A/N: For Kosma, who was kind enough to share this inspiring little idea with me over Twitter:
Castle is looking for Beckett and the boys tell him she's in the gym, but he finds her crying in the shower.
Set post 4x09, Kill Shot.
She's not at her desk that morning when he approaches with her coffee in hand, a box of pastries for the floor and a bag containing a bear claw reserved for her and her alone. He knows she's had a rough week, dealt with what has probably been the hardest case for her to encounter since her shooting, and he wants to help her bounce back, wants to see the smile return to her face.
"Hey, have you guys seen Beckett?" he asks the boys as he passes their adjoining desks.
Ryan and Esposito share a look that calls his nerves to attention, sparks them to life. They had seen her and apparently, there was reason to worry about her.
"She's been in the gym all morning, bro. And you know I wouldn't mess with her while she's blowing off steam," Esposito cautions him, a warning Castle doesn't heed.
"Did something happen?" It's only eight a.m. and by the looks of it, they don't even have a case yet. What could have elicited the need for her to blow off steam in the gym?
"We don't know," Ryan admits. "She was here before we were, desk sergeant said she walked in around six, went straight to the gym. We knew better than to follow her."
Both men narrow their gazes, a second chance for him to back down, but his mind is already made.
"I'm just going to go check on her, let her know I brought breakfast," he announces, earning a sigh from Ryan and a shrug from Esposito. Suit yourself.
Castle deposits the pastries in the break room, drops Beckett's breakfast at her desk, and takes the stairs up to the precinct gym. He expects to find her beating her fists into one of the punching bags, doing strength training with the weights off to the side, or even running on the treadmill near the window, but the gym he steps inside of is currently empty.
"Beckett?" he calls, drifting farther into the training space, avoiding stepping on the mats with his shoes, but he receives no answer.
The only sound he can hear is the rush of running water from the nearby locker room.
He has no intention of entering, slowing to a stop outside of the doorway. He'll just wait for her out here, she probably wouldn't be too long, rinsing off after an intense workout, but he pauses in his departure at the accompanying noise, the muffled sound of what he would swear is a whimper, a choked cry, coming from the locker room.
It's not his business, not his right, but Castle's hand pushes gently on the swinging door, silently easing it open so he can slip inside the area thick with steam and humidity.
The noise he caught from outside is clearer this time, a broken gasping sound, choked sobbing, and his heart kicks into panic mode.
"Beckett?" he calls again, the subdued cries coming to an immediate halt.
"Castle?" she answers, exasperated, though it lacks her usual bite. Her voice is breathless, tight, and his worry escalates. "What the hell are you doing in here?"
"I - I was looking for you," he tries to explain. "The boys said you were in the gym, but... Kate, are you okay?"
For a second too long, he receives only silence in reply.
"I'm fine," she insists, so clearly lying, on the verge of breaking apart again the second he walks out the door. "Why would you come looking for me in the shower?"
"I wasn't - I didn't mean to. I just heard you crying and I... I couldn't not come looking for you, Beckett."
"God, Castle," he hears her groan, the cracked quality of her voice worsening.
Castle drifts closer towards the curse of his name, standing outside the closed plastic curtain where steam slips free and the spray of water does its best to mask the giveaway to her grief.
"Did something happen?" he dares to ask, still having to raise his voice to be heard, but softening his tone. "I know yesterday was hard, but is it something-"
"No, I just... I'm just tired," she chokes out and he has seen her on edge these last few days, but he hadn't witnessed her crack, not until now.
"Kate," he sighs, dropping his head to the outside of the tile wall.
"I'm okay," she promises, but the words are splintering, breathless sobs rushing in to fill the cracks. "I'll be okay. I'll be - be more."
But she's crying, trying and failing to bite back sobs, heart wrenching sounds he's never heard her make, and he knows they're waiting, that it isn't his place, his right to do this, not yet, but Castle reaches for the buttons of his shirt. He would step in fully clothed if he had an extra set of attire here, if he knew it wouldn't arouse suspicion from Ryan and Esposito when he made his inevitable return to the homicide floor.
"Kate, I'm coming in." His warning goes unacknowledged, her own cries drowning out the sound of his voice, and Castle steps out of his pants, but leaves the boxers on. He'll just go commando once they're done here, once he's dressed again and certain that she's going to be okay. "And I'm not looking."
Rick averts his eyes to the ceiling, the blotches of discoloration and water stains overhead, pursing his lips at the harsh pound of scalding water on his flesh as he slips into the shower with her.
"Castle," she gasps, coughing on water, and he raises his hands in supplication.
"Not looking," he repeats, his back practically against the wall, Kate's to the opposite from the sounds of it.
"You didn't - Jesus, Castle, you did not have to come in here," Beckett sighs, the exhale of her breath trembling through the steam between them. "I just - just needed some time, to pull myself together."
"I didn't want you to do it alone," Castle shrugs. "Consider me moral support."
"My partner," she whispers and it's so hard not to lower his eyes to her at that, to caress the beautiful lines of her face with his gaze, to linger on the droplets of water likely decorating the smooth skin of her cheeks, cascading down the pillar of her neck.
He nods instead. "Whenever you need me. And even when you don't."
A beat passes, nothing but the stream of water to fill the silence, but the sudden touch of Beckett's hands to his sides startles him a moment later, the slide of her arms around his torso, the burrow of her face in his neck. Castle releases the breath he'd been holding when her fingers unfurl at his shoulder blades, her palms splaying flat over the bones, and her bare chest sealing slick and warm against his.
