It's just after seven in the evening when she slips in the door to his loft with the spare key she pilfered from atop his desk three weeks prior. Well, pilfered might be putting it a little extreme. It was just sitting there and she took it. For weeks before then, it hadn't been there. She knows that for a fact. She'd have noticed it, given their penchant for having to replace items cleared off of the desk each time they got a tad bit too frisky, too hasty and impatient on one of the many days when he'd managed to get some alone time at home and they hadn't seen one another in a few days.
But then one morning, as she was sneaking out to head back home in the early hours of the day, she spotted it. Had it not been for the sunlight at dawn streaming through the adjacent window of his office, she may not have seen it, but there it was—the glint of it all shiny and new on an equally pristine keyring, dangling from the knob of his mini typewriter. She didn't even think twice about it before looping her index finger through the ring, lifting it and heading out the front door with it in her possession.
She successfully tested it in the lock before leaving—of course she did—but made no mention of having taken it, and he never asked, though he must have noticed it gone at some point, must have known she had it now.
The first time she'd used the key was a week later, sneaking inside to give him a surprise morning wake up call after they'd been unable to spend the night together when Alexis dropped in unexpectedly that evening. He came clean about the key later in bed, explaining that he'd made it up months ago, before they'd even gotten together, and he always intended for her to have it, he'd just never found the right time to give it to her. He didn't want to seem too presumptuous, too pushy. So it sat there, unused, unloved, as he played the waiting game, trying to find out where they stood, how close they actually were and where this partnership was heading. When they'd been going through their rough patch after the bombing, he tossed it in a drawer with the thought that throwing it away would be senseless. That perhaps one day he'd find another owner for it if being with Kate Beckett wasn't in the cards, was never meant to be.
But then they reconciled, they consummated their relationship, and soon he felt it was time for his little key to go to its new home. Even though they were together, he still felt like handing it to her would be too much, like he was rushing things, rushing her, pushing her too far, too fast. They were in love, hopelessly, irrevocably so, but that didn't mean he still didn't have his insecurities, and she her reservations.
So he left it for her to find—and find it she did—and hoped that when she did, she would be ready to take that next step and make the decision whether to take it or leave it, and whether to use it if she felt the need to someday, for whatever reason. It mattered not to him, so long as she knew he was there for her.
After he'd finished his story, she'd kissed his cheek, thanked him for thinking of her, and promptly left him a spare key to her apartment on the typewriter in the same spot she'd found his the following morning as she snuck out. Unlike her, he didn't wait more than twelve hours before using his shiny new key.
Not that she had any complaints about that. None whatsoever.
The loft was quiet tonight, she noted, as she stepped inside. After a long, grueling day at work that included a lengthy footchase and an interrogation with a difficult person of interest that gave them both a migraine, they'd shared a cab home from the precinct, dropping her off first. She told him she just wanted to go home and sleep and he respected her wishes, didn't try to persuade her otherwise. It'd taken her less than thirty minutes in a bubble bath before she couldn't stand the silence and solitariness of her empty apartment though, so here she was.
She'd meant to surprise him, thought they could spend the rest of the evening together over a movie and a glass of wine, but now she was wondering if he was even home. All of the lights were dimmed low, the warm flames of the fireplace in the kitchen providing the only real source of ambient light. No television on, no music playing, just the subtle sounds of the refrigerator running and the air conditioning blowing cool air out into the living room.
Well, surely no one would leave the fireplace ablaze in a vacant home, so someone had to be around here somewhere. The lighting was far too dark for Martha, who thrives in a well-lit environment, and poking her head around the staircase, she could tell there were no lights on upstairs anyways, so that ruled out her and Alexis both.
Which left her with only one possible, very handsome option, and the potential for alone time in the empty loft.
"Castle?" she called out softly, stepping through the foyer and into the livingroom. His office was dim and she couldn't see much through the bookcase from her position but there was definitely some sort of light on in there; a dull glow, not quite like the light given off by an incandescent bulb.
Stepping past the bookcase doorway, she could see then that the glow was from his laptop, sitting idly by on the desk, unattended, his screen saver beseeching him to continue writing.
Huh. Peculiar.
She slipped her shoes off on the plush rug beneath his desk and padded her way towards his room. Peeking her head through the doorway, she saw that the bed was still made, though she could make out the faint wrinkle of an outline of a body in the comforter.
He'd been writing, then napping, apparently. And now he was...?
"Castle, are you in here?" she called out again, in the direction of his ensuite bathroom, and that's when she caught the faint sound of running water. He was in the shower.
Tempting as the thought of slipping into a hot, steamy shower with him was, she knew where that road would lead to, and the last shower experience hadn't been a pleasant one, what with all the slipping and sliding and how the hell do people manage to have sex in the shower without injuring themselves in some fashion? So, no. Not this time. Tempting, yes, and so very hot, but she could wait for a more comfortable, pleasurable play time, thank you very much. She wasn't so needy and desperate anymore like they had been first diving in to this but then again, here she was, letting herself into his home unannounced, seeking him out anyway.
Okay, so maybe after a week without the feel of his body united with hers, she was feeling a little needy today after all. Work and family and life just had a way of getting between them now in a way it never did before, and sometimes she felt like they were back to the days of not being together, what with all the secret smiles and tender longing in their eyes at the precinct and out on the job when they couldn't touch, couldn't kiss, couldn't say how they felt without prying eyes or curious ears finding them out.
Only their parents were privy to their relationship thus far. They hadn't quite figured out when they would break the news to the others yet, if at all for some. Gates was a stickler for the rules, and NYPD protocol strictly forbids romance between partners. All it would take is one off-hand comment, one domino falling before the rest followed suit and word inevitably got back to the captain.
She has to wonder if, were Montgomery still alive, would he look the other way and embrace the new relationship between the two of them? Would he congratulate them, be happy for them, and continue to let her and Castle work together as partners?
Kate sinks down onto Castle's bed on a sigh, tugging one of his pillows to her chest as she curls into it. Things were still complicated and yet also so much simpler back then. But really, she wouldn't change this. Not a chance. She loves what they have now. Loves him. She could do without the obstacles of course, but half the fun is in the challenge, right? Figuring it all out and overcoming them together is what will keep them going strong.
Just as she's shutting her eyes and melting into his mattress, she hears the water turn off. Soon after, the glass doors of his shower quietly squeak open and she can hear him faintly humming along to himself some tune that she recalls is from a television show he likes, though she can't quite think of the name off the top of her head. Her eyelids feel heavy though now, the scent of him on the bed consuming her, making her feel looser, at ease. Mm, that and he'll be out here soon. He'll see her lying here and get that adorable grin on his face as he pulls her into his arms. Maybe they'll make love, or maybe they'll cuddle up with a glass of wine first before turning in for the night.
God, she didn't realize how much she missed moments like these with him until now.
Five, ten minutes pass maybe, and he's still humming away in there, shuffling around and doing who knows what. Metrosexual he is, she imagines he's probably shaving and gussying up and spending far too much attention to grooming his hair. She's half-tempted to barge in on him but ah, may as well just rest for the time being. He'll be out soon enough. She can wait for him to find her. She loves that look of pleasant surprise when he does. Besides, she's so drained from work today and his bed is just so comfy. No sense in getting up now.
Before she knows it, she's drifted off to sleep.
