It's reasonably busy, the Old Haunt, so she leads them to the back, away from the press of the people at the bar, to the last booth. The one that's permanently reserved for them, any of them from the precinct. She reaches back for his hand as they wind their way through the throng in series, her smaller, leaner fingers wrapping tightly around his broader digits.
She doesn't let go till they reach the table, and even then it's only very reluctantly as she slides into the seat across from him, grinning slightly. She can't stop grinning at him since they found him- since she found him- sitting unharmed in the bank vault.
She finds she doesn't want to stop.
He's smiling back, the corners of his eyes crinkling, lips curling till she can see his teeth. She loves all his smiles. This one, the broad and genuine one, the warmth that flows out of it when he directs it at her, heating up her core. The cheeky grin that appears when he's teasing, trying to get a rise out of her. The boyish smirk he shares with the boys when they think they're about to pull one over on her. The gleeful chirp on the rare occasions they succeed. All his smiles.
She nearly lost them all today.
She shoves away the thought almost physically, her shoulders moving like she's tackling it away. To cover the movement, she gets up again, stretching her legs.
"What's your poison Castle?"
"Scotch. The good stuff. Joe'll know." He nods at the bartender, and then pauses for a second. "Actually, tell him to make it a double."
It's been that kind of day.
There's an unconscious shimmy to her hips as she walks towards the bar. He's watching. She knows he's watching. She likes it.
When she comes back with her third glass of wine, and his third tumbler of the 18-year-old Macallan (a single this time) a little over an hour later, she switches seats and sits on his side of the booth, pressing up alongside him.
She doesn't know why.
Actually, she does. They've talked about inconsequential things till now. The case today, Ryan and Espo, Lanie's latest new, Alexis's worries, the new captain and everything in between. Reminisced about old cases (carefully editing out the presence of exes and such, by mutual but unacknowledged agreement), recounted war stories. There's a rhythm to the night, though, and she can sense it.
Her fingers have found his on almost a minute-by-minute basis. Her ankles have stayed firmly pressed against his, one boot hooked around his foot, only letting go when she gets up to get their drinks.
Her mind keeps replaying those awful seconds and minutes from earlier in the day unbidden through her head. The boom of the explosions rocking through the command post, the echoes ringing in her ear, the way the grey dust had mushroomed up and out of the building. The worst had raced through her mind, and she'd outpaced the professionals to be the first through the door, the first to see them, to see him, to touch him, to smell him…to make sure he was alive. And somehow, he was. Somehow, he hadn't been lost to her, not now, not when everything she desired lay so tantalisingly close at hand.
She understands his anger a little better now when she'd gone to see him at the book signing. How he must've felt when she was slipping away from him, and then not seen him for months afterwards. Now all she wants to do is keep touching, making sure he's real, making sure that explosion didn't really take him from her, that he's not gone anywhere. If she couldn't do this, it would've driven her crazy too.
She presses against him a little harder, pressing her shoulder into the thick muscles.
She's not ready yet. She knows that. She remembers what he said when she got shot. She replays it in her head, night after night. It took her weeks to separate out the two memories, the pain blooming in her chest, the shock racing through her body and his face above hers, a lick of hair falling over his forehead, eyes tight with denial, begging her to stay with him.
Tell her that he loved her.
She wants to say it back, but she can't. Her feelings are a mess. She's a mess. She can't screw this up, not this time, not with him, not till she's ready, till they're ready. Her feelings feel like quicksand, shifting under her feet, one day threatening to pull her down in one direction, another day in another. Sometimes she just wants to do nothing but solve her mother's case, get granted the absolution that would bring. Other times she wishes she could forget all about it, that she could just be with him and be happy and leave her baggage behind.
They sit there in companionable silence, till she nudges his arm again, a little more insistent. He looks down at her sharply, and reads her face, reads her intentions like only he can, because then he moves the arm, bringing it up and around her shoulders so she can nestle into his chest, push into his body heat a bit more, till she can feel the steady tick of his heart and hum of his throat. The wine has warmed her up, amplified that undercurrent of desire she always feels when he's nearby. Contact turns it up another notch, and unlike the old days, she doesn't try to fight it or suppress it any more. Down that road lay simply more misery and heartbreak and she was done with that.
"Rough day, huh." His voice is low and gravelly, and his chest vibrates against hers when he speaks, sending electricity arcing through her nerves.
