A/N: Loosely inspired by the film, 'Lost in Florence'.
Rick Castle falls in love with Florence, Italy instantly.
Inspiration lies around every corner, excitement and tranquility blending together throughout the city, and he decides to extend his summer visit within a week. He remains for over a month before he finally enrolls himself in a language class, tired of receiving amused looks and patronizing head shakes from the locals.
Not that the expressions from the handful of college kids enrolled with him are much better. But he doesn't care quite as much when their instructor enters the room, golden skin and sun-kissed caramel wisps of hair caressing her high cheekbones and escaping from the loose bun at the nape of her neck, long, dark lashes hiding the eyes she has aimed on the materials cradled in the crook of her arm.
"Buongiorno, classe," the melody of her voice greets once she reaches the front of the room, transferring the books from her grasp to the table and lifting her gaze to the small group of them.
Her eyes are hazel, swatches of green and streaks of amber, sparkling in the sunlit room, the corners crinkling ever so slightly when she notices him watching her.
"Mi chiamo Ms. Beckett," she continues, the corner of her mouth twitching as one of the two college boys in the room is immediately swamped with confusion by the foreign words. "But you're welcome to call me Kate," she adds with a chuckle.
And he may have fallen in love with Florence at first sight, but he thinks he fell in love with Kate Beckett even quicker.
She slows in her walk out of the building at the sound of growing footsteps following after her, rushing to catch up to her if the slap of shoes on pavement is any indication, and she really doesn't even have to guess to know it's most likely-
"Hey, Kate," he chirps, trotting up alongside her with his usual charming grin, the one he's been shooting her since the first day of class a week ago.
"How may I help you this time, Mr. Castle?" she drawls, grinning to herself as he groans.
"Why do you keep calling me that?" he grumbles from beside her, falling into step with her all too easily and relieving her of the book bag on her shoulder, and she lets him.
But only because it's heavy and her shoulder has been battling with the strain all week.
"That's your name, is it not?" Kate teases, checking her father's watch for the time.
Not that it matters, despite living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, aside from her job, most of her days are rather lax, her schedule never as busy as she'd sometime like. She's been living in Italy since she was twenty, since she and her mom had decided that the grief of the city was too all consuming, and a change was necessary. Kate never would have chosen such a drastic shift in relocation, but she couldn't argue with it now. Not when she loved Florence more than she's ever missed New York.
"Troppo formalle," he replies and she glances sideways just in time to see his phone being shoved back into his pocket.
"Castle. Stop using Google translate to cheat."
He huffs, pouting. "Italian is hard."
"That's why you're in my class," she says with a roll of her eyes. "If you'd actually pay attention-"
"Oh, I do. You're a riveting instructor," he murmurs with mischief crackling through his gaze and his lips curling upwards.
"On the material," she sighs, looking up in exasperation to the majestic statues they pass, asking one of the many heroes for help.
"Not as riveting as you."
"Rick-"
"Much better," he grins, but she shakes her head, smothers the unwelcome smile threatening to stretch across her lips.
"I'm not looking to be charmed," she states, laying it down straight and simple. "You mentioned you're here for your writing, you'll be gone within another month or so."
"Perhaps," he hedges. "But who says I'm trying to charm you? I happen to just find you incredibly intriguing, not to mention gorgeous. It's an inspiring combination, which is exactly what I came to Italy searching for."
"I still don't understand why you need to search for anything when you have Derrick Storm," she points out, biting her tongue at the slip of information, but maybe he won't even notice-
"So, you do know my work," he hums, sly approval rippling through his eyes.
"I know of it," she corrects, lies.
She knows Richard Castle's books inside and out.
He hums, not buying it, but doesn't press the matter. "Regardless, I came here because I was bored. Bored with New York, bored with Derrick, bored with my life. Aside from my daughter never failing to be a bright spot, the days just grew too dull."
Ah, yes, his daughter, Alexis. The one topic she's witnessed Rick gush about with such pure love in his eyes, his voice, that she had felt something tug inside her chest at the moment, fleeting but fierce in its flickering pull.
"Yes, and from what you've told me, Alexis will be back from her summer away at Princeton soon."
"That's still more than two months away," he scoffs, waving her off. "Plenty of time for me to stay here and be inspired by my new muse, you."
Kate pauses on the sidewalk in front of a cafe, the scent of coffee wrapping around her but failing to soothe this time, and sputters up at him. "Me?"
"Uh, yeah. Were you not listening to the last portion of this conversation?" he questions with an arch of his eyebrow.
"A muse for what? I'm an Italian language teacher, what could that possibly inspire in crime fiction?" she challenges, unnerved by his easy smile, the knowledge glimmering in his gaze.
"You're so much more than that, Kate," he says, too earnest for her liking, but not for the stupid butterflies in her chest that she wishes would just drop dead, dissipate into the pit of her stomach. "You have a story. And I want it."
She purses her lips, rather confounded by this ridiculous man and this persistent interest he's taken in her. He has no idea what he'd be in for.
