For my lovely Johanna, because I love you (and because I did get round to this four days after I promised it would be done by.)
Come Back To Bed
For as long as he could remember being around Kate, morning had always been welcomed as a fast excuse to get out of bed. His insomnia had been present since he was a child – something his mother used to complain about constantly until he became old enough to get up and get himself dressed and his own glass of juice before his mother was even awake. This same insomnia was the reason he still rushed out of bed the second the alarm went off, something that ignored the women of the household entirely too much in comparison. He was happy to get up, shower and dress for the day, excited for whatever excitement his day would hold. His mind was too active for sleep. He wanted to be searching for inspiration, be it at his laptop or down a dirty alley with a dead body. He was happy to be the hyperactive child delivering caffeine to the cops who had only crawled into their beds a few hours previously, only to be back and chained to their desks once again waiting for the call.
But this morning, this morning in particular, he had no desire to move. He wanted to stay underneath the blankets, warm and snug, far away from the world that claimed to hold more inspiration for him than the bed he lie in at that moment. This morning, he would find no inspiration in the depths of death and the depravities of murder. This morning, his inspiration was inside his home, inside this room, inside his bed. His inspiration was the slow awakening from a short night that was ending too soon with the crack of sunlight through the curtains.
For as long as he could remember about being around Kate, morning had been a reason to get out of bed – because for as long as he could remember, seeing Kate required him leaving the house, which required him to get out of bed, shower and dress.
Well, that was how it started.
This morning, the inspiration that had bought about even bigger success than Derek Storm was the woman whose closeness still gave him that curiousness – this is how close she currently was, could he have her closer tomorrow? She was still, after all this time, his greatest inspiration, his reason for getting out of bed every morning, and though she'd hurt him to say this, she was also his greatest conquest. But he justified naming her that, though he'd never dare announce it to her or any other living creature who may repeat it, not because he had managed to charm her into bed like he had insisted in the start of their partnership he would, but because he had somehow managed to make himself loved by her as well, and it was that love that had bought her into the bed they were curled in at that moment.
It was the 9th December, he knew that without looking at the date that usually flashed up on the screen of his smartphone when the alarm went off. Looking at the phone would either require rolling onto his back and looking at the one on his side of the bed, or leaning over the body beside him and looking at hers. He didn't fancy his chances at doing that without waking her and everything he could feel was so comfortable that he didn't dare move save to breathe. So today, on the 9th December, he would stay in bed, sensing that somewhere beyond the pile of duvets and human skin there was a cold winter chill coming from the fact that he had forgot to set the heating to come on an hour before they woke.
The writer in him wanted to see their embrace from outside of his body. He could describe the moment with such intensity, use such carefully devoted words to depict the fit of their arms against one another's, entangling them so they were the same person essentially. He could write it all down more beautifully than it would be to even look upon it, then show it to her with a 'see, look, read this and know how much you mean to me'. He wanted to publish those words and show them to the world, prove to everyone just how loved he felt when they were that close together, he wanted to read the reviews and dare any editorial to send constructive criticism. There was nothing to develop here, there was nothing they could be doing better, there wasn't even the requirement to get up and use the bathroom, which told him that he hadn't been asleep for very long in the first place.
But he couldn't write it down. He couldn't see it from outside his body. But he could feel it. He could feel it so clearly as if he were writing a bestseller with every pore of his skin. His nose was filled with the scent of her shampoo, the same cherry hint that overwhelmed the bathroom with a rainforest-like humidity when she stepped out of the shower in the mornings. Despite last night causing a desperate need for a shower for the both of them, her hair was still soft and one stray strand was tickling the very tip of his nose whenever he breathed. If he had the strength to move at all, he'd have stroked the hair, but the realisation bought about the sensation of hair already beneath his fingertips. On the side he lay on, his arm was cradling her head, his hand cradling it to his other shoulder so that his fingertips were resting against the very roots of the thick dark locks that he would run his fingers through at any opportunity.
Her head was pressed tightly against his shoulder, though he could not tell whether it was from his cradling of her head or the fact that her arms were both curled around his other arm. Were they not holding to him in that way she would probably have her head resting on the pillow rather than against his broad muscle. Her nose was pressed against him, and he could feel each exhale against the contours of his arm. When she would move ever so gently, something he noticed she did in her sleep, it was because her hands were unoccupied, and she soon settled when they found his skin, tightening them around his bicep but with not nearly enough strength for it to be considered any kind of real hold.
His other arm was curled around her torso, winding underneath the slender hands on his upper arm and settling on her lower back, just above that most dangerous curve of her body. If she awoke with his hand any lower, it would only end one way, and that would get the morning off to a most fantastic start –the first thought that actually made him consider moving, however he found that a sleepy exhaustion was still keeping him firmly horizontal on the mattress. Any movement of limbs would only be to readjust this comfortable position. Last night had exhausted them completely, and the lack of sleep on his part was not mirrored by his female companion – he always joked about his ability to wear her out, just about as often as he commented that he had ruined her for other men.
