Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Happy Monday
Katherine Beckett slips from the warmth of her bed, silencing her seemingly incessant alarm but in reality the soft drone of the radio, barely audible in the waking hours, but right now it sounds like a 747 taking off. Waking up for work is always difficult but after the a few days off it is almost impossible to remove herself from the warmth of her bed, especially on these icy-cold New York City winter mornings. But if she doesn't get moving then she never will, she may as well be at the precinct when she receives one of those always expected calls, it is worse when she is woken by those calls. This way at least she can shower in her own time, grab herself a coffee and maybe some toast.
She's just applying some make-up when her phone vibrates across the bathroom countertop. Damn, maybe just coffee this morning.
"Beckett," she answers, always professional. She abbreviates the address in the corner of the still-foggy mirror and hangs up. She quickly types it in a draft message in her phone, wiping the mirror of the evidence. She debates ringing Castle, he does enjoy to sleep in. But from what dispatch told her this one could be good, just his style. She sighs softly, dials his number.
While he does pick up the phone surprisingly quickly, he only grunts in answer, half-past four is a little earlier than he typically rises, but it is not the first (or the earliest) she has ever woken him with a call.
"We've got a body," she chirps, putting a sing-song tone in her voice she knows will infuriate him at this ungodly hour.
"Mmm," he hums in response, still half-asleep, debating internally whether sleep or the case is more enticing.
"It sounds promising," she offers.
"Okay, give me half an hour," he says.
"You have fifteen minutes," she warns, hanging up on him. She's almost ready, she's not going to delay her progress by letting him sleep. But if he had seriously wanted to sleep he would have refused. Having moved through her apartment toward the coffee machine, she puts the toast on – one extra minute won't hurt. Plus she can take it with her, it sounds like they won't get a chance to break for lunch.
The toast pops while she gathers the paperwork she left on her desk the night before, readying it for its return to the precinct, to be locked back in storage. She puts the box on the table, grabs her toast (quickly lathering it in Peanut Butter) and tops up her coffee before she returns to the table. Checking her email as she drinks, completely absorbed until the silence of her apartment is broken sudden. "Some of that for me," he says against her hair, pressing his lips to her neck for a brief second.
She chuckles. "Only if you're dressed," she challenges, not turning around to look at him, simply leaning back into his brief embrace.
When he drops into the chair beside her, leaning against the table with exaggerated exhaustion, she rolls her eyes, tossing him the last half of her slice when she finds him dressed in a dress shirt and dark jeans. She drinks deeply from her coffee, studying him while he chews the toast, leaving crumbs over the table due to his lack of plate.
"When I get back I'm leaving," she says as she stands, leaning forward kissing him in proper greeting then swipes her thumb at the corner of his mouth, removing the tiniest hint of Peanut Butter.
He nods in acknowledgement, understanding their need to leave, but putting a hand on her waist, drinking in the sight of her, not quite ready to adopt their professional personas just yet. "How come you didn't come in and wake me up, it would have been more pleasant than the phone vibrating in my ear," he says softly.
She huffs. "You have proven too many times in the past that, wake-up calls where I go back to bed to wake you always lead to us staying in bed for much longer than fifteen extra minutes," she shoots at him, trying to look disapproving and only half pulling it off. How can she when every time she goes in to whisper for him to wake or even to shove him from the bed onto the hard floor, it has resulted in him being very attentive to her, persuading her to not only let him stay in bed, but for her to stay with him, or that one time when he insisted a joint shower would be quicker.
"I know, but-"
She kisses him again, cutting him off. "I'll be ready in two minutes," she says, this time successfully pulling away.
When she comes back, now wearing not only her holster and badge, but the watch and necklace he knows she is ready. He has rinsed the dishes, left them in her sink. "You finished my coffee!" she exclaims, throwing him a glance that makes him suspect if he isn't careful dispatch may have to send a homicide team to her apartment.
He kisses her cheek, now ushering her towards the door. "I'll buy you the largest coffee I can get at the first shop we see," he promises.
She pretends to consider, to still be mad. She knows what comes next, this has become a practiced routine, choreographed and executed to the letter each time.
"I'll buy you a bear claw as well," he adds as he tugs on his shoes, leaning against the hallway as she locks her apartment, setting the alarm he insisted on her installing.
She finishes first, his sock twisted around his foot. Apparently he didn't consider it important to turn it right-way-out before attempting to pull it over his foot. She rolls her eyes and leans against the door-jam, he always finds some way to stall them in the morning, even if it is only a minute.
When he finally pulls his shoes on, she raises a brow, the comment about his inability to perform a task most six year olds undertake with ease is unnecessary.
He kisses her again, deeper than before. Darting his tongue out he tastes the coffee and Peanut Butter which still linger in her mouth. She sighs into his kiss, trailing her fingertips down from where they had automatically tangled in his hair at the initial contact to the tip of his chin. Only when both hands reach his chin does she pull away and rest her nose against his.
"Good morning," he says softly after he pulls back to smile at her. This is not unusual either. They can have whole conversations, sometimes they even go an hour or more before they mutter the greeting to one another.
"It's getting better," she says softly, teasing him but agreeing, her arms now draped over his shoulders, wrists crossed behind his head.
He takes her hand as she pulls back from him, tugging her close so he can wrap his arm around her waist – needing a few more moments of contact before the hours of strict rules they have imposed upon themselves. Although mutually agreed upon, he does find them harder. "Happy Monday," he jokes as he lets go of her, ready to climb into the car.
"You're unusually chipper this morning, normally it takes an hour or more before you start," she says, moving around the car, climbing behind the wheel.
He responds once she has joined him in the car. "Hey," he defends, "I'm not that bad. Plus it's Monday and there is a case already waiting for us, suggesting," his tone switches to conspiring, "this week will be a good one."
A/N: This popped into my head and wouldn't disappear. Set sometime in the future, but (hopefully) not too far away (if you were lost I apologise).