Her story isn't intriguing, isn't pretty like the town around them; she lived a tragedy for too many years, only recently emerged from the shell of grief a handful of years ago, picked up the shambles of her life and tentatively began to rearrange them into a new story altogether.
"But don't worry, I know I'll have to work for it," he assures her, hooking an arm through hers and redirecting them into the cafe. "Want to start with a coffee?"
"I'll take a coffee, but this doesn't change anything," she states, withdrawing her arm from his, crossing them over her chest instead, but Castle only smirks back at her.
"Whatever you say, teacher."
She huffs, sits down with him at a table near the window. "Don't call me that."
"Kate then," he says warmly, her name like rich espresso on his tongue, sending a shot of heated energy through her veins.
It's going to be a long summer.
He coerces Kate into showing him around the city during her free time, waiting around after class is over and walking out with her onto the streets, visiting all of the well-known tourist attractions, the glorious architecture and famous gardens, reveling in the more local spots that she's familiar with.
Within a week of this ongoing exploration, Kate allows him to take her hand while they walk, to lace their fingers and meld their palms, embrace the warmth of her skin bleeding into his on a regular basis.
By the second week, she tells him about her mother, who lives in the city as well and has successfully worked as an American lawyer in Italy for years now, about how they had packed up the essentials ten years ago and taken a plane to Europe on a whim.
The following day, amidst a vibrant world of flowers in one of the city's most beloved gardens, she reveals why.
She let him hold her hand then too, while she explained her father's death with her voice tight and her eyes shimmering tears he knows she'd never let fall, how a bullet through their window had ended Johanna Beckett's law career and Jim Beckett's life.
"We still don't know the truth, but it was their way to make my mom stop digging into that case, to shut her up, and I... it goes against every part of me to run, even when it's not my fight, but she knew they'd kill me next," Kate murmurs, her eyes trained on the water of a reflecting pool. "Mom's always called it starting over, but without my dad..." Her fingers graze the face of the watch that never leaves her wrist. "I don't want to start over without him."
"Did it help, though?" he asks before the conversation can change, the ache in his heart for her refusing to be silenced, the need to make her feel better in any way possible, to hold her, near irrepressible. "Coming here?"
He watches the internal debate play out in her eyes, through the sharp features of her face, until she decided on an answer that satisfied her.
"There are days that I still want to get on a plane, go back to the city and find the son of a bitch who killed him, who's behind all of this," she mutters, determination flashing like fire through her gaze and her jaw squaring harshly. "But I do value my life here, the life my mom and I built after having everything taken from us, and I think my dad would have fallen in love with it too. Something about this place... it did help, still helps."
He squeezes her hand then takes a risk before he can talk himself out of it, bringing her knuckles to his lips for the chaste press of a kiss to the ivory of her skin.
"I'm glad."
They're strolling through a museum two weeks later, her arm looped comfortably through his (such a wonderful contrast to weeks prior when she would stiffen and quickly slip her arm free any time he would throw her off guard by stealing it from her side), and the hushed tone of her voice is caressing his ear as she gives him the history of a sculpted hero on display.
He tries to listen, to pay attention, he really does, but when she glances up to him, finds his gaze stuck on her face instead of the statue, she sighs.
"Are you listening to a word I'm saying?"
"Yes. Well, I was. I got distracted," he shrugs, quirking his lips even as she glares at him. But it's not a true look of disapproval, no, not anymore. Her eyes are glittering gold in the low lighting of the museum, her lips curving ever so slightly in the corners, and he wants to kiss her. Oh so badly.
And she knows it.
"Kate."
She bites her bottom lip - not helping in the idea of resistance whatsoever - and flicks her eyes to his mouth, back again, as if she's waiting on him.
Castle cups her jaw in his palm, stroking his thumb over the defined bone, the concave hollow of her cheek, momentarily marveling over the structure of her face, the colors swirling through her eyes, the part of her lips. His favorite piece of art amidst the entire museum.
"You're the most beautiful thing," he mumbles thoughtlessly as he leans in, nose brushing hers, lips just an inch away.
But Kate arches on the toes of her ballet flats before he can close the distance, kissing him with instant heat, reverence in the dance of her lips, desperation in the glide of her hands up his sides to curve at his neck, passion in the stroke of her tongue to the seam of his mouth.
It doesn't surprise him, not when he's daydreamed about kissing her every day for nearly two months straight now, since the day he first saw her, but the mental preparation had failed to ready him for the kick start of his heart, the loss of air in his lungs and the slow churning need in his gut.
She releases him with a breathless hum, her fingers snagging in the collar of his shirt, but his hands on her waist fail to let go.
"That was amazing," he breathes, knocking his forehead against hers, matching her smile when it blooms on her kiss swollen lips.
"Ancora."
Oh, and he actually knows that word, what it means.
Again.
"I want to stay."
Kate glances up from the lesson plan on her desk, arching an eyebrow at him as he strides into her quaint teaching room with a decisive expression and the will to argue if she denies him.
