Girl, You Taste Like Sugar

“Can we get this one?” He can’t even see her face because of whatever she’s holding, and Frank narrows his eyes at the…bedding? Why does bedding come in that color? It’s offensive to his eyes.

“No. Put that back where you found it.” Her face pops up above the bright orange bedding, and she’s pouting up at him while holding her eyes comically wide. “Better yet, burn it.”

“Fun sucker,” she huffs and then spins around on her toes. Frank sighs as she marches off and turns a corner, and he runs a hand over his face as he looks down at the full shopping cart in front of him. He should have done the shopping on his own. He should have left her at the new place and done the shopping on his own. No, wait, she probably would have tried to meet the neighbors. The woman is impossible.

“Dammit, Castle, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” he thinks just as she comes skidding around the corner again. The bag she throws on top of all the other shit in the cart has bed-in-a-bag stamped on the front, and the only colors he can see are black and a very dark maroon.

“There! Serious colors for a serious man! But I’m gettin’ the throw pillows!” she yells and stomps off. Frank’s head drops to hang between his shoulders, and his eyes fall on the cheap gold band on his left hand. Cheap, a few scratches on it, and bought in a pawn shop. She’d cackled as they left the shop with matching rings, but he’s had a bad taste in his mouth ever since.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Castle. This,” she pauses to wave her left hand and he sees a blur of tarnished gold before she continues speaking, “This is just a hunk of metal that happens to form a circle that fits on one of my bony little fingers. That’s it. So don’t get all weird on me.”

“I ain’t getting weird,” he grumbles as he turns the truck towards a furniture store. The place is sparsely furnished, so they won’t need to pick up much. There’s already a bed and a couch, a small kitchen table, so this shouldn’t take long.

“Oh! We still need bathroom stuff! This way, sweetheart!” she calls out before ducking down another aisle. Frank grits his teeth and forces his face into something resembling a smile as an elderly couple looks at him, and the older man winks at Frank before following after his wife.

“I think I hate you,” Frank states when he finally catches up to her. She’s holding a shower curtain in each hand, one with tropical fish and one with color alternating stripes, and she hums as she weighs them up and down.

“Love it when you talk dirty. So, fish or stipes?” she asks without missing a beat. She won’t admit it, but she’s still spooked about what happened in the motel room. There’s a tightness around the corners of her eyes, and her smiles are too bright. She’s forcing cheerfulness, and he’s waiting for the fallout.

“Stripes,” he answers. She looks over her shoulder and up at him, and the look in her wide blue eyes is surprise. She wasn’t expecting him to give a real answer.

“They’re rainbow stripes,” she says a little absently. Maybe she’s going into shock.

“Still better than those ugly ass fish.” This time her smile is small, she’s not even showing a hint of teeth from between her pale pink lips, and the look deep in her eyes flickers. Yeah, there’s going to be a fallout. And it’s going to be ugly.

“Stripes it is,” she declares and turns back around. The rejected curtain is placed back on its little hook, and she tosses the other one into their already full cart. “Now, where’s the little cup holders for toothbrushes?”


“We didn’t need all of this,” Frank says as they carry several bags up the stairs towards their new home. Dani’s leading the way, and she knows that Frank is only grumbling because she’s carrying a heavier load than him. Well, he can just keep pouting because she’s stronger than he is. Whether he likes it or not.

“I’m not sleeping on a bare mattress or eating off a tabletop. We’re not barbarians,” she says as she reaches the top of the stairs. There’s other inhabitants, she can read the door numbers, but there’s no one standing out in the hallway. She goes straight to the far end of the hallway, to where their room is, and easily fishes a key out of her pants pocket. It only takes a little twisting and fancy acrobatics to unlock the door, and she pushes it open with her toes before walking inside.

It’s not really much to brag about. It opens up into the combined living room and kitchen, and the only thing that separates the two areas is an old couch that looks like it time traveled straight from the seventies. There’s a tiny four person kitchen table at the back of the open space, and it looks like a strong wind would completely shatter it. Besides the front door, there’s only two other doors in the room. The one on her left leads into a small bathroom, but the tub had looked decently sized when she looked at it earlier. At the back of the room is the door that leads to the single bedroom, and the bed is a queen. There’s a small closet and a small dresser with two sides of drawers. So the whole place is tiny, but it’ll work.

