The Game is On

AN: Set toward the end of 4x22, "Undead Again." In which I ignore any and all promos or spoilers for the next episode "Always". About which I am so freakishly excited that I can barely think straight about anything! But that's beside the point. Anyway, no spoilers here, my friends. :) Enjoy!

Two parts. Second chapter will be up tomorrow. Written in collaboration with TR-Fanfic.

The Game is On

She presses flat against the wall, her back straight, gun poised and ready. Her senses are alert; she tries to calm her heart from the sprint, focuses on breathing slowly, low in her chest. The shadow hides her well and so she turns her head to the side, squints around the corner, her hearing trained on any sound that might give away his position.

This time, he won't escape.

"Tomorrow," she says in that soft voice with the slight rasp that he loves so much, and it's half a question, half expectation, and suddenly tomorrow doesn't seem early enough.

She put herself out there like she never has before, her words tentative yet strong, like steel cords running underneath her softness, a contrast he's always found utterly enticing in her. Such bravery; her eyes clear and sparkling, hiding nothing.

So amazing.

He felt sucker punched upon hearing what all he didn't know, realizing the fight she has been fighting, silently, solitary behind the scenes just so she'd be able to heal herself, to move forward, move… toward him.

Feels like a regular ass for his gut reactions, for trying to punish her, for doubting her, for so many things that he doesn't know how to ever make up for and yet here she is, with her captivating smile, wanting him to be there and it's almost overwhelming, the sense of relief, of hope washing over him.

He keeps hearing the words, over and over again, everything and I'd like you to be there and the jitters won't stop, the nagging sense that if he stands still, if he doesn't move, he might miss it.

He can't miss it.

"I've got a better idea," he smiles tentatively, infused by the warmth that her words have left him with. He lifts up an eyebrow invitingly, holds out his right arm for her.

"Come with me."

She looks at him with wide eyes, the barely-there, cautious smile still on her lips, but then she brightens, her lips stretch wider, and she nods softly before she hooks her arm into the crook of his elbow.

They arrive at his home, and he chatters excitedly, relaying his plan on how to best his daughter at laser tag with a zombie costume. He wraps his fingers around her wrist, tugging lightly for her to follow and she allows him to pull her with him, through his study and she barely recovered from the stunned surprise at being in his bedroom for the first time before she finds herself dragged into his bathroom.

Kate stands there, helplessly overwhelmed for a moment, by the enclosed tiled room, by his familiar scent, stronger within his space. But he simply hands her the rest of the mask, theater make-up and brushes.

"You need to help," he says matter-of-factly, then winks at her. "I think you're much better with the eyeliner."

She grins, makes him sit on the lid of the toilet and, standing between his legs, she starts gluing the other half of the mask back onto his skin, then adds some final touches with eyeliner and make-up. It is quiet, only the combined sounds of their breathing echoing from the tiles as she paints color onto his skin and her heart races from the strange intimacy.

She thinks while she works, wonders whether she has ever even touched his face in such detail before and then it hits her, the only time it ever happened, when he had held her against the car outside of the hangar while their captain made his last stand. Her breath caught in her throat, the memories a loud, strong rush through her body, the rasp of his stubbled cheeks under her palms, the heat of his hands in her hair, on her face, holding her, cradling her, urgent and pained, his desperate pleas, I'm sorry I'm sorry, the utter devastation with his body crowded against hers, the deafening bangs of the gunshots.

"You okay?" He whispers, clasping a hand around her waist to steady her and his touch, his voice so close startle her to breathe; she blinks, focuses on him and he is still here, close to her, with her and the rush of relief is as strong as the remembrance before. The realization that it is good now, the memories still intense yet now she is able to push through it; that it is okay, healthy to move forward, to live.

"Yeah," she smiles at him, steps a little closer to finish his make-up. He leaves his palm at her waist, warm and reassuring.

Once she is done he jumps up excitedly, examines his appearance from all sides in the mirror.

"Wow you're good!" He admires his make-up, looking closer, twisting around to see his cheek.

Then he turns toward her, smacked his hands together decisively. "Okay, your turn."

"My… what?"

Before she can say anything else he grabs her under the arms, and hoists her up onto the bathroom counter. Her breath whooshes out of her lungs and she wonders briefly how often he has practiced that move.

He steps between her legs, raises his eyebrows challengingly.

"Come on, let's zombie you up!"

He grabs more make-up, his hands full of supplies and- was that another mask? Where did he get all this stuff? She licks her lip but his excitement is contagious, sending bursting bubbles of delight through her blood and she feels alive with it, tingly and- tempted. Because she wants this – to feel alive, to soak up his childlike joy, to play. To be free.

"Alright," she grins mischievously, "bring it on." She tilts her face toward him, and closes her eyes.

He starts working, his hands in her hair, on her face and she clenches her fingers into her thighs, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly closed. She can only feel, all sensations on her skin magnified, the pads of his fingers stroking across her forehead, down her cheeks; he is so tender with her, loving, and her heart is racing; she can't breathe, oh god she can't breathe.

Heavy silence engulfs them as he runs something cold and gluey through the strands of her hair, his breath tumbling against her forehead, his body so close that she imagines she can feel his heart thumping against his ribcage.

"Uhm," he clears his throat, steps back. "Done."

She slowly blinks open her eyes, finding his. "How do I look?"

A huge grin breaks across his face, eyes sparkling mischievously, and there is pride in them, admiration.

"Grotesque!"

She browses the bookshelves in his study, hiding while Castle sits on his couch in full zombie gear, in the dark, waiting to get the drop on Alexis.

He told her the story on their way over, how they had started playing when Alexis was still so little that her tiny hand could barely wrap around the handle of the laser gun and pull the trigger at the same time.

