The Smallest Things
A collection of four independent little moments in their life together.
They're running late. Really late. As in they needed to be at the precinct ten minutes ago late. And she can't even blame him because this time it was her who dragged him into the shower (just to save time). And it might have also been her who got a bit distracted (very distracted) standing there in the steam of the bathroom watching way the water droplets trailed down his muscular (and naked) chest. She also may have been staring a little (a lot) at the white towel slung low on his hips. And okay, yeah, it was definitely her who backed him up against the countertop so that she could…
Nope, she's not going to think about that again because that's exactly what got them into this predicament of being late on just her second week back to the precinct.
He's currently climbing into the driver's seat of her car. Yes, she is actually letting him drive. She tells him it's because she still needs to do her hair and makeup on the way. She doesn't tell him it's mostly because she doesn't trust her legs to work after…
Nope, still not thinking about that.
He keeps flashing her these smug looks like he knows exactly where her mind has gone and damnit, they just need to hurry up and get the hell out of here to somewhere public. Somewhere she's a professional. Somewhere they're not allowed to touch.
In the meantime, while she's so totally not thinking about touching him (right), she forgets to mention that she parallel parked in front of a newly installed fire hydrant outside her building. She'd almost clipped it backing into the spot the night before, not being able to see it in the rear view.
She's just pulled down the sun visor, flipped open the mirror to do her make-up when…
Crunch.
"Shit!"
She hears him curse when her car makes a painful sounding contact with what's sure to be the hydrant. She opens her mouth to unleash on him, fully prepared to drag him out of the car, when she turns and sees his face.
He's got one hand fisted in front of his mouth; eyes squeezed shut almost painfully, as if he's bracing himself for what's sure to be the end of his life. His face has turned a glaring red to match the object he's just collided with and she can practically read his mind…he's just hurt her car the one time she's let him drive.
And just like that she feels the anger dissipate. She can't seem to stop the laughter that bubbles out of her at the complete and utter ridiculousness of the entire situation (which is predominately her fault to begin with) and suddenly all she wants to do is hug him. This adorable, goofy, man who is so afraid of letting her down by even the smallest of things.
"It's okay, Castle."
She lays a hand on his shoulder and watches the tension slowly ease from his body as he swallows a deep breath.
"I'm not mad."
He exhales slowly and flashes her a weak smile. "Maybe next time you should drive."
.
.
He comes home to his loft and finds her on the floor of his kitchen, knees drawn to her chest, head burrowed against her legs…
Is she crying?
His stomach lurches at the sight and he propels himself toward her. What could have possibly happened in the three hours he's been gone for his meeting with Black Pawn? His mind is racing through an endless list of possibilities. Is it her dad? Something with her mom's case? Is she hurt? In the type of lives they lead there really is no telling and he needs to know now because he can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Kate Beckett looking this devastated and it breaks his heart. Seeing her this way makes him feel so completely helpless.
"Kate, sweetheart, are you okay?" The words escape in a jumble before he can even think of editing out the "sweetheart." A word that under any normal circumstance she'd be shooting him a look for. Ugh, something is definitely wrong.
But she doesn't answer him. She just shakes her head stubbornly, refuses to look up, will not meet his eyes. He's close enough now to see that she isn't crying like he first thought; however, it looks like all it would take is one wrong word and the dam could burst.
"Kate, please?" he says, voice cracking as he all but pleads with her. He knows he has a bad habit of saying the wrong things, putting his foot in his mouth, so he does the only thing he can think of. He lowers himself to the floor, finally gives up all pretenses of allowing her space to work whatever this is out and practically hauls her into his lap. He wraps his arms around her as he runs his hands up and down her back for a few quiet minutes, hoping that the motion is at least a little soothing.
"I'm sorry, Castle. I'm sorry," she finally speaks, voice laced with guilt and sorrow and damn, he still doesn't have the slightest clue what's going on but he does know he has to find a way to make this better because he can't bear to see her looking this sad.
He traces his hand along her cheek, angles her chin up so that their eyes finally meet.
"Sorry for what, Kate?" For the life of him he can't figure out what she'd have to be sorry for.
She looks at him with watery eyes and when she finally, finally speaks it's so softly he almost doesn't hear, "I burnt the chicken."
"What?"
Now he's even more confused. What chicken?
"I wanted to surprise you with dinner…for our anniversary," she says with a sniff. A single tear drips down her face and his chest clenches. He tightens his grip on her slightly and brushes his thumb across her cheek.
