The first note was on his chair next to her desk it said simply:
Left for the day –K
Even when she was mad at him she usually had the courtesy of telling him face-to-face that she was leaving. This was no explanation.
He hoped she was alright, but everyone knew Kate Beckett played it close to the vest. No matter, they had wrapped up things on their latest case, he supposed she deserved to go home at a decent hour.
Marty, his pal from the security area on the first floor of the precinct handed him the second note:
Got you a gift – K
What was this? He checked the envelope, no name, no indication it was for him, and certainly no clue what it meant.
"Marty, you sure this is for me?"
Confused, he texted her.
Did you leave this note for me?
He waited, but she never responded.
Oh well, he'd ask her about it in the morning. On the way home he stopped by their coffee shop to push through his mid-afternoon slump, not really in the mood to write, but not looking to go home either. Boredom didn't suit him.
He flirted with the coffee girl, took his order to-go, wandered a while, got lost in his favorite comics store for an hour before deciding to head home.
Note number three brought a daunting enlightenment; it was on his front door.
Be prepared – K
Damn, she knew he was no Boy Scout. She had his attention though he didn't understand, but now he could no longer brush off the randomness. She was doing this on purpose.
On purpose.
"Kate?" He called as he opened the door. No answer.
"Kate?" He listened, he looked, didn't seem like anyone was home. He threw his keys on the table, flipped through the mail. Went to the fridge and found another note:
Seriously? –K
"Kate?"
Now he knew she'd been there. She must have left him some other clue, something else. He had a surge of child-like excitement.
"Kate?" He stuck his head in his office. Checked his desk, his chair. Nothing. No note. He could see the entirety of his bedroom from the door to his office. Nothing in there either. He wandered through the apartment to no avail. As he went back out to see what he'd missed he smelled it. The sweet, clean smell of lavender drew him toward the bathroom door – it was closed.
He never closed his bathroom door.
He stopped breathing for a moment when he noticed the note.
Turning the handle he whispered, "Kate?"
She was neck deep in a bubble bath. In his bathtub. Naked.
He swallowed as she met his eyes.
"Surprise," she said stiffly and quietly, willing herself the courage to follow through on this ridiculous plan. A little too late to back out now, she chided herself.
"What are you doing?"
"Didn't you get my message? I got you a gift."
She motioned her hand to the item by the sink.
He was riveted to the spot, rendered mute.
Shit, not the reaction she was hoping for.
"Castle? I need your help." His eyes came back to hers.
He was blinking but catatonic. Such a boy. Her writer-boy. She took command.
"Castle, go and get it."
Having a command seemed to prompt him to action.
A large natural sponge with a red ribbon attached was sitting on the counter.
He picked it up and turned to her.
Kate? His eyes were replacing his voice.
"I need your help Castle. My back, I can't reach. Help me out partner." She pushed forward in the water exposing her back to him.
He slowly knelt by the tub, untied the ribbon, dipped the sponge in behind her and let the water run down her back. Down that long line of skin. Perfect skin. Kate.
Her head was turned, her chin resting on her shoulder. "Umm, feels good."
He swallowed. Hard. Moved to let the second dip pour over her shoulder, down the back of her exposed neck.
She leaned back against the edge of the tub, cutting off his escape after he'd plunged the sponge a third time. There was only so much safe skin left. He stiffened.
"Here, let me help you." She took his hand poised twined her fingers over his with the sponge and moved it to her throat, slid it between her breasts taking his hand with her until it was under the water.
"Kate," he whispered.
Her hand came up to cup his face, she leaned in and kissed him tenderly. Lips exploring, hesitant. Then, stronger, surer, more desperate.
His sleeves got wet as he deepened the kiss, arms seeking her closer.
"Castle?" She breathed.
"Yeah?" His face was comically twisted with desire. Awkward boy-man. At least he'd found his words.
"Join me?"
"Can't," he whispered.
"Oh?" She stroked the back of his neck. He glanced down, couldn't help it. The bubbles were almost gone.
"Not dirty enough." His voice cracked.
"Hmm, I might be able to help with that."
"Yeah?"
She moved to stand up, using his shoulders as leverage. He looked down at her feet.
"Castle?"
He was still looking down.
"Don't tease me Kate. Are . . .are you really ready to do this?"
She reached down to place a finger under his chin, raising his face to look up at her.
"I told you in my note."
Rick Castle had imagined a thousand ways this could happen, though none of them involved him near tears, kneeling before a naked Kate Beckett.
He stood up and wrapped his arms around her wet body, lifting her enough to clear the edge of the tub.
"Mmmmm," she hummed in his ear, sighing, "too many clothes for one of us."
Castle smoothed his hands over her back, dared to cup her cheeks before reaching for the clip to unleash her hair.
"Beautiful." He kissed her shoulder circled his fingers over her hips.
He walked her backward out to the bed, held her tight long enough to reach behind her and pull back the comforter. He laid her down and immediately backed away, closing and locking the bedroom door. He came back to look over her lithe nakedness, the spray of her hair across the sheets.
"You make me so happy already Kate. So happy." Never taking his eyes off hers he stripped off his own clothes.
"But this . . .this . . . finding you like this, you coming to me is . . . you are such a mystery to me, Kate." He moved over her to meet her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
He worshipped her. She adored him. They exhausted and revived, sated and desired, and again. And again. Until their mutual dependence was established, until it was clear this progression was perpetual.
She woke pinned beneath him, unable to extract herself and happy about it.
He saved her note, the one on the bathroom door, made a copy, kept it in his wallet. Put the original in his desk drawer to remind him.
Two months later, when there was no turning back, she told him he was being an ass. He disagreed. It was not polite.
For a few days he didn't come to the precinct. She refused to apologize. Friends took cover.
After a third sleepless night she awoke to find it slipped under her front door.
The note.
The same damn note she had written him all those months before:
Wall is down, open the door –K
A/N-Seriously, I'm not writing anything else until you people hit 'review'. Put a freakin' happy face in the box if nothing else. I'm not as nice as I write.