Written quick and dirty. Any and all mistakes are my own. Leave me a message if you spot one. Or a review.. No, I am *not* above grovelling.
I still don't own them, don't even want to. I bow down at the brilliance that is the Castle writer's room.
Kate had offered him protection from the redheads, but now she worries that perhaps it's her that should be afraid.
Days ago, she'd loathed the woman; minutes ago she'd rather liked her. Seconds ago, everything she thought she knew came crashing down around her.
Because Meredith claimed she couldn't write a pamphlet about Rick. But could she? She's not too sure right about now.
She knows the basics; his favorite meal, his brand of aftershave, the way his lips twitch as he dreams. The fact that the color orange makes him cringe a little; that his mother loves it and every time she wears it, he has to resist the urge to vomit a little in his mouth.
Stupid things, small things; not the big stuff, the important stuff.
They've never delved into his past.
The past four years have been spent dragging her out of her own history and back into the present. She'll never be able to thank him for that, for all that he has shown her is possible, for bringing her back to life; but she gets the feeling she's been neglecting him along the way. The last time he'd brought it up, she'd been so busy trying to push him out of her own life that she'd never even bothered to wonder why he was diving into hers.
That was before freezers and badly lit hangars, hotel rooms and sniper shots. That was before she realized what had been happening, that she'd been falling in love. And now, all this time later, with so much shared history and deep feelings between them, it had almost seemed unimportant to ask. Almost an offense.
She knows better now though, because all of her old insecurities are rushing back to taunt her and feed into her ingrained sense of not being worthy.
Maybe you're just the flavor of the week? Why hasn't he told you himself? Maybe you don't deserve him?
He's puttering around in the kitchen, the smells permeating the room are sickeningly sweet and yet somehow… eggy? Her stomach rolls and she's not sure if it's from the aroma or the coil of dread twining around the pit of her gut.
He'd said something about breakfast; she wasn't really paying attention, lost in her thoughts about the short conversation with Meredith. She shakes her head and avoids looking toward the stove, it's probably for the best; he's been known to come up with some downright vile concoctions.
Rick had called Meredith a deep fried Twinkie, written her off as nothing but a flake, but the last few days have proven her to be anything but. She's complex, surprisingly funny, warm even; Kate can understand why they would have gotten along. What she can't figure out is why they broke up. Because although Meredith's side of the story had a definite ring of truth to it, there's something more, nagging at the edge of her sub-conscience.
She's an actress, her psyche finally provides, at last being somewhat helpful.
She needs to just ask him, it suddenly occurs to her.
Why hasn't she ever asked him? About his divorces, his father… hell, anything about his past really. She's gone about their whole relationship assuming that his life had been a playful joyride through a slightly unconventional but happy life.
But no, that's not true, she knows better. Maybe it was just easier that way.
Just a few weeks ago, he'd provided some kind of a hint to his childhood. She'd always assumed that Martha had done rather well for herself, but now she knows that they had struggled. She'd seen it in his eyes as he had talked about Christmas and hope. Had heard the pain strung loosely about his wide-eyed joy of the season, his fear of losing his hard-earned traditions.
She realizes now that there have been breadcrumbs along the way; she just hasn't been paying enough attention to follow the trail.
The expectant way he'd asked a dark-suited CIA agent about his father, and later how he'd looked to her for help, assurances, answers she didn't know how to give. So she'd changed the subject by claiming Sophia Tuner was a liar, even though she too had heard the ring of truth. She'd thought it best at the time.
He had allowed her to change the subject though, because Meredith isn't lying. Not entirely.
While he has given out hints, he's also very eager to put it aside and not delve into personal issues. At least, where he is concerned. Her life's history is a veritable buffet that he regularly snacks on, she thinks with a grunt of annoyance. Because damn it, it's not easy for her to open up. But she has… for him.
Enough, she thinks, growing a little agitated as she watches him clueless and prancing around the kitchen. She'll be damned if she turns into a soufflé. And god knows she isn't any deep-fried Twinkie. She won't be.
"Rick," Kate calls from where she still stands, rooted halfway between the living room and kitchen, luggage still at her feet.
"Hmm?" he answers, not even looking in her direction, too engrossed with cracking eggs and… good God! Is that chocolate?
"Castle!" she hollers, sharply, finally garnering his attention.
He drops the spatula when he hears the tone in her voice, spies the furrowed brow and the whites of her teeth pressing deeply into her lower lip. He turns off the stove and warily makes his way towards her. He may have missed the 'look' the other day but he has no trouble discerning it now. He's in trouble and they need to talk.
"Rick, we need to talk," she says as he closes the gap. There's a waver in her voice.
