Underneath
Warm light filters through red silk, bounces off too-sharp angles, sinks slender ribs into shadow below the black edge of her cotton bra. Kate's eyes fall to the deep pile of burgundy carpet as her fingers reach around her back, mechanical, undoing its clasp. Her lips press tight and she inhales, shoulders caving to shuck off the only undergarment she has been able to tolerate since last May.
She wouldn't be in this stupid store if it weren't for her partner's complete lack of a filter. Closing her eyes, she's back in that musty basement, dreaming along with Castle's fairytale about that damn blue necklace. As he wove the story, "Kate's heart" had quickened, and in a fit of wistful romance, she had remembered they were a week from Valentine's Day. Her chest had bloomed wide open at the possibility of feeling the least little bit… feminine.
On her way home, the red curtains and curly script in the warm shop window had appeared just as a gust of February wind blew her around the corner. The wrought iron railing, heavy brocade awning, perfectly coiffed mannequins posed just so - she half expected the suit passing by to be wearing a fedora. Her logic had shut down, and her heart had opened that creaky brass knob.
Blinking long and slow, she turns, puts her profile to the ornate brass mirror. A thin, white line pulls at her skin, fainter now, but still tight. Still angry.
Stupid.
Self-loathing stabs through her chest, bringing on a wave of nausea. How could she think she could do this? Stand here naked in a store and put on pretty things. Everything about her is still so very ugly. Her body is as broken as her soul.
Kate slides her arms back into the worn elastic straps, feels the satisfying catch of the hooks threading on the first try. At least now she can reach behind her back.
"Is everything working out for you, darlin'?" The warm, Southern alto wafts over the curtain. "I could get you another size. When's the last time you were properly measured?"
Not since before… Kate's eyes land on the small pile of satin and lace on the chair. She had grabbed her old sizes out of habit. She doesn't even know this body. Heart hammering, her gaze flicks to the mirror, narrowing on the pale, round pucker between her breasts.
"No, it's fine. I think I should just come back another day. I know you were about to close."
"Nonsense. We stay open late the week of Valentine's Day. I have my tape measure right here. May I come in?" Thin fingers backlit by the Tiffany lamp pause at the edge of the curtain.
"I-" Kate's eyes clamp shut, and she sees herself as she had that afternoon, through Castle's eyes, decked out in satin and lace, white gloves, jewels. It's a fantasy, and it will never come true, but for that instant, it had seemed possible. Just like everything with him. "Sure."
"I always feel better doing this myself. Not that I don't trust a woman to know her size, but it's sort of a point of pride in my profession, getting it just right." Smiling, the woman slips a tiny tape measure out of her pocket. Her light brown hair is done up in a chignon, her fingernails match her immaculate red wool suit, and her hands are blessedly warm.
Kate has no idea where to put her arms, much less her icy hands, as the woman threads the tape measure around her.
"Hands on your hips, darlin', and breathe for me."
Her head swims and she inhales, following orders.
"I'll be right back with just the thing."
Turning away from the mirror, she presses the heels of her palms against her eyes until everything goes to starbursts. It's a stupid lingerie store. She will never see this woman again. Why should she care that a perfect stranger has just seen her scars? Another wave of nausea swamps her.
Because she's the first person to see them who wasn't being paid to treat them.
Removing her hands, she takes the bra off again, throws it into the back corner with more force than necessary, and wraps her arms across her naked chest. Why does she have to be so fucking broken?
An inane voice inside her head whispers that she should have taken some salacious, naked photos before all this happened, so at least there would be some record of her body when it was still whole.
"Alright. I have options." There is a rush of red wool and hangers full of… gauzy, satiny, frilly things. "This set is almost as pretty as you." She hands Kate a bra and panties in sapphire blue.
Disappearing as quickly as she had entered, the woman leaves Kate alone with the hangers, dripping with jewel-toned scraps of fabric, and her image, dark and brooding, in the mirror. Taking a deep breath, she uncrosses her arms and reaches for the blue bra.
The straps slip on and she reaches back to do up the hooks, and soft, supple satin caresses her skin. There are no wires, nothing to catch or pinch, and as she turns to face the mirror, adjusting herself, she realizes the center panel comes up high.
Slipping the matching underwear on over her black cotton pair, she steps back. Her toes need polish. Legs could use a few more reps on the machines. But her hips flare out now. Oh, the underwear gives her back her curves. Not like they used to be, but the shape of her body isn't so… square. Almost… not ugly. Tears sting at the backs of her eyes, welling up as the pads of her fingers press in the center of her chest, hard enough to find the rough spot through the supple fabric. Still there. Always gonna be there. But not the first thing she sees.
Ignoring the price tags, she buys them, smiling at the knowing look in the eyes of the shop-owner.
"Now my merchandise comes with one condition. Enjoy it." The woman winks, handing over the small paper bag as she sees Kate out, locking the door behind her.
Five blocks and two flights of stairs later, Kate ignores her growling stomach and crosses straight to her bedroom. Dumping the contents of her top drawer across her bed, she lifts one or two of the mass-produced, underwire torture devices by their straps, lips pressing together in a tight line. She shoves the whole lot of them into a bag and stuffs them in the bottom of her wardrobe.
Setting the creamy paper bag in the center of her quilt, she stares at the gold-embossed script. She hasn't bought herself a present in a long, long time. Caving to the itch overtaking her fingertips, she reaches inside the bag, lifts the nest of red tissue, and slides one finger tip beneath the edge to release the heavy foil seal.
The lingerie matches her bedspread.
Why does that make her brain imagine his eyes the first time he sees her in it-?
Damn it. The lingerie matches his eyes. There's no help for it now. She loves... it.
Clipping off the tags, she washes the set in her sink with her cherry body wash and lays it out with nimble fingers over the lip of her bathtub. Her cheeks tingle, the muscles unused to so much smiling, as she chews through leftover Chinese and then climbs in bed.
When she walks into the bathroom to shower the next morning, she gives the set a sideways glance. Dreaming of all the ways Castle would invent to take it off of her has left her feeling… Empty. Dreams. That's all they will ever be. Her blue satin albatross stares back from its white, cast-iron perch. If only she hadn't washed it.
Carrying it back to her bedroom, she opens her now-empty top drawer and lays the pieces inside, slides the jittering wood cube closed along its antique track, and pulls serviceable cotton from her second drawer.
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A/N: Thanks to Alex and she-who-shall-remain-nameless for shepherding this one. This story is complete and will be posted over the next 7 days.