"It was my mom's recipe. She always made it for my birthday and it was my family's favorite. I went and bought all the ingredients yesterday and…and I thought I'd come over while you were gone for your meeting and have it ready to surprise you when you got home. Wine, candles, dinner. Then, Javi called with a lead on the Reynolds case and I got distracted running through the financials with him and the next thing I knew there was smoke coming out of the oven."
She huffs out a frustrated sigh, eyes wide and sorrowful, as she continues.
"I didn't even realize til the damn smoke detector went off, Castle. I ruined the whole thing." She hangs her head again as her voice trails off.
The entire time she's explaining, his brain is really doing its best just attempting to keep up, trying to process everything she's just said. Kate Beckett wanted to surprise him with her dinner, her family's favorite recipe…for their sixth month anniversary. Kate Beckett is practically crying over…burnt chicken?
He's trying incredibly hard to keep from laughing, from grinning at her goofily; one, because he's so relieved that she's not really hurt and two, because his girlfriend actually took the time to plan out a romantic dinner for their anniversary and oh, he loves her more than he's ever loved anyone before. And how on earth can this amazing, kick ass detective, who takes down murder suspects in four inch heels look so incredibly devastated over slightly blackened poultry?
But he knows better than to laugh, has learned at least a few things over the years. Knows her well enough to know that if she's this upset, it's must have been really important to her. So he tugs her even closer, kisses her softly, and he doesn't tell her that it's not a big deal because if it means that much to her…hell, he'll buy her ten more chickens to cook.
They wind up ordering Chinese that night. He lights the candles. She pours the wine. And it's perfect.
.
.
She absolutely knows better than to let him be the one in charge of directions. She does. She knows way better than this.
She blames it on the way his entire face lit up at the idea of her letting him plan a weekend away for them. She's seen her share of Castle's looks, his boyish excitement, his puppy dog eyes, the way he flashes that particular smile when he's trying to be charming (it works way more often than she'd like to admit - even after all this time). But none of those looks compared to the complete joy she watched break free and stretch wide across his face when she'd finally agreed to let him take her on this trip.
They've been together for nearly a year now and it's been ages since she took any time off. He practically begged her for weeks and she finally thought, why not?
He puts up with her crazy schedule, hands her coffee with a smile every single morning; and yeah, he still grumbles about the extra early calls, still tries his best to persuade to her to stay in bed a little longer (it works about seventy-five percent of the time), and still cracks jokes at the crime scenes that make her want to poke him, hard.
But really, he's so good to her. He knows when to let her work and when to make her slow down, take a breather. He makes her laugh when she doesn't think she's capable of laughing. Makes her smile when she comes home exhausted and needy and she's honestly never been more grateful for his presence in her life. After all the chaos in her life, the previous exes that never quite fit, never quite knew her the way he does, he's such a blessing. So how can she refuse him a few days away from the city?
They're staying at this gorgeous bed and breakfast on the coast of Maine and they're supposed to be on their way to see a lighthouse that he's been chattering about excitedly for the past two days.
"It's haunted, Kate!" he all but squeals at her.
He weaves an enthralling story for her of the lighthouse's history while she drives them, the GPS he programmed with the address barks out directions every so often.
It's been overcast all morning, fog hanging over the road. It's kind of perfect for the gloomy, mysterious tale and she's so caught up in the rise and fall of his voice, the warm cadence of his words, that it takes her thirty minutes to notice that they've somehow managed to pass the same rundown gas station (the price still reflects $1.07 per gallon), at least three times now.
The lighthouse is on Seguin Island, only reachable by boat once they find the pier where they're supposed to board the ferry, and they should already be there according to Google Maps.
She nudges him, and points out the window. "Haven't we already been by here several times, Castle?"
He looks over, squints his eyes, "Hmm, now that you mention it, it does look familiar."
He whips out his phone, finds their location by the little blue dot blinking on the GPS map and cringes.
"What, Castle?" she barks out, rolling her eyes.
He smiles sheepishly, looks from his phone to the vehicle's built in GPS screen and says, "I might have...umm, put the address in wrong?"
She groans and slowly eases the car to a stop at an overlook by the ocean. "Really, Rick?"
She watches as he begins to re-program numbers on the car GPS, tapping his fingers against the screen furiously. When he finally finishes, the machine beeps several times and announces their new directions and projected arrival time. Oh geez, apparently they've been driving in circles for the past forty-five minutes. Thank goodness they left early.