Great minds, he briefly thinks before focusing on that little tremor as she had said his name. Surely they'll be able to smooth over any lingering 'Meredith concerns' and be back to breakfast within minutes. Right? Suddenly, he doubts it.
"Kate…" he starts, keeping his tone even, not knowing exactly what he's in trouble for, but certain now that it is something. The tightly fisted hands are a clear warning of her agitation.
"I'm not gonna end up one of your desserts, Castle," she bites out.
Her tone isn't exactly harsh, but there's a definite ring of something to it. A little anger certainly, and that's to be expected after a week of forced company with his ex-wife no matter how well they seemed to end up getting along. But there's more behind it; insecurity, fear and… hope? God, women are so confusing sometimes.
"I'm sorry… what?" he sputters.
Dessert? Huh… Dessert? He runs a hand through his hair.
She's really going to have to help him out a little more. What the hell is she talking about?
"You've spent four years cataloging my every move, my every thought and whim, and yet…I don't know a damn thing about you, Castle."
Where is this coming from, and what on earth does it have to do with sweet confections?
"Kate, you know a lot about me, more than most actually."
She huffs and it raises his hackles. It's not like she's giving him many clues here. What does she want to know?
Minutes ago, it had seemed as though they had finally landed back at their status quo; happy, almost kissing, status quo. And now… now she doesn't know him?
He hurriedly scans his brain, tries to think of a single thing he could have done to set her off within the last hundred seconds or so. He comes up completely empty and stares at her blank-faced, feels the air drying his lips as his labored breathes whoosh in and out.
He'd been about to kiss her, had been distracted by Mered… Oh… Shit!
What has his ex-wife gone and done now? He'd left them alone together while he'd gone to get the purse. He'd left them alone… together.
Will he ever learn? He can almost envision the pantomimed explosions from Ryan and Esposito; hear their cackling as he goes out in a blaze of glory.
"If you want to know something, then just ask."
His voice rises at the end of his sentence because he's not immune from this situation, he hasn't come out unscathed, he's getting irritated as well. It's not like his week had exactly been a walk in the park.
"Why'd you and Meredith break up?" she asks and the direct and somewhat accusing nature of her tone stuns him.
"I'd rather not talk about it," he replies curtly. The response is rote, he doesn't even think about it. He never talks about his failed marriages if he can help it.
God, he really doesn't want to relive that humiliation. It certainly wasn't one of the highlights of his life to walk in on his wife making love… fuck it, screwing, with her latest director. Ugly words had been spewed, things had been thrown, and hatchets had finally been buried. It had taken a long time to get over that kind of hurt. But it was over, the past; what was the point in reliving it?
"I wanna know," she says, hands on her hips and an expectant glare aimed in his direction.
"Kate, can we not" She narrows her gaze. "Please?" he tries again.
"We can and… we will," she replies, her voice huffy as she runs a frustrated hand through her own hair, mirroring his earlier action.
"We will," she states, softer this time, "because I am not going to end up a dessert."
With that, she takes a hold of her suitcase and turns her back on him, leaving him to gape at her as she makes a direct path to the bedroom.
Wait, the bedroom?
What the hell is going on? He'd half expected her to walk out the front door.
Castle stalks after her, fast and slightly furious, because this woman is frustrating as all hell.
But she's worth it, his mind provides as his feet propel him swiftly forward.
She's thrown him completely off balance with this sudden need to know things about him, painful things, things he'd rather not rehash; this isn't how they do things. Avoidance… avoidance is what they do.
But apparently, not any more. He shoves the half-ajar door out of the way as he enters the bedroom; it smacks with a resounding thud against the bookshelves and he cringes at the damage he may have caused.
When he catches up to her, she's standing beside the bed with her suitcase thrown open. She throws her clothes angrily, slinging them back out of the luggage and landing them in a haphazard pile atop his dresser.
He's so damn confused right now, he wants some damn answers.
Roughly, he grasps her wrist, pulling until she stops resisting and spinning her until she faces him.
"You wanna talk, then talk," he growls, "but enough with the metaphors. What the hell does 'not gonna end up as dessert' even mean?"
Kate gasps and her gaze quickly flits down to where he is still gripping tightly onto her wrist. Her chest heaves, her cheeks flush and her eyes bore into his soul. Castle knows that look but he's too wound up to even try and read her. He jumps back and releases his hold as though he's been burned. It's then that tears form in her eyes, liquid pooling along the rims until finally a single tear tracks its way slowly down her cheek. It breaks his heart.
"Castle, don't..." she chokes.
Fuck. He's so royally screwed this up. Now he's gone and hurt her.
"Kate, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean too…I'm… I'm so sorry."
"Don't," she yells, coming at him with balled up fists, two tightly clenched hands thrashing upon his chest for a moment before she sags.
