This is sort of a mini-update. There's another chapter coming, hopefully soonish (no promises though), but this scene needed to separated, so it's not quite as long as the rest.
I never did get breakfast – or lunch for that matter.
Instead, she called me a cab and on the way down to the street, I blurted out something stupid about never mentioning this again. If she was surprised, she didn't show it, just smiled sadly and nodded her agreement. By the time I got back to the loft, a knot had formed in my stomach that was wound so tight that it persisted to this day. When my friends arrived to take me out on Saturday, I'd nearly called the whole thing off – would have if dad hadn't cajoled me until I relented.
It's been over a month now. There's been no conversation, no phone call, not even a single sighting of Kate Beckett. Those weeks were restless. My emotions and even my body still seemed tangled up in her. When I'd arrived home and removed my clothes, I'd spent nearly an hour in front of the mirror tracing each place where my skin still glow pink from her touch. Sleep was perhaps worse because no matter where my dreams began, every path and scenario always seemed to lead back to her dark eyes.
There was also an awkwardness in the air that was entirely one sided. While my dad remained oblivious, not a day went by that I didn't have to deal with the lingering shame and weirdness that is associating your father's words with something sexual. He'd come in bubbling with excitement and ready to recap his adventures, which featured her name in every other sentence. At first, each mention of "Beckett" sent a shiver straight up my spine that left my stomach churning. But eventually I simply grew weary because these mentions were inescapable. It was impossible to put it behind me when the fantastical image of her loomed over each and every family dinner, glorified by my father's endless imagination and fascination.
No matter what had transpired between them in the past, she remained, as always, his muse.
To him, she was as endlessly beautiful as Helen and as powerful and deadly as a comic book heroine. It was a constant trigger – the way he poetically played back her prowess with enough dramatic detail that I was helpless to avoid the way my mind would mix them with my own memories of her bare skin until it had become something bordering on pornographic.
Perhaps this should have destroyed it for me – Ruined the idea of her forever to hear action/adventure erotica spilling from my father's lips over the family dinner table. But no. I still dreamed of her – his words only gave her things like swords and shining armor and a gun that seemed impossibly big for her delicate hands.
So I'd invited some friends out to the Hamptons, fully intending on pushing Kate Beckett out of my head. But getting away only helped until it didn't. The taste of the whiskey we bought brought it all flashing back and by Sunday morning, I knew that I needed to face her if I was ever going to take back control of my own thoughts.
I had this detailed plan in my mind as I unlocked the door to the loft. And now they're scattering in the wind because she's sitting on the couch with my dad, scolding him about making a mess. Her hair is loosely curled and free, swinging dangerously in the dim light. She's still dressed from work with an extra button open – taunting my resolve silently.
She stops mid-sentence, catching sight of me before he can stop laughing. Frozen, she stares at me until my dad turns to see what she's looking at and spies me. In a moment he's leaping up, arms outstretched for a hug. "Alexis!"
He's all grins as he pulls me into that hug, tugging my feet up off the floor with his grip as if I really were still the little girl, and fully unaware that behind him, Kate Beckett is crumbling. She's flushed and ducking her head and scrambling to gather every scrap of paper into the shoulder bag she's now got in her lap. I can hear the paper fluttering as her fingers shake unsteadily in her haste.
"You're back early – Beckett and I were just going over some notes for a trial next week. We've got Chinese if you're hungry," he declares, already making a beeline for the kitchen and pulling out a plate before I can answer. Kate's still gathering and avoiding my eyes and I know that my plan, however desperate, has to wait. If she's this freaked, it might even need to be reformulated.
"I actually stopped on the way in, Dad. I'm just gonna go clean up and crash. I think I spent a little too much time out in the sun," I explain, touching my too-hot pink cheeks, using my embarrassment as cover.
My dad's face falls but the anxiety is rolling off Kate in waves as she zips her bag shut and pushes up from the couch. I hate disappointing him, but letting this situation drag on is only going to make this worse. Turning, I start to climb the stairs, trying my best to make this easier because it feels like a physical pain in my gut watching her look so caught – so desperate.
At the top of the stairs, I'm about to say something – I'm sorry or good night, I'm not sure – when Kate speaks up, already wandering towards the door. "I think it's bedtime for me too, Castle. I still need to shower and I have a meeting with the DA at seven."
"But I thought…" his voice trails off because she's already there, opening the door.
"See you tomorrow, Castle," she says, ending the conversation pointedly before stepping out and pulling the door shut in once quick move.
A second after I hear it snick shut, my words finally escape. "Kate! Wait up!"
Bounding back down the stairs, I follow her out, shutting the door in the face of my dad's growing curiosity. She hears me and spins around, smudging a hand against her lips. She's startled and I'm a little out of a breath and the combination only serves to draw out the awkward silence.
"I'm sorry." I blurt it out too fast and haven't got anything to follow it up with.
"For what?" she say, taking hold of the conversation I'd broken. She means to be gentle, I can tell by the soft husk of her voice and the way her eyes meet mine for the first time since I'd walked in the door. But it hurts. Part of me thinks, irrationally, that she has to know what's been running through my mind for weeks. Wishful thinking or not, I cannot seem to get my explanation out past the lump in my throat.
I let my head drop, closing my eye to draw in a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm myself. This has to be fixed but first I need to speak if we're ever going to even get past this first awkward declaration. Her scent hits me suddenly – she's come closer – and it's followed by the gentle touch of her hand on my shoulder, fingers squeezing before skittering down my arms to find my fingers.
