Close Encounters 4
She should have realized it wouldn't be a direct flight to Rome, not in this business. They stopped first in Bern, Switzerland, and walked aimlessly through the Old City. It was near-freezing temperatures and her fingers and nose were numb, so Castle bought her gloves and a scarf from a ski shop.
She was awed by his German, which sounded different to her ears than any she'd heard before. Kate had a natural ability for languages, was fluent in Russian and passable in Italian - thus Spanish and French weren't completely foreign. But his German sounded. . .native.
"It's Bernese German," he murmured when she couldn't seem to get over it. "A specific dialect. I'm surprised you can hear the difference."
She shrugged, watched the sales woman hand back Castle's credit card. A company card. He pocketed the receipt in an inner compartment of his coat, gave Kate the card to slip back into her messenger bag.
Her passport was her own, though not in her bag with their money and itinerary. She had it taped together with his, and he kept them bandaged against his chest. She was still fascinated by the level of thought that had to go into every aspect of their plans, by the way he created alternate stories in his head of what might happen so that he could prevent it.
He carried a weapon, but she did not, a fact that irritated her when she felt confident but scared the shit out of her when she was alone in a foreign city, waiting on an unknown contact, any manner of problems waiting to arise.
She flexed her fingers in the gloves and he wrapped the thick green scarf around her neck, tugged.
She smiled at him, received his kiss with a nudge of her nose, and hooked her hands in the pockets of his coat to bring him closer. She didn't have a weapon, but she had him.
"What now?" she murmured.
"Keep at the game," he said, letting her go.
They had eight hours and then it was back on a plane. This time it was an airstrip outside of Bern with a pilot who grunted his answers and reeked of alcohol. Kate shot Castle a look, but he seemed unaware or uninterested, was grabbing her hand and tugging her to the back.
A cargo plane. Shit.
She could feel her back seizing up just at the idea. Still, she strapped herself into the cargo net, perched on thin strip of metal for a seat, let Castle check her safety harness even though she knew it was secure.
"Bully," she muttered, flashing him a look.
He grinned back and got in his own seat beside her, called up to the pilot that they were ready. Her bag was still around her shoulder, but Castle had locked his backpack into the cargo area, clipped it to the webbing.
"Where to now?" she said over the sound of the engines starting.
Castle grinned and leaned in to kiss her soundly, a press of his teeth into her lips before he pulled back.
"Now to Rome."
Passports weren't stamped, of course, and it was just another airstrip cut into a section of brown field and forest. Her heart rate still hadn't eased, but it wasn't out of fear, just pain. She fumbled at the safety restraint and found she couldn't move her shoulder to get out.
Beckett grunted and twisted her torso, the ache of the long flight over Italy giving her back a crushing tension. She got to her feet slowly and even the messenger bag over her shoulder felt like she was carrying boulders. Still, Castle was talking to the pilot in German, something about their return trip, no doubt, and she had to move.
She had to move.
She forced her foot forward into the aisle, stumbled when her boot caught the straps of the webbing. She managed to keep her balance with a death grip in the harness, then untangled herself and stood again. The bag was a weight that threw her, made her back cramp on one side, but she ignored it and moved forward to the cockpit.
Intense physical therapy had given her a capacity for pain she never would've known she had, and it saw her through the next four hours:
Jumping down from the plane into Castle's upraised arms, sliding down his body as he grinned at her with a salacious growl. Driving a motorcycle through the countryside, her hands unsteady and sweating on the handlebars, wishing he'd - just this once - not actually listened to her fierce independence and instead had made her ride on the back of his. Dismounting to find a farm before them, Castle leading her through the dead field towards the barn with a soft look in his eye, nostalgia and memories, even as she fought to stay upright.
When she was confronted with the ladder to the hayloft, she gave up.
"I can't," she admitted, closing her eyes on a groan.
"Kate?"
"I can't do it."
"S-sorry. I thought it would be - maybe romantic. There's heat up there. The whole barn is heated because they breed these special horses - expensive-"
"No," she said softly, opening her eyes to look at him. Sweet man. "No, I mean. I can't get up there. My arms won't-" She grunted and shook her head, the motorcycle helmet in her fingers, the wood of the ladder warm beneath her cheek. She closed her eyes again and sighed.
