Beckett extracts the contents of her duffel from the sopping suitcase and places the box that holds her mother's ring and her father's watch atop the made up bed in the guest room, laying the armful of clothes along the comforter, transferring her shampoo, conditioner, and body wash she packed into the adjoining bathroom and stripping from her wet clothes while she's there.
After assisting Alexis in drying off the modest amount of supplies they had hauled inside and volunteering to help his daughter put away the canned goods in an already overflowing pantry ("Jeez, Castle. Were you preparing for a hurricane or the apocalypse?" She had teased, receiving a smug "both" in response), Beckett had excused herself to the guest room. Castle had mentioned a strong possibility of power outages across the city and she craved a hot shower and the use of blow dryer before they were left in the dark.
Kate turns the water nozzles, adjusting the silver knob marked with red a little more insistently before stepping into the familiar shower with a soft hum of pleasure. The hot water is glorious on her skin, eradicating the deep chill of the wind and the rain, cleansing the stench of disaster from her hair. She takes her time working the shampoo and conditioner through the locks, scraping her nails along her aching scalp in hopes of loosening the knots of tension at the base of her skull, her neck.
Castle's hands would do a better job, her brain absentmindedly considers, those large palms and thick fingers-
Kate scoffs at herself and drops her hands from the wet tangles of her hair, snatches the body wash from the shower caddy and lathers the cherry scented soap along her skin. She's just rinsing off, watching the suds gather at her toes when an ear-splitting crackle of thunder has her jumping, thrusting a hand to the side to catch herself on the slick tile before she can stumble into the glass door.
She's still for a second, waiting for her heartbeat to slow and for her fingers to steady, and then she's cutting off the water, sliding the fogged glass aside and tiptoeing onto the fluffy blue bathmat. The towels are in the same cabinet she remembers from her last stay here and she withdraws two from the middle shelf, wrapping one around her body while the other cocoons her hair.
The thunder continues to rumble outside, the minutes between the booming crashes growing shorter, turning into only handfuls of seconds, and she retrieves the blow dryer Alexis leant her last time, retracting it from the drawer of the vanity and plugging it into the wall.
Her hair has grown longer over the summer, whispering at her shoulders now, but the time it takes her to dry the lengthening strands is still minimal and she's almost finished when the persistent rapping on the bathroom door has her powering the machine off.
"Beckett? Are you okay in there?"
Kate huffs, but her heart traitorously softens just a little at the concern in his voice.
"Yeah, Castle. Just finishing up."
"Oh, good. I – I heard it wasn't good to be in water during thunderstorms," he informs her from the other side of the door and her lips twist in a grin. "Also, I noticed your bag is still pretty damp, did you want me to maybe hang it up to dry in the laundry room?"
It's silly, nonsense really, but her heart swells with affection at the offer. He's just being considerate, a good host like he would to any other guest, but she almost forgot about this part of him, about how sweet the man behind the jackass image is, how close to wonderful he can be when he's not unintentionally ripping her heart out.
"Beckett?"
"Yeah, that'd be good, thanks."
"Any wet clothes you want me to take with me?" he calls, and she can hear him moving in around the guest room, gathering her duffel from the floor. Her eyes drift to the pile of sopping clothes she placed in the sink before her shower, rings the excess water from them with her hands and gathers them against her chest… her towel clad chest. She left her clothes out there.
Kate purses her lips, weighs the pros and cons of allowing him to see her in nothing but a towel, and really, he's seen her in far less before, claimed to have the image burned into his brain.
She coils her fingers around the door handle before she can conjure up a reason not to, finds Castle waiting on her with patient eyes that quickly go wide before his palm rises to cover them.
"Sorry, sorry, I should have asked if - I can come back for the clothes if you need to-"
"Castle, stop being a baby," she mutters, subduing her smirk and setting her damp clothes atop the bag slung over his arm.
His fingers part, his blue eyes sparkling behind the slots of his digits, and then he drops his hand entirely, lets her see the dopey grin splitting across his face. And without needing the confirmation, she knows it's not because she's standing before him in nothing but a towel, not because he's about to tease her mercilessly or offer up some inappropriate comment. No, he simply looks pleased that she's comfortable enough to allow it.
