A/N: Just a little AU that explores what could have happened if Castle and Beckett had met solely because they live in the same apartment building. Inspired by a prompt from the castlefanficprompts page that I will place at the end of the story.
Through the spray of the water exploding from his bathroom sink and turning his en suite into an indoor water park, he hears the yelling of his name coming from the apartment below, her shouting muffled but angry and just a bit panicked, and he has no idea why Kate Beckett from the floor below would be screaming at him unless- oh no.
Rick drops the bucket of water cradled in his arm to race through his apartment and out his front door, leaving a damp path along the hallway carpet as he hurries towards the stairs, nearly slipping halfway down to the next floor before turning in her hallway and sprinting to the door with the puddle of water pooling out into the hall.
"Son of a bitch!"
Oh, she's going to kill him. Kate is a cop, a homicide detective, and he's seen her down in the building's gym at the dawn of morning or the late afternoons; he has no doubt she could seriously injure a person with her bare hands if she wanted to.
Yeah, he's dead.
He knocks on her door before he tries the handle, finding it unlocked and pushing inside to see Kate Beckett standing in the middle of her small kitchen, an umbrella opened over her head and tears mingling with the water that's streaming down her face.
She's drenched, her entire body soaked in the water that's breaching her ceiling and coming down hard on her and everything she owns. And his heart cracks a little at that, to see all of her belongings drowning and sodden, to see her face pulled tight with frustration yet crumbling with exasperation at the same time.
"I'm sorry!" he shouts, navigating through the torrential downpour of her foyer to join her in the kitchen, dipping under the umbrella, half expecting her to smack him with it.
It isn't necessarily his fault that his pipes had burst, the issue was quite common in the dead of winter, but he had noticed the water pressure running low over the last few days and he had planned to call a plumber to look at it, but apparently, he waited too long and now a single pipe has her apartment looking as if it's been hit by a monsoon.
"The plumber is already on his way," Rick assures her, taking the umbrella from her hands so she can wipe at the mixture of tears and water creating trails of mascara down her face. "I'm sorry, Kate. I swear I'll fix it all and replace everything-"
"Money doesn't replace everything, Mr. Castle," she snaps, glaring up at him beneath the cove of the umbrella, the excess water failing to extinguish the fire in her eyes. The impersonal addressing of his surname has his brow spiking, but he doesn't dare correct her on it, not when he's still at risk of being beaten with an umbrella.
But suddenly, the water comes to a stop, the pelt of manmade rain hitting the umbrella ceasing and Rick sighs in relief, lowering the weather protection and glancing upwards to see the ceiling still dripping, but no longer leaking bucketfuls of water.
Kate is already stepping away from him, though, trudging through the lake of her living room to disappear down a short hall. Rick follows with hesitance, the splash of his footsteps doing little to conceal his whereabouts, but she doesn't look up when he stops in her bedroom doorway. Her eyes are trained on the box in her shaking hands, a picture of a man and a woman on the front, and his heart sinks as he hears her release a heavy exhale.
"Pictures?" he asks quietly, entering her bedroom and approaching with caution to stand beside her.
"Some," she mumbles. "Mostly just little momentos. The box kept some of them dry. Wish I could say the same for my closet."
Rick follows the flick of her eyes to an open doorway not far from her sodden bed, cringes at the rows of ruined clothing and shoes.
"Just tell me how much, Kate. I know I can't replace everything, but I can help with your wardrobe, your furniture-"
"What the hell did you even do?" she demands in exasperation.
"Nothing!" he defends, his hands raised between them in supplication, but she still glares at him through the barrier of his palms. "I really didn't expect my pipes to burst."
