Syntax
n. ~ a system or orderly arrangement.
November
He can't tear his eyes away from her.
If he's honest (with himself, with her) he never has been able to, but it's different now. It's different, because he doesn't have to rely on his imagination to supply him with images of her naked body arching under his, her mouth open and gasping his name. He knows. He knows what that looks like.
He's gotten into trouble with her before now because of it. She tells him to stop looking at her 'like that' because it's not fair, they're at work and she can't do anything about it. He likes seeing her cheeks heat under his gaze, likes watching her fists clench because she wants him so badly. She denies it, but he knows it's true.
Yeah, he's not stopping any time soon.
She flicks a glance at him, her eyes not even staying on him long enough that she could have possibly registered anything more than his presence. He thinks (but is too afraid to ask) that she feels a compulsion to check he's still there.
He smiles at her, the grin that makes his eyes scrunch up. She must see it from her peripheral vision because a smile dances briefly across her face, a subtler echo of his own. It eases something in his chest.
He's worried about her. She's been more open since the night with the rain and the door and the-
Yeah, uh. That night. She's been more willing to let him see the parts of her he's only dreamed of, metaphorically and literally both. But recently, the past week or so, she's been brittle. She's been quiet. She still comes over to the loft, eats dinner with him and his mother, curls up on the couch with him, but she's mostly a spectator.
He misses her. She's right here, and if he-
Better check, actually, do something to negate the doubt.
Yes, good. When he reaches out to touch her, the pads of his fingers mapping the ridge of her knuckles, she's still responsive. Her hand still turns under his and she still curls her fingers around his own, but it feels flat.
It sort of feels like an automatic reaction, and he's delighted with that, her being so comfortable around him, but when he gets right down to it, he knows. She's distracted. By what he has no idea, but something's worrying her.
He clears his throat, shifts in his seat and she sighs, her eyes still on the paperwork. "What, Castle?"
"Are you okay?" Oh, shit. That is not at all what he meant to ask. Not in the precinct and especially not with his voice all soft and concerned like that. He braces himself, tries to prepare for her telling (yelling at) him to 'act normal' for the hundredth time.
He looks at her with one eye closed, the other so scrunched up he can barely see, already wincing. She stares at him for a second, her eyes soft at the edges, and then she shrugs.
Shrugs! He thinks he feels his jaw actually drop a little bit because Kate Beckett does not shrug. Not ever. It's far, far too close to a yes for her to consider it.
He rocks his weight onto his feet and pulls his chair around the corner a little, sinks back down onto it. He leans forwards, takes her hand off the desk and holds it in both of his.
He is absolutely one hundred percent breaking the 'no PDA in the precinct' rule, but he couldn't care less. This is Kate, and she looks like she's about to break apart. She pulls her hand away slowly, shoots him an apologetic glance. "Please don't be nice to me. I can't hold it together when you look at me like that."
He leans back again, his eyebrows furrowed. "Uhm, okay?" He pushes his chair back as dramatically as he can, makes sure it clatters. "You, Beckett, are the most frustrating person I have ever met."
Too late, he realises his melodramatic display echoes their argument in her apartment a little too closely. He winces, but before he has a chance to backpedal Esposito is storming over from his desk and grabbing Castle by the collar. "What did you just say to her Writer Boy? Do we need to have another talk?"
The detective pulls him out of his seat and he yelps. "Kate, help." He almost shrieks it and really, Castle? Get yourself together. No shrieking in front of your girlfriend.
Yeah, so that thought doesn't exactly help him stop shrieking.
Kate laughs and drops her pen onto the stack of files, turning in her chair to face him. "Relax, Espo. Castle was just…role playing."
Esposito wrinkles his nose and pretends to gag. "Oh, nasty. I so do not need to know what Mom and Dad get up to behind closed doors. No. Ugh." He hurries back to his own desk and busies himself in his stack of paperwork, casting surreptitious glances at the two of them.
Castle doesn't sit back down straight away, instead rearranging his chair because he knows how it grates on Kate's nerves when it's not exactly lined up with the desk. He sinks onto his haunches next to her chair and smiles softly up at her. "I'm gonna head back to the loft, get some edits done. Dinner?"
She beams down at him, scans the precinct quickly for any sign of Gates and, satisfied, leans forward to press her lips to his temple. "Yeah. Chinese?"
He nods, brushes his hand up her arm as he stands. "Sounds good. Text me when you leave here and I'll make sure it's waiting for you."
She grins her thanks, doesn't watch as he walks away. He's okay with that, because he knows she'll watch him later when he's falling asleep next to her.
He tries, he really does, but he just can't help himself. In the elevator, he texts her.
Love you, KB.
The screen of her cell lights up with his text and she smirks because really, Castle? He hasn't left the building yet, he's probably still in the damn elevator.
She presses her finger to the screen, has to battle stupid, stupid tears at his message. Her screen swims as she taps out her response.
Me too, NHC.
The first time he'd called her KB after, he'd been making pancakes. She'd been teasing him about what they mean, warning him not to brag to the boys, and he'd whacked her ass with his spatula and told her he'd 'retract the sentiment if you're gonna be so ungrateful, KB'.