Encased within the solitude of her car, she let his storytelling wrap around her, listening to his wistful voice as he recalled how much fun the girl had when she played it the first time during a kids' birthday party at an arcade, her giggles so high-pitched and bubbly that he immediately waltzed to the next specialty store to get all the gear, just to hear her this happy every day. It hadn't been long since Meredith had permanently moved to L.A., he recalled, and Kate's heart ached for the little girl, and for him too when he admitted how Alexis had fought her tears every time she saw other kids with their moms.

She wanted to lace her fingers through his, the urge to press a comforting kiss to his wrist slicing hotly through her, and she clenched her hands tighter around the steering wheel.

"Oh but she was fast and sneaky," he continued, a proud smile dancing in his voice, and it lifted the mood like a magic curtain, "the little weasel. Always finding new places to hide. I still don't know all of them," he admitted on a laugh, turned toward her. She looked over from the side, then couldn't stop the giggle that danced up her throat at seeing the zombie half of his face.

She still can't believe now that they'd had the most important conversation of their relationship while he looked like that. And it… didn't matter. It was oddly fitting, the ugly mask of the past few weeks partly ripped away, peeling off to reveal to her the man she had known and believed in underneath, with his reverent smiles and warm eyes.

Alexis' piercing scream alerts her that he must've been successful in his quest and she chuckles, leans her head against the side of a shelf while she listens to father and daughter in the other room.

"One thousand points, and that is the icing on the cake that has been my day," he fake-zombie whispers and Kate can't help the small flutters that erupt in her tummy, sighs soundlessly.

She listens as Alexis swerves into stunned shock, as the realization comes crushing down on her that this is the end of her childhood, and the changes she has to face. She feels a bit like an intruder, listening like that, but Castle brought her here, and she still doesn't really know why, but the tentative hooks of hope and expectation had clawed into her skin the moment he said he'd like to be there, and she wasn't ready to give that up to the solitude of an empty and cold apartment.

"Change is good," he reassures his child; "listen to your heart," he advises, and her heart stumbles because it feels as if he's speaking to Kate too.

She sinks back against the shelving, nibbles on a fingernail as she listens, knowing, sensing how hard it is for Castle to try to be objective, say the right things to his daughter while his heart is breaking with the thought that she might move three thousand miles away.

"…go to Columbia," Alexis' words draw her from her reverie and she grins, can almost feel the leaping excitement of Castle's heart with her own when he learns that his little girl won't be so far away after all.

"Best out of three!" The girl squeals; Kate hears the sounds of running feet, "this isn't over!" Castle calls after her and it's barely a second later that Alexis races through the dark office- and barrels right into Kate.

They fall backwards from the momentum; Kate braces, tries to protect the young girl from the fall and they land, Kate on her back, Alexis on top of her.

Then Alexis screams again, seeing another zombie face; squirms to get away for a moment until she seems to realize who is hidden behind the make-up.

"Detective Beckett!" she bursts out on a whooshed breath, stunned surprise in her voice, staring at her. Then she catches herself, carefully tries to untangle from Kate.

"I'm sorry, are you okay? I didn't know you were here, I'm so sorry," she rambles on while trying to get up.

Then Castle is by her side too. "Are you alright?" Two sets of blue eyes now stare at her concernedly, and Kate feels warmed by their worry and attention.

"Yeah," she exhales, smiles up at both of them. "Just knocked the wind out of me."

Castle holds out a hand to her, and she folds her palm into his, lets him help her up and their bodies, their faces come close, so close.

"Sorry," he murmurs, "this isn't quite how I envisioned this would go."

They stand awkwardly for a moment, staring at each other.

Alexis clears her throat and they both startle, face the girl. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were… here."

"I didn't mean to intrude on your privacy, Alexis," Kate apologizes for having unintentionally overheard their conversation.

Alexis just watches her quietly for a moment, her head slightly tilted, almost scrutinizing. Kate holds her gaze, and silent understanding passes between them. Acceptance. The passing of the torch.

Then Alexis nods decisively.

"This..." she waves a finger between them and herself, lifts an eyebrow toward her father in challenge, "isn't over."

He watches Alexis make her dramatic exit and turns to Kate with a grin that says more than 'the game is on.'

"Come here."

She looks skeptical but follows as he struts the two steps over to his desk. "Okay Ms. Beckett Detective Extraordinaire, you are about to see something I have never revealed to anyone else." He laughs when her eyes go wide and gestures to a collectible Superman paperweight sitting on the edge. "Pick it up."

She frowns, "okay." When she lifts the globe, the staircase photograph disappears inside the wall, leaving a doorway open in invitation.

"A 'secret lair'?" She tilts her head toward him, hikes up an eyebrow teasingly and her zombie make-up wrinkles on her forehead. He guides her inside, a palm against her lower back and warmth radiates from her body, comfort and temptation both.

"Of course, doesn't every castle have one?" he smirks, shows off his man cave with its large screen TV and refrigerator and all his man-toys. You could easily survive a week if you were in any danger in the outside world. Or spend days and days of uninterrupted time…

"It's my…"

"Fortress of Solitude," she finishes his sentence with him and he turns back to her, grins proudly. God how he loves her! He can't even remember a time when he didn't, where his heart didn't race when she was near, where every smile of hers didn't leave him with weakened knees.

"Okay so what's next," she challenges him, "why'd you kidnap me to your lair?" Sparks explode in his veins at the way she says the word 'lair.' She is such a tease. Oh he loves this woman.

"Why, Detective Beckett," he grins suggestively, hikes up his eyebrow for good measure, "for a play date, of course."

He turns, grabs something, "Suit up," he instructs, throwing her a black vest. And then the zombie voice is back.

"It's time for laser tag!"