Close Encounters 12

They ate too many cookies and curled up in the guest room bed watching reality television - something about a family dynasty and hunting season; it felt appropriate to their surroundings. She brushed gingerbread crumbs from the sheets and reached out for another cookie, but in a second Castle had snagged her wrist and diverted the ninjaman to his own mouth.

"Hey, now," she protested, laughing when his tongue licked around her fingers for the sharp bits of ginger. "You stole my cookie."

"You stole my heart. What're you going do about it?" he tossed off, pushing the rest of the cookie into his mouth. Kate laughed and leaned in to kiss him, lightly - she didn't want all that cookie now - and then she lifted up to snag another one from the plate.

"I guess I'll just get another," she shrugged, biting it delicately.

He laughed and swallowed, reached out for his glass of milk. Like a kid, he'd stirred chocolate syrup into it and his grin over the rim of the glass was a little ridiculous.

A lot adorable.

She ruffled his hair and leaned her shoulder against his, listened to him swallow his milk like an overgrown kid. But the way she felt about him, the way her skin burned and her lungs sang with every breath of his air, none of that was childlike.

Though she could see the boy in him, it made her eager to create their own boy.

"Let's do presents now," he said, his voice grumbling at her ear.

She laughed and nudged his shoulder. "Presents, huh?"

"I got you something and I'm excited," he said, a little shrug of his shoulders that couldn't disguise the shiver of happiness that went through him.

"You don't want to wait until our last day here?" she said innocently.

"Come on," he groaned. "Don't be like that."

She felt her lips spread into an amused little twist. "All right, Rick. Christmas presents."

"Yes," he fist-pumped, jumping off the bed and turning to their suitcase, tugging a box immediately out of the front pocket. She watched him for a moment, the way his tiredness seemed to evaporate with his rush of excitement, and she was glad to see something of the old wonder in his eyes.

Well, maybe it wasn't old - maybe actually it was new. That very first case when they'd been in her bedroom and the Chinese had rolled up to her building, he'd looked at her like she was a new creation, something he'd never behold again. But instead of her disappearing from his life, they'd sneaked out and ridden the subway in the early hours of the night, their thighs pressed together and the motion of the train drawing them inexorably closer, entwined, linked.

Always closer. Every movement brought her right up against him, every look and touch and mission and case made their lives entwined until all that was left was this. This.

She shifted forward and stood from the bed, reached past him for the inside pocket of their suitcase where she'd slipped his Christmas gift in among her underwear and bras. He gave a crooked grin for that and she pulled out the wrapped package, pressed it into his chest.

"It's not - I just... it's not really a present, Castle. Just-"

"Don't make disclaimers," he said, lifting a hand and brushing her hair from her shoulder. "Your hair has gotten so long."

She went still, careful, watching him as he fiddled with the ends of her hair. His face washed with a sudden shy delight and he leaned forward and kiss her mouth. He tasted of spice.

"I love Christmas with you," he whispered.

Her heart flipped and she stepped into him, spread her fingers at his ribs and around his waist to hold him against her. The gift she'd wrapped for him was trapped between them and his arm untangled and hooked around her neck, a brush of a kiss against her temple.

She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt the dizziness wash over her, gripped his shirt to keep him from knowing. She pressed her forehead against his neck and kissed what she could reach, riding the wave and clinging to him, her lips burning from ginger and his joy.

She wouldn't ruin it with dizziness now; she couldn't. She wanted only to have this holiday weekend with him before everything went crazy.

He had finally procured a meeting with Viktor Bout and it would happen in a week, as well as some money trails they'd followed to a couple source companies that Bracken might be behind - those were going to be carefully surveilled and gone over with a fine-tooth comb.

Not to mention the Secret Service and CIA joint task force, Robert's death, and the car that had been following her. There were so many moving parts in the coming months and she wanted this quiet to be unspoiled.

So she hung on through the brief spell and then she stepped back and cradled his present to her in her hands. Small, like jewelry, and she felt a burning need to take her own back.

She wasn't sure it was right.

But he skimmed the back of his hand at her cheek and then he tore into the wrapping.

It was her detective's notebook. The one her father had given her for graduating from the Police Academy - the one Castle had appropriated at Stone Farm and written on its pages every corner of his heart. He held it in his hands and lifted his eyes to her.

"There were only a couple pages left," he said cautiously. "I wanted to finish it."

"I did instead," she said.

Castle dived into the notebook, hurriedly flipping over the miles of his crooked script and his more crooked heart, and then he found her neat, precise handwriting at the end. His guts churned and trembled as he saw her inscription: Rick.

