A/N - Hey!
I hope some of your are still out there.

Enjoy!

~GM

Assets

Chapter 5

Active Participation

"So, what's got you thinking so hard over there?"

"Hm?" He blinked and focused on her. She watched him come back from wherever he had been. "Oh, good morning. I didn't know you were awake yet. It's still early. Really early."

"I'm used to it. Bodies don't usually wait until I've had my beauty sleep to drop."

"Apparently, you don't need any."

Kate snuggled closer and dipped her head, hiding her blush. "Do you have to go?"

"Not unless you want me to." He absently tickled her shoulder.

"No, no I don't," she said quietly, "but what about Alexis?"

"With a friend for the weekend. As predicted, she hates me. She sent me a message last night. Saying she couldn't stay home watching while I, and I quote, 'exiled' her grandmother." He ran his hand over his face. "I think I've really screwed up."

"It's still new. You and she have lived by yourselves before, right?"

"Yeah, before my mother lost everything." Castle suddenly sat up, easing her off his chest. "What kind of son am I? I just threw my mother out of my house." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and Kate couldn't help but admire the way his muscles rippled, even though his shoulders slumped.

"You're a great son, from what I've seen. You took your mother in when she needed you." She scooted so she knelt directly behind him and with her chin on his shoulder, she kissed his neck and snaked her arms around his torso.

He stretched his head so he could see her. "This…last night was great."

"Yeah," she smiled shyly, taking the opportunity to plant a few more kisses on any available exposed skin.

"I'm…" he sighed and Kate sensed he'd made a decision. "I should go," he whispered and Kate could see the guilt and regret in his bearing.

"Um, okay. Can we…do you want to get together later? Maybe lunch?"

Rick twisted and pulled her onto his lap. He brushed her tousled locks away from her face so he could see her eyes. He needed her to see his sincerity. "It's not a question of want, Kate. I really like you. You've awoken things…feelings and desires in me that I thought were long dead, and I'm not just talking about my writing."

She blushed and smiled. "Okay," she said haltingly, feeling as if she could be standing on the precipice of a slippery slope.

He stared at her, appreciating that his words colored her cheeks. A few minutes passed, and he slowly realized he still scrutinized her and averted his eyes. They tended to lose themselves in a bubble. He cleared his throat. "But I have to fix this. I don't know how to make her understand that writing is something that I need to do."

"It's really none of her business, but I know how close the two of you are."

"When I was growing up, it was just the two of us. She's sacrificed so much for me."

"Rick," she began and lifted his head so he'd have to look her in the eyes. "You don't owe your mother for her choices while bringing you up. She still could have pursued her dream. The fact that she didn't isn't on you."

"I don't think you understand."

Kate studied his face. "I do," she stated. Inhaling, she leapt from his lap and padded to her dresser. She opened and closed a box and came back to sit next to him on the bed. She reached for his left hand and intertwined their fingers. She held her left hand in a fist on her lap. Rick's natural curiosity drew his attention to it.

Opening her hand, she revealed a woman's ring on a long chain. He reached for it and, although she had never shared it with anyone before, allowed him to examine her most precious keepsake.

"It's beautiful – different," he whispered as he admired the ring. He quickly surmised that it wasn't Kate's, her fingers were much more lithe compared to the ring's size.

"It was my mother's," she said quietly.

They hadn't talked about her mom or her dad. Rick had wondered, but beyond learning that she was native to New York and had been on her own for a while, he didn't know about her family.

"Was," he repeated.

"Have you ever wondered why I'm a cop?" she asked as she reverently placed the chain around her neck.

He dipped his head. Truly, he had wondered. Why such a smart, good-looking woman became a cop had been one of the first things he'd pondered about when he started writing about her. Everything from a Batman-esque tragedy to an overly developed protection complex to a sexual kink involving handcuffs had occurred to his caffeine fueled consideration in the wee hours of the mornings. He hadn't yet asked though.

"To be honest, yes. I just didn't…I have a theory, though."

She raised an eyebrow and a grin pulled at her lips. "A theory, huh? Okay, let's hear it."

He dipped his head again. A blush crept up his neck. Kate kissed the spreading warmth before she stood and pulled him up with her.

"Why don't we get some coffee and then you can hit me with it and then I'll set you straight."

"It doesn't sound like you have a lot of confidence in my abilities."

"Oh no, I have a great deal of confidence in some of your abilities," she said as she swatted his rear end, "but I'm not sure how good a profiler you'd make."

"Is that a real thing?"

