A/N: My submission for the Castle Fanfic Writers Guild Drabble Challenge. Use one word (hand) in each sentence of the story. Limit of 500 words.


Talk To The Hand

"I have to hand it to you, Beckett. Not many people could pull off a headstand at your age and make it look so effortless," said Castle somewhat recklessly, tilting his face upright again as Kate elegantly braced herself with both hands and flipped out of her inverted yoga pose.

She wiped her sweaty hands on a tiny gym towel and blotted beads of perspiration from around her neck, asking, "Sorry, was that an actual compliment or some kind of weird, jeez Kate, you're getting old but honey you've still got it back-handed affair?"

Castle coughed uncomfortably, wondering how he got himself tangled up in this indelicate mess, asking hopefully, "Don't suppose you need a helping hand in the shower?" though he already suspected what her answer would be.

"No," Kate replied frostily, pushing a distracted hand through her damp hair. "But you might need help walking, my handsome husband-to-be, if you plan on making anymore age-related wisecracks," she told him, poking his chest with the index finger of her free hand.

Yes, he had to hand it to her, she looked damn fine for thirty-five in those tight-fitting yoga pants and that clingy, complicated, elasticated bra top thing she was wearing.

He had tried prizing her out of that particular contraption not long after she started staying over, almost spraining the thumb on his right hand while doing battle with the high-tech, moisture wicking, super-elasticated fabric. Kate had shrugged him off in the end, huffed out a sigh of frustration designed to reinforce his uselessness, before having to give him a hand getting it off her sweat-slicked body. They had been so exhausted after all the effort that his hands weren't the only thing that needed a rest before phase two began – Operation Rid Beckett of her skin-tight yoga pants.


"Rick, hand me that towel?" asked Kate, sticking her arm out of the shower cubicle.

Castle was sitting on the closed toilet seat waiting for her to emerge from the steamy hot shower, palms itching to give her a helping hand toweling off if she gave him the green light.

"And don't even think about getting handsy, lover-boy," she said, pushing gently on his chest with the damp fingers of her left hand, aka 'his favorite hand'.

Because that was the hand that wore his ring whenever and wherever she was off-duty: out on date nights with her fiancé, shopping at the market with wet hair and flip flops on a Saturday, meeting her Dad for Sunday brunch, drinks at a cocktail bar with Lanie, at home, in bed or the shower, with clothes or without (his personal favorite), even performing headstands in the middle of his living room, his bride-to-be proudly wore those diamonds on the forth finger of her left hand, sparkling for all the world to see.

Yeah, he definitely had to hand it to her, yoga and healthy eating plans aside, she was going to make the most beautiful bride Manhattan had ever seen.


A/N: Like Katy, Word said this story was 499 words long, excluding the title, so I'm going with that. Thoughts?