His face falls though, clearly dejected at the possibility of missing the ferry now that they're behind schedule and she suddenly regrets snapping at him. She's not really mad. She's more annoyed at herself for not catching the mistake sooner.
"Hey," she says, softening her voice. "We'll get there, Castle, I promise."
He lets out a relieved sigh, frown easing a bit as he sees her face. She gives him a smile and then they both look up sharply at a flash of bright light streams through the car. She can't help but grab his hand when she realizes how beautiful the view is from here, where she just happened to stop.
The sun has finally cleared through the clouds, its rays glinting off the ocean. They can see the curve of the coast, perfectly clear for what must be at least five miles. He laces their fingers, squeezes her hand, a little in awe himself, and she realizes that she could care less that they just got themselves almost completely lost.
Because all that matters right now is the feel of his hand in hers, the sunlight glancing off his face, the sparkle in his eyes that she was able to put there because she didn't dwell on his mistake. And she can't help but think of how far they've come. Of how it's not always the destination, but the journey to get there.
.
.
It's been a terrible day. The call for the body came around 4:00 AM. The victim was only nine years old. Nine. He shudders at the thought as visions of losing Alexis at that age swim through his weary mind. He always struggles with cases like these. The kidnappings and the tragic accidents and the worst ones…the murders. He knows that she does too. He still remembers the very first kidnapping case they worked together with the Candelas and their missing two year-old daughter.
It was a side of Kate he'd never seen before, her maternal instinct kicking in full force. He'd been so surprised to find her keeping watch by Angela's bed, clutching at the little girl's stuffed animal, willing the answers to come, so determined to help that family.
He knows now without a doubt that he was falling in love with her then. He may not have recognized it at the time but even during that case he knew how much it had touched him seeing that softer side of her. The lengths to which she'd go to save a child.
He remembers finding himself thinking about what a great mother she was going to be one day.
He snaps back to the present as he ushers her to the couch, pulls her close, and covers them both with a blanket. He doesn't even bother turning on a light. He suspects she needs the peace and quiet as much as he does. The still tranquility of the night.
It was all just a little too much today. A little too real.
He could have killed that suspect. As if the leering and blatant sexual comments weren't hard enough to ignore he'd actually touched her. Had touched his wife. Threatened her with a knife. And that was the last straw in a long list of things had added up all day long.
He'd lunged at Colin Avery, knocked him halfway across the room, away from Kate, and it only got worse from there.
By the time Ryan and Esposito rushed in from the other hotel room to help, both Avery and him were in rough shape, bruised and cut up. But all he could think about was that he'd do it all over in a heartbeat if anyone ever threatened Kate or their baby again. He hoped Avery got his ass kicked in jail.
She sighs and presses back against him, lets him wrap an arm around her, and tugs the blanket closer.
He presses a kiss to the top of her head and rests his hand over hers along the swell of her pregnant belly. The baby kicks and he can't help the surge of relief that swells through his body, the waves of stress rolling off of him. He's just so, so relieved that they're okay.
His body is aching from the fight but he can't bring himself to move Kate from his side. He needs her close tonight and she knows. She's giving him this moment as much as he's giving it to her.
"I love you, Kate," he breathes against her cheek, as he laces their fingers.
"I love you too, Rick," she replies, leaning into his touch. "If anything had happened to you today…I can't-"
He cuts her off with a kiss. Plying her mouth with his tongue as he tries his best to soothe the worry away - his and hers both. It's slow and deep as they cling to each other, silent apologies and promises of always lingering in the air around them.
They finally break apart and he eases them down further on the couch. "Sleep, Kate," he urges. "Tomorrow's a new day."
He watches for a few minutes as she closes her eyes, settles against him, and her breathing begins to even out.
His body hurts just a little too much to drift off himself but he's more than content to lay here like this. She looks so peaceful, almost angelic when she sleeps, and it's finally enough to ease his heart. His beautiful wife, their baby, his family.
And even though it's been a hellish day, he's so grateful for everything they have, this world they've built together. It's something he will never take for granted.
Because through everything, the highs and lows, the ups and downs, at the end of the day he gets to hold her in his arms, and he lives for little moments like that.
AN: This was another song prompt from a Tumblr anon. that went from a "drabble" to 3,000 words. The prompt was to use either the song Little Moments or She's Everything. Both are by Brad Paisley. I chose Little Moments. One day I may learn how to quit turning every song prompt into a full length fic ;)
Thoughts?
tumblr: the4rightchords dot tumblr dot com