And oh, he can breathe, still breathing, but not for long.
Castle doesn't speak, doesn't think about all of the naked flesh pressed against his, and instead, focuses on the pattern of her breathing, paying attention to the stuttering slow of her heaving chest.
"You're so strong, Kate," he murmurs, lifting his hand to stroke his fingers through her hair, gliding through the drenched strands, before finally cradling the back of her skull in his large palm. "Your strength still amazes me."
He feels her face crumble against his skin, her bottom lip quivering beneath the pin of her teeth, the incessant flutter of her lashes and the scrunch of her brow to force them shut.
"I'm all wrong, trying so hard to fix it," she rasps, just barely loud enough to be heard over the water. "I'm trying so hard to be better, Rick."
"There's nothing wrong with you," he insists, massaging his fingers into her scalp when she shakes her head, the protest already rising on her lips. "You're not wrong. You went through trauma, Kate. You nearly died and you've already come so far, conquered so much."
She tries to scoff, but it's garbled by the drench of the water, the clog of tears in her throat. "I haven't-"
"You made it through this last case," he points out, brushing his thumb back and forth over the top of her vertebrae. "And I know it wasn't easy, but you still did it. And I'm… I'm so proud of you."
She releases a soft mewling sound against his clavicle and Castle holds her a little tighter, as if he can keep her together.
"It's okay to want more, to be more, but you're already so extraordinary, Kate," he whispers, his lips pressed to the delicate shell of her ear. "You don't need to be fixed, you just need to keep healing. We can – we can do it together, Beckett. Partners in everything."
"In everything?" she gets out, and he's never heard her voice so small, uncertain. She works to clear it, to finally lift her face, her bloodshot eyes, to meet his gaze in the mist of the shower. And he needs his words, now more than ever, but they've abandoned him.
"I - yeah, yes. Everything. I love you, Kate, and I - I'm not asking you to say it back or to remember. I just want you to know that I'm not going anywhere. Won't stop being here."
Shit. Some wordsmith he is. He was about to be a dead one, if the panic he expects to consume her eyes is any indication, but it never comes.
Kate's hands slip from his back to return to her sides before rising between them, her slick palms traversing up the line of his jaw to cup his cheeks, the downturned corners of her mouth flickering with the faintest hints of a smile.
"I can't say it back yet," she whispers, her thumb tracing the corner of his mouth even as it falls open with surprise. Maybe it's the intimacy of this moment with her, the lack of barriers both physical and emotional, the connection of skins and understanding, but he had just told her he loved her, while she was conscious and standing well before him. And she wasn't freaking out. She-
Wait, can't say it back?
"But I'm - I'm almost where I want to be. Where I want us to be," she continues, the gentle pressure of her fingers drawing him down, allowing his forehead to find rest against hers, and he doesn't think he's ever felt more at peace. "I'll get there."
"I know you will," he murmurs, his lips quirking beneath her thumb.
"While we wait," she mumbles, tilting her chin just a fraction higher, all she needs to dust the tender flesh of her lips over his, a delicate whisper of a kiss that stops his heart, steals his breath. "Thank you for being here."
He doesn't chase her mouth, she wouldn't stop him if he leaned forward, abolished the inch of space between them to kiss her again, but he won't do it, won't ruin this beautiful moment shared with her.
"Always," he promises, the word she was waiting on, and nudges his nose to hers. Castle savors the contact of her warm flesh beneath his hands as his palms sluice down the back of her ribcage, retract from her sides with reluctance. "We should probably go."
Beckett nods, her own hands grazing the front of his chest before he promptly turns around, unwilling to sneak a peek. He couldn't have abstained from the blurred glimpses he's already received in these last few minutes, but he gives her the privacy she needs to step out of the shower, waits for her call of his name to follow after her.
She's wrapped in a towel once he joins her in the empty locker room, his clothes picked up from the floor and draped over her forearm, and her eyes skimming his naked chest before dropping to the fabrics on her arm.
"Sorry about this," she mumbles. "Getting you all wet and-"
"You can make it up to me," he quips, wriggling his brow when her gaze lifts beneath her lashes to narrow on him, already prepared for whatever nonsense he's ready to share. "Take a sick day. I was up with the boys before I came to find you and there are no active cases happening."
Beckett bites her lip in uncertainty, grips the towel around her chest a little tighter, but just the fact that she's considering the idea at all is a victory.
"Come on, Kate. When was the last time you took a day off?" he muses, reaching out to accept his clothes from her arm. "We can catch the comfort food truck and walk around the park, go see a movie, then head back to your place for dinner. I'll cook for you."
She huffs, but it's laughter spilling from her upturned lips, and he has her.
"Can I pick the movie?"
His heart exalts with both excitement and relief, eager for a day spent at her side, to coax her mind away from the darkness that had shrouded it only minutes before he had shown up. Eager to make her happy.
"Sure, I'll even buy the snacks."
"Mm, got yourself a deal, Castle," she grins, most of the misery and frustration gone from her eyes as she takes a step towards him, replaced by the confidence she owns so well. "Now, get dressed. I'll wait for you outside."
Her eyes flicker to his chest once more, back to his gaze, that sexy smirk that sets his insides on fire claiming her lips before she walks past him to the other side of the locker room to do the same.
They won't call it a date, not yet, but she'll likely let him hold her hand and make her laugh, let him evoke smiles on her lips and love her without having to say the words. And she may not be able to say them either, say them back, but he doesn't need to hear them. Not yet.
What they have, what they're doing, is enough. More than enough for now.
inter nos (latin):
between us