Dearest Bee,
It's midnight here, officially your birthday.
So here is your sequel to Nerves, some cummings, and my love.
Happy birthday, darling.
no lingering no backward–
wondering be unto
us O
soul, but straight
glad feet fearruining
and glorygirded
faces
lead us
into the
serious
steep
darkness
– e.e. cummings
He's picking you up in thirty minutes.
He's picking you up in thirty minutes and you're sitting on your bed in nothing but a towel.
Dammit. Why did you even agree to this? He's, well, him and you said yes for some unattainable reason and there are so many things that could go wrong because it's him and it's you and–
you should really get dressed.
But what do people wear on a date with Castle anyway? Dinner. You know you're going to dinner. But where? Casual? Fancy? Is he flying you to Paris for Christ's sake? Just go for something in the middle. Yeah. And if he takes you to the airport, don't get on the plane.
But – should you – well – what should you wear under the dress? There's a reason you have that drawer and oohh you know exactly what he'd like. Yes, with the black lace and the – no. It doesn't matter what you wear underneath because he's not going to see it. But what if – goddammit, no.
Maybe you could just wear something nice. Relax, Kate.
Was that the doorbell? Already? It has not been thirty minutes.
Huh. It's been thirty minutes.
Are you sure not wearing the red was a good choice? Red's a good color on you. A bold color on you. Even if you're not feeling particularly bold right now.
Answer the door, Kate. You can't let him know that you're shaking so hard you could barely put your eyeliner on. He'd never let you live it down. What do you have to be nervous about anyway? It's just Castle. It's just a date with Castle that could possibly turn into a something with Castle and before you know it you could be dating Richard Castle.
Oh god, just don't answer the door. Maybe he'll go away. Maybe he'll go away and never come to the precinct again and you'll never have to deal with this.
"Beckett?" Damn.
Okay, just open the door and tell him you can't go. Something came up. You wish it didn't have to be this way, but you really can't go out with him tonight. Or ever.
"Listen, Castle, I'm so–" Oh. Wow, he looks good. He looks really good and have you seen that shirt before because wow he looks great in that color and his eyes seem so much more blue than they regularly are and wow.
"What?" Right. You should talk to him.
"Huh?" That doesn't really count.
"You were saying something?" Ah, uh, right.
"It's nothing. Forget it." He's staring at you. You're probably staring at him. You should do something besides stare at him. Oh, bite your lip. You know he likes that. Okay, okay, too hard. There you go. Alright, maybe the tongue's a bit too much. Yeah, he's staring at your mouth now. It was too much. He's staring at your mouth and that's really not a look you need to see on his face right now because you like it there and that's far too terrifying a thought to deal with.
"So where are we going?" He's looking at your eyes again. Crisis averted.
"To dinner, of course." Here's hoping you even make it to dinner.
You've barely touched your food. You ordered a salad and you've barely eaten anything besides some of the croutons. He took you to a little Italian restaurant and you can see that he's really making an effort and you ordered a goddamn salad that you've barely even looked at. Except for all those times that you looked at your food to avoid his eyes.
Maybe you should never have done this because, yeah, it's been nice and he's been wonderful but you're a wreck and that can't be a good sign, can it? That has to mean something. Maybe it means you like him. Maybe it means dating him would be awkward and a painful sort of forced because you're really not sure if you can do – oh. Your feet bumped under the table.
Did he do that? No, he looks like he's stopped breathing too. Okay, what are your options? You could pretend like it never happened. That's certainly a method you're fond of. But wasn't that the point of saying yes to tonight? To move forward and stop pretending? If only it weren't so completely terrifying.
You could always just wait for him to decide on a course of action. But he really does look like he's waiting on you here. And, honestly, that's sweet that he's taking your directions but it's not like you know what to do either.
How hard could it be to pretend it wasn't an accident? You could just slip your shoe off, trail your arch up his calf, and – absolutely not. You are not doing this. This is Castle and you and maybe forward isn't the right direction to move. But it's really the only direction left.
No. Repeat that to yourself. No, you will not play footsie with Castle under the table. You are not doing this.
You're doing this.
"You know, I had a really good time tonight. Except for maybe when you spilled your water on me." Yeah, that wasn't your finest moment. But he had a good time. He liked going out tonight. So did you. Maybe that's the problem.
"Consider it payback for all the coffee you've spilled on me at the precinct." He's laughing. Laughing is good. But now you're at your door and while laughing really is good you'll both have to stop stalling eventually. And, really, you'd be the one to do it but you're not at all sure of what you want. You're getting mixed signals here. Not from him, oh, he's been giving you very clear signals tonight. It's your heart and your mind and, really, your entire body that can't make a decision.
"Well, it's getting late so maybe oomf–"
He's kissing you. Castle's lips are pressed against your lips and they're so deliciously warm and mmmm that's nice. You didn't expect his lips to be so soft. But here they are, making their way down your throat, and it's velvet against your trembling skin. And his hair seems like it should have more gel in it but your fingers move through it easily, like he doesn't even have to try and that's absolutely infuriating.
Oh. There's the door against your back and you're making out with Castle in the hallway. Someone could walk by. There are kids that live on this floor so you should really oh god, Castle. He tastes like wine and that shouldn't be a surprise but it's dark and heady and tingling on your tongue.
He pulls away, backs his body away from yours, and the way he's looking at you is beautiful. You reach out, smooth his lapel because you can't think of anything else. Your thoughts are clogged somewhere and the words you know you're capable of are caught deep in your throat. His hand's still a warm presence on your cheek, a gorgeous sort of heavy, and you can't think of a single reason to make him leave.
But his hand slides off your face, exposing what you know must be pink-tinted cheeks, and while you don't want the sudden cold on your skin your limbs don't seem to be moving. He's turning around to leave and you're still leaning against the door he just backed you up against and what in the hell did you let happen?
"Goodnight, Kate." Well, shit.