"Oh, shit. Your back. It was the plane ride, wasn't it? It's rough - I should've thought-"
"No," she said, shook her head at him. Even that movement made her back spasm, and she was glad she'd already leaned against the ladder. "No special accommodations. I'll be fine. Just need sleep and some pain reliever."
His face fell and she wondered what he'd been planning instead-
Oh. Duh.
Hayloft, Beckett.
"A nap?" she suggested, biting her bottom lip. "An hour. Can you-"
"Kate," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'm not-"
"But you had it all planned, didn't you?" she said, reaching out to grasp his wrist and draw him closer. "The loft. But maybe you can help me get up there?"
"Kate."
"I can do it. With your help. Please?" She wanted to have this moment with him in an Italian barn; he was trying to be romantic. Paris had been fun but not nearly what she'd been hoping for, and he'd seen that and was trying to do something special. She wouldn't ruin it now.
He studied her for a long time, and then he slipped his fingers under her messenger bag and tugged it off her shoulder. "I'll take everything up. And then we'll go up together."
She smiled and leaned in to kiss him, soft and slow, easing her tongue inside his mouth until he was breathless and pressing her back against the ladder.
"It's a deal," she murmured.
He was an idiot for not thinking of it. Her back - her shoulder really - and he should've realized when she'd been so quiet. At least the damn barn was heated and the loft had a bed. He'd arranged for the kid who usually slept up here to be in the main house tonight because he thought it would be romantic, but he was an idiot.
She settled her back against him and moved her feet in time with his; they made it up the ladder together, his chest bearing the brunt of her weight until she had to climb over at the top. He helped her to her feet and guided her to the bed, echoed her smile when she sank into the feather mattress with a soft sigh of pleasure.
He knelt down at her feet and untied her laces, worked the boots off and then her socks. Her long toes curled and popped, and he leaned down to kiss the arch of her foot, rubbing his thumb over the warm, sweaty skin. Sock fuzz seemed adorable on Beckett - why was that?
"Get comfortable," he murmured. "I'll massage your back until you fall asleep."
"An hour," she said. "Only an hour."
He just raised an eyebrow at her and came to his hands and knees on the bed over her, drawing her coat down her arm. It looked like she was trying to help, but she winced and he had to do the rest.
"An hour, Castle. Don't make me set an alarm."
"I'll just turn it off."
"I have an internal alarm, you asshole."
"You need sleep-"
"I need you," she muttered, rolling her eyes at him even as the force of his body over hers pushed her back into the bed. Her hands came unerringly to the sensitive skin at his side, then that spot at his jaw, and his arms trembled as he tried to resist.
"Kate."
"Or now, and sleep later," she murmured, her mouth sealing hotly at his neck and her tongue-
"Kate," he grunted, felt himself falling over her, their hips flush. Somewhere through the swamp of lust, he also felt the tension of her body as she adjusted, and he managed to roll off, panting. "An hour. Fine. An hour."
She hummed and curled next to him, hooking her fingers in his coat. He still had his damn coat on. She'd managed to get him completely flustered and highly aroused and he still had on his coat.
"You drive me crazy," he muttered.
"You gonna rub my shoulders or what, super spy?"
He laughed and turned his head to look at her; she was already struggling against sleep. Castle sat up and yanked off his coat, headed for his backpack and her pain meds. When he turned back around with a bottle of water as well, he had to wake her up to take them.
She groaned and swallowed them down, scissored her legs in the bed as she tried to get under the covers. "Strip me, Castle."
"Do what?" he laughed.
"Clothes off. My sweater is scratchy and I don't wanna sleep in my jeans. Plus you said massage. Get moving."
"Now who's the bully?" he grinned. But he couldn't help reaching out to stroke the hair away from her face, kiss the soft, pliant lips of her smile.
She woke naturally and realized Castle was sprawled out at her side in the bed. It was maybe a little too warm up here, and he'd pulled off his shoes and his sweater to lie down in his jeans and soft undershirt.