"Don't apologize and then pull away from me, Rick," she finally finishes softly.
She doesn't want him to apologize? He was a Neanderthal just now. And since when is she the one complaining of a lack of intimacy?
God, his head hurts.
"Kate, I hurt you. I can't… I shouldn't have."
"You didn't hurt me," she finally replies quietly, taking a tentative step forward, offering up her wrist for inspection. "See?"
"It was actually kinda hot," she says, trying to lighten to mood, smiling weakly, before lunging into his chest, slipping her arms around his waist on a sob.
She buries her head into his neck, hides her face from him as she breathes three little words. "But you might."
He rests his head atop hers and inhales her scent; it calms him. He's still pretty much clueless but at least now he is somewhat enlightened.
She's afraid, afraid that he's going to hurt her.
He'd laugh, the thought so utterly ridiculous, if he didn't hear the honest to goodness veracity laced throughout her confession. She's terrified. And apparently it's because she doesn't know why he and Meredith broke up.
And dessert... can't forget that. Rick shakes his head; he'll get to that later.
But there's no time like the present to rip off the Band-Aid and open old wounds. If this is what she needs, he will give it to her.
"What's with the redecorating?" he inquires, gesturing to the clothing piles, trying to at least garner a smile before diving into the deep end with her.
"This stuff is staying here," she informs him with a slight quirk of her eyebrows. "I'm not leaving you."
Well then… apparently they are already swimming laps. She doesn't smile, but he does.
"Good," he declares, sitting on the bed and pulling her into his lap.
He watches her face in the mirror, transfixed as the worry lines disappear and the grin slowly forms.
"Good," she agrees, blushing and ducking her eyes away from his.
He strokes his fingers along her forearm, watching as goose bumps form, gathering the nerve to share his past.
"Meredith cheated on me," he states quietly. "I walked in on her and her director in the throes of passion."
At that, her eyes snap to his.
"There was more, of course," he continues, watching her as she digests this apparently new information. "Apart from the sex, and a healthy appreciation for the 'good life', we never really had that much in common. Alexis was the glue for the majority of our marriage, Kate; I tried hard to keep it together for her but it was never gonna last."
How has it skipped his attention that she didn't know this about him? It's quite literally his jobto pay attention to her. He'd always just assumed that she knew why his first marriage had failed. He doesn't really know why, it's not like he'd be the one to tell her, but the tabloids and the field day they had with it, he's just… assumed.
"She didn't tell me that," she whispers.
"Yeah, well, it's not something one would really like to broadcast, ya know? Meredith is all about appearances. It doesn't really fit into the image she likes to project."
"She told me your marriage was like a soufflé. And that sooner or later they always fall."
He snorts at that and finally he is rewarded with the high beam, Kate Beckett smile that he knows and loves.
"Thus, the dessert reference?"
"Shut up."
"Kate, if ever you want to know something about me, just ask. I know I'm not always the most forthcoming. It's hard for me sometimes, to share like that. It's why I write, it's why I poke my nose into other people's business and make jokes. I don't want to relive those painful memories, joking around shifts the attention away from me."
"I'm sorry, Cas..." she tries to break in. But he's on a roll now and she needs to hear the end of it.
"Shh," he stops her. "I don't want to relive those painful memories, but for you, I will."
And then she's turning in his arms, climbing awkwardly, spinning and... ouch that was a rib, Kate! Until she's straddling his hips and lunging for his mouth in a frantic clashing of teeth and lips and arms and legs; until he suddenly finds himself naked and flopped back onto the mattress, not entirely sure how it happened.
"Not a Twinkie," she growls into his mouth.
"Nope," he agrees, biting on her lip and thrusting his hips upwards.
Oh. She's naked too. That's a happy coincidence.
He still has no clue how it happened. He seems to have zoned out sometime after her ninja move upon his lap but before she tackled him to the bed; too caught up in the sensations of relief and arousal, love.
He's not going to waste any more time thinking about it though; not when she's sliding and grinding herself above his eager groin and certainly not as she rises and then falls, as he slips home.
"More like a S'morelette," he grins as she grinds to a sudden halt and gives him an incredulous stare.
"You had better explain mighty fast, Castle," she warns.
"Because you are an acquired taste, a rarity, my most favorite thing…"
He slides a finger between them and rubs in small circles, "to eat…" he gives her engorged bundle of nerves a flick to ensure that she knows exactly what he's talking about, "in the morning," he finishes, smirking.
"Shut up, Castle," she grins, half-moans, biting gently on his lips. "You can do that later. For now, just love me."
He almost weeps as he rises to meet her because she didn't exactly tell him, but she has shown him, and she just asked him; it's his turn to be brave today.
"I love you, Kate."