Hola lovelies. In honor of Castle-less monday I offer you a one-shot based on last week's episode. After the glorious shipper-friendly hand hold at the end of 'Once Upon A Crime' I thought we needed some sweet little something to tide us through this torturous three week hiatus. We'll make it through guys, we really will. Also, if anyone was curious, I've randomly decided what I'm doing for my summer Alphabet series. I haven't decided which fandom it'll be (I did Castle last year so it has to be different) but it'll be flowers so look for that in July. Anyways, here's the missing scene from 'Once Upon A Crime' for you all to read and enjoy (and review).
Please review and as always, you can follow me on twitter at vatrask
Enjoy 3
She opened the door after peeking through the hole, a curious look on her face. "Castle what are you doing here?" She had seen him less than two hours ago when she left him at his apartment – a little begrudgingly on both their parts but neither would admit it – and here he was at her doorstep, laptop top and charger in one hand and what looked to be a semi-expensive bottle of wine in the other.
When he saw her eyeing the bottle, he lifted it with a nervous smile. "A little bribe that I thought would help." Still standing in the doorway she raised an eyebrow at him.
"Didn't we have enough wine after your mother's encore?" If that wasn't a lie, she didn't know what was. Between them, they had drunk glasses three glasses of wine - combined; the rest was finished off by Martha and her latest 'play-write'. She almost wished they had drunk more – maybe she would have more courage facing him in a home setting.
"Well we don't have to open it right now, detective;" he reasoned "just because I give you something now doesn't mean you have to deal with it right away. Sometimes it's best to let it simmer on its own anyways." She paused, gaining the brief sense that he was only half talking about the bottle of wine, before reaching out to wrap her fingers around the neck, brushing his digits for a moment that sparked through both of them.
"So what is this bribe for?" She examined the bottle, determining the severity of whatever it was that he was going to tell her. It was a sweet wine, aged well but not expensive or rare in anyway: he was going to ask her something that may seem silly but meant a lot to him – or both of them.
"Can I stay here for the night?"
She almost dropped the bottle as her face paled and her eyes widened. "I'm sorry, you want to what?" She shook her head wondering if she had heard him correctly.
"Oh no," he backtracked, his hands rising in defense "I didn't mean it like that."
"Then what did you mean it like, Castle?" And there was that playful annoyance he loved about her – the playful annoyance that he liked about her; can't think the 'L' word around her, he chided, it gets messy.
"I…" He took a long, deep breath to gather his courage "my mother used my office to write her one woman show and I think the mojo has gone out of it."
She stared at him, half in disbelief and half completely unsure as to how she should react. "The mojo?" Finding it much safer to focus on the surface issues with what he was asking her, she vaguely acknowledged that she had yet to admit him into her apartment – she hoped Mrs. Delgattoe across the hall didn't come out; the old bat was annoyed enough that there was a female cop living in her building bringing trouble and coming in at all hours of the night.
"The mojo – the atmosphere – the flowing inspiration," he waved his hands for emphasis and she had to duck a flying right hand once before she took a step back "whatever it is that gives me the inspiration to write; it's not there anymore." He suddenly stopped his movement to look up at her through the fringe of his hair with those big baby blues that pierced through her resolve like nothing she knew. "I was just hoping I could try your couch to see if I could get the juices flowing again." He shrugged. "Just tonight, he assured suddenly "just to see if I can get writing again."
As much as a part of her was admitting him into her apartment, totally willing to let him do whatever he needed to do in order to regain his inspiration, another part of her was shutting the door in his face and so she made an argument for the former part, hoping Castle would take the bait. "Why don't you try The Old Haunt? I thought In A Hail of Bullets was born in one of those booths." She waved her fingers, her thumb still tightly around the bottle neck, to mock him in his prideful admission of the first novel he ever wrote.
He didn't rise to her teasing but instead, answered honestly. "Bars bring up too many old memories."
She tilted her head at the sadness in his voice tinged with hopeful reminiscence; indistinguishable from anything but a mixed memory from a past long dead. "Good or bad?"
"A little of both;" he shrugged, still lost in that alternate universe where the present was not nearly as complicated. Finally, he subtly shook away the bad memories in favor of a long breath through his nose, inhaling her strong scent of heaven and earth. "Besides, I don't want old memories. I'd much rather create new ones."
"In my living room?" She smirked but her face fell when the implications of her words sank in and she suddenly felt herself wishing she hadn't baited him; scared to death that he wouldn't answer the way she wanted him to – or maybe that he would.
"If you'll let me in." Her breath caught in her throat and she was silent a long moment, her bottom lip between her teeth as she tried desperately not to smile, her decision made long ago.
"I should warn you, Castle, I won't be stopping what I was doing before just so you can get your mojo back."