Kate sighs, scrapes a hand through her sopping hair and surveys the soaked mess of her bedroom. "The plumber must have found his way into your apartment, you should-"
"I should help you clean up first," he argues, already turning towards her walk in. Surely not all of her clothes are susceptible to some water damage and his dry cleaner is amazing, he's certain the man could salvage a good portion of her wardrobe if she would let him. "I can start in your closet and then together we can work through your living room-"
Kate's hand on his arm stops him, the heat of her fingers curled at the crook of his elbow drawing him back, memories of her hands filling his mind, evoking fissions of electricity in his blood, and she quickly drops her hand from his skin, takes a splashing step back.
"Kate-"
"No, just... you can help later. You need to be in your apartment right now, not smart to leave a stranger alone up there."
Castle sighs, knows that she's right, but it's the first time he's seen her since... well, since the last time she kicked him out of her apartment, and he already craves her company again.
"Alexis isn't up there, is she?" Kate questions suddenly, concern spreading quick and sharp through her eyes, but Rick shakes his head.
"No, luckily she's at her mother's for the week. Though, I'm not sure which is worse - apartment tsunami or a week with Meredith."
"Rick," she chastises, hiding a blooming smile behind the wet mop of her hair, and he reaches out before he can think better of it, combs a dripping strand behind her ear. Kate tenses under the touch, her eyes flickering back to him with warning and apprehension, but he's already retracting the digits, trailing them along the harsh bone of her cheek as he turns to go.
"I'll bring some towels when I come back," he calls over his shoulder, hears her huff while he trudges down the stream of her hallway and back out into the ruins of her living room.
He was familiar with her home once, grew to love the place actually, and seeing the interior practically destroyed causes a frown to carve itself deep into his lips. Money can't replace everything, no, but he does plan to spend whatever he can rebuilding her a home.
It's the least he can do.
Kate is shivering by the time Rick comes back less than an hour later, her damp clothes drying but adding to the winter chill seeping into the apartment as they cling to her frame. But it's not as if she has anything dry to change into. Her entire apartment - every inch of every room - is soaked and while she knows her losses are just material, she couldn't help crying in her kitchen after Rick had left. The stress of work, of her mother's case, is more than enough to weigh her down, but the destruction of her apartment, her safe haven, is the final straw. And now, all she wants is to crawl into her bed, to sleep for a solid eight hours and forget about all of it, forget about him.
But her mattress has been turned into a water bed.
"Hey," Castle greets, a tired half smile on his face as he finds her in the bedroom, sorting through her bureau.
"How'd you get in? I locked the door after you left," she mutters, adding a pair of sweatpants to the lounge clothes draped over her arm. Her dresser wasn't able to fully protect the clothing stored there, but it saved them from the worst of the damage.
"Oh, I used the hidden key," he shrugs, coming towards her with the promised bundle of towels in his arms.
She almost wants to punch him for that, to yell at him for just barging into her apartment without having the decency to knock, but she lacks the energy to be mad at him anymore, to hate him for helping.
"Have you talked to the landlord yet?" Castle asks and another wave of fatigue washes through her bloodstream, but Kate nods.
"Yeah, rental insurance will cover the basics, but all personal belongings are my own responsibility," she recites from memory of the conversation had not long after Rick had returned to his own apartment. Their landlord was pretty good about caring for the building, ensuring that tenants were satisfied with their living situations, but the man was far from sympathetic when it came to personal disasters such as this. "What about you?"
"I probably received the same speech as you," Rick sighs, surveying her bedroom again with guilt fleeting but strong in his eyes and she doesn't want that. He was right earlier, it isn't his fault a pipe burst and flooded his apartment, along with hers. "But most of my stuff is fine, anything that wasn't on the ground or in my bathroom, and I can have someone come out and repair all of it by tomorrow. So make sure you're free by noon-"
"Rick, no, I can just wait until they send someone over, you don't need to-"
"It's already done," he states, final and leaving no room for argument, and Kate purses her lips. The last thing she needs is to owe him. "Don't overthink it, Kate."
"I'm not," she snaps, too quick, giving herself away if the arch of his brow is any indication.
"Oh, I brought you some clothes," he adds and Kate stiffens, her fingers clenching in the damp cotton slung over her arm.
