Wrinkles & Regrets

Kate Beckett sighed at the reflection in the mirror. She ran her fingers gently over the deep wrinkles that shaped her face, before her gaze followed her fingers back down to rest open palmed just out from her waist. Regret. The word had come as a whisper at first, but now as she stared at her wrinkled hands it came as a scream. Her mind pounding with it, and it alone. A single thought to represent what her life had become. Kate wrung her hands in frustration, closing her eyes as she reflected; what was it that she regretted most about her life? Obviously, not being able to find the person behind her mother's murder was her biggest regret. A groan escaped through her clenched teeth at the thought. Yes, that was undoubtedly her biggest regret. She had made it her life's mission and it seemed she had failed. But what other regrets where holding her here, fingering her wrinkles and worry lines and adding to her discontentment. His face flashed through her thoughts before she consciously pictured it. Twinkling blue eyes, crinkled grin, adoration – for her – etched in his every glance. She sighed again, loudly. Richard Castle was definitely one of her regrets, her second biggest. Although, the longer she mulled it over, images of moments shared and opportunities missed led her to the somewhat depressing conclusion that he belonged in equal first. While these regrets shaped her life in different ways, both she regretted with a somewhat equal fervour.

The doorbell rang, jolting her from her thoughts. She pulled away from her reflection, stroking the wrinkles once more. Tugging on a baggy sweatshirt, she headed for the door. Kate opened the door, and the man who swirled in her mind with a mixture of regret and missed opportunities walked in. Castle smiled at her. She struggled to smile back, realising that her expression still mimicked the one she had held in the bathroom, teeth clenched on her lower lip, eyes troubled.

He took her in for a moment. There were droplets of water on her exposed skin and she had the distinctly pruned look that told him she'd spent the better part of the morning in her bath. Her hands were wrinkled like she had aged forty years overnight. He thought better than to chuckle to himself as he hoped that he would really get to see her like this someday, old and wrinkled, but still beautiful. The most beautiful women he had ever loved, and seen when it came down to it. His chest expanded as if to love her more, but with a jolt he realised he was merely breathing deeply and he refocussed his attention. She hadn't smiled back and he realised now she looked deep in thought, pensive.

"Why, Detective Beckett, you look positively worried," he paused before taking her hand and dragging her in the direction of the couch. He sat and gestured to the space next to him. "Sit. Spill."

So she did, she sat beside and twisted round so that she faced him, he carefully did the same and as their knees brushed both fought to maintain casual composure as a jolt of electricity ricocheted from their knees to rest in the pit of their stomachs. She waited until the feeling dulled before beginning.

"Regret…" she shook her head slightly, restricted. "I've been thinking about regret". Castle nodded at her, meeting her gaze as she continued, "I had a bath this morning, and when I got out, I just couldn't stop staring at my pruned hands thinking about what I would regret thirty, forty, fifty years from now…" She broke away, unsure of where to go from there. Sarcastic thoughts like 'apparently I'll regret you!' followed by a snort, mixed with surprisingly sappy ones like, 'if you're there with me I won't have regrets to think about at all'. She frowned, this was a stupid topic to broach with Castle of all people. As if to reiterate the thought, Castle rested his hand on her knee and began to trace patterns in it, seemingly mindlessly, but Kate was sure that he was more than aware of what he was doing. The real question on her mind, was he aware of what it was doing to her heart rate as it became more erratic with every gentle caress. She sought to regain control and failed. He could do what he liked with the conversation, she wasn't ready to add any more just yet. Seeming to sense that she wasn't going to expand he tried to arrange his thoughts.

"Regrets," he murmured. "Yeah, I think about that too. Especially, when it comes to my parenting. What if I do something stupid that affects Alexis forever?" He shuddered slightly at the thought and before Kate thought the better of it, her hand came to rest over his on her knee. He gently laced her fingers with his and gave them a quick squeeze, before resting their still-laced hands back on her knee.

"I don't think you've got anything to worry about with that girl. She's amazing…" Kate bit her tongue to suppress the rest of the thought – 'which is incredible considering she came from you' – deciding that now wasn't the time for humorous jabs at his genetics.

"Thanks". He grinned, the seriousness of the moment broken somewhat.

She took that as an opportunity to extract her fingers from his, although she felt it slide into her conscious that she happy to sit there holding his hand for a long time. She rose, turned back to the couch, where he was smiling after her, watching strands of hair unravel from the loose bun on her head. He didn't try to avert his gaze as she caught him staring, his grin just widened somewhat as she felt a smile begin to stretch across her face. "Coffee?" It wasn't so much a question as a statement, she already knew what his answer would be. He nodded swiftly and she drifted into the kitchen. Before she had so much as placed the mugs on the bench he was at her side.

"I'll make it. You, sit." As she opened her mouth to protest, he was shaking his head, "Coffee is my thing, my forte, my area of expertise, so to speak." He grinned broadly at her.

"You know, I got coffee myself before you came along, Castle," she stretched out his name, biting a smile as she tried to keep mock indignation on her face.

"Yes," he conceded, "But now you get good coffee". A smug grin rested on his lips, the argument clearly won in his mind.

"Oh, you're right, Castle. That must be why I've kept you round all these years, the good coffee. That must be the only thing. I mean, it's not like you've offered anything else," she shrugged coyly.

He gasped melodramatically and leaned towards her until his face stopped just inches from hers. "Katherine Beckett. You know very well, that I have offered you much more than coffee. The coffee's just the only thing you've accepted, and judging by how good it is, I think you'd do very well to accept one of my other offers sometime, as," he paused his breath warm against her lips. She parted them unconsciously, then realising what she was doing snapped them shut and grinded her teeth together. He chuckled and finished his sentence, "as, you'd find that they are also very good." She shuddered slightly, unnerved by his proximity. Her mind flowing with memories of his other offers, old and new, offers to rub lotion on her, offers to be her back-up, her partner, no matter the situation, offers to help her catch her mother's killer. Then there were the unspoken offers – or at least she pretended so – the offer to love her, to never have to leave her. She fought to focus her attention back on the situation at hand, his eyes bearing down into hers, darkened by humour, passion and unmasked desire. She made to step back, but his hand encircled her waist, holding her there. She wondered what her own eyes were revealing. She tried to mask the longing.

"Castle," she warned, but it came out more like a moan.

He should stop now. Pull back, pull away, but desire is ruling him. The memory of her sitting on the couch, gazing at him, talking about regret. It's too much. He's tried to take it slow. To give her time to knock down her wall. But in this moment, he's convinced that she can't dismantle the wall on her own. What she needs is someone to crash through her wall, so that she doesn't live life with regret, so that he doesn't live life with regret. "Kate," he breathed. "I don't want to have regrets either".

Those simple words jolt her, and she vividly remembers gazing at her wrinkles, after her bath, thinking about what she would regret most. She can't have the person behind her mother's murder, at least not in this moment, but she can have him. She doesn't stop to think about what it will mean, how it will change their partnership, she just moves forward, tugs at his neck and brings her lips to his. He wants it to be gentle and tender, but the minute her lips meet his, he can't contain his passion and he opens his lips to hers and the kiss is wild and frenzied. Her hands lace round his neck, clinging to him. Their bodies meld together as he draws her closer, his hands running over her spine, leaving tingling goose bumps in their wake.

Finally they draw apart, long enough for her to whisper, "No regrets" and for him to groan with want and pull her lips back to his.