I would say I'm sorry for venturing into yet another fandom, but I'm not. I'm really, really not.
Disclaimer:I do not own Caslte or anything associated with it. All rights to Castle and affiliated characters belong to Beacon Pictures and the ABC.
Summary: Then his eyes catch sight of her, and his whole face lights up. Her heart swells.
Rating: K
Genre: General/Romance
Pairings: Caskett
Yellow Cloud
She dreams about her mother, cooking breakfast and singing along to The Sound of Music.
Kate in the dream is older than she was when her mother died, but she doesn't seem to register the fact as she pulls up a stool at the kitchen counter. She takes a deep breath and smells the chocolate in the pancakes, and smiles.
"Good morning, Katie." Her mother's singing dies in favour of greeting her daughter.
"Don't stop singing." Kate breathes, resting her elbow on the counter and propping her face up with her hand.
Johanna smiles gently. "Have to stop sometime. The canary can't sing forever, you know."
Kate laughs. "But you're not a bird."
"Doesn't mean I can't fly." Johanna flips the pancakes, and then drags a stool around to sit opposite her daughter. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Kate registers that this is Johanna Beckett as she had been when Kate was a young child; mid-thirties, hair starting to grey a little around the edges, the lines in her face softer. Younger than she was when she'd died—this was Kate's mother back when things were good.
It's almost like looking into a mirror. Almost.
Johanna reaches across the counter and squeezes Kate's hand. "You're a good girl."
"I should go wash up." Kate sighs, pulling her hand away and standing up.
"I'll be right here." Johanna promises as Kate turns her back.
Kate shifts a little as she drifts into consciousness, feeling the warm weight pressed against her back. There's an arm slung around her waist, and she hums a little as she closes her eyes against the warm morning sunlight. With the sun against her eyelids and the softness of the mattress under her, she feels like she's floating on a warm, yellow cloud.
She can feel Castle's breathing, deep and even, ghost along her neck and shoulders as he sleeps. They hadn't really talked much last night, beyond whispered confessions and apologies, given in between kisses and touches and curling toes.
Eventually, her bladder demands that she leave the bed. She is, after all, an early riser, and her body has its own schedule.
Castle, half asleep, protests at her shifting, but she ghosts her hand along his jaw and whispers that she's not going far; she'll be right back.
Sitting up, she winces at the slight chill of the air on her exposed skin. She doesn't yet feel comfortable enough in his home to wander around without clothing, but hers are still lying crumpled on the floor, and a quick sniff tells her that they smell damp and musty. Wrinkling her nose, she drops the shirt and kicks it aside, casting her eyes around for something else.
His closet calls to her, and she pads over, careful not to make too much noise and wake her partner. Though she functions on less sleep and more caffeine than is probably healthy, Castle more or less has a regular sleep schedule. It's not too early in the morning, but she'll maybe wake him in another—she glances at the clock—half an hour.
Tugging on one of his white shirts and doing up the buttons, she tiptoes into the en suite, holding the knob to close the door while making as little noise as possible. She quickly relieves herself and then stands in front of the mirror, taking in the sight of herself. Her hair faintly resembles a bird's nest, and her makeup is smudged so badly that she has raccoon eyes; she'll have to see if Alexis or Martha have any makeup remover in the upstairs bathroom. She vaguely remembers that they kept their cosmetics up there during her stay when Castle's psycho-fan had blown up her old apartment.
She knows there are a few marks on her skin, and not all of them are from the fight with Maddox on the roof. On a whim, she opens the front of her borrowed shirt and examines her scar—and almost laughs out loud at the small love bite just to the right of it. At least he'd managed to restrict the marks to mostly easily-hidden areas of her body. She has a feeling she wasn't nearly so considerate.
Her smile fades as she notes the bruising on her stomach; it isn't too tender to the touch, and the bruise doesn't look to be too bad, but still. She'll have that physical reminder, along with the ache and small tears in her fingers, for at least a few days. And he's still out there. Damnit.
She buttons up the shirt, smoothing the hem along her thighs. Let the police handle it, she tells herself. She knows Kevin and Javi won't stop until they catch the bastard, but she can't go back there again. She's done.
Castle is still sleeping when she makes it back into the bedroom. She leans against the wall and watches him for a few moments, the small smile returning to her lips, her teeth snagging against the bottom one to keep her grin from getting too large. She's pathetic, she knows. But he loves her and she loves him too, even if she can't quite bring herself to say the words (yet), and she thinks that maybe she's allowed to be a little ridiculous right now.
She almost reaches out to wake him when she remembers the state of her hair and face. Instead, she sneaks out of the room, leaving the door open in case he wakes up, and meanders out into the kitchen. The fabric of his shirt ghosts along her thighs and she's glad that Martha and Alexis aren't home.
She starts the coffee machine and then heads up the stairs to the other bathroom, finding everything she needs, miraculously, in the medicine cabinet. She debates re-doing her makeup but decides against it. He's seen her with no makeup before; that in particular is nothing new. Hell, she thinks as she runs one of the hairbrushes on the top of the cabinet through her hair, he's seen her first thing in the morning before.
Still, she thinks as she runs her fingers through her hair when she's finished with the brush, that doesn't mean she can't put in a little effort.
She heads downstairs and hovers in the kitchen for a few minutes while the coffee finishes, grabbing two mugs and spooning sugar and creamer into them. Then, when the coffee is done, she adds it to both mugs and stirs them both. She puts the spoon in her mouth when she's done, moaning a little at the taste. He always did manage to buy the best coffee.
She walks slowly back into the bedroom, careful not to spill either mug. She mentally practices what she's going to say to him when she wakes him—something between 'good morning' and 'I love you', and she wonders if she shouldn't have made pancakes too—but he's already sitting up, looking slightly dazed and disappointed as he looks around the room.
Then his eyes catch sight of her, and his whole face lights up. Her heart swells.
She holds up the mugs. "Made you a coffee."