"I'm not wearing your clothes, Castle," she murmurs, but he huffs, rolls his eyes at her, and adds a pair of jeans and a sweater to the pile hanging from her arm.
"They're not mine. Those are yours," he explains, nodding to the grey sweater she thought she had lost and the jeans she had assumed were just buried in her laundry hamper. "I just never had the chance to give them back."
Kate swallows hard, her eyes still trained on the clothes, too cowardly to look up and meet the gaze she feels on her. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it," he says, but when she finally lifts her gaze, he's watching her, too much tenderness in the dulled pools of his eyes. Too much longing.
She misses him.
The thought has her heart in her throat and she glances towards the en suite for safety.
"I'm just going to get changed."
"I'll start going through your books," he answers, already starting for the door. "I need to know if mine survived the downpour."
And just like that, the fear is gone, false indignation arising in her face to hide her amusement. "I'm more concerned with my Patterson novels," she throws back, hearing his growl of disapproval echo in the hall, and Kate leans back against the doorjamb, lifts her returned clothes to her nose.
They smell like him now.
"This is a tragedy," he whines, In A Hail of Bullets opened atop his lap along with his other bestsellers, the pages hardened and stuck together. Irreparable. "Only like two of my books survived and they're not even the good ones."
"Flowers For Your Grave happens to be a personal favorite of mine," Kate protests, stealing the dampened but unsoiled book from his knee, and he resists the urge to smirk, to tease her as he first had when he'd learned she was a fan of his works. "Shut up, Castle."
"I didn't say anything!"
"Yet," she grumbles, striding away from where he sits surrounded by waterlogged novels on one of the few dry spots of her floor and depositing the book onto the counter. They've managed to work through her entire bookshelf and the number of written works that managed to make it through the flood are few, hardly enough to fill a single shelf.
Castle watches her place his novel atop the small pile sitting on her kitchen counter, her gaze mournful as her fingers drift over the moistened spines. Kate's already divested her closet of its ruins, found what could be saved and determined which items were beyond repair while he did the same in her living room and kitchen. So far, he intends to buy Kate Beckett enough furniture to fill a home decor magazine and enough books to restock her shelves.
"So have you talked to your dad?" Her fingers trip over the books, landing on the counter with a soft thump.
"No, I'll call him tomorrow," she murmurs, but Castle's brow furrows and he removes the dilapidated books from his lap, unfolds his legs so he can stand.
"But, Kate, I thought that's where you would stay until your apartment is fixed," he replies, approaching her with typical caution, feeling the tension that climbs her spine and settles in her shoulders radiating from her bones, warning him to stay back.
"I can't," she mumbles, easing her elbows onto the countertop, training her gaze straight ahead on the assortment of dishes he hand dried and arranged neatly atop one of his towels from home.
"I don't understand-"
"The anniversary of my mom's death was earlier this week, Castle. My dad and I never handle it well, so adding this to his plate right now is not an option I'm going to take."
He pauses at her kitchen sink, only a step away from her, but unable to breach that last breath of distance. After so many nights in Kate Beckett's bed, he eventually learned about her mother, all the details that made her jaw square and her eyes harden despite the tears that filled them. He knew how the death of Johanna Beckett had shredded her, how raw her grief still was even after a near twelve years, and how the unsolved case consumed every piece of her life without mercy. He knew it all too well.
After all, his foolish attempt to draw her away from the black hole of a case was what had caused her to shut him out of her life three months ago.
"I'll check into a hotel for the night, find out if I can crash with my friend, Lanie, for a while."
"No." The single syllable breaks past his lips before he can stop it, but he doesn't take it back, doesn't try to defend himself against the threatening look of question she throws at him. "You can stay with me. I have a guest room and it's the least I can do when I'm the reason you have to find somewhere else to stay in the first place."
"I appreciate the courtesy, Rick, but no thanks," she mutters, jerking her elbows from the countertop to stand straight, squaring her shoulders as she moves to walk past him, but he snags her by the arm.
