A/N: I outlined other stories for the Castle ficathon, but I threw them all out in favor of a snow story in the middle of summer. Do not look for a case. Do not look for serious writing. Avoid grammar or spelling expectations. Don't worry dear reader, I always finish my tales, and this will be no different. The best news is that each chapter is only USD $1, unless they are exciting or sexy, then they will be USD $2 OR you could just leave a review, then everything you read is free.
Nobody's Ever Done That for Me. A romp leading up to 'The Lives of Others.' Castle fic-a-thon 2013.
He slides his prize across the table to her side.
"What's this?" She glances at the nondescript white envelope before eyeing him. His expression leaves no doubt, it's a good surprise. Giving gifts has got to be his love language, every time the writer gives her something there's such glee written across his face.
"Open it."
Inside is a doodle of a snowman, a tiny plus sign, and next to that, a rabbit.
"Are you trying to tell me something?"
He nods, "you're the detective."
Her lips quirk as she sits back to study him, and the drawing. "You've decided to become a magician? Top hat and a rabbit? I completely support you. Let me know when your first show is."
He leans in, ready to spar.
"Oh Kate, you saw my magic show," he says with a quirk of his brow, "last night in fact. And you know you have free admission every night. Guess again."
It's taking quite an effort to keep the amusement off her face. She sighs and leans in.
"Okay, a chubby snowman and a bunny. You're concerned about your weight?"
He gapes at her, his outrage drawing a laugh from her that melodically fills the space.
"Why Mr. Castle," she purrs, her fingers wrapping around the hand that rests on the table in front of her, "are you denying me the right to make ridiculous leaps in logic?"
"Hey, my leaps are not insulting . . ."
"Yes, Castle," she interrupts before he can get into his rant, "yes, I'll go skiing with you next weekend. And no, I will not, nor will I ever be, a snow bunny."
"That is not . . . You knew?"
"Heard you making reservations earlier," she smiles, tapping the side of her head, "detective, remember?" Responding to his expression, her smile gets wider. One of her dazzling, full teeth, reserved-for-only-him smiles and he feels the surge of admiration for the way she's just played him.
"Well I wasn't implying that you were the snow bunny. I happened to be attractive and manly on the slopes."
"Uh-huh." Her fingers moving to play with his, her thumb circling subconsciously.
"What? You'll see Kate Beckett. I have moves. Even outside the bedroom."
"Shut up and finish your coffee," she says taking a sip herself before adding, "we're going to be late for the magic show."
On the way to Vermont, she decides she will never tell him she loves it when he drives.
Mostly because it means she gets to do the looking. The front seat of his Mercedes is decked out to make it a comfortable ride, with a wide armrest between them that makes it easy to hold hands.
Besides, if his hands are occupied she still has one free to mess with the radio.
"How come when you drive, you tell me the driver is in charge of the radio, and when I drive, you still get to control it?"
"Castle, this is a completely fair system. Let me explain it again. At work, the driver is in charge. When we are on vacation, it's the passenger."
He squeezes her fingers and then brings them in to playfully bite her knuckle.
"You never drive when we are on vacation."
Four hours of bickering over maple syrup stops, coffee stops, cheddar cheese stops, and she's questioning her entire driving theory.
And then they arrive.
Stowe, Vermont, the picturesque ski town nestled at the base of impressive snow covered peaks. It screams of hot chocolate, fur lined boots, and inviting smoking drifts from brick chimneys. He's obviously spared no expense on their room. It's wide and deep with windows looking out onto the busy slopes. A hot tub steams from its open place in the room. A fireplace graces another corner.
"Your couples massage is scheduled for nine, Mr. Castle," the concierge finishes his sweep of the amenities.
She smirks at him.
"Perfect. Thank you." And then he's closing the door behind the man and turning his back to lean against it.
"So," she says fingering the green silky spread on the king size bed, "what did you want to do first, Mr. Castle?"
She rakes her nails down his naked ribs as he leans over her for the bedside phone to order their lunch.
"You coming, Castle?" She's suited up and ready to go.
He purses his lips and he lets her see the innuendo he's holding back like a pepper-induced sneeze. Already did, isn't so much spoken as it's in the air.
"You are 15-year-old, Castle. Now," she grabs at his scarf, knotting it a little tighter at his neck and stealing a kiss, "let me see these magic moves you claim to have. The ones you supposedly do outside the bedroom?"
"Relax Kate, we have all weekend," gently zipping the top few inches of her parka so the tab touches her chin, "now, let me grab my poles, we've got a lift to ride."
And then it's Kate's turn to let him see the innuendo she's holding back.
Neither one of them can contain the euphoric laughing that comes from the sumo-style snuggling they do riding the ski lift.