"I've had better."
"You? I was the hostage!"
"With the cushy sit-down job."
"Mmm. I like the bit where you threatened to come in a blow his head off if he shot me."
"If anyone's going to be shooting you, Castle, it's me. For all the crap you've put me through over the years."
He grins broadly at that, and she smiles back, unbidden. There's a lot more of that now with her, she's noticed too. Before she didn't use to smile at all. Then she used to hide her smiles from him, because she didn't want him to know that he could make her smile, almost on demand. Now she doesn't hide it.
Doesn't want to hide it.
Had he understood what she'd been saying-without-saying at the swings? She thought he had, coming back to the precinct, coming back to work with her. But then he'd nearly been snatched away before they could even start, before she could taste his lips on hers again (once was not enough. Once during a rescue mission to dupe a guard, a moment that haunted her dreams and waking moments, was nowhere near enough).
She needs to make sure he understands more clearly now. That he has no doubts about what she wants, what she needs from him.
She curls her fingers over his, squeezing slightly, flicking her eyes up to catch his slightly surprised blue orbs.
"Castle…when that bank blew, I thought the worst had happened."
"Kate, I-"
"No, let me get this out. I thought I'd lost you, I thought I'd lost our partnership, I thought I'd lost…us."
He doesn't interrupt this time, just looks down at her, the intensity of their gaze growing till she looks away, unable to hold it any longer.
"That day at the swings. When I was talking about the kind of relationship I want…I was talking about…"
"I know."
She glances up at him again, and he's looking at her that way again, with warmth and patience and understanding and love, and she can't take it anymore. She just can't.
She puts one hand on his cheek and raises herself into the kiss before she can second-guess herself again. She's surprised him. She knows by the way his eyes are open in almost-fright, his lips tight and closed against hers. She doesn't let up, pressing her mouth to his, circling his neck with her arms till he relaxes into the kiss, till he starts kissing her back.
He tastes like old scotch, smoky and strong and ever-so-moreish. Her teeth nibble at his lower lips, nipping at them till he opens his mouth, lets her in. The kiss is lower and longer than last time, and she feels herself shifting subconsciously, fighting to get closer to him. In turn, his hands are wrapped in her hair, holding her tight against him.
When they part, after one minute or ten (she's not quite sure), she's almost sitting on his lap, the air squeezed out between them. She doesn't want to let go, or move back, or anything like that yet. She just wants to stay close to him. On instinct, she leans her head forward, till her forehead meets his gently and their noses are almost tip-to-tip.
She closes her eyes and soaks in the sensation.
"I'm not ready yet Castle. I'm not there yet. But I will be. I promise, I will be."
Days like today ensure she will be, because she'll be damned if she'll let her future happiness, her future self, slip through her fingers. Fall through the cracks like grains of sand. She's done running from this, and now she knows running towards it instead. It makes a world of difference. It's why she gets up early in the mornings to go see Burke and she lets herself imagine a kind of future- one fill with love, one as a wife and a mother- when she never has before.
"I know." He whispers the words into her ear. She knows he understands the trust she's placing him in. She also knows she'll have to come clean about the lie she's been telling him sometime soon too. Not today, not now, but before they build that future she's imagining.
"So don't screw it up. Don't do something stupid. Don't die. Because we're four years down this rabbit hole together already, and I really, really want to get to the good bits."
A slightly huffy laugh escapes from him, and she leans into it, letting her own smile spread before speaking again.
"Because trust me, the good bits are going to be worth it."
"Definitely. Definitely going to be worth it."
They stay like that for another moment or two, before real-life intrudes via the beep of his phone. She sighs, and then pulls away slightly, giving him the room he needs to reach into this pocket and read the text.
He doesn't let her go all the way though, wrapping his fingers around hers, keeping them in contact.
"Need to go home?"
"Yeah, Mother's made dinner, and I should talk to Alexis as well."
She slides out of the booth, and he follows her out, and a sense of resignation runs through her.
"Of course, Mother has made plenty, and she specifically invited you."
He smiles, and her heart flip-flops inside as he holds out a hand.
"You coming, Beckett?"
Damn straight she was.
An AU ending to 'Cops & Robbers' (4x07) exploring if they had gone for that drink at The Old Haunt, from an anonymous prompt. As always, reviews and feedback are what keep me writing so let me know what you thought.