After Kate leaves him in the bedroom, she makes a fresh pot of coffee, lets it brew while she washes her face and plays with her hair a little longer than usual. She dresses in a pair of shorts and one of her favorite button down shirts, shifts critically in front of the bathroom mirror. She doubts Castle is concerned with how she looks right now and she tries to tell herself that the extra effort isn't for him, but there's no point in lying to herself anymore.
Recovering or not, she wants to feel as close to desirable as she can with a hole in her chest and a slice through her side.
She takes her coffee outside with her while the morning is cool and the ground is soft and sparkling with dew. There's a short trail through the woods in front of the cabin that she's fallen into the habit of walking each morning, running when she's feeling brave and a little reckless. It helps loosen up her muscles, gets her heart pumping without overwhelming it, and provides her mind with a blanket of calm that usually disappears overnight.
Her mind is at peace today, though, and her body doesn't take long to follow. Each step elicits a light stab through her sternum, but it's a pain she's grown accustomed to, hardly notices by the time she circles back to the front of the cabin twenty minutes later.
Just in time to see Castle emerging through the door.
He doesn't appear panicked, but he does look unsettled standing alone on her porch, his eyes seeking until they land on her. His chest expands beneath the t-shirt that hugs his upper body well, a tenuous smile tugging at his lips as she approaches.
"I just left you half an hour ago," she notes, clutching her half-empty mug to her chest and climbing the steps with care. His fingers twitch at his sides, eager to extend, but he refrains from holding out his hand to her. She wants to tell him she would have accepted the help. "Thought you'd still be sleeping."
Castle shrugs and pushes his hands into the pockets of her dad's flannel pants. He arrived with an extra pair of clothes, in case she really did push him into the lake, but no pajamas. They're a bit tight, but she doesn't think her dad would mind letting Castle borrow a pair of his. She certainly doesn't mind appreciating the way they fit.
"Wasn't as comfortable without you."
She bumps his shoulder on her shuffle to the front door he's left open. "Want coffee?"
"Yes," he affirms at her back, following her inside. "Is there a trail or something you walked?"
"Mhmm, it's short, helps with the stiffness. I usually walk it every morning." She sets her cup on the countertop and takes a shallow breath before opening a cabinet above her head to grab one for him. Her dad has rearranged practically everything in the cabin so she doesn't have to overextend herself, placing everything moveable within reach, but the shelf of mugs is still a challenge for her. Though, she really gave him no incentive to change that.
She's only been in need of a single mug since she was cleared for coffee again, no need to reach for more.
Kate snags her index finger around a ceramic handle, drags it to the edge until the she can draw it down.
"I could have helped with that," he chuckles as she sets it on the counter with a soft sigh of victory.
"I know," she murmurs, nodding to the fridge. "There's milk and creamer if you want any. Why were you asking about the trail?"
Castle turns to the fridge, tugs the door open.
"I was just hoping to do some exploring before I have to leave." Her finger tighten around the cup's handle. She hasn't even been thinking about the fact that he has to actually go back today, didn't think she would miss him before he's even gone. "Hey, Kate?"
She lifts her gaze to find him already standing beside her, that lopsided smile she's missed on his lips.
"I'll come back. As much or as little as you want," he promises and god, she wants to kiss him.
She wants that smile against her mouth and his hands in her hair, the heat of his body pressed to hers again. She takes the vanilla creamer from his grasp to distract herself, to flush the warmth from her skin with the shock of cold.
"I'll probably be here for another month," she murmurs, pouring the creamer, the coffee, snagging a spoon from the dish rack to stir.
"Would visiting once a week be too eager?"
Kate glances up, catches the hope hiding in his eyes and plucking at the corners of his mouth. He tries to disguise it with a neutral expression, but it prevails, has her own lips tugging into a small grin.
"No. I'd actually like that." She passes the coffee to him. "I can give you my therapy schedule before you go. I'm never good company on those days, just ask my dad."
"I'd take you at your worst, Beckett," he states around the rim of his mug. "Bet I could even make you smile after one of your grueling sessions with Frank."
"Challenge not accepted. Even Frank hates me after one of our sessions," she reminds him, because they've talked about her physical therapy before. He's even called her while she was still reeling in pain afterwards, distracted her long enough for the searing ache to fade without her noticing.