“Didn’t you say you lived in a cave once?” Frank’s voice is rough after the door closes solidly behind him, and she listens to the way that he dumps the bags he’s carrying on the couch. She can tell that’s where he put them because of the way the bags crinkle and the couch groans.

“Yes. I did not say that I enjoyed it.” She places her bags behind the couch, in the center of the room, and bends over to start unpacking. Shower stuff, so she’ll start there.

Her feet balance on the edge of the tub so that she can reach the curtain rod, and she hums quietly to herself as she carefully slips the little rings of the shower curtain onto the rod. Sometimes she pauses when the unfamiliar ring on her finger catches her eyes, because she’s never been the jewelry type of girl. No rings, no necklaces, no bracelets, no nothing. Rings usually held sentiment, and everyone that she once knew is dead. No necklaces, because the thought of anything tight around her neck only reminds her of the collar she was forced to wear. No bracelets, because she’s been cuffed and bound more times than she cares to count.

Frank’s going to freak out at some point, she’s sure of that. Frank actually was married, in his past life, and she can’t imagine that seeing a wedding ring on his finger is good for him. He’ll break, sooner or later, and she’ll have to deal with the fallout. She doesn’t mind though, and she definitely isn’t going to take it personally. Frank had a wife, had a family, and he had to watch them die. The ring he’s wearing doesn’t mean anything, it’s just another lie, but it doesn’t mean anything to her because she’s never worn a wedding ring before. She has no memories attached to wearing a simple gold band. Frank does. So she’ll keep an eye on him, and she’ll be there for him when the time comes.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with all these pillows?!” Dani sighs as she pushes the curtain rod back into place and lets her shoes slide off the edge of the tub.

“You’re supposed to make this shithole look pretty!” she yells back as she reaches into the bag again. She pulls out the little toothbrush holder, just a plain gray plastic one, and she sits it on the side of the dirty looking sink. She almost feels bad about putting the new toothbrushes in it, because everything in the bathroom looks so dirty in contrast against the bright white bristles.

“Shitholes ain’t supposed to look pretty!” She’ll be there for him when the break comes, or she might break him a little ahead of schedule. It depends on how much he keeps trying to piss her off.


Frank flips the slab of hamburger meat in the little pan just as she starts laughing, and he looks over his shoulder once he’s sure that the meat is cooking properly. She’s sitting at the small kitchen table, legs pulled up and crossed under her, and her head is leaned back as she laughs. Her hands are crossed over her stomach as her entire body shakes, and the sound of her laughter is loud in the small space. Her head falls forward so that she’s looking up at him, and teary pale blue eyes meet his as she reaches up to wipe at the moisture on her cheeks.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks her. They spent the afternoon shopping, and they spent the evening decorating their new little shithole. It’s getting late and he’s just now cooking, because they did remember to stop and get a few groceries, and she’s been quiet. Until now.

“We made it through Day Four. I’d say that’s pretty impressive. Wouldn’t you?” she asks and smiles up at him. It’s not a fake smile. She’s not forcing her cheeks to stretch, but it’s still a wide smile. Wide enough to cause little crinkles next to her eyes.

“Only three more to go,” he realizes out loud and turns back to look down at the tiny stove. In three days, she’ll ask him if she can stay. If he wants her to stay. How in the hell is he going to answer that? She follows him without question, and sometimes when she looks at him…he can see just how goddamn grateful she is. It makes him itch, makes him want to hit something, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to look her in the eye and send her away.

He never wanted anyone’s help. Not with this. She says she doesn’t want to help him kill anyone. She’s been pretty straightforward about not killing anyone, and he respects that because she’s not asking him to stop. She still says she wants to help him though, because he’s continuously helping her. Or so she says. He knows she has abilities, he knows that he could use her…but that thought chafes. He doesn’t use people. Not like that. She’s digging in right next to him though, and he doesn’t know how to turn her away at this point.

“Your burger’s gonna burn. Because the overdone one will be yours.” Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he moves the slab of hamburger meat from the pan to a small plate that came in a small set that she’d called darling before gently placing it in the cart.

“Stop talking.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” A part of him firmly believes that she just saluted his back, and he makes a quiet grunting noise before starting on the second burger. There’s not enough room in the pan for more than one at a time.