Just Rick. The name she'd given him when she'd spoken quietly in the dark of her bedroom, a little teasing, but effectively sliding right under his skin. No one had ever...

No one had ever. Until Kate.

"Don't read it now," she muttered, her hand covering the page and then her fingers closing it. "Just. Wait until I can't see your face."

He chuckled but kept the notebook closed, felt his chest tightening. He leaned in and kissed her, tangling his fingers in the hair at her nape, tugging her against his body until she stumbled.

"Open yours," he whispered against her mouth.

She kissed him once again and nudged her forehead against his cheek; he moved away to give her room and she slid a finger slowly under the tape at one corner, her lip pulled into her teeth. He watched her face as she opened it, as the realization dawned over her, and then her breathless little gasp as her eyes darted to his.

"Castle."

He tilted his head in question.

"I..." She cradled the jewelry box in her hands and her eyes roamed the necklace nestled in velvet. The silver disk was an ancient coin from Rome that had been rubbed and worn smooth by time, Roma just about the only thing still visible. But pressed into the smooth silver was Castle's own thumbprint, the engraved black of whorls and rings in the pattern of his skin. Kate pulled the chain from the box and the coin swung softly between them, her eyes on the flash of silver.

"Castle," she murmured. When she lifted her gaze to him again, her mouth was open, lips that stunned pink, eyes wide and dark.

"That's my thumbprint. In case you ever need to frame me for murder."

She laughed, a beautiful sound that filled the room and she tossed the box to the bed and held up the necklace. "Put it on me?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "You like it?"

"It's very you," she murmured, a rise of her eyebrow paired with a grin as she turned around. He pressed the clasp and dropped the chain over her head, laying it across her collarbones as he fastened it again. She hadn't worn her mother's ring consistently since they'd been married, but he often caught her reaching up to touch a chain that wasn't there.

She lifted her fingers now to the Roman coin and pressed it to her lips. Castle laid his palm at her shoulder and rubbed his thumb over her spine. Her skin rippled as she turned back to him.

"Thank you," she sighed. "I love it."

"You don't have to wear it if you-"

"Hush, sweetheart," she murmured, her fingers brushing over his lips as she came in closer. "The coin is because of Rome, isn't it?"

He grinned under her fingers and kissed her own fingerprints, brought his hand over her wrist to tug her away. "Yeah. Because... well, it's not exactly a Christmas present. It's your anniversary present too."

"So's mine," she grinned.

Castle clutched the detective's notebook against his chest and gave her a sly look. "Go. Start dinner or something. I wanna read what you wrote me."

"I'm gonna slice my fingers off," she muttered.

"Slice your fingers?" he laughed, following her towards the door.

"Like you did when you first tried to make dinner for me," she smirked. "Nerves."

"Because I'm reading this?" he said, holding up the notebook.

She sighed. "Of course. You don't even know how many drafts that went through. And I still don't think it says what I want it to."

"I'm sure it's fine," he grinned, reaching out to hook his finger in her necklace lightly. She came closer, her mouth brushing the back of his hand. "I'm sure it's beautiful. From the heart."

"It is - at least - that," she murmured back. "Messy and nonsensical as it is."

"Stop criticizing your work," he teased, moving the coin back and forth on the chain. She gripped his wrist and untangled him, but she gave him a little wink as she moved out of the bedroom, leaving him to it.

He got to read her letter.

Rick,

All these pages, all these dreams for us... your words build worlds. I don't think mine can ever compare, but I need to try. I have to try. You deserve to have the same from me, to have that feeling of wonder and being cherished and how undeserved it might be but how you never want it to end.

I'm afraid my words are only an echo of yours. I can't say anything you haven't already said and so much better, but the rhythm of you is so deep in me that it all comes out as you. Every palace you built of paragraphs is a palace I reside, a castle. You're a castle within me and without, and everything I say pulses with your own words - I'd never want it to be different.

Of course, when I met you, I wanted to throttle you. And I don't know how you managed to know me so well, get under my skin, make it impossible to do this without you, but there it is. One case and I was done. One case and we were partners. I might not have known what it was, or been ready for it, but it happened anyway, and Rick - if you hadn't happened to me, I don't know what would've. I don't think it'd be pretty. I don't think I'd be alive either - and not just because you took a knife that was meant for me. But because I was killing myself, I was running ragged and barely holding it together and doing a terrible job of life.

I was a twisted ruin of a woman - a girl, really, a perpetual 19 year old who couldn't step a day past that terrible one, who couldn't see past tragedy and grief, who kept murder alive instead of herself.

But then there was you.

