She plans on squeezing his hand, quick and light, and then letting go.
Somehow that doesn't happen. (Castle's kind of the one to blame for that. At least, that's what Beckett tells herself.) His fingers catch and tangle with hers, and when Beckett turns slightly to look at him (utterly breathless and desperately trying to figure out what's happening), he's staring straight ahead, watching Martha continue her play.
So Beckett lets her hand stay where it is, trapped between Castle's fingers and his leg.
She tries to ignore the heat spreading up the back of her neck, and instead wonders if this moment will be added to the long list of things they never talk about. Like the kiss in the dark, empty street, or the words Castle whispered to her as her blood spilled out over his fingers. Beckett's so busy worrying over the length of this list (it's curiously long for two people who love each other), that she misses the next part of Martha's monologue.
So when Castle shifts slightly and leans in to whisper a joke, it startles her, and she practically jumps onto his lap.
He laughs, but in a strange, strangled way that makes it clear he's having trouble breathing (because of her. Because she's warm and close and she still smells like cherries.)
Martha pauses a beat too long in her speech and gives them a look that neither one of them sees.
"Beckett, not that I'm complaining, but you're on my lap," he whispers, his fingers brushing against her hip.
"It's your fault!" Beckett whispers back, trying desperately to ignore the warmth pooling into her stomach and get off of him. "You startled me!"
Alexis shushes them.
They both mouth sorry to her at the exact same moment.
Beckett moves off of him then, putting a safe amount of distance between them. Castle doesn't like that though, so he moves closer to her again, invading her personal space in a way that has become far too familiar.
"You smell like cherries," he says softly, his breath tickling her ear.
She wants to say something back to him, but all the responses she can think of get stuck in her throat, so she simply settles on a small smile.
XXXXXX
Beckett goes home to her cold, empty apartment that night, and she practices telling Castle the truth.
XXXXXX
They're standing together at the next crime scene, shoulders brushing together even though there's more than enough room for them to stand apart, when Beckett realizes how badly she wants to hold Castle's hand again.
She turns and looks at him. "We should probably run down his financials; see what he paid for last night before he ended up here," she says, gesturing to the bludgeoned corpse in front of them, and then around to the motel room. As she lets her hand fall back to her side, Beckett lets her fingers brush against Castle's in a way that seems accidental.
XXXXXX
Touching Castle becomes something of an obsession after that.