Frank goes out that night, on a scouting mission only, and Dani actually believes him so she stays put. Washes their few dishes, dances around the small space in just her socks, and then takes a shower. The water pressure isn’t the best, but the water actually manages to get scalding hot so that’s good enough for her. Once she’s clean and dressed in comfy pajamas, she walks into the only bedroom. The bed stuff is sitting in the bag on the bare mattress, and Dani stretches her arms out in front of her to get her joints to pop before opening up the bag.

Twenty minutes later, the bed is perfectly made. Well, maybe not made up to military standards, but she feels pretty accomplished. The fitted sheet is on correctly, after three separate tries, and the top sheet isn’t too wrinkly. She’s got the sheet and the blanket pulled back on the side closest to the door, and the black pillow at the head of the bed looks inviting if she does say so herself. Which she does. Her clothes and other things are stored on the left side of the dresser, but this isn’t her room. So she sets up the plain white lamp on the bedside table, the one next to where the pulled back sheet and blanket are, and she does a little maneuvering to get it plugged in and then smiles in triumph when it turns on.

With that task done, she hums quietly to herself and walks back out into the living room. Her old duffel, the one that was holding her clothes, is stuffed with her new bed things. Or, well, couch things. She pulls out a sheet first, because the fabric of the couch is itchy and she wants to actually get some sleep tonight. So she fights with the couch cushions as she makes sure that every inch of itchy fabric is covered, and she stops just long enough to have a little victory dance before reaching back into her duffel bag. Her quilt is dark blue and white, nothing bright, but her small pillow is bright yellow.

Her fist punches the pillow a couple of times to get into a comfortable shape, and she drops down against it as she wiggles under the quilt. During the day, she can fold the quilt and drape it over the back of the couch. She’ll store her sheet and bright pillow in her old duffel bag, because it would look odd if anyone happened to look inside. She doubts anyone will ever come inside their little shithole, but it’s better to be prepared for anything. So, with everything done and all the lights out, Dani snuggles down into her little nest on the couch and keeps her eyes trained on the front door.


The apartment is dark when Frank silently walks inside, and his eyes quickly adjust as he closes the door quietly behind him. He can see a couple of plates and glasses drying next to the sink, so it looks like she washed up. The apartment is quiet and still, and he takes two steps into the living room before realizing that there are eyes watching him. He can’t see the pale color in the dark, but he can feel the weight of her gaze. He can also see the small lump on the couch, so he knows that she’s bunkered down there for the night.

“Better not get any blood on those new sheets.” Her voice sounds tired, but he can’t tell if it’s because she’s been waiting up for him or if he somehow woke her up.

“No blood,” he promises as he starts walking again. He hears her hum as he walks around the couch, the end where her head is, and he walks straight towards the bedroom. The door opens to show a little bit of light, and he looks at the plain lamp turned on next to the bed as he closes the door. All of the bed stuff is dark. The blanket is black, the pillows are black, and the sheets are a dark maroon. He knows that because one side of the bed has been turned down, so that he can literally just collapse against the mattress and drag the sheet and blanket over himself.

He kicks his boots off first and tries to ignore how much better he feels without the weight strapped to his feet. Next is his shirt and pants, and he falls down against the mattress in just his underwear. His body’s so tired that the springy mattress feels soft, and he blindly reaches out to pull at the sheet and blanket. Once he’s fully covered, he looks over at the lamp. The shade over it is white, plain, and it’s the last thing he sees before he lets himself fall asleep.


“Has anyone ever told you that you look like a doll?” Dani grits her teeth as the back of a finger traces the length of her cheek, and she tries to ignore the tremors in her arms and legs as the doctor looks her over. “Like a little porcelain doll. Do you think today is the day you’ll break?”

“Only one way to find out.” Her voice is rough, nothing doll-like about it, because they haven’t given her a drop of water in over three weeks. She feels like she’s dying, she should be dead, but she just keeps on living.

“I hope not. I think you are going to be my masterpiece, my little doll.” She wants to argue. Wants to scream. But there’s a part of her that knows it’s true. She’s nothing more than a doll. A plaything. Something to be taken out, examined and adjusted, and then put away until there’s need of her again. “Do not disappoint me, Danielle.”

“I’ll dance on your grave one day,” she says as the doctor pulls away. The chains holding her to the wall rattle as she strains after him, and she bares her teeth as she pulls her chapped lips apart in a snarl. The doctor smiles at her before turning around and leaving the room, and Dani slumps against the wall.

