Disclaimer: Not mine.
a/n: So Ris asked me to write this and I wasn't going to post it but she asked me to. Enjoy. Also for updates and sneak peeks follow Nells_Whisper on twitter. It's my author only account so it's everything about my writing and what I'm working on.
It's just another day. That's what Kate tells herself. What she's repeated in her head over and over all day long. Nothing special. No reason to be upset. But she is. Lanie, the boys, everyone had remembered. And that wasn't new. It was a yearly thing. Sometimes they gave her things. This time it was a book from each of the boys. Connelly, because they knew it'd drive Castle crazy when he caught her reading them. But she was still upset. Had offered a polite "thanks" hugged them both and spent hours buried in a case from the lowest depths of hell.
Just another day. But it isn't. She breaks in the elevator up to her home. It's not just another day. It's a shit one. A completely horrible twenty four hours and she's only made it through 14 of them. She's tired, achy. Her head hurts and her shoulder is sore from tackling a man twice her size. A man that had tortured and killed a teenage girl. The young ones are always hard and she'd enjoyed taking him down, reveled in pinning him to the asphalt and slapping cuffs on him with her knee pressing hard into his spine. She caught him. He's no longer free to hurt anyone else and while that's a good thing, she's still miserable. And it's not just today. The last week has been hard, has left her raw and stripped down to nothing.
It's lonely when she unlocks the door. Silent in a way that seeps down into her bones and reminds her of the fact that he's gone. Castle. She misses him. He's part of the heaviness weighing down on her. The fight they had before he'd left.
Only five days without him and she's utterly miserable. The minimal texts and short phone calls are not enough. The fact that they keep circling back to their argument and one of them always just hangs up as frustrated as before. But all day long she had hoped he would call or at least send a message. Something.
She checks her phone again as she heads for the bedroom. Nothing. And she silently scolds herself for letting the tears well in her eyes, for the knot that forms in her throat. She will not cry. But it's too late because there's already a tear leaking out and rolling down her cheek. She swipes angrily at it, doesn't care that her palm drags roughly across her skin. She just wants to go to bed. Forget about the fact that Lanie's busy. They have their night planned but she'd hoped maybe they could have tonight too.
Instead, she's alone. Surrounded by his stuff and alone. His side of the bed is a mess from where she's spent nights tossing. Hugging his pillow and hating that she bury her face in it just to inhale his scent. That's how she spends her nights. She's exhausted. Physically and mentally. She hasn't been sleeping. Too busy rethinking everything, distracting herself with the case. Sniffing his pillow like a creep. But the case is closed. She has nothing to pour herself into tonight.
She checks her phone one more time before she drops it on the nightstand. Fine. If he's not talking then neither is she. He doesn't need to know that she's barely fighting back tears. He doesn't need to know her lip trembles until she bites down on it. Or that her hands shake when she strips out of her clothes. She won't call to tell him that they caught the bastard or that she wants him to come home. She won't tell him that she's sorry and wishes they'd never fought. Which is what she had planned to do. But her phone is still silent and taunting. And she doesn't want to admit how hurt she is that he forgot. That after so many years of shadowing her, loving her, dating her, this is the first time she's never heard from him on this day.
She still invades his side of their closet despite it all. Her eyes catching on her wedding band when she reaches for her favorite shirt of his. Her chest aches. A hard squeezing that makes her gasp for air. She misses her husband. Her silly writer. Even if it hurts that he forgot, that he's too busy to even send a quick text, she misses him.
And despite the hurt twisting knots in her belly, she tugs the blue fabric from the hanger. It's cool against her skin when she slides it on, loops two buttons to hold it in place. She loves him in this one. The color brings out his eyes. She's always been a sucker for his blue eyes and even if they're fighting, she wants to feel closer to him. For today at least. He's not due back for another three. Seventy-two more hours and she honestly just wants to go back in time, change the course of the last time they spoke in person. She wants to take it back. She doesn't want to be fighting anymore. And it's a little childish that she's so sore over something like this. But he's her husband. The only man she's ever loved like this and even though they're mid argument, she still thought maybe today would've bridged the gap.
So far it hasn't. She ignores her rumbling stomach. Heads straight for the bed. She crawls in on his side and settles down for another long night of tossing. Her brain doesn't shut down. Won't shut up. Over and over she replays every word they've said to each other, wonders if this will be what breaks them. She doesn't think so, she believes they'll be okay. They have to be because he's it for her. And they've handled worse than a heated argument and frustration. She never should have let him leave angry. And if he's so mad that he won't even call her on her - a loud thunk shatters her thoughts, has her heart racing and her fingers itching for her weapon.
"Hey." The voice and knocking startles her, has her scrambling and turning her head so fast she feels dizzy.
She thinks she's dreaming for a minute. Wonders if she drifted off and this is some twisted trick her exhausted brain has conjured up. But she's staring, blinking. It doesn't make sense that someone would knock on the doorframe. Definitely not when it's his bedroom too. Castle. That's when it slams through her chest, mends her soul like a cool balm over a hot burn. He's home. Early. He's home early and she didn't hear him come in.