"If anything, we're friends, right?" Her eyes flick down to the hand coiled at her wrist, challenge flaring in her gaze when it flies back to him. "That's what you told my daughter, didn't you?"
"Don't bring Alexis into this, she doesn't know about any of it-"
"No, but you told my kid we were friends and we were friends before... before we were more, weren't we?"
Kate exhales a sharp breath through her nostrils, but he refuses to let her deny that in the early days, when he had first met the newest tenant of his building while she was still moving in, they had been friends. He had helped her haul a few of her boxes into her new place nearly a year ago, had marveled over her when she had revealed that she was only moving into the building because her last had exploded due to a serial killer who'd chosen her as his latest obsession. He had known from the first day that he wanted her, the spark instant and palpable, but for the first month, it had been innocent - nothing more than passing smiles and small talk in the halls or the lobby. But then his daughter had invited her over for dinner one afternoon upon noticing that Kate wasn't having the greatest of days and everything had changed.
"Maybe she had a rough case and just needs some cheering up, Dad," Alexis had chirped in the elevator after sharing the lift with a sullen Kate for her three floor ride up.
His daughter had been right, of course; Kate had nearly frozen to death hardly 24 hours beforehand, trapped in a freezer long enough to suffer from hypothermia alongside her two partners and still suffering from the chill when she had opened her door to him and an eager Alexis at his side. He knew Kate had only accepted out of consideration for his daughter - not many could say no to her - but the hot meal had done her good, in his opinion, and the two of them had even managed to coerce a few genuine smiles from Kate's lips even though the ice had still lingered in her eyes.
"They all had someone to live for," she had told him over a glass of wine once dinner was done and Alexis had retired to her bedroom to study. "I've been in a lot of near death situations over the years, Castle, but it didn't strike me until I was freezing to death that I haven't been doing a commendable job of living myself."
"Well, what makes you feel alive, Kate?" he had asked, watching her stare into the red wine in her glass, searching for answers, before her eyes had lifted to him.
He hadn't tried to stop her from leaning across the couch, hadn't protested when she dusted her lips over his and whispered into his mouth, "This."
He hadn't stopped her, he'd taken her to bed, and eventually that had become their life together - nights spent in bed, reaffirming life and exchanging stories from between sheets. But after six months, he had wanted more and she had been scared, timid but willing to try for him, for a chance at how amazing they could be together.
Until he had screwed it all up.
Then again, maybe destroying each other's hearts had been a dual effort.
"We may have ended badly," he continues at her silence. "But as your friend, I am offering you a place to stay that's right up a flight of stairs, just until your apartment is repaired and livable again. It doesn't mean anything."
Her eyes flash at that, remorse skittering through the murky browns of her irises, and Kate shakes her head, tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. He expects her to snap out something passive aggressive, something biting, but she surprises him, still surprises him, and leans forward, drops her head to his shoulder.
Weary, he thinks, is the word that would describe her best as she stays with her forehead to his clavicle and Castle carefully lifts a hand to her back, flattens his palm between the rigid wings of her shoulder blades and tentatively rests his cheek to the top of her head. Kate sighs, one of her hands rising to curl at his side, nails snaring in the fabric of his t-shirt to hang onto him with her weak grip.
"I'm sorry, Kate," he whispers, hoping that she knows it's for everything. For the state of her apartment, for the latest anniversary of her mother's death, for what happened to them.
Her breath shudders through her ribs before it leaves her quivering lips, but she turns her head, pressing her cheek to his collarbone and releasing her hold on his shirt to snake her arm around his waist. Castle hugs her back, tight and secure just how he'd wanted to when he had walked in to find her crying under the shield of her umbrella a mere four hours ago, and smears a kiss to her hairline.
Kate ducks away from the brush of his mouth but doesn't leave his arms, burying her face in his neck instead, arousing a stirring warmth beneath his skin as she mumbles words into his throat.
"We're friends."