"Yeah, every law agency I know of has them." She smiled, "You could even work for the FBI. I had to take a course."

"Cool," he grinned as he followed her to the kitchen.

They enjoyed breakfast, talking about anything not having to do with his mother. She'd distracted him and pulled him out of his funk and his self-recrimination. She hadn't yet met his mother, and had decided to reserve judgment until she did, but the woman had heaped an unfair amount of culpability on her son's shoulders. Kate tried very hard not to dislike her.

"I'm waiting, oh master profiler and don't stall because I have to go to work. I will hear your theory one way or another."

He sipped from the coffee mug he held in both hands, elbows on the table, as he gazed at her. "I'm having trouble concentrating. You do realize you're not wearing any pants, right?" And her over-sized tee shirt hung off her shoulder, draping her curves alluringly.

She waved her hand at him and maybe stared a second too long. "Well, you're not wearing anything but those b-boxer briefs." Pausing to collect herself, she folded her arms in front of her chest and raised her chin. "I'd say we're matched. Stop stalling."

He took another swig of his coffee and inhaled deeply as he set it down. "Well," he began narrowing his eyes as if assessing a piece of art. "You're not Bridge and Tunnel - no trace of the boroughs when you talk, so that means Manhattan. That means money. I already know you went to college." He nodded to the Stanford pennant behind some other knick-knacks on her bookshelf. "You had options. Yeah, you had lots of options. You could have gone anywhere, given how intelligent you are." He paused and inhaled again. Kate noticed that he was no longer looking at her, but at that inner place she had seen him go while he was writing. Close but also a million miles away. "I think you were on your way to something great." His eyes guiltily snapped to hers. "Not that you're not great now." She offered him an amused smile and let him off the hook. "But you had better options. More socially acceptable options. And you still chose to be a cop. The question is why. The why is that something happened." He blinked and focused on her again, or rather her mother's ring, back from his imagination.

Exhaling, he reached for her hand. "Oh God, Kate. Something happened to your mother?" He tilted his head, waiting for her response.

She'd made peace with it a long time ago, but the truth was that she still missed her mom and every once in a while, the wound ached, her obsession begging to be let off the leash long years of therapy and resolve had levied.

"She was killed, murdered…"

"Jesus."

"I was going to school to become a lawyer, like both of my parents." She smiled and dipped her head, her hair falling in front of her face. "I was going to become the first female chief justice." She shrugged. "I guess I've always wanted to serve and to seek justice somehow. When she was killed, the detectives found an easy answer, but not the right one. I became a cop because I wanted to solve her murder, to give her the justice she deserved, we all deserve, but it took over my life. It became an obsession to the exclusion of everything else."

Rick wanted to hold her, to promise her everything she needed. He waited for her to continue.

"My dad found his own obsession – he drank." At the crushed look on his face, she added, "He's better. He's been sober for five years. It's good and I'm good, now. I've let it go and while there will always be a part of me that wants justice for her, I've realized that the way I was fixated on her death wasn't bringing any honor to her life. She was wonderful, Rick. Smart, sassy, funny, and honorable. I'm a pale shadow of her, but I know she would have wanted me to be happy."

"Are you?"

"Happy?"

He nodded.

"Mostly. I still love finding justice. I love giving that sense of finality or closure to a family." She stared at the table for a moment. "Sometimes, I wonder how it would feel, but like my dad and the booze, I know I can't go back to it."

"What if someone else looked at it?" Tried to solve her case."

"Someone else did. The detective assigned to her case said it was random. Maybe it was," she traced an indent on the worn wooden table with her finger. "Maybe I want her death, like her life, to have a deeper meaning. It's hard to accept that someone you love so much can suddenly not be there. It makes you want to close yourself off from the world, from relationships. You never want to leave yourself vulnerable to that kind of heartache again. We take too much for granted. We should learn to live…"

"Purposefully," he finished.

She lifted her eyes to his. "We should learn to love purposefully."

He stood and reached for her hand. Kate watched him and then stood, while he pulled her toward him. He embraced her and then tenderly kissed her. "Thank you for sharing that with me."

Kate smiled. "I have wonderful memories of my mom; the way she lived, the way she helped people. That's the way I want to remember her. That's the way I want to remember her, by her life, not her death. If it wasn't for someone's help, I might have defined my whole life by her death."

He stared at her and she saw the spark when it ignited his eyes. "I…I need to go," he said reluctantly.

Kate smiled wistfully. "I'm happy to be your inspiration, Mr. Castle, but…" she sighed.

"I'll stay, if you want."