The duvet covers were only pulled up to just below their shoulders, which was rare for this time of year. He recalled only last week they awoke tangled in a similar way but with the blankets almost covering their heads. The blankets were white, some she had changed that morning. She insisted that they had silver thread patterns on them, but he had yet to see them. He only saw the pale material in the dark of night and all he loved about them was the fact that they were comfortable and that they contrasted beautifully when her hair was brushed across it.
She took another breath and her upper body pressed into his for a split second, which reminded him once again of the previous night – he couldn't count the days they had last spent pressed skin to skin like this. Their nights were always exhausting but usually because of distractions and not their usual evening activities, and it was more because falling asleep was a crime of opportunity in their bedroom at the moment, both of them more likely to be found catching a nap in the small hours of the morning on the couch, leaning against the kitchen counter, and once, in Kate's case, sat in the bathroom in the middle of a more personal moment. She'd been so tired that she hadn't remembered him escorting her back to bed, so he had decided not to risk his life and keep that particular memory for himself.
Unconsciously, he tightened his arms around her and she moved with him, snuggling against his shoulder a little more. If she was trying to get closer to him it had worked, and the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly within the mass of hair that was covering his face. She hadn't lost any of her beauty or her appear since he had first laid eyes on her, and if anything, it had increased with every piece of her that she revealed, whether it was another part of the emotional Beckett onion that he had slowly worked his way into, or the time she had first revealed that her tease about the navel ring had just been a joke.
Now the moment was starting to end, this blissful morning of no movement and brushing skin. He could feel that, like himself, she was starting to wake up. He could feel it in her fingertips, which had started to move against his arm with a bit more feeling, and the rhythm of her breathing was starting to change. Then, he felt the fluttering of eyelashes against his skin and her muscles began to stretch out, pulling parts of her away from him. He let out a moan of protest and tightened his arms around her. "Mmm. Comfy," he mumbled, his voice gruff and filled with sleep.
"Sleep," she mumbled in reply.
"Comfy," he repeated, his face settling down into her hair again, satisfied that she wasn't going to move and that their bodies were matched together again.
They were silent for a while, deep, sleepy breaths overtaking them as they enjoyed the afterglow of a few hours rest after a long nights bedroom adventures. Before long, Kate was moving, her arms pulled away from him.
"No," he mumbled, pulling her back.
"Gotta get up," she told him. "Laundry."
"Later," he said simply, his eyes still closed and his arms even tighter around her.
"Rick," she laughed, a sleepy giggle that rippled down her back down to where his hand rested dangerously low. He put pressure on her back, just enough to show her that he had no intention of letter her get out of bed yet. "Rick, we can't."
"Oh, we can," he grumbled into her ear, shifting a little against her. "We absolutely definitely can."
"We can, but we shouldn't. We have to get up soon."
"No, we don't. All is quiet and still and comfortable...no reason to get out of bed at all."
To seal his declaration, he pulled his head back a little and directed his lips to hers. He loved their early morning kisses, slow and sensual, with a casual laziness. Slowly at first, their brushed their lips against one another's before he claimed them completely, placing his lips fully against hers. Butterflies flew through them both, a strange experience that he could only describe from being with what Kate called your 'one and done', even though their kisses had long amounted to more than they could count to. After a few gentle kisses, he sought entry into her mouth and she parted her lips eagerly, despite her earlier insistence that she needed to get out of bed, and allowed his tongue to clash with her own. Her hand moved from his arm, travelling to the back of his neck and tangling in the soft hair that grew there. His arm trailed up from the small of her back to caress her cheek. Kate let out a sight against his lips, which only encouraged him further.
Kate clung tightly to him and whether it lasted a minute or an hour, neither of them really knew nor cared. All they knew was that each second of contact still left them feeling as dizzy as it had done their first night spent together, yet at the same time it filled them with an energy they rarely felt outside of one another's embrace. Parting, but not moving an inch away from him, Kate opened her eyes to see Rick already smiling down at her, their foreheads pressed together.
She gave him an exhausted, weak smile. "Good morning."
"Aren't lie ins wonderful?" he asked her.
She smiled. "I thought we weren't due for one for years."
"I know, me too. What a lovely surprise. We should take advantage of it," he said, taking his own invitation to return his lips to her willing ones, still swollen from the first caress. This time, however, their kiss was interrupted by cry from the other side of the room. They broke apart with a small laugh.
"I think she heard us," Kate said, starting to climb away from him but he stopped her.