He doesn't move, his eyes look just as tired as hers and she's done arguing, too tired to do this again. So she fixes it. She shoves up from their bed as fast as she can and closes the space between them. Grabbing his cheeks in her palms and pulling him down, her mouth needing his. The first touch of his warm lips and she presses closer, bodies meeting for the first time in days. 'Sorry' drifting from her tongue to his until she doesn't know who keeps saying it. She doesn't care. She just keeps kissing him, his mouth, his jaw, down his neck.
Until he pushes her way with one hand and it stabs through her already vulnerable heart.
"Kate," it's not anger she hears, or sees when she meets his gaze. He looks just as apologetic as she feels.
And then she hears the crinkle of plastic, feels his arm move and is hit with the scent. Fresh and clean and sweet. She looks down between their chests and is met with the colors of the rainbow in a bouquet. All different flowers. A single rose in the middle and she feels the knot in her throat tighten as she reaches up to take them. She knows he sees it when his thumb strokes over her trembling lip.
"What - what're you doing home?" Her voice is shaking, cracked and watery but he smiles at her.
"I couldn't miss my wife's birthday."
There's nothing to say to that. Nothing more that he adds and as soon as his arms wrap around her, she burrows into his embrace. She needs the hug. Loves the feel of him, the warmth. Their fight is forgotten for the moment. The pieces snapping back in place as she squeezes him tighter. He holds on just as fiercely, cradling the back of her head to keep her tucked beneath his chin. And neither of them mention the fact that she's probably crushing the flowers he brought her.
"Happy Birthday, Kate." He whispers it in her ear. "I'm sorry. I don't want to fight anymore."
"Me neither."
"Good. I missed you." She echoes the words back to him. Her nose against his neck. "I got you something."
That makes her lift her head, eye him curiously. Of course he did. He always does.
"It's in the living room. C'mon." He pulls away, wraps his fingers around hers and tugs her gently. Coaxes her over the luggage he's dropped in the doorway.
She follows, letting him guide her and stroking her thumb over his knuckles just because she can. Because it's been a bad week and he just made it better. One hug, just a kiss, a touch, the way his hand fits hers. It makes it better. And that's just another things she loves about him.
It's a small box. Not jewelry. Just a small wrapped box sitting on the arm of the couch but when she puts the bouquet down and reaches for it, he intercepts. He grabs her hand, shakes his head.
"Not yet. Cake first."
"Cake?" He nods toward the kitchen and she's left speechless and gaping at him. There's a cake box. A tub of ice cream next to it and she almost asks how he arrived everything. She doesn't.
Instead she smiles at him. The first real smile she's had on her face in days.
"I have candles around here somewhere and -"
"Babe, I don't need the candles. Or any of this, just you being -"
"You should put on pants." He's not listening to her, staring at her legs and furrowing his brow.
"What?"
"Pants. We have maybe fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes till what exactly?" She watches him, eyebrow raised and awaiting an answer.
She gets a smile, one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and she'd much rather kiss him there, forget the cake and just spend what's left of her birthday celebrating in other ways. They have a fight to make up for.
"Until everyone shows up. Lanie, the boys, your dad, Alexis and my -"
"Lanie said -"
"Exactly what I told her to." He set her up. He set up a birthday from miles away, despite their arguments and everyone had went along with it.
The boys and their lame excuses for not being able to grab a beer. Lanie and her attempt to set up another time to celebrate and the apology in her eyes as she turned down a girls night.
It had all been him. A part of his plan. The misery slipped out of her easily. Replaced with the awe that he's done this, that he hasn't
forgotten at all. That he's flown home days early just to do this for her. Pants will wait.
She has to kiss him, throw herself into it because this is the man she married. This sweet spontaneous crazy man. So she does. She stumbles against his chest, murmurs "I love you" against his lips before she steals any reply he has. She gets lost in him. In the way he holds her close, a palm heavy and warm on her back, his other hand curving over her hip. She wants him. Doesn't care that they've spent days dealing with tense phone calls and short texts and now it's as if everything is okay. Because it is. He's home and they'll talk it out, work through it. But first she wants this.
His mouth hot against hers, his hands gripping, and her blood buzzing. Kiss after kiss. Each one growing softer, slower until one of them - him because there's no way she's capable - eases back.
"Castle," it's barely his name, more of a sigh.
"Pants, Kate. Go put on a pair of pants." Before they end up naked is left unsaid but she knows it's exactly what he's thinking.
And she almost says screw it, almost tells him the party can wait and drags him back to their bedroom. Or down to the floor. But she doesn't. He planned this for her even though he'd been upset and she'll put on pants. She'll spend a night with her family because it's so much better than how she thought she'd be spending her birthday.
And once the guests leave, she'll spend the rest of the night with just him. Alone. Together.
She slips into a pair of yoga pants with ten minutes to spare and she spends the last of them wrapped around him. Hugging him. Stealing kisses and dipping her finger in the icing of the cake, laughing when he pinches her hip for it and pulls her back against his chest.
They're still hugging when the first knock sounds against the door.