Her wrists and ankles are chained to the wall, but she has the strength to break the chains. Easily. If she so much as pulls on them too strongly though, the collar around her neck will send regular pulses through her brain. The electricity is enough to kill a normal person, several times over, but the shocks just keep her from trying to break free. The damn thing is literally bolted into her spine, and she can’t rip it off. She’s tried. The shocks are too strong.

The door to the room she’s in opens, and she lifts her head as footsteps echo. It’s not the doctor. His footsteps are nearly silent. The person walking into her room has a heavier gait, and the chains rattle as she strains to get a good look. The man walking into her room looks like a giant, especially in comparison to her small size. The heavy metal door closes behind him, and the first thing Dani notices (after his impressive size) is the collar bolted around his neck. Another one? Like her?

“There is only one rule, and it is very simple. Only one of you will leave this room alive.” The doctor’s voice echoes around the room, he’s talking through a speaker, and the shackles around Dani’s ankles and wrists are released. She stumbles forward a few steps, and the large man in the room with her smiles. Like he’s won something.

“No, I’m not going to…You can’t make me!” she screams. A small shock goes through her collar, not strong enough to immobilize her, but it’s a reminder. A reminder that she’s not in control. Not anymore.

“That just makes it easier for me,” the man in front of her says. He grins just before a large fist knocks against her cheek, and her bare feet slide against the concrete floor for a few feet. He’s strong, stronger than average people, just like her. She swishes the blood around her mouth from the cut against the inside of her cheek, the cut that’s already healing, before swallowing. Blood’s better than nothing.

“We don’t have to do this,” she says as she looks up at the man. He’s just like her. They’ve experimented on him, hurt him…he’s just like her. The big man stalls and stops walking towards her, and his head tilts to the side in confusion.

“Yes, we do. I’m not dying tonight, little girl.” He’s serious. This man, this man who is just like her, is going to try to kill her. If she does nothing, she’ll die. It’ll all be over. All this time spent just surviving will have been for nothing. She’ll die as someone else’s prisoner.

“Yes, you are.”

The fight is brutal. She never fought, before. She never had a reason to. She’d never even so much as slapped someone before this moment, but it was like her body knew what to do instinctually. When he swung at her, she either ducked or raised a limb to block the hit. She fought through broken bones and blood slicking down her skin, because she healed as she fought. The more her adrenaline pumped, the faster she healed. The man healed too, but she started to get the upper hand. Her hits landed more often, more accurately, and she started to win. She started to win.

She’s standing behind him. One of her feet is pressing down on the back of his knee, because he’s kneeling in front of her, and her head is thrown back as she tightens her hands around his face. One hand is braced under his chin, the other is gripping the side of his head, and she can hear herself grunting in exertion as her body twists. Hands are pulling at her arms, fighting to pull her away, to pull her off, and her teeth grind painfully against each other as her arms give a sharp twist.

Just like that…it’s over. The man’s head has been halfway pulled off, and she screams as she finishes it. Pulls his head completely off of his body, and she drops the dismembered head before stumbling backwards. Her back hits the concrete wall, and she looks down. She’s only wearing a thin white gown, and the fabric is stained just like her skin. Blood. His. Hers. She just killed a man, and there isn’t a scratch left on her. She healed. She’s alive.

“Congratulations, Danielle.”

Her head falls back against the wall as she screams and screams and screams.


She’s thrashing on the couch, but her screams are muffled because she’s lying face down against a bright yellow pillow. He doesn’t even remember seeing her buy that. The screams are what woke him. He thought he was dreaming at first, but he quickly realized that the sound was real and coming from the next room. So he’d stumbled out of the sheet still wrapped around him and went straight to the couch, and now he’s just looking down at her.

Her face is pressed against the pillow, her knees are digging into the couch cushion, and her spine is arched as she continues to scream. The sound is muffled, but it still sounds tortured to him. Like she’s dying. Like something inside of her is dying, and he can’t leave her like that. He might not be a good man, maybe he never was, but he ain’t cruel.

