatti case. They're making progress.

"Come on, babe, get some spoons," Kate says softly. "Meet you in the bedroom?"

She pulls back gently and the strand of hair around Castle's finger slides away. He won't tell her, because she'll dye it immediately, but there are exactly three strands of grey in her hair tonight.

He thinks it's incredibly sexy.

His own hair is holding up pretty well. After meeting his dad, he'd been concerned that he'd go prematurely shock-white, but his mother must do less camouflaging than he'd assumed. His crow's feet are deeper, but that's to be expected given the influx of laughter and joy in his life. He's a bit thinner, finds it more difficult to keep muscle on, but other than that, neither of them look much older.

He circumnavigates the kitchen island to grab a pair of spoons and sees a note from his mother on the counter, a bright pink post-it stuck to a single sheet of newspaper.

Darlings - We've all had a lovely evening here. Off to get my beauty sleep, so I'll see you in the morning. P.S. - Found an article you might appreciate, Richard. x

He grabs the newspaper and takes it with him, too impatient to read the article right away. After all, Kate's probably getting undressed, and he certainly doesn't want to miss out on that. He crosses the foyer and toes open the bedroom door.

Kate's standing next to the dresser. Her blazer is gone and the top two buttons of her shirt are undone, revealing the alluring curves of her breasts. She leans over to pull a thick folder out of her bag and tosses it on the bed.

Castle knows what's in the folder, and even though they've been awake since four a.m., he knows that they'll be up for another hour or two at least. One of the things Kate had insisted on when she won her first Senate election was to personally review strange homicide cases that have links - no matter how remote - to any of the nation's power players. She came up with the system as a way of catching those laundering money and dabbling in darkness, and so far it's been incredibly effective.

And oh, how he loves solving murders with her. They even have a NYPD-standard whiteboard in their shared office in the Georgetown house.

"Do you, ah, need help getting undressed?" Castle asks, knowing full well there aren't any hidden zippers or tough buttons on her outfit tonight.

"Hmm. Yes, I think so."

Kate turns and leans back against him. She lets her eyes flutter closed as he works on the buttons of her shirt, down, down, down to the clasp on her dress pants.

CLUNK.

They both freeze.

"Was that the front door?" Castle whispers harshly as Kate stiffens in his arms. She reaches automatically for the gun she no longer wears, then bolts across the room to open the wall safe. Castle grabs a swashbuckling pirate blade from his extensive collection of swords.

They flank the sides of their bedroom door and ease it open.

Everything is still. The room's completely as they left it, deadbolts and safety chains on the front door still in place.

THUD.

The noise is coming from upstairs.

God, he hopes it's not his mother's bed frame. He'd lectured her about it just last month, and she'd given him the silent treatment for days after he'd insinuated that she was too old for casual conquests.

They have a security detail on the building and bodyguards on them at all times when they're out, so the loft should be safe. It's expensive and it comes from their own pocket, but it's the cost of being a controversial politician. They know better than to mess around with their family's safety.

Without speaking, they continue past Martha's door, and Alexis's, moving on soft feet to the end of the hallway to the most important room.

Kate eases open the door and a hulking black shadow bounds out.

Castle squeaks, his hand flying dramatically to his heart.

"Jesus, Baskerville, you scared the livers out of us," Castle gasps, bending down to scratch their enormous black lab behind his ears. "Go on downstairs, there's food in your bowl."

Kate lets her gun drop to her side. It's clear that the noise was Baskerville's tail thunking against the door. He must have been hungry. She's about to close it, but she can't resist peeking into the room. Castle's chin settles on her shoulder so he can get a glimpse too.

There's no light in the bedroom other than the beam of a single flashlight, which has rolled out of someone's small hand to illuminate the roof of the makeshift tent set up between the two twin beds. Inside, their eight-year old daughter and their four-year old son are fast asleep.

"They made a fort," Castle says, voice full with pride.

"And she was reading to him," Kate whispers wondrously. She removes the magazine from her weapon and passes it handle-side up to Castle. The she steps softly into the room. She crouches at her children's feet and lifts the dinosaur book from where it fell onto her daughter's stomach and sets it carefully aside. She draws the blankets up around their sleeping bodies and, since she can't crawl fully into the lacy tent to kiss their foreheads, she presses her lips to her fingers and transfers a kiss to each of their feet, warm little lumps under the blankets. Then she switches off the flashlight and rejoins her husband at the door.

"I can't wait to spend tomorrow with them."

"Me either. They'll be so proud of you for winning the election."

Kate follows him downstairs and into their bedroom. He grabs the newspaper his mom had left him and sits on the edge of the bed to take his socks and shoes off. She climbs up behind him, kneeling on the mattress and curling her fingers over his shoulders, massaging him through the dark blue of his dress shirt.

"What's that?" she asks, squinting her eyes to read over his shoulder in the dim light.

"My book. It's a glowing review." It's no surprise. The latest Nikki has been on the shelves for a week, and it's the most popular one yet.

"Mmm, well done, Rick." She kisses his neck as she works her thumbs deep into his deltoids.

"I don't think you're reacting appropriately."

She jerks back. "What, you need a bit more ego stroking?"

"It's for my other book."

"Really?" Kate snatches the article from his hand, then jumps childishly backwards to the head of the bed, folding her legs beneath her and devouring the review, her hazel eyes flicking speedily over the words. "Rick, this is amazing!"

He preens.

"Well, I'm glad I convinced you to take the first six chapters out of the recycling bin on your desktop. All fifteen times you put it in there."

"I still think it belongs in the trash. It has no plot. No cliffhangers. No steamy implied sex scenes."

"It's serious literature. It's not supposed to have those things."

He published this one under a pseudonym, went through the proper submissions process instead of handing it to Paula or Gina, so the review is completely merited. He's not resting on his laurels with this one. It was the hardest novel he'd ever penned, and he'd unspooled his heart in the process.

"Listen to this: 'Achingly beautiful … a stellar debut from this writer … let's hope for more torturous perfection from him in the future.' Babe, I'm so proud."

Her smile is wide and exquisite, and her opinion is the one that matters most to him. His heart feels like it's attached to a hundred helium-filled balloons.

""Who would have thought, Richard Castle, author of serious literature? It looks like almost all of that time traveler's prophecies came true," she jokes. She's still a skeptic when it comes to those kinds of things, and she doesn't think that will ever change. If they meet Simon Doyle in 2035 and he hasn't aged, then and only then will she reconsider. Still, that coffee stain had thoroughly creeped her out.

"What do you mean 'almost all' of the prophecies? You're a Senator, I'm the next F. Scott Fitzgerald, we're married and we have kids."

"Well," she purrs, "he did say three kids, didn't he?" She crawls on all fours towards him, her back arched like a cat. She plucks the homicide file from his hands and tosses it unceremoniously on the floor.

"By my calculations, that's two down, one to go."

The End.

Author's Note:

Thank you all for reading and making this experience so worthwhile. The story is far from perfect, but hopefully it's provided you with some entertainment over this long and arduous hiatus! I am really so touched by all the response I've received.

Thanks again to my online betas Dmarx and trishtumbles, and my real life ones Dara, Lily and Henry. You've all made this story infinitely better. Some of the chapters were completely unedited so all typos are mine.

The story of Senator Beckett might have more life in it yet. If you're following, you'll get an email when and if I decide to continue this fic.

I'll also be posting a brand new series the day after the Season 7 premier, so stay tuned!

I write for two reasons: to entertain you lovely readers and to become a better writer, so let me know what you think. Constructive criticism always welcome.

Peace out until next time,

- Bri x