Kate hummed and tested her reach, found that the pain reliever had done the trick, that and the heat in the loft. She lifted up onto one elbow and moved closer to Castle, slid her knee over his thigh and peered down at him.
He'd forgotten to get his hair cut again, and the longer length flopped into his eyes now that he was at rest. She skimmed a hand through it to push it back, let her see his face. The scar over his eyebrow called out to her fingers and she danced them lightly above it, not yet wanting to wake him.
Her hair fell forward and she tossed it back, leaned against his chest to press her mouth to his chin, felt with her teeth that dimple and the scruff that grew in after a day's work. She bit and sucked at his skin, heard him grunt and startle awake.
"Beckett," he gasped. He sounded surprised, and she liked that, liked being able to rise up over him and make him a little unhinged.
"Hey there," she murmured. "Woke early."
"Yeah," he said inanely, his eyes opening to her. Dark, such a dark blue, his left eye a little bigger then the other one so that when she hovered over him like this, he looked aroused and helpless and urgent.
She liked that a lot.
Kate settled on top of him, scraped a hand through his thick, brown hair and to the nape of his neck, came in to claim that spot on his jaw. He grunted and his hips bucked under her so that she had to grip his waist with her knees.
And then he was right there with her, straining for her mouth and rolling them over to press his body down into hers. She took his dominating need with a grin of self-possession then gasped as his hands stroked under her shirt and his mouth roamed down to meet them.
She tightened her legs around his waist and reached a hand between them to snag his belt, then she stopped and hooked her fingers in it.
"Castle."
"Mm, you smell exotic," he murmured.
"Castle, you got the flash drive in your belt again, or do I get to take it off you?"
He growled and lifted his head to meet her eyes, that look of a predator darkening his face. "No holds barred, Detective Beckett."
She grinned and lifted up into him, wrapped an arm around his neck as she pushed him onto his back, straddling his thighs again. He grinned and stroked his hands up her legs to her ass, squeezed.
"Then I do this my way, Agent Castle," she murmured, letting her fingers feather at his ribs before she pushed his shirt up.
She lowered her mouth to his chest and licked, heard that delicious, needy whine in the back of his throat.
She had him.
She wished she'd brought her handcuffs.
The whole bed shook as she laughed into his arm; he could feel her body tense and ripple with it under him.
"Almost ruined your sexy plan, didn't I?" she hummed.
"I'd have taken you anyway," he growled.
She bit him, again, the little minx, right at his bicep, and then she turned her head so that her cheek was pressed against that spot. And even though he was lying over her back, her ass tucked into his hips, he shifted off of her and pulled her back into his chest, her head resting at his bicep now and her hair falling into his mouth.
He stroked it away, carded his fingers in her hair and scratched at her scalp as she practically purred.
"You're too soft to take me," she said with a laugh, her lips tickling his forearm before she bit at him again.
"Ow, what are you doing, Beckett?"
"You taste good."
"Little cannibal," he said, pushing his thigh between hers and tugging her deeper into his arms. They laid on their sides in the bed and he put his mouth to her shoulder and sucked, licking the sweat from her skin.
She shivered and pushed back into him, drew his arms tighter around her body. He pressed his nose to her spine trailed down to that scar on her back until he could puts his lips to it.
Kate sighed and twisted in his arms, pulled him half over her even as she hooked her leg around his and ran her toes up his calf. "Stop dwelling on it," she murmured into his ear.
"It's kind of a big deal, Beckett."
Her fingers were at his waist now, slipping along his scar, over and over like she was praying through a rosary.
He sighed and pressed his thumb to her elbow, skimmed his palm down her forearm to her hand, pulled it away to kiss her palm. "Kate."
"Kind of a big deal, Castle."
Yeah. He got it. He understood.
She curled her fingers around his and kissed the inside of his wrist, then let go to stroke through his hair and grip his ear. "Hey, baby."
He laughed a little at that and leaned in to kiss her, soft and a little desperate and mostly just grateful. She was alive, he was alive, and they were in this together.
Suddenly she broke away from him, her fingers at his jaw, her eyes - delighted?
"We're in Italy," she laughed. "In a loft in Italy. I have Italian hay poking me in my ass."