One arm locks around her middle as he hauls her up into the air, and he clamps his other hand over her mouth. He doesn’t need the neighbors calling the cops on them because she’s screaming bloody murder, and her body instantly bucks against him. He’s holding her back tight against his front, they’re both kneeling on the center of the couch, and she’s strong. The hand that wraps around his wrist and tries to pull his hand away from her mouth is gripping him tight enough to bruise instantly, and she nearly manages to throw him off of her. Nearly. He tightens the hold around her middle and forces the back of her head against his shoulder, and his cheeks moves the hair away from her ear so that he can make sure she can hear him.

“Come on now, girl, wake up! It ain’t real, you hear me?! Whatever hell you’re seein’, it ain’t real! So wake your ass up!” The screams have died down into pain-filled whimpers, and if she squeezes his wrist any tighter she’ll break the bone. “Wake up, Dani. Wake up.”

The words are whispered right against her ear, and maybe it’s saying her name that finally does it. She stops bucking against him and just goes tense, and he can see enough of her face to see that her eyes are open. Open and a little vacant. Her body’s trembling as she hyperventilates, and she hasn’t let go of his wrist. Maybe because his hand is still covering her mouth, but he doesn’t trust her not to scream yet. Her eyes clear after she starts to blink, but she’s still shaking against him. Harder now.

“Hand.” The one word is muffled but clear, and he can feel tears streaking over his hand as it covers her mouth. He slowly pulls away until his hand is just hovering in front of her face, but she’s still holding onto his wrist. The hold is looser but still tight, and the pain in her eyes shifts into confusion.

“You still in there?” he asks after a moment. She’s still breathing out of rhythm and shaking against him, and she’s just staring at his hand like it’s a grenade about to go off.

“You touched me.” She sounds as confused as she looks, and that’s when he remembers rule number one. No touching. She’d said that physical touch hurt her, actually hurt her, but she’s still holding onto his wrist. He’s still got an arm wrapped around her waist too, but he’s not touching skin. Only the sweatshirt she went to sleep in.

“You were screaming. Didn’t want the neighbors to call the cops,” he explains.

“Why doesn’t it hurt?” Her fingers spread apart, so that a couple of fingers are touching the top of his hand, and he’s suddenly aware of all the places where they’re touching. He’s kneeling on the couch with her pulled tight against him, he can feel every small shake that goes through her body, and his chin is even still hooked over her shoulder as they both look at where she’s holding his wrist.

“What’s it usually feel like?” The confusion is shifting into wonder, and he holds still as she finally releases his wrist. Her fingertips gently move over the darkening skin of his wrist, there’s definitely going to be dark bruises in the shape of her hand and fingers, and her head tilts so that her temple presses against his. It’s too much contact. They’re too close. He’s got to get away from her, but not until she answers his question.

“Like little razorblades dragging across my skin, no matter the strongest emotion the person is feeling at the time. Everything becomes too intense, too much, and it hurts. This doesn’t hurt.” Her palm slides across the top of his hand as she says the last sentence, and her fingers spread out to rest gently over his.

“What am I feeling?”

“Trapped. Curious. Angry, but that’s a given at this point. You’re uncomfortable.” Her eyes finally move away from his raised hand and look over at him, and there’s darker flecks of blue in her pale eyes around her pupils. “Can I tell you a secret, Castle? I’m uncomfortable too.”

“Then can we end this?”

“This moment or this partnership?” she asks with a raised brow. He doesn’t know what kind of face he makes, but it makes her laugh. Her head tips back against his shoulder as her body shakes with laughter instead of from the residual fear of her nightmare, and he rolls his shoulders to push her away from him as he gets to his feet. She twists around so that she lands on her back on the couch instead of on her face, and she’s still smiling when she looks up at him. “Don’t worry, I don’t have the nightmares very often. It shouldn’t happen again.”

“Better not,” he huffs. She laughs again, and he raises a brow as he looks down at her. “I don’t see nothin’ funny here.”

“I do,” she says with a little grin. When he just continues to look down at her, she pointedly moves her eyes over him. From the top of his head, down to his toes, and then slowly back up his body until her eyes are locked with his. “I just didn’t know you were a boxer-briefs kind of guy. For some reason, I pictured you as a tighty-whitey type.”

“This partnership is over,” Frank says after taking a quick look down. He’s only wearing the black boxer-briefs he went to sleep in, because he didn’t think about pulling on pants or a shirt when he heard her muffled screaming.

“Aww, come on! It’s a good look on you!” she yells after him as he moves back to the bedroom. Things keep changing, for her, and he can’t tell yet if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.