"No. Go talk to your mom. I have to get ready for work anyway. Love her purposefully but promise me that you'll stand up for yourself. You have taken care of everyone, Rick. You deserve to be happy, too."

Kate returned from the break room with a vanilla latte balanced between her palms. The rich scent made her smile. It made her think of him. The memories of their first night together still sending pleasant warm ripples through her one moment and chills of anticipation of their next date the next.

She stopped short. A flash of red hair that demanded attention like neon sat next to her desk. Oh, his daughter. Kate only met the girl once and, upon reflection, she had probably left her with a bad impression. Inhaling, she decided to make amends. If the relationship with Rick was going anywhere, she would need the approval of his…she stopped short again, sloshing drops of coffee between her fingers. That was not his daughter. She didn't know her, but there was something familiar about her. She tried to make a quick evacuation back to the break room, but she was not fast or stealthy enough not to be noticed by the older woman sitting next to her desk.

"Hello?" she called to Kate's back. Kate inhaled and then turned slowly. She surreptitiously wiped her sticky hands on her jeans.

"Are you Detective Beckett?" The woman assessed her, her eyes narrowed as Kate remembered where she'd seen her before: in his office, the photo of them on his desk.

"Yes, and you're Rick's mother?"

The woman smiled. "Yes, but Martha, please." Mrs. Rodgers stood and extended her hand. "I am sorry to be meeting under these circumstances, but…"

Kate hastily set her cup on the desk, spilling another drop or two. Rick's mother noticed and raised an eyebrow.

She unconsciously wiped her hand on her jeans again and shook the woman's hand. "I'm sorry, what circumstances, exactly?"

"Well Richard's, of course." She sighed as she sat back down. She lifted her purse and fished out a handkerchief on which she wiped her own hands. "I know that you and he have begun some sort of… relationship…" Martha made air quotes as she said the word relationship, paused to watch Kate's reaction.

Inwardly, Kate's hackles rose. Outwardly, she kept quiet and tucked into her desk.

Martha continued, "You see, he's been very busy. You don't get to be the Tax King of Manhattan," (more air quotes) "without hard work and long hours…and discipline."

"I agree," Kate said. "Rick is very talented."

"Yes," the older woman hummed, "and we wouldn't want anything to interfere with his success, would we?"

"Of course not."

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other." She started to stand and gather her coat and purse.

"Understand?" Kate blinked. "Please Mrs. Rodgers." She gestured for her to retake her seat.

"Martha, dear," Martha said patronizingly after she sighed and sat again.

Kate gave her a patient closed mouth smile. "I understand that he is very talented and kind, and is probably the most loving father and son I've ever known."

Martha opened her mouth, but Kate ignored her and continued, "But, he is a grown man capable of making his own decisions. Our relationship is fairly new." Kate felt her cheeks heat, but she wasn't sure if it was from thinking about their new relationship aspects or because she was hotly defending him. "That is true, but that is wholly between your son and me. I have no business telling him what he should do with his life."

Martha's dubious pleasant expression faltered, but only for a second. She opened her mouth again, but Kate continued.

"And neither do you."

"Well, I..."

Kate leaned forward. "Don't you see how writing makes him feel?" She waited, although she didn't really expect a response. "He's happy."

"Happy," Martha scoffed. "How long have you been around? A few weeks? I've been with him his entire life and there's more than happiness in this life, Detective. There's responsibility and... sacrifice and..."

"Martha," Kate began softly, "He has made sacrifices...just as you have." Kate placed her hand over Martha's. "Just as all good parents do for their children. Rick has done extraordinarily well as an accountant..."

"He's the best," Martha agreed, with no small amount of pride shining in her eyes.

Kate smiled. "At a lot of things." She paused, lifted her cup, and breathed in the scent that always brought him to mind. "He is a good writer Martha. Very good. Have you read any of his stories?"

Martha looked taken aback and, if her detective skills were working accurately, somewhat guilty. "Well, I..." she swallowed and wrung her hands. "I've never liked all that crime stuff," she admitted quietly. She inhaled and girded herself defensively. "But if all those publishers...you know I'm just trying to protect him. You weren't there. You don't know what those rejections did to him. I was the only one there and I was the only one who helped him to pick up the pieces. I always have been, but that's a mother's burden." She waved her hand near her face as if fanning the sweat from a day of hard labor.

"He's told me about that time. About Meredith, about how she hurt him, about raising Alexis on his own, about...about how he took you in."

