Title: Grains of Sand
Rating: It just hit me – does "mature" stand for age, or mental maturity? Because mentally I'm still about twelve.
Summary: She'll take every complication that life can dish out, as long as she gets to keep him.
Disclaimer: Please excuse me; I need to go laugh my head off.
Author's Note: Although this is a tag for Season Five, Episode Eight, "After Hours", I have to say – I saw the finale, guys. Let's all cry and hug it out together. *plays "I Will Survive" on stereo*
The gun goes off, and her heart stops.
Blam. Blam. Blam.
Each sound hits her in the chest like a blow with a baseball bat, forcing the breath right out of her. She knows, logically, that her heart isn't bleeding, but oh it feels like it is. It feels open and unbelievably raw, and she's breathing but somehow no oxygen is reaching her brain, and all she can do is stand there and stare in absolute horror.
Castle…
She wants to rush to the car and tear off the door, see the evidence for herself. She wants to run and beat that sorry bastard until his face is a pulp and he's dead, dead, dead like Castle, the man – her man – that he just shot in cold blood.
But Castle comes first.
She runs to the car, peering inside, and sees – oh God, it both relieves and fuels her fear – she's paralyzed, utterly paralyzed, and all that she can do is gape and feel her blood as it slowly turns to ice.
And then he's there.
He's alive.
Not only is he alive, his stupidly daring, story-weaving brain figured it out and saved them all. She's never going to hear the end of it but she doesn't care because he's alive. He's alive, and through the whole exchange she keeps her eyes locked on him to make sure he doesn't disappear on her again.
The police arrive, which probably means explanations and taking people into custody but she doesn't care. She needs her arms around her man.
She doesn't think she's ever run faster in her life. Her feet pound the pavement, shooting pain up through her legs from the pressure she's putting on her feet from the high heels, but she doesn't care. She jumps up, knowing without a doubt that he'll catch her.
And he does.
He catches her and holds her close and oh, oh, it's so perfect. It's so perfect. His arms are so warm and strong, enveloping her, and she nestles her head into the crook of his neck where it fits like they were made to fit together that way.
"I thought I lost you." She confesses, squeezing him as tightly as she can with her hands wrapped up in this damn duct tape.
"No. No, never, never." He assures her, laughing because it's the only thing he can do in this moment. He flexes his hands, digging his fingers into her for a moment, still holding her like he'll never let her go.
That's okay. She doesn't want him to.
But then he carefully lifts her off of him, depositing her gently on the ground, his hands sliding up to wrap around her bound wrists.
"He did this to you?" He asks, and his eyes darken and snap like a thunderstorm.
"He didn't hurt me, Castle." She replies. She can't believe she's defending the monster who would have killed the most important person in her life given the chance, but she can't have Castle storming off to try and bash the guy's head in, which is what he looks like he's seriously considering.
Castle runs his thumbs over the shiny tape, his jaw still set dangerously. "He had no right." He growls, holding her hands as if they are the most precious things in the world.
She feels the corner of her lip curl upwards. He's so unbelievably sweet, the child hiding behind the playboy.
"If you really want to help…" She suggests, rotating her wrists so he can see the seam of where the tape ends.
"Oh, right. Here, let me get you out of… Get this off…" He hastens to oblige, yanking the tape off as gently as he can. It takes a minute but he finally gets the last of it.
"And these… are for you." He says, joy at being able to give her something evident in his tone.
He turns her hands so her palms are facing upwards, and reverently places her gun and badge in her hands. She stares at them, feeling a piece of her soul return to her, and the last vice around her chest breaks off.
She looks up at him, sees the love in his eyes, the bated breath trapped within his lungs, and hopes he can see that love reflected right back at him. He squeezes her hands, that steely glint returning to his eye.
"Now let's get the hell out of here."
She smiles, can't help but smile, her relief complete. "Sounds good to me." She says on a burst of breath, tucking her gun and her badge in their usual place, slipping her hand into his large firm one. She grips it tight, as tight as she can, wishing she didn't ever have to let go.
They rush over to the nearest cop, flashing her badge to ensure his attention. Castle wraps his arm around hers, tugging her against him, his fingers digging into her elbow. She revels in the minor discomfort.
"Can you get us a ride?" She asks, sounding a little out of breath. What? It's been a long night.
"We're going to be tied up here for a while – why don't you call a cab?" The cop replies. He whistles, and as if out of thin air a cab pulls up with a squeal of its tires.
Castle stares in outraged disbelief. "Really?" He looks at her, then back at the cab, his jaw working but no sound coming out. "Uh… let's…"
"Yeah." She seconds the motion, letting him pull her over to the waiting vehicle. She refuses to dwell on why the hell it wasn't around, oh, about an hour ago?
Castle opens the door for her, practically pushing her in – as if she's going to waste a second. Just before he follows her into the cab he stops and turns to the cop.
"Can you spot me twenty bucks?" He asks.
Oh yeah. Neither of them have cash.
Luckily their cop is flush from yesterday's payday, so Castle writes down the guy's name and precinct so he can return the cash as soon as he hits an ATM.