She stepped aside to let him in and his shoulder brushed her collar bone in an innocent caress that made her heart skip a beat. "My dear detective you can do whatever you wish; it is, after all, your apartment." His smile stopped her heart completely.
Still she rolled her eyes as they both approached the couch, placing the bottle of wine on the kitchen island as she passed it. "You can only stay if you promise to work; and you're sleeping on the couch." She pointed at him in a half-hearted warning that neither of them took seriously. They both knew he was a gentleman and they both knew that she wouldn't kick him out for a long time.
His hand to his heart, he flopped onto the couch with his laptop still tucked carefully under his arm. "I swear on my mother's grave."
"Your mother isn't dead." She shook her head at him but still managed to sit as close to him as possible without sitting on his lap – which, admittedly, often sounded rather tempting – their heat intermingled in a delicious, intense, embrace that neither would surrender to.
"She may be if she keeps writing those one woman plays." She genuinely rolled her eyes, watching him place the laptop on the coffee table, enjoying the brief glance at his backside.
"You enjoyed it." She teased, reaching over him to grab the television remote – dangerously close and purposefully ignoring the heady, musky scent that permeated from his oh-so-tempting collar. Biting back a smile at their brief proximity, the pair slumped back in unison, his shoulder pressing hers into the couch but neither willing to move from their spot.
"I enjoyed parts of it; the parts that she didn't embellish."
She scoffed – more at his indignant attitude than at Martha and her fairytale. "Like what?"
"Like how she was an excellent mother." Damn that man and his wonderfully honest answers that melted her heart. Sometimes she wondered if her heart had melted into her stomach and that was why it fluttered whenever he was near – still beating in its liquid state.
"That's so sweet." She admitted quietly, not daring to stare at him but rather focus on turning on her DVR to her recorded episodes of Temptation Lane – her activity of choice when winding down lately.
"Yeah…" She could feel his smile and his warm breath on her cheek "but don't you dare tell her I said that."
She turned to him as the opening credits rolled, providing the cheesy, intense romantic background perfect for unspoken conversations. "Your secret is safe with me." He was silent, the soft saxophone and burgundy silk the floated across the screen spoke for his heart lightening, knowing that she was letting him in. As the dialogue began and the intense, dramatic music set in, he smiled and turned back to the television screen, his arm coming up to the back of the couch as though he belonged there – a thought which caused Kate to sit straight up and look at him with scrutinizing eyes. "I thought you were here to write."
"I said I was here to get my mojo back." He glanced at her sideways, keeping an eye on the conversation between the spicy ad executive and her equally as spicy assistant/lover.
"And you're going to get it by watching Temptation Lane?" She folded her arms, still watching him with a tension in her upper body that she wasn't ready to shake yet.
He tore his eyes away from the television to look at her with the full intensity of his oceanic eyes. "I'm hoping I'll be inspired by your living room; it's much less lonely than my office."
"I kind of like your office." She pursed her lips, almost relaxed enough to smile. "Sort of 'modern meets classic'."
"Much like the man himself." He gave a mock bow from his position half twisted on the couch, the current episode on the screen completely forgotten.
She shook her head, squinting in thought. "No, that's 'annoying meets immature'."
"How am I immature?" He squeaked, gaping at his partner in mock indignation. Her only response was to quirk an eyebrow. "Okay so maybe I can be immature sometimes" he brushed her shoulder gently "but you're starting to like my immature parts."
"Oh no Castle," she shook her head with that sexily evil grin on her face that made him both excited and terrified "I'm much fonder of your mature parts." She made a point of look down just to see him squirm – not because she wanted to look down at his…not at all – and the desired outcome made her smile.
While he did shift in his seat, he threw it back at her with a leer. "So spicy tonight detective, I like it." His overconfident, solid tone caused her resolve to break and she broke into a smile, collapsing against his shoulder as she laughed freely. She barely registered when he stiffened but it was enough to bring her back to reality and the fact that she had her head on his shoulder. She kept her eyes closed for a long time, contemplating her options as her laughter died and the sounds of a heated argument between two co-workers who were due to make out at any moment filled the air. She felt the sudden shift in the room when she turned to lay her head properly on his shoulder so they could both watch the television screen. His body tensed – his muscles flexing instinctively – and then relaxed so that her head melted into his side and his arm on the back of the couch lowered, not enough to touch her but so that she was hyperaware of its presence there. Later, when they had both fallen asleep, his arm would fall to her waist and she would cuddle into his side; but that was something to deal with in the morning.
"Let's just watch." She whispered, finding herself surprisingly content.
"But it's already started; we don't know what's going on." She hummed at the rumble of his chest, her head rising and falling with his breathing and, finding herself sated in her position, she was completely unwilling to feel anything but hope.
"We'll figure it out."