Martha's face reddened. She dropped her gaze, inhaled deeply, and clenched her fists. When she lifted her eyes to Kate's, for a split second, Kate saw embarrassment and shame, only to be replaced by a fierce determination. Martha deliberately stood and walked into the break room as if she'd been there before. Almost, Kate thought, like she owned the place.

Kate stood and followed her, finding her fishing a bottle of water from the vending machine. Martha opened the bottle and took a long drink. Every movement appeared to be scripted: designed to maximize dramatic effect. She could have made it if she had pursued her dream, Kate was sure of it.

When she finally spoke, Martha manipulated all her face and body to convey her feelings. Kate thought the gestures were overly embellished. "He didn't take me in. He needed me to help with Alexis. He tells people that story, so he doesn't seem weak and needy." She paused and took another swig from the bottle. "Took me in," she laughed although it was more of a bark. "Did he also tell you that he threw me out?"

Kate felt as if everything was getting out of control. "I'm sorry, Martha, I didn't mean…"

"You come in to our lives and upset everything I have worked for; my entire life has gone into making his life bearable. You with your doe eyes and your wild ideas." Martha stared at Kate. "You're just like all the rest. He's handsome and talented, so you think you can just waltz in, sleep with him, and take over." She turned and dropped the water bottle into the recycling bin. She spun around and faced Kate once more, walking right up to her, so close that Kate took a half step back. "Well, sweetheart, you had better think again."

The entire ride home, Rick barely noticed the people, the traffic, the cab where he currently sat. He was sure he had a dopey look on his face, but he didn't care. The night with Kate had been wonderful – even magical, but then their morning had been a level of intimacy he had never experienced before. She trusted him with her story. And if that wasn't mind-blowing enough, she believed in him and supported his decisions. He'd never had that. Not from his mother, certainly not from Meredith, not from the single one-night stand he'd had. He'd gone into the bar right after Meredith left him looking for – well, he still wasn't sure if it was companionship, human contact, validation, just sex, or some combination of them. He only knew he felt horrible the next day and vowed never to seek comfort in the arms of a stranger ever again.

He cautiously opened his apartment door and listened. Alexis wasn't home. He sighed – he'd have to confront his daughter's feelings eventually, but first he'd have to clear things up with his mother. He didn't hear anything, but that wasn't unusual. At ten on a Saturday morning, his mother would either be at her salon or sleeping-in. He didn't want to catch her packing.

He stopped in the kitchen to make coffee and then headed to his office. He'd take a quick shower – no need to enlighten his mother of where he spent the night – he totally smelled like Kate, and then maybe get some background notes down – similar to Kate's background, but not on the nose. He wanted her to retain her privacy.

Walking through the office, he slowed. His desk was covered with papers – letters from their look.

As he walked closer, he recognized them. "Shit!" Twenty-one letters all beginning with 'Dear Mr. Castle, Thank you for your submission, however...' "This is..." he muttered. He turned and found the copies of the manuscripts that had been returned. "Really?"

He began to gather the paper to dump in the recycling bin in the kitchen when he heard the door open. He strode out of his office, made sure it wasn't Alexis before dropping the whole mess on the floor behind his mother, who was hanging up her coat.

She startled. "What the hell?"

"Exactly. Mother, what did you hope to gain from this?"

Martha pursed her lips, but his phone rang, saving her from having to answer.

Rick held up his hand as he answered, "Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, well...sort of. I think."

"Kate?" He turned his back on his mother who had muttered something.

"Your mom came to visit me today?"

"What?"

"Yeah. Listen, she's just worried about you. She's your mother, Rick."

"What did she do?" was the last thing Martha heard as he disappeared into his office, kicking his door closed with his foot.

"We had a talk."

"A talk?"

Kate relayed her encounter with his mother that morning. Rick became angrier, the more she spoke, interrupting her with expletives or apologies. He told her what he'd found when he'd arrived home.

"I need you to calm down before you talk to her."

"I just can't figure out what she hoped to gain by either speaking to you or by pulling out those rejection letters."

"I don't know – well, I'm pretty sure she was trying to scare me off."

"God, I'm sorr..."

"Not your fault," she assured, "besides, I'm not going anywhere." She paused to listen to him. His breathing had calmed. "As for the letters, I don't know, maybe she wanted to remind you of your past problems getting published, so you'd be careful."

"You're kind."

"Thanks, but try to see it from her point of view, okay?"

He inhaled deeply and rubbed his nose under his glasses. Blowing the breath out, he agreed, "I'll try."

"Try to make her see your point of view, too. Use those magic words, Babe. That'll work. Just don't do anything permanent – she's your mother, you won't know how much you miss her until she's gone."