Chapter Three: 3am.
Eyes scanning the loft from his office doorway - he locates her huddled form on the couch around 3am. The flickering light from the flat-screen is casting a blue-tinged illumination across what he can perceive of her, the TV is muffled, and she's obviously been watching it. There's no moon tonight, just some sickly orange glow from the city to add to the creepy feeling he has – what is she doing up? Why can't she sleep?
It appears that he's already become completely addicted to the sensation of her sleeping next to him – which is actually somewhat weird because, despite having been married twice before, he's not known for being a snuggler – Castle actually prefers his own space when he's sleeping.
Everything with Kate is different though – everything, he hopes it never stops surprising him, because what was it he told her once – some people love the institution . . . hate the day to day.
He was speaking about himself of course – of his mutually exclusive feelings of on one hand loving the idea of being formally, officially connected to someone, belonging to someone, but finding the everyday minutia just irritating and confining in the extreme.
Of course he now fully comprehends that's because he was married to the wrong women.
And when he added the final item to his 'bucket list' - Get married and make it last – it was because he'd reached that conclusion. And he knew, deep down in the deepest reaches of his soul that it could be amazing – that even the everyday crap – would be a blessing with the right woman.
With Kate.
Because if it isn't her . . . then it just isn't destined for him.
But it will be her – he's determined – she's his now and he doesn't think there is any part of him left that could ever let her go.
Which is why her absence from his bed has permeated into even his unconscious psyche it seems, and then promptly woken him up to go and seek her? Castle steps closer slowly, his bare feet making no noise on the hardwood floor, he doesn't want to wake her if she's fallen asleep out here . . . he'll just pick her up and cart her off to where he wants her . . . oh wait – shit. His heart plummets to his stomach – is she? Shit she is . . . she's crying.
For a moment suspended in time he's just shaken to his core.
Worse case scenarios – the bane of his highly imaginative mind sometimes – go instantly through him.
He's smothering her and she's trying to figure out how to break up with him.
Her resignation and the loss of her 'identity' as a cop are finally hitting home. And she's going to run back to the precinct first thing in the morning and risk her life again on her mother's case.
Because this – them – it's not enough for her.
She was mistaken, she doesn't love him and she's going to take back all the times now when she's told him she does.
The writer tells himself to 'get a grip Rick' – and sternly. Hates that his default setting with regards to their relationship and challenges has become doubting what he means to her.
They are past the secrets and the lies – and he will get over it.
She's here and she's been here for almost two weeks now (okay so it's more like eleven days but he's not counting, he swears he's not.) If her resignation and the letting her mother's case go in favor of being with him are hitting her – then he should help her face that – together. If she's having doubts – and God the thought of that hurts so – urghh he can't even breathe around that thought – he needs to be supportive. Whatever this is . . . he needs to try and understand.
"Kate." He whispers into the darkness.
She straightens on the couch in response. But her shoulders are shaking.
He closes the remaining distance between them, takes a deep breath and then sits beside her on the leather sofa and pulls her into his arms. She goes willingly, her trembling form instantly seeking the warmth of his body, her slender arms wrapping themselves around his neck.
She grips him tightly, climbs into his lap and holds on as she shakes wretchedly, and he's helpless to anything but hold her. Comfort her with his presence while his heart resides in his throat.
It's a long moment before he can speak, but as she starts to calm, he finds his voice finally.
"Kate . . . baby what is it?"
The writer cringes the second the word 'baby' pops out his mouth – certain she'll hate it. But then in the exact same instant she sighs against him, lifts her face from where its been buried against his chest and bestows on him a very watery smile.
"Tell me – whatever it is – please Kate." Damn the tremble in his voice.
She sniffs, and drags the back of her hand across her wet cheeks, she looks so small, so adorable and suddenly so ridiculously young - and his heart is breaking here – truthfully.
"M'sorry Castle. I didn't mean to wake you up." She says, and her voice is stronger than he would have expected.
He sighs. "I missed you – even sleeping somehow I missed you." He tells her with a small, self-deprecating shrug.
His confession at least has the capacity to make her smile, and it doesn't seem to make her uncomfortable, in fact that smile is pretty . . . actually its a full on 'Kate' smile.
His lips quirk into a wry smile in response.
"I'm kinda pathetic huh . . . God I love you." He does, he just does and he can't seem to keep it in.
"It's good." She says, kissing him softly, and then wetly and his body reacts and he pushes up against her . . . almost forgets for moment that he's out here on the couch with her at 3am because she left his bed and was watching TV and he found her sobbing.
It hits him, and he pulls back, cups her jaw in his right hand.
"Seriously." He says gently. "Why are you sobbing on the couch in the middle of the night Kate?"
She looks sheepish – and it's unexpected, his heart lightens.
"I was watching the season finale of Grey's." She confesses, and then she ducks her head against his chest again.
She was what now?
"You were crying . . . hell Kate you were sobbing . . . because of a TV show?" He he can hear the incredulity in his voice too.
Against him she nods.
And his heart soars – because that's so . . . damn . . . she'll be the death of him yet . . . but maybe not. And the writer laughs, he can't help it, he just completely cracks up.
In his lap she get's jostled as he completely breaks down, and then she gets indignant and she swats him on his arm – hard.
"Don't you dare laugh Richard Castle . . . you haven't seen it yet – but you were the one who set the DVR and . . . seriously Castle . . . it was so heartbreaking . . .L"
He clamps his hand across her mouth, eyes stern.
"Spoiler alert Beckett . . . don't ruin it."
Kate narrows her eyes.
"So you do want to watch it . . . you know Castle you should save the laughing until you've seen it . . . I'm telling you the creator of that show is trying to kill us." She says vehemently.
Smiling, he chuckles softly.
"So that's all that had you up at 3am . . . you just couldn't wait any longer to watch a season finale?"
Kate nods.
"Busted . . . I would have waited but I couldn't Rick . . . I had to know. We can go back to bed now if you like." She says suggestively, leaning in to kiss him again, open-mouthed and breathless.
Castle shakes his head.
"N'uh woman . . . now you're just going to have to sit through it all over again . . . because this I gotta see."