She may be convinced to reconsider.
"Well, I could never hate you. So I already have an advantage," he points out, but the truth of that statement twines around her heart like thorns.
After everything that has followed her shooting, everything that happened before, he should hate her.
"I know." She drifts across the few feet of distance to stand in front of him. "We'll see about therapy days. In the meantime, want to go for a walk with me?"
Delight draws his brow upwards before it furrows once more. "I thought you already went."
Kate shrugs and reaches for his hand. "I want to go again. I feel good this morning."
The sun is rising in the sky, winking at them through the branches of trees and dancing across the exposed skin of Kate's cheeks, her neck and forearms. She spends a lot of time out here in the woods, by the lake, the evidence staining her skin gold.
He doesn't blame her. If he had all of this in his backyard, he doesn't think he would spend his days inside either.
The last time he asked, they were only halfway through the semicircle of a trail carved out through this part of the forest, but he's already so thoroughly mystified by this place. The embrace of the trees, the solitude of nothing but the surrounding foliage, the sounds of birds chirping overhead and the buzz of dragonflies all around. If he wasn't concerned about Kate's wounds and the risk of her over-exerting herself, he would ask if they could spend the entire morning out here.
It's too soon to mention it, to even be thinking about it, but he wants to invite her to the Hamptons again someday. If her draw to the lake is any indication, he knows she'll love the beach, appreciate the seclusion of his home and the expanse of property that would be hers to roam.
"What're you daydreaming about?"
Castle glances away from the glitter of sunlight through tree limbs, has to blink a few times to dispel the blurs of residual light that mar his vision.
"You in a bikini," he answers without missing a beat. She rolls her eyes at him, but they flicker with what looks like modesty that she fails to hide as her gaze turns to the ground.
"I'd retire that fantasy," she murmurs, continuing their leisurely pace through the faint path of dirt and grass that lies flat from her daily ventures.
He watches her for a moment, refusing to meet his gaze, studying the sway of wildflowers in the breeze instead. He considers whether or not he should just let it go, if trying to understand her comment would do more harm than good.
After too many minutes of his silent debating beside her, Kate spares him the decision.
"I don't think I'll be wearing a bikini anytime soon," she elaborates. "Isn't exactly a good look for me anymore."
For a second, he doesn't get it, because how could Kate Beckett in a bikini ever not be a good look? But then her fingers rise to fiddle with a button of her shirt in the middle of her chest, over her scar-
He scoffs. "You seriously think that would change how hot I'm sure you look in a skimpy bathing suit? Kate, come on-"
"You haven't seen them," she mutters, crossing her arms low on her torso, beneath her breasts. He studies her for a few more steps, doesn't think he's ever seen her truly self-conscious like this.
"I don't need to. They aren't going to change anything," he states, downing the last of his coffee, grimacing at the cool slide of liquid down his throat. He hates cold coffee. "If anything, they'll just make you even more-"
"Don't say that," she snaps, stopping in the middle of the path. He comes to a halt beside her, opening his mouth to ask, but she beats him to it. "Don't tell me my scars are beautiful, that they make me beautiful, or any of that bullshit, because they're not. They're ugly reminders and I hate them."
He's surprised by her vehemence, the disgust in her voice aimed at her own body, by the spark it ignites in his own chest.
"Reminders of what? The fact that you survived? Of how strong you are? Because that's what they are to me."
"They're nothing to you," she growls, her eyes narrowing to slits. "You haven't even seen them, seen me."
"But I will." The statement startles through her gaze, subtle but spreading. The coffee cup hangs from his fingertips at his side, bumping his thigh as he steps closer on the slim strip of the trail they share. He expects her to move back or forge on ahead, but Kate keeps her feet planted to the ground with her jaw squared and her gaze steady. "God, Kate, when I see you…" He deliberately lets his eyes trail her body, caressing every curve, the long lines of her legs, lingering on her chest without shame, before returning his gaze to her face. His temperature is a few degrees hotter and her cheeks are pink against her will, but he meets her eyes. "I'm going to love every inch of you."
The first thing he notices is the ripple of her throat as she swallows, the uneven rise and fall of her chest, and the fire illuminating the darkness of her eyes as they fall to his mouth. He's already eliminated the distance between them, all she has to do is lean forward.
And then she's kissing him.