“I’m sorry about the underwear comment.” Frank showered and got ready for the day without making a sound, and Dani is sitting at the kitchen table and watching as Frank makes breakfast even though it’s nearly three o’clock in the afternoon.

Frank remains silent as he scrambles eggs, and Dani sighs as she props her fist against her cheek. While Frank was in the shower, she got dressed for the day. Since it’s summer in Miami, she’s showing a little skin for once. Her shorts go halfway down her thighs and are a plain denim, and she’s wearing a plain light blue v-neck tee shirt. She’s still wearing socks and her old dirty white sneakers, but she looks normal enough. More normal than if she’d pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Frank had barely even glanced her way before starting on breakfast.

“I panicked, okay? I had a nightmare, I woke up, and you were touching me. Put yourself in my place, Castle. For the past twenty years, anytime someone touched me…anytime someone touched me, I had to stop myself from screaming in pain. And I don’t scream easily, not anymore. Before that, the only time I was touched was if I was fighting to the death or if I was being tested or experimented on. I know you’ve had your own share of shit, but can you just try and imagine that? The last time I was touched without any kind of pain or ill intent, was over thirty years ago. So, yeah, I panicked. Sue me,” she rambles out. She sits back in her chair and huffs as she crosses her arms, because she’s said her piece now. She’s not sure if it made any sense or if it got through to him, but she feels a little better after getting all of that off her chest.

“I know a good lawyer,” Frank says after a moment. He still hasn’t looked at her, he’s just scrambling eggs and occasionally looking at the gurgling coffeepot, but the words sound easy and casual. Like they’re having a normal conversation. It’s almost nice.

“I hope you mean Foggy, because I like Foggy. If you weren’t such an idiot, he would have totally gotten you off those charges. The other one? I think he operates better outside of a courtroom.” She keeps her tone conversational, even uncrosses her arms and taps her fingers against the kitchen tabletop, but she’s a little annoyed that Frank still hasn’t looked at her. He does make a quiet grunting sound, like his own version of a laugh.

“You think he’s better outside of a courtroom?” Frank asks her as he moves the scrambled eggs onto two plates.

“I know you two have a…how do I put this?...a difference of opinion when it comes to your nighttime activities, but you gotta give the guy props. At least he’s trying,” she says honestly. Maybe Daredevil’s system will work and maybe it won’t, but he’s doing something. That’s better than doing nothing or pretending that there’s nothing wrong out there.

“And failing.”

“Only time will tell.”

They revert back to silence as Frank continues to cook, but it doesn’t feel quite as strained. Dani smiles a little when Frank places their breakfast plates on the table, but his face remains impassive as he turns back around. She watches as he pours them both a giant travel mug of coffee, and she bites the inside of her lip to stop herself from smiling when he drops the sugar bowl next to her mug on the table. Their eyes don’t properly meet until Frank is sitting down across from her, but he doesn’t speak until after she’s shoveled in a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“I get it. You panicked and went with humor. Because of something new.” Dani slowly chews her eggs as she thinks that over, even though she doesn’t really have to think it over because he’s right. She panicked and then made a joke, because of something new. First she was able to see inside Frank’s head, which is still freaking her out whenever she stops long enough to think about it, and now she can touch someone. Can touch Frank. Without feeling any kind of pain.

“I kind of want to run. And keep running until we’re on opposite sides of the world, because new things? Scary as hell. The rest of me? Wants to stay right by your side for as long as I possibly can, because what if this only happens with you? What if I leave you, and everything goes away? Right now, I can feel how nervous and scared I am. How confused and a little bit excited, because I actually feel alive for the first time in decades. I’m not ready to give that up.” She stops as her eyes meet his, and she can’t read the look in his eyes. He feels calm, a little curious, and there’s the ever burning anger deep down inside. She focuses on the first two emotions as she continues. “But I will if you tell me to. Say the word, Castle, and I’m gone. Because I’m using you. It’s horrible, deplorable, and whatever other synonyms…but it’s true. So all you gotta do is tell me to leave, and I will.”

“We always gonna have deep emotional talks over breakfast? ‘Cause that ain’t what I signed up for.” He’s being honest with her about that, she can tell that much, and she can hear her own quiet laughter as she shakes her head.

“Message received. What’s the plan for today, boss?”