"That's not hay," he murmured with a smirk.
She lifted her knee between his legs and smirked right back at him. "Better be, Castle. Cause I need something a lot bigger than tiny-"
He smothered the rest of her words with his mouth even as her hands reached for him.
She smoothed her hands down her knit leggings to make sure they were straight, then tugged her boots on, lacing them up. Castle plucked at the fabric in appreciation, his eyebrow raised, and she lifted her foot to shove on his chest.
He laughed and got back to dressing himself as he sat on the bed, buttoning the thick flannel shirt over the cotton henley. He looked dark and brooding, despite the faint smile, and she slid a boot over his knee and straddled his legs to kiss him.
Castle growled softly, his fingers dappling her jaw, his mouth warm and welcoming under hers. She pulled away after a moment, using her hands against his chest to keep her balance.
"Thank you for planning this," she hummed, nipped at his bottom lip before she stood up again. He watched her from the bed like he she'd cast a spell over him, and she smirked and smoothed her hands down her hips, over her sweater.
"You're beautiful," he murmured.
She waited, but it was just a comment, a truth tumbled from his lips practically without his knowledge. Not even to get her back into bed, just to let her know.
She held her hand out to him, crooking her fingers. He stared at her a moment and then stood up, pressing his palm to hers with a surprised smile. Like he didn't know why he felt the way he did, but he liked it.
"Castle," she said quietly, lifting her lips. "You falling in love with me, super spy?"
"Too late. Already fallen."
In her calf boots and leggings, the sweater with its sharp v-neck, Kate Beckett looked amazing. Entirely unlike herself and yet - somehow - the deepest part of her on display. He liked the boots.
A lot.
He was having dirty fantasies about her in those boots, not conducive to the mission.
"So what's next, Rick?"
"We have to drop off the flash drive," he said, nudging her in the back of the cab as it sped through Rome. "The Eternal City."
"Two thousand years of history," she murmured, turning her head to look at him. The early sunlight made her cheeks pale and her eyebrows dark. She hadn't put any make-up on this morning, so her eyes were unlined and luminous, and her eyebrows were thin, her lips wide and pink. She looked like a Roman goddess - classic and striking.
Completely unlike herself. No one would recognize her as Detective Beckett.
She really was an awesome spy. Natural as hell.
She peered out of the window of the cab and clutched his knee. "It looks like a fortress. Oh, I love Rome."
He thought she would, she might. She'd mentioned a semester in Kiev and how she'd done some free travel; just those few comments had made him think she'd fallen in love with Rome when she'd been.
"It's Castel Sant'angelo," he noted. The cab pulled up at a taxi stand to let them out onto the cobbled road, the wide and crowded avenue that led to the Mausoleum of Hadrian. "It was used as a fortress at one point. You ever been here?"
"Rome? Yes, but not here specifically."
"We're on the bank of the Tiber River. Formerly a mausoleum, then a fortress and prison for the pope. Everything we need is right here," he added. Couldn't really help it, even though it might be giving it away.
"We're going in?" she sighed, giving him a flickering smile that brushed her lips with warmth.
"We're going in."
Kate spun slowly inside the interior court, watched the way the massive pillars, the thick walls blurred around her. She felt Castle's hand come to her back to keep her balanced, but she didn't need it.
He'd brought her to a castle. Castle of the Holy Angel. She wondered if he realized.
Montelupo's statue of Saint Michael stood in the middle of the square, the original piece that had once surmounted the Castle but which had been replaced by a bronze statute in 1753. This one dated back to 1536, not even half as old as the massive fortress itself. Her head was filled with history and dates thanks to the museum's redolent information, but there was something about the statue that drew her.
Grey and green and deteriorating, nevertheless, the marble angel was fixed before the sheer edifice of the fortress, standing guard now in front of a series of gated doors and narrow windows of the interior square. Beckett was fascinated by the wings that arched from his back: the curve of strength in the lines of metal, like strips of four individual feathers. Like a mesh of pure determination alone would lift Michael into the leaden sky.
"Tell me the story," she murmured, reaching back for Castle's hand. They were to meet his contact here, in the square in front of the Holy Angel itself, but they were early.