A sigh splits my lips open and the words follow it out, stammered and broken as they may be. "For whatever I said – or did – that day. For whatever I did to ruin it. I can't… I can't stop thinking about it and I know I said we shouldn't talk about it but I need to and I'm sorry… Sorry that I can't handle this by myself. I'm just… sorry…" I'm out of breath and I look up to find those hazel eyes flashing towards the door behind me.
There are no tears, but it feels like I'm crying.
I'm nearly ready to beg her to say something, anything, when she suddenly moves her fingers up to my wrist and tugs me towards the end of the hall. Then she's pushing through the door to the stairwell, taking us to the rooftop and out into the mid-summer heat above New York City. It's sweltering. The city is a whole different color and smell from the last time we'd been up here; the sky glows a hot orange-pink behind her – the buildings melting into a dappling of purple shadows and glinting gold reflections – and it turns her hair into a rustling tangle of flames. She's a breathtaking sight.
I'm hoping for words and when the door slams shut behind us and she drops my hand from hers, I think they're coming. Her lips part and she wipes the sweat on her forehead before letting out this heavy sigh that sounds to me like finally.
But instead, I'm met with her hands. Long, delicate fingers that tangle into the hair at my temples, blocking out everything but her. Soft warm palms that cup against my cheeks. They cradle my face and align her eyes with mine until I'm looking at them from only a few inches away, so shadowed by the setting sun that I can see only the liquid glint of their surface and none of their usual fire and color.
Then she's tilting my chin up and pressing this soft little kiss against my lips that I'm not sure I want. My body responds to the contact regardless – suffusing with heat and tenuous ache – but I don't move my hands or my hips in the way that biology urges me to. I let her taste me, tugging me in with fingers raking back through my hair delicately, but the tender touch only further confuses the situation.
I think I still want words. Explanations. Apologies. Honesty.
I'm so busy trying to sort out the sensations and what not to do with my hands, that I don't notice until she pulls back that I'm gasping.
By then, it's all back. The arousal, the excitement, the thrill, even that little fangirling voice that insists on labeling ever single part of her with her full name. It drowns out the doubt so quickly that I forget about fixing this. What's to fix? The only thing that pops out of my mouth is more.
So stupid. But by the time I've got my lips on hers, I can only wonder if this is how drug addiction begins. Her hips buck against mine as I lick something spicy sweet from the corner of her mouth as she angles into me. Without my heels, she's taller and crushing her lips down into me. Just that thought – Kate Beckett bending me with her mouth – makes me moan roughly into her kiss.
That spicy-sweetness is back – even hotter on her tongue. It bites at my tongue as I sample it, memorizing the lines and ridges of lips and teeth.
I need to breath and find that I have to drag my lips aside in order to find space for air because she won't let me go. But then I'm at her jaw and that gets her gasping, tangling her fingers roughly against the back of my head. When suddenly those fingers are dragging my head back, tilting my chin up and forcefully making room for her at my throat, I feel like I'm floating – those questing lips nudging against my pulse until we both hear a break in the white noise of far off traffic.
It's a door in the stairwell.
We jolt apart so quickly I feel a few hairs tear out as she tries to extract her fingers. Our hands are fluttering as we both straighten out a few wrinkles and fluff and flatten our hair between nervous glances at the door. When she suddenly bends, I glance down and realize she's retrieving that shoulder bag that I hadn't even noticed that she'd dropped.
I hear footsteps just as she grasps my chin and drags her thumb across my lower lip.
"Lipstick," she mutters, then digs her hands deep into her pockets.
It's that moment when my dad appears, already talking before he even gets through the door. "Alexis! You've got to see this new – "
He stops short at the sight of Kate, glancing between us with this look that is somewhere between shock and suspicion. "I thought you left," he teases her.
Kate stumbles on her words, but somehow I manage to find mine, stepping towards him to put a hand on his shoulder. "I was just thanking her for taking me out for my birthday. Then we kinda got into some girl talk and we just sort of… wandered up here to finish out gossip."
Relief leaps from Kate's eyes as my dad grins broadly at this idea. "Anything I should know?" he goads, looking first to me, then to Kate.
She manages an eyeroll and a patronizing pat to his shoulder. "Trust me, Castle, you're better off not knowing. I don't think your ego would survive."
The tease enough to get him mock pouting and soon he's distract with puffing out his chest with bravado. Kate just laughs, giving him a light elbow to the ribs to deflate the childish move and he doubles over dramatically as he huffs out her name.
It's an easy exchange, normal for them, but I feel my stomach twinge at the sly look she's giving him. Before I know what I'm doing (much less why I'm doing it) I step between them to break their gazes as I reiterate my need to take a shower.
"Yeah, I need to get going too," Kate echoes, following a few steps behind.
As I step back into the loft, I hear her call me from the elevator. "Alexis?" I turn and see she's fussing with her curls as she waits. "Have a good night… we should do this again some time."
I nod just as the elevator arrives and my dad steps up beside me to wave her good bye.
Once the door closes behind her, I force myself to slow down, no matter how badly I want to just run. I feel like I'm on fire – burned by her and the lies that had just come out of my mouth. Taking the stairs at the closest thing to a normal pace that I can manage, I slip into my room, headed straight for the mirror. When I stare at my reflection, I find that I'm more than a little disappointed that her touch isn't still tattooed on my skin.
Part of me very much would like to switch to Kate's POV on this story because I think that would "justify" Kate's actions a lot. So, if this thing keeps eating me, there may well be a 'Round 2' for that.