Their first run brings out her natural athleticism and his ADD.
"Did you see that guy?" he says sloshing up to her near the bottom, "he did a 360 off that mogul!" He's drawing her attention to the group of 20-somethings tempting their fate above them on the hill. Admiration shining on his face, like a baby discovering his toes.
They watch a moment while a second skier twists mid-air to reach back and touch his ski, he lands and waves his arms, victory-style.
"Wow!" Is all her boy-man can manage before she nudges him with one of her poles.
"Castle, come on, you go first this time," she pushes, "I want to watch your moves, not a bunch of kids."
He pushes off reluctantly and she watches his smooth form a moment. He's not all goof-ball, he definitely makes a nice cut from behind. And then she's off, following him for a change.
By the end of their second run Mr. Social has ingratiated himself to the group of show-offs and she's content to finish the run alone, watching him from a little table at the bottom of the hill in the outdoor coffee shop where she's sipping some fine cocoa. As a detective, she has the people watching part down, but the writer has taught her to make up a good story.
Speaking of which, she returns his smile and wave from afar and scans the crowds dotting the hillside.
At present, she's fixated on the two ski patrollers in red parkas. They are standing over a teenage girl dressed completely in pink who lies on the ground rocking herself while holding her leg. Beckett thinks it might be serious until a young guy sporting neon green skis plops down next to her. It takes all of three minutes before the girl allows him to help her to her feet, broken leg miraculously healed.
Teenage girls and their melodrama. A smile spreads across the detective's face. And then she glances up, just in time to see her partner launch himself off the mogul. In time to see his skis impressively cross behind him as he reaches back to mimic the move of the younger man from earlier in the day.
Just in time to see he doesn't have enough height to make a clean landing.
Clearly she's better at running in high heels than in ski boots up a mountain.
"Castle!" She can't help calling out his name as she struggles to reach him. The red parkas ski down to his ski-equipment-laden debris field about the same moment she does.
"Castle? Oh my god, are you okay?" She falls into the space beside him.
One of the ski patrollers is already checking his pulse while the other radios, "basket and transport lift 2, post 5."
Something between a groan and a growl escapes him and he rolls a bit to sit up. The effort doesn't last long before he throws himself backward into the snow, fist-to-mouth in pain.
"Ow, shit, my leg."
She can see how his leg is distorted, bile rising involuntarily. This is bad.
There's gravel in his voice each time he says, "I'm sorry, Kate." She quiets him every time with a stroke of her finger to his eyebrow or a squeeze of his hand.
Kate climbs up into the ambulance behind the paramedic, an older man, grandfatherly, in that wisdom kind of way.
"Looks like you've done a number on that leg of yours, Rick," he says, tucking in a second blanket. "Don't you worry, I know a guy down at the hospital, he's a leg man, sees these kind of injuries all the time," and then he glances at Kate, "think you two might have something in common, Rick, I see you're a leg man too."
Beckett meets Castle's eyes and she gives him a weak smile before surprising him, "Yeah, well, I guess it's a good thing that I prefer asses myself."
For the first time, he relaxes, "Well then I guess it's a good thing I didn't break mine."
Dr. Williams flips the light on the wall unit and slides the x-ray so they can see. "Looks like a broken patella or kneecap. Actually, it's a pretty clean break, I've seen a lot worse."
The fuzzy white disk-shaped image has a clear dark thunderbolt through the middle, and he squints to see it from the bed. Kate, however, unlinks their fingers and rises from the bedside chair to move in closer on both the picture and the doctor.
"So what do we do?"
"He'll need surgery. Takes me a few hours but I'll use tension bands to pull the bone together under general anesthesia, check for any muscle tears. We'll monitor him post-surgery and then release him. No standing or walking for at least the first two weeks, he'll need someone to help him at home. The discharge nurse will help you find a therapist close to where you live."
He considers the words and can't help the swallow of emotion, "Are there long term . . ."
"No, Mr. Castle, providing everything goes well, you'll have a scar on your knee and a story to tell to your grandchildren. Keep up with your therapy and we'll be sure and get you the good kind of pain medications. I'd like to keep you here overnight, we'll control the swelling and do the surgery first thing tomorrow, okay?"
After a flurry of activity, they are finally alone in his florescent lit hospital room.
"Kate, I'm really sorry about all of this," he closes his eyes a long moment, "never meant to ruin our weekend."
"I think those nice drugs the nurse gave you are starting to kick in," she strokes his brow, "I'll call Alexis and Martha and we'll get you back to the city." His hand comes up to cup her elbow, holding her to him, his thumb stroking her arm.
"I had snow bunny plans for you, Kate."
"I had snow bunny plans for you too, bud." She leans over to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Rest, okay?"
But he's already out.