"The story?"
"I saw you reading the plaque. Tell me the story."
She felt him settle in behind her, his body heat combating the chill in the air. "The legend goes that in 590, a terrible plague befell Rome, wiping out whole sections of the city, claiming old and young alike. A bloodied and violent death. Pope Gregory I prayed that God would relent - every night of the plague - please, Lord, have mercy."
Kate shivered at the tenor of his voice, the sudden slide of his palm inside her coat and against her skin.
"One day, the Pope received an answer - the plague would not release its hold until the pagan worship of idols had ceased. So he led a procession of holy men to a certain church nearby where the people had started to worship an image. The moment his foot touched the floor, the idol collapsed with a clap of thunder."
Kate leaned her head against his, felt the heat of his mouth at her cheek as his bulk blocked the wind.
"With the idol dispatched, the Pope and his procession traveled back to St. Peter's over the Aelian Bridge - just as we did to get here - and he saw a stunning revelation atop the castle."
She hummed, the shimmering image of this strong and fierce angel in triumph over the top of the castle practically vibrating in front of her eyes.
"The Archangel Michael, wings at rest, wiping the blade of his bloody sword on his white mantle, and then sheathing it - once and for all - as a sign that the end of the plague had come. God had relented."
"Have mercy," she murmured. His fingers slid up the bare skin of her stomach and cool air rushed in after him, making her shiver.
"Have mercy," he repeated and nudged her nose aside to kiss her.
"This first," he said, pulling the small bag out of his coat pocket.
Kate glanced at it and then turned her head back to the grimacing angel.
"Kate. You have to wear this," he said again, opening the drawstring.
It was her chin that came around first, the strong jaw and beautiful line of her cheeks following. Her eyes were on his, casual and warm, a rich brown in the sunlight, and she gave a little startled laugh as her gaze fell to the ring in his hand.
"What's that?"
"Our cover," he said. "I've found that the only way to go anywhere with you and not attract attention is by attracting a lot of attention."
She was smirking, but there was an uncertain tilt to her lips, her eyes filled with questions. "Oh, really? How does that make sense at all, Castle?"
"We're too obvious, too out there. We can't be spies; we're asking the whole world to look at us."
He slipped his thumb into the ring and snagged her left hand, drew it towards him. She had gone so very still, her lashes dark feathers against her cheeks.
"Kate Beckett-"
"What are you doing?" she murmured.
"It's our cover, sweetheart. Don't look so petrified."
Her mouth gave over a breathless laugh and her eyes lifted to his. No cover, no lie. This was real for him and he could see she knew it. He slid the ring onto her finger, squeezed her knuckle to keep it on, keep her hand.
He'd found the ring at an eccentric jeweler's in Belfast the month after he'd recovered from the knife wound. He'd had to travel to Northern Ireland to round up some of Foley's group and he'd realized that it was the first time back on that soil without regrets and recriminations, and it was because of Kate, because of what he had with her.
It had seemed a sign, a benediction, when he'd stumbled upon the studio with its display. He'd chosen the ring on an impulse, but ever since he'd bought it, the thing had felt more and more right.
Silver and squared off, the ring was inlaid with a round chip of a blue garnet, one of the most expensive and rarest of precious gems. It changed color in the waning of the light. He had pushed it onto her finger now and she was staring at it.
"Rick," she breathed out.
He realized he was still holding onto her, and he lifted his gaze to meet hers. She dropped her eyes back to the ring, no other words leaving her lips.
The smoky grey of the stone glinted in the morning light, but by twilight, it would have shifted between a penetrating purple and a deeper blue. The round cut of the stone inside the square setting made him think of them - two differing shapes fit together so perfectly.
He was getting soft. She made him sentimental.
"What's our cover?" she said faintly, her fingers curling around his hand.
"We're getting married."
"What?"
"Look," he said gently, and he nudged her hip to turn her around. From the gate behind the Angel Michael came the official - a museum official, really, not a priest, but he held the power here anyway.
"Rick," she murmured, her head turning quickly back to him. Beautiful, she was exquisite and lovely and the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.
"We're getting married today, Kate. Try to look the part."