He always addresses his texts to her that way now and it makes her ridiculous heart flutter every time, makes her think of extraordinary and gratitude and all the things written in between the words he did say.
She loves the dedications. She loves that he's not ashamed to show the whole world how he feels about her. Yeah, it makes her blush, but in a really good way. Her phone lights up again and she has to fight to stifle her laughter.
I asked you not to call me that.
She wants to text back sorry Kitten, but he's been so sweet today that she can't make herself do it. Instead, she puts her phone down and refocuses her attention on the paperwork. He won't mind her not replying if it means she gets to the loft a little faster.
She had no idea it would be this easy. She has to work at it, of course, but it doesn't feel like work. Castle makes it so easy for her to love him.
She finishes the paperwork in record time, the siren song of Chinese food and Castle's couch and Castle's mouth reeling her in. She calls out a goodnight to the boys as she shrugs into her coat, strides into the elevator and pulls out her phone.
She debates what to text and then changes her mind entirely and calls him. She just really kinda needs his voice right now. Badly.
"No Hassle Castle at your service."
She snorts, rolling her eyes without conscious thought. "I really hope you checked your caller ID."
She can almost hear his grin, the way his eyes scrunch up, how his whole face softens towards her. "Didn't need to. You have your own ringtone."
She leans against the elevator wall, runs her free hand through her hair. "Do I even want to know?"
He chuckles softly and then starts singing to her. "She's so lovely, she's so lovely." The smoky rasp of his voice sends shivers down her spine and she presses her fingertips to her mouth, tries to cage her smile. She wants to save it for later, so he can get to see it.
She's trying so hard to remember how little things like that, just a smile, can make his day. "Scouting For Girls, really?"
"What?" He sounds indignant and she smirks. "I like them."
"I know you do." She does feel pathetic, sometimes, the way her voice gets so soft. She just can't help it. She's so in love with him.
He ploughs on. "And come on. 'You're funny, you're yummy'? This song was made for you."
She snorts again, the sound cut in two by the ding of the elevator announcing her arrival in the parking garage. "I'm yummy?"
"Sexy, hot, beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, breath taking."
"Okay okay okay, jeez. You don't need to recite a thesaurus." She's grinning though, even as she says the words.
"Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all. "Hey Kate? If you want me to order dinner I'm gonna have to hang up."
She doesn't want him to hang up. She wants to have the distraction he provides, because she knows that if she doesn't then for the whole drive home she'll be consumed with it. The fear.
She sighs, tries not to let him hear and fails miserably. "I know, love. I don't want to hang up either. But I promised you food."
She hums softly. "Yeah, okay. See you soon."
He was waiting by the door when she knocked. She'd sounded so dejected on the phone and he doesn't want to waste a second of tonight. He opens the door and she looks up at him, so much sadness haunting her eyes that it cleaves him in two. He steps forwards, presses his lips against hers. He snakes an arm up around her back to rest between her shoulder blades and hold her to him, laves at her bottom lip with his tongue.
She pushes back on his chest suddenly and he's hurt for about a second. And then the awkward cough makes its way to his brain and he sees their delivery boy hovering a few feet away. "Uh, Mr Castle? Your delivery?"
Kate buries her face in the crook of his neck and he grins, wraps an arm around her waist. He fumbles in his pocket for cash, pays the kid, making sure to include a generous tip. Once the boy is gone Kate takes a step away from him, pokes his chest. "You can't just maul me in the hallway, Castle. That poor kid. You couldn't have just let me in?"
He shrugs, shoots for a boyish grin. "No coming in the apartment unless you're smiling."
She raises an eyebrow at him, her whole face suddenly alight with mirth. "No coming in the apartment? That might be an issue."
He tuts at her even as he's circling her wrist and tugging her inside. "You are filthy."
She puts it off as long as she can. She makes light conversation with him over dinner, drinks two glasses of wine but refuses his offer of more. She helps him fill the dishwasher, wipe the table, and when they're done she slides her hand into the back pocket of his jeans and tugs him towards her.
She stretches up on tiptoe, scrunches her toes up inside his socks. She doesn't usually wear socks with her heels, and when she comes straight to the loft after work and takes them off her feet are always freezing. So she wears his socks.
Her mouth meets his and it's still just as electric, just as wonderful as the first time and the hundredth time. He doesn't let it go too far, puts her off when she tries to snake her tongue past his lips and she sighs.
It's time.
She takes his hand and leads him over to the couch, laces their fingers together. She lets him sit down first so she can curl against his side, her legs tossed over his lap. His free hand settles on one of her knees, squeezes gently. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong, please."
All of a sudden, she can't look at him. Her gaze falls to their still joined hands, the way his thumb smoothes back and forth across the back of her hand. He's always so tender with her, so attentive and loving. She's never been with someone like this before, never given herself to someone so wholly and received such adoration in return.
She swallows hard, takes a fortifying breath. "It's-uh. It's my dad."
"Jim?" The concern is already painting itself across his face.
She raises an eyebrow at him. "No Rick, my other dad." She catches the hurt that flashes in his eyes and she nestles closer to him. "That was harsh. Sorry."
He presses a soft kiss to her temple. "What about your dad?"
She screws her eyes closed and wills the tears not to come, tightens her grip on his hand. "He's sick."