"Stay?" she echoes, lowering her pen.
"Here, in Florence," he nods, his throat rippling with a swallow. "With you."
"Rick, it's only been three months," she sighs, even though her heart had leapt at the declaration, exalted at the idea. "And Alexis-"
"Would love a semester away," he muses, but Kate shakes her head.
"You can't rip her away from her home, her friends," she reasons, even though she hates herself for it, hates him for making her produce the undeniable logic and crush such a lovely daydream. "Especially not for a spontaneous move to another country."
Castle pauses, his brow knitting with concentration before he glances up to her, so forlorn and needing. "But I - I don't want to leave."
She rises from her desk, crosses the room until the antsy fingers tapping at his thighs can claim her hips instead, draw her in.
"Go home for a while," she begins to compromise, sealing her palm to his mouth when it opens for protest. "Then come back. If this is something that you want, do what you said, Castle. Work for it."
A startled breath of laughter skitters past his lips, muffled by the hand she withdraws, redirects to rest on his shoulder. "And when you say this-"
"I mean a life in Florence," she answers with a narrowed look that does little to deter him.
"And if the something I want is you?"
Kate gnaws on her bottom lip for a moment before holding his face in her hands, guiding him down to her mouth and kissing him long and slow, unraveling him with the fleeting press of her lips, the thorough stroke of her tongue. His hands travel up her spine, hips sealing with hers, and she moans softly before she gentles the kiss, detaches her lips from his with a hum.
"Time will tell," she murmurs, nudging her nose to his cheek. "In the meantime, since it's your final week here, we should make the most of it."
Surprise flickers to life in his eyes, bright blue anticipation, and she lets the butterflies in her stomach soar.
Rick wakes alone in her bed, the beams of sunlight and scent of coffee a sensual treasure map to her kitchen, where he finds Kate dressed and pouring two cups of the dark liquid, a shy smile spreading across her lips when she spots him.
"You realize I have neighbors," she murmurs, flicking her gaze to his bare lower half, but he'd been in a hurry to find her and couldn't remember where she'd thrown his boxers last night.
"You should invest in curtains," he shrugs, approaching where she stands, propped in a corner of converging counters, and cradling her face in his hands.
Kate grins into his kiss, her warm hands splaying along his naked back, nails scoring his skin when he travels lower, nudges the loose neck of her sweater out of the way, tends to her flesh with his mouth.
"Castle," she gasps, spine arching, bumping against the countertop, providing him with the brilliant idea to lift her onto the granite. "I made you coffee."
"After," he mumbles, devoting his attention to exploring the hollow of her throat, the valley between her collarbones, with his tongue.
"Yes," she breathes, hooking her legs at his waist. "After."
She becomes addicted to having him in her bed rather quickly, has become quite addicted to him in general.
Of course, she still needs her space, has never been the type who could share every waking moment with a man, or anyone for that matter, but during her final week with him, she discovers that she doesn't mind spending every day with Castle just this once. Waking up with him in the mornings, meandering through known paths of the city with his hand in hers throughout the days, leading him back to her apartment, her bed, when night falls.
When his departure date arrives, she doesn't allow either of them much sleep, doesn't want to admit how badly she wishes he could stay, how much it scares her that she doesn't want him to go. How much she's going to miss him.
"So, see you in three months?" he sighs at the airport, staring down at her like a sad little boy even as she nods. "We'll still talk?"
"Of course, gotta keep your Italian sharp," Kate points out, abrading her palm on the stubble of his cheek as she rubs her hand along his skin, wipes away his frown with a stroke of her thumb.
"You'll answer when I call? Because, listen, I know we didn't put a title on us or anything and we don't have to, I just want to know-"
Kate presses down with her thumb on his lips. "Rick, I'll answer when you call. I promise."
He deflates with a little too much relief and leans in to kiss her forehead, lingering there for a long moment that she allows, too busy being hit with quite the terrifying revelation.
She's been telling herself that this thing between them was nothing more than a fling, that after he left, all would go back to normal and her time with Castle would fade into nothing more than a pleasant memory. But it's... become more, her sense of normalcy utterly altered.
There was a strong chance that he could love her, it's why he's so hesitant to leave her, and god, she realizes with slow blooming horror and wonder twining into one that she could love him back.
Rick sighs and straightens. "I better go."
"Wait," she murmurs, snagging the edges of his shirt in her shaking fingers, and tilts her chin, waits for the slant of his mouth over hers, the intoxicating rush and hum of electricity through her veins, pleasant heat through her blood, and returns the sentiment with the work of her lips.
"I miss you already," he pants and Kate hums her agreement, lets go of his shirt, but fails to move away just yet.
"I'll see you," she breathes before it can become too much, before the press of lips isn't enough and she says more than she's ready for.
"Arrivederci," he murmurs, grinning proudly, and Kate chuckles, brushes one more kiss to his mouth before she steps back and lets him go.