"I'll get her," he told her with a swift kiss as he swung his legs around the bed and pulled on a pair of underwear he'd discarded the night before. He then crossed the room to approach the newest piece of furniture into the bedroom, the crib that held their daughter. Their daughter. He still couldn't get over the warm feeling when he said that.
Johanna was still only twelve weeks old, but the first few months of their baby girl's life was passing too quickly for either of their liking. Just like with Alexis, Rick wished her were able to go back in time so that he could once again see how Johanna had showed them her first smile last week, or watched as they struggled to bathe her together for the first time even though he'd first stood there insisting that bathing a baby was like riding a bike and you never forgot how – it turns out, all the parts of parenting he applied this theory too were just as hard the second time round. Of course, there was hundreds of photographs already of the girl, particularly as Alexis had chosen her new baby sister as her photography project, but he'd give anything to relieve the actual moments again.
With an expertise he was proud to say hadn't deserted him from his first time parenting, he changed his daughter's diaper and wrapped her back up in her onesie. Johanna looked up at her father the entire time – she may have grumbled incredibly during every bath, but as long as her father was above her she was quiet and content. She adored her father, even at three months old. She already recognised his voice when he entered the room and would crane her still fragile neck trying to see him no matter whose arms she was in at the time. Then again, she was a Momma's girl at heart, there was no denying that. She knew immediately when she was being held by her mother, even when she was sleeping. If a sleeping Johanna was passed to Kate she would open her eyes for a fraction of a second, see that it was Kate holding her, then fall back asleep. She was always well behaved for her parents – unlike with her grandparents, whom she was still testing her vocal limits with.
When the baby was clean and fresh, Rick bought her back over to the bed. No one, it seemed, was ready to get up yet, and a look at the time had shown that Johanna wasn't due a feed for another hour and she seemed content now that she had a clean diaper on, at least. Going back to bed was a much more inviting option for now. He placed Johanna on the mattress between them, parents lying down either side of her as they looked down at the tiny life they'd created.
Johanna made some incoherent, yet pleased noises when she saw Kate looking down at her. "Hey there, sweetheart," Kate cooed to her softly, moving to hold her hand above her and Johanna reached out with her own, wrapping her tiny fingers around it and exploring it with a deep, clear concentration written over her little face. At the moment, she had a fascination with hands.
"I think she grew again in the night," Rick winced.
"She's a baby, Rick, she's always growing," Kate smiled.
"Not this one," he decided. "Alexis is all grown up now and I've run out of time to prevent child aging. I'll get it perfect this time though."
She laughed lightly. "But then she'll never learn to walk."
"Which prevents her from leaving home."
"And she'll never let you brush her hair or wear those dresses you insist she'll grow into."
"Stops the boys from stealing her away."
"She'll never say her first words," Kate smirked.
"Stops her answering back," he insisted.
"But she'll never say 'dada' for the very first time," she teased, and looked down at the baby. "You hear that, honey. He doesn't want you to learn to talk. I hope you remember this because it means you should absolutely say 'mama' first."
"That's coercion. You should know better, Detective."
"I'm on maternity leave, I don't even have a weapon," she shot back. "What are you going to do, get Ryan and Esposito to come and arrest me? They'd agree, you know."
"They would not."
She could have argued back, but a gummy mouth was clutching at her finger. "She's so beautiful," she whispered, mesmerised by her daughter.
"She looks like you," Rick said. "Actually, I doubt I'm even her father. She's so much like you I'm not convince you haven't just had a child with yourself."
"That's not a bad idea," she teased him. "Cuts out all the complicated men from life."
"I am not complicated!" he protested.
"Yes you are," she smiled, but she then leaned over their baby and pressed her lips to his again. "But I love you for it."
He kissed her back, then lay back against the pillows on his side so that his face was level with his daughters, she turned her head to him for a moment then went back to exploring her mother's hands. Last night had been spectacular, the first time since their little miracle arrived that they'd had the luxury of an uninterrupted evening with both of them actually have the energy to consider something other than collapsing face down into a pillow, and he had been greatly hoping for a morning encore. He wouldn't trade anything for these moments though. He knew that a lot of these moments were the second time round for him, with his first daughter already grown and mature, but moments like this were new to him – a beautiful baby in bed with two parents who both wanted to be there. Yes, Meredith had loved Alexis in her own way, but never in a conventional way. Never in the way that Kate doted on her daughter – or even how she doted on Alexis, for that matter.
This was a wonderful morning, December the 9th. If he remembered correctly, his daughter had been conceived around this time a year ago – it was hard to tell with their frequency, but he could pretend it was today. It had been a Saturday last year, so they more than likely had used the night to their advantage with a lie in the next morning...yes, he decided. It was a year ago today.
And they would celebrate that with a lie in.