As soon as Castle collapses into the seat beside her she scoots up against him, resting her head on his shoulder and twining their legs together. She's content to sit there, soaking in his warmth and smell and the steady rise and fall of his chest, but her precocious paramour has other ideas. He hooks his fingers under her chin, lifting her face up to kiss her.
He feels warm, so warm, like he's feeding her body heat to keep her alive. Maybe he is. He's certainly all she can think about right now, the solid weight of him anchoring her in the storm that has been this night. He kisses her so slowly and languidly, relaxing her bit by bit until she's limp and pliant against him, practically sinking into him. It's still not enough for her, greedy as she is. She never wants it to stop.
He kisses her like that until they reach the precinct.
She's glad to see the boys, surprised to see how much the Captain cares, and then… the bombshell.
Their parents are here.
Well, shit.
It's not like they could avoid them forever, but she was certainly hoping to stave off any confrontations until later. Preferably after Castle's fucked her senseless a few times.
She turns to face him, and sees he has that determined look on his face again. It's the one that says no matter the odds, no matter the consequences, no matter that they're stuck in a cold freezer with no way of getting out – they're going to work through it. They're going to come out on top.
"So what if we don't work on paper?" He asks. "We don't live our lives on paper."
Coming from a guy who writes lives on paper for a living, that's saying something.
"Besides, if we did we'd never be astounded, or…" He turns, and she gets the pleasure of watching his face go slack with shock. Normally, she's the one who makes that happen, so what did he see? "Surprised…" He mutters, blinking like that'll make the image go away.
She turns as well, and sees their parents talking and laughing like old friends.
How the hell did that happen?
"Let's just go with it." Castle suggests.
She nods and feels a smile break out on her face. She supposes that, after all, the night could have held a lot more unpleasant surprises.
:::::::::::::::::::::::
She loves her father, she truly does, and she enjoys Martha's company most days. But right now, as she sinks onto the couch (because if she doesn't her knees are going to give out on her) she's incredibly grateful they're finally gone.
Rick steps into her line of vision, smiling softly. "You ready for bed?" He asks, his voice gentle but the corners of his eyes crinkling.
She stands up, lets him take her hand and lead her to the bedroom – a mirror of that night so many months ago when she was the one to take his hand and lead the way. They help each other undress, the agreement reached without words, and her fingers tremble as they press themselves to his skin. She inhales sharply as he wraps his arms around her, enveloping her once again, and her senses are bombarded. She sinks into him without restraint, without protest, so close and yet not enough.
He walks her backwards and lowers her onto the bed, still holding her. No words, not even a sound, is made as he cradles her cheek in his hand, kissing her again and again and again until her name itself has been wiped away by his tongue.
When he makes to pull away she doesn't hold back her whimper, her hands digging into his shoulder blades.
"Don't–" She doesn't know what to end it with. Don't leave me? Don't endanger yourself like that? Don't ever, ever stop holding me?
He understands anyway. He has always understood.
"Never." He whispers. It's a contrast, the opposite of his usual always, but it means the same thing in this case. He will never leave her, so he will always stay by her side. It's two sides of the same coin. "No, never, Kate, never."
He dips his head, kissing at her neck, up and down the smooth expanse. She digs her fingers into his hair and his back, closing her eyes to stop the tears leaking out the corners. They flow anyway, until he notices and softly kisses them away.
It's smooth, so smooth and natural, operating on instinct alone. She hardly even realizes that she's wrapped her legs around his waist, that he's shifted to position himself, or that he's even entered her until he starts to move and she gasps and he swallows it up. It's soft and quiet, and soothing in a way. He holds her the entire time, holds her safe and warm, until she quietly – oh, so very quietly – breaks apart beneath him.
He holds her after that, as well, holds her almost tenderly like he's afraid she'll break. She wraps herself around him without shame, needing to feel his supple skin against hers, needing to feel his chest rise and fall in contrast to her breaths, needing to feel his heart beating against her eardrums.
She rarely sleeps nude, usually slipping on at least a t-shirt before drifting off, but tonight she wants skin on skin, nothing between them but sweat and pockets of air, and even that is negotiable. She realizes, as sleep begins to tiptoe along the fringes of her mind, that she hasn't said a word about it, not since they first embraced earlier that evening. He hasn't, either. Yet he knows exactly what she's feeling and what she needs. If she was still in doubt about their relationship, he has effectively chased it all away. She feels like time is sand slipping through her fingers, and she greedily wants to grasp it and hold it still but she can't. So she'll make the most with the time she has, and wasting it by giving into fear is not something she can afford to do. She wants every grain of sand that slips through her hands to be worth it, and the man pressing kisses into her hair is the one who can make it so.
He continues to press kisses into her hair as she falls asleep. And although she doesn't know it, he continues to do so for a long time afterwards.
Completely and totally random note – after dwelling in the land of fan fiction for a while, I took a look at one of those Harlequin romance novels. Good lord. The people on this site could teach those writers a thing or two.