Another slap of thunder breaks the moment she never wanted and Castle glances back towards the open doorway of her room.
"Alexis and I are making a comfort food feast if you want to join us," he murmurs, backing towards the door and she nods, receives another genuine spread of his lips in return before he disappears.
And suddenly, she thinks she would prefer a meaningless leer over the tenderness that stains his features when he looks at her.
He wonders if Beckett put her underwear at the top of her clothing pile on purpose, if the convenient positioning of the fabric was a premeditated attempt at his murder. After all, he did nearly trip down the stairs when he noticed the black cotton with a lace trim peeking from between the soaked denim of her jeans. But when she comes downstairs in a well-loved pair of black leggings and an oversized grey t-shirt with warmth in her eyes and a small smile on her mouth, he decides that no, she must be prolonging his death for a while longer.
"What're you guys making?" she inquires, strolling into the kitchen and tying her hair back in a loose ponytail at her nape.
It's longer now, calls more urgently for the comb of his fingers, but then his daughter pops up from the oven beside him and he forces his treacherous arousal with timing as terrible as theirs to quiet.
"Chicken pot pies and some mashed potatoes," Alexis beams proudly. "And Dad is making grilled cheese as backup."
"Backup?" Beckett chuckles, propping her hip on the island, and she looks so at home in his kitchen, so comfortable, just as she had a few months ago, before the summer. It has his throat closing up.
Thankfully, neither Beckett nor his daughter take notice of the struggle he has in swallowing while he flips the cheese filled sandwiches in the pan.
"Yep, in case the power goes out and we need another meal. Though, we may have to eat it cold…"
"No wrong way to enjoy a grilled cheese," he finally manages to join in. "And you did ask for the most comforting comfort food I could think of."
Alexis opens her mouth to comment, but the round of thunder cuts her off, the illumination of lightning outside the living room windows flashing in her eyes, and for a second, his teenager daughter has the frightened, wide-eyed gaze of a little girl.
Alexis has never liked storms, always being one to scramble into his room in the middle of the night throughout her childhood anytime the rain was too loud or the growl of thunder made an appearance. Eventually, she grew out of the common fear, even managing to appreciate the calming white noise of rain and the occasional roll of thunder with its accompanying flares of lightning, but a major hurricane threatening to rip apart the city? He doesn't exactly blame her for eyeing the windows with wariness.
Kate, though, drifts towards the glass display of the storm, her arms wrapped around her midsection as she assesses the torrential downpour splattering against the windows and soaking the city, the winds gusting and knocking over anything that isn't bolted to the ground, the light show playing across the pitch black of the evening sky.
"It's picking up," she murmurs when he parts from Alexis's side, joins Kate to examine the havoc wreaking outside. It's immediately apparent that she's right, that in the mere hour since they arrived at the loft, the winds have strengthened. Street signs are beginning to bend, roads turning to rivers, and as if by reflex, as if he does it all the time, Rick touches her waist, draws her away from the windows.
Kate glances to him in askance, but shockingly, she doesn't slap away his hand.
"I just read that it's better to stay away from the windows," he explains under his breath, not wanting to give Alexis any more reason to worry, but Kate's lips only quirk in a tired smile for him.
"Glad one of us was prepared for this thing."
"Work kept you busy?" he assumes, remembering how exhausted she had looked in the store and withdrawing his hand from the jut of her hip, watching with a mixture of confusion and a sharp stab of regret at the momentary frown tugging her lips down. As if she had wanted his hand to stay.
"Always," she recovers quickly with a nod, averting her eyes to his daughter in the kitchen, removing her carefully crafted pies from the oven. "Criminals never take the summer off unfortunately."
Summer - he's starting to despise the word, the season. It's the second he's spent apart from her and judging by the frown still drawn tight across her mouth, she enjoyed it just as much as he did.
"I should have called."
Kate's eyes dart up to see him and the intensity of her gaze steals his breath for a split second, hurt shining in her eyes as if he just poured salt in a fresh wound, but a glint of hope hides in the kaleidoscope of browns and greens, a shimmer of gold coming alive.
It's in her eyes that he notices the flicker of the lights; her eyes are the last thing he sees before the world goes black.