This was written as a prequel to 'For This is the End', but also stands on its own.
She feels it the second she wakes up that morning, drenched in a cold sweat. His cool fingers brush against her sweaty skin, lifting the edge of her beater tee to slip against her lower back in a lazy greeting.
"Hey," he mumbles, one eye flitting open in concern. "You okay?"
She lets out a long, slow sigh, her eyes closing briefly. "Bad dream."
He sweeps a hand across her jaw, cupping her face with hands heavy with sleep. "Anything I can do to help?"
She tangles their fingers together, grazes her mouth over his knuckles. "Cup of coffee while I grab a quick shower?"
He smiles. "Done."
Her mouth falls to his, stealing a slow kiss before they start their day. Her fingers curl around his hair, so soft, as her body melds into his, hot and pliant. His rough palm slides to the back of her neck, lifting sweaty strands from her skin.
She breaks away reluctantly with one last tug on his lip, a little breathy as she nudges her nose against his.
His eyes are clearer now, less hazy with slumber. He slides his hands tenderly down her arms, which are still covered with goosebumps.
"Sure you're okay?" he asks.
Her head falls to rest in the crook of his neck for a moment. "Yeah," she says quietly.
He kisses her hair. "And you'll let me know if you're not?"
It catches in her throat, this beautiful man that she loves, but still hasn't been able to tell. It's stuck inside her, even now, trying to claw its way out. She brushes her warm mouth along the underside of his jaw, hopes he can feel it, anyway-the way she loves him, more than she ever thought she could love another person.
"Yeah," she promises. He gently squeezes her one last time before she's clambers out of bed, a little unsteady on her feet as she pads to the shower.
She catches her fingers trembling when she flicks the bathroom light on. She grabs them with the other hand, crushing them as if she can tamp down the uneasy feeling with a little pressure.
It doesn't work.
Her defenses are high today and she takes pains even in her wardrobe, slipping into a dark turtleneck, a pair of charcoal dress pants, and low heels. She pins her hair back into a bun, something she finds herself doing less and less over the years.
She walks into the precinct with him at her side, her fingers clenched inside the pockets of her coat, preparing to be ambushed with a rough case sometime today that will turn her insides out, pull her heart from her chest, leave her seeking the comfort of his arms in the darkness of their home, where she can shatter her armor.
She grits her teeth when her desk phone rings, but it's only Lanie calling to cancel their plans for dinner. Something about the flu.
She nods into the phone before her eyes find Espo, who's grinning like a fool behind the screen of his phone. He catches her stare before the smile drops from his face, a nervous fool as he tosses his phone onto his desk and picks up a pen.
The flu. Right.
She rolls her eyes, but doesn't fight a smile, happy for her two friends-whatever they are to each other. She thinks they're great for each other, maybe even almost perfect, but she knows better than to rush Lanie into something she's not quite ready for.
Kate spends the rest of the day on bated breath while she fills out paperwork and entertains Castle with a handful of crossword puzzles. By the time five o'clock comes around, the tension in her limbs is mostly gone, seeping out of her in a slow exhale. The fear doesn't crawl down her spine now, merely a breath of air against her skin.
So when Castle suggests that they grab a bite at their favorite little Italian place near home, she readily accepts, almost giddy now that the day has come to an end. As soon as they step into the elevator, her hand is in his and he's grinning like an idiot and starts rambling a little tale about Esposito getting in trouble with Gates for avoiding his paperwork. The story spills from his lips all the way to the cab and she really did not think she was in the bathroom that long.
She shushes him with the sweet slide of her lips against his, a hand pressed to his beating heart. He grins into her mouth, message received loud and clear, and oh she's wanted to do this all day.
Kiss him, that is. Not shut him up. Although-
They stumble out of the cab, a little love drunk, and she notices that her hair has mostly come undone at this point, the result of his rough, calloused fingers slipping through the silky strands as his mouth worked over hers. She gives it a little tug now, lets it all come tumbling down around her shoulders, slipping the little bobby pins around the edges of the bottom of her turtleneck, a habit she picked up as a teenager when she found herself constantly losing them.
They share a little cozy corner booth and they both take full advantage, hot, widespread palms falling across thighs, wandering hands questing just on the edge of propriety. He insists on a bottle of wine and she doesn't have the heart to protest, even though she knows they'll end up finishing it between the two of them. She giggles more, his lame jokes that really aren't that funny, a warm flush creeping up her neck and to her cheeks. She even lets him swipe a bite of her manicotti, doesn't have the heart to shoot him her usual glare for eating off her plate.
By the time they're finished, properly full and bordering on the other side of tipsy, she just wants to take him home and slip between the sheets, make him pant her name against her slick skin. No nightmares tonight. Just him.
They decide to walk the short distance back to the loft, relishing the dull buzz of alcohol through their veins, the crisp night air in their lungs. The wind picks up, rushing through her body deliciously as traffic whizzes by.
She's rolling her eyes at him as he starts in on another story-this time about Ryan's instructions from Jenny's fertility doctor-when she feels it. Her stomach rolls with it and she almost throws up right then. She stops dead in her tracks, the hair on the back of her neck prickling with awareness. Everything slows to a stop.
A loud crackrings through the air as he turns back to her, smile frozen on his face to see why she's paused. Her body jolts in fear, the sound rippling through her body. She grapples for him in confusion, dizzy with tremors, but her hands are left swiping through the air as he falls, eyes wide in a silent scream.
The traffic lights swim in her eyes, blurry and unfocused as she collapses to her knees, her hands flying to the wound. She's screaming into the darkness, yelling for an ambulance as his warm blood pools under the pressure of her hands.
Castle.
Castle, please.
She chokes on her sobs, her head falling to rest on his pale face. He's not moving, but he's fine. He'll be fine. She was fine. He'll be fine. She gasps, her trembling mouth slipping down to kiss his wet cheeks, her knees scraping against the concrete.
You can't die on me, Castle, you hear me? I won't let you.
Someone somewhere is pulling her away, but no she can't, not before-
The words she couldn't say this morning come so easy now.
Castle, I love you.
Complete.
If you just read this and didn't read the story I mentioned at the beginning, I recommend that you do. It'll solve the mystery (if you can call it that?).
Love to hear from you, even in anger/hatred/loathing/insert other adjective.
Liv