I don't even have a way to explain; I don't have any way to tell you about you. You. You. You surround me, you are my wall. I love you but is it any wonder? Why wouldn't I?

When we went to Rome and you took me to the Castel Sant'Angelo and married me in front of the Archangel Michael, I wanted nothing more than it to be real, real, mine. I wanted you to be mine. I've never wanted something so much before, never breathed it and ached for it and been so certain it was too good for me, too rich, too beautiful.

And then, even though I was right, even though it's an impossible thing - us - we happened. We happened. I have you. I have... everything. Every impossible thing.

So Merry Christmas and Happy Anniversary and every other holiday, every birthday to come, every new year, every day of our life together a celebration because I would do anything, anything, anything Rick. For us.

Love isn't enough of a word to explain the fullness of us, but-

Love always,

your wife.

Kate turned the pancake in the pan and pressed the spatula over it, mentally chastising it to hurry. Breakfast for dinner, but she was good at it. The scrambled eggs were in a bowl in the microwave to keep warm and she had cinnamon rolls - from scratch - in the oven and really?

Did it take this long to read a stupid letter?

Kate frowned into the pan and pressed the spatula harder, took a breath, and tried to remember that he'd already married her. It wasn't like a letter could change-

She gasped as two arms came around her from behind, his embrace crushing her hips into the oven door, and then he lifted her up with a growl, his mouth at her neck.

"Castle," she laughed.

He set her down and turned her around and then his hands cupped her face with that brilliant grin on his own, and she was a little breathless just looking at him. And then he kissed her, his whole heart in it, his smile still wide against her lips so that it was a bump of their teeth and his chuckle and her body pressing in close to his for more.

"My wife," he said, and it didn't sound like a question, but like laughter. "You didn't even sign it with your name."

She felt the flush climb her cheeks but his thumbs brushed her jawline and down her neck, so erotic that her pulse jumped. His hands pressed into her spine and drew her into him, and she caught her breath.

"Well, I am your wife," she murmured, barely able to find words.

"I'm in love with us too," he said suddenly, and his mouth came down to hers again. His kiss was slow, building and stoking and catching her up in his need. In love with us.

That's what it was. She was in love with them. Not just him, but the life they'd made. She loved it; he'd created worlds with his words but he'd created this world too and she adored it.

Whatever happened next could only be better, could only be the result of them and therefore so very good, so right.

"You made me cinnamon rolls?"

She laughed at his sudden question, the curious tilt of his head as his eyes roved the counter just beyond her.

"Oh, shit, the pancakes," she groaned, spinning away from him to yank the pan off the stovetop.

His kiss landed on the back of her neck, but she ducked and he stopped, instead found a plate in the cabinet and helped her scoop black-bottomed pancakes from the pan.

"Thanks for my Christmas present," he murmured then, his hand sliding along her hip and his body close. She turned and he was smiling again, serious, with the joy still there in the back of his eyes. She loved those crows' feet, loved the way it radiated out of him in physical lines, connecting his whole face to the emotion he wouldn't hide.

"Thank you for mine," she said back, curling her fingers and stroking the side of his neck, the rough rasp of his scruff.

"I feel like I can do anything," he whispered. "When you look at me like that."

Everything expanded, everything. "Feeling's mutual."

Castle groaned and came awake, heart sluggish even though his head throbbed with his pulse. He opened an eye but the night was replete with only silence.

Something had woken him. But he had no idea what.

Letting a breath out, Castle turned slowly in bed until he saw Beckett, curled up tightly under the blankets, a hand under her cheek. Her hair was in one braided rope over her neck, curly and kinky from the shower they'd taken after dinner, and he slid his hand under the covers to skim up her arm.

She was bathed in moonlight so brilliant that he could barely believe how luminous she was. Like she was her own celestial body. The clouds must have cleared, because oh, look at how beautiful she was.

He pressed closer, scooting across the mattress until he could align his body against hers, pressing a kiss to her forehead and soaking in some of that moonlight. It tasted silver and special and she was so warm. He knew his thoughts were a little disjointed, but he was tired and it was so late and he was just so tired.

Castle closed his eyes again, sinking into the warmth of her, and from somewhere buried deep in his psyche, a voice was urgently reminding him that something had woken him, something, something.

But he was already asleep.

Kate woke with a gasp, shivering, and found the covers missing and the room brilliant with starshine.

She turned over on a chattering of her teeth and saw Castle all bundled up, hogging the covers, and she scooted in to burrow into his nest, half asleep still. Her eyes were caught by the glow of neon green just past his shoulder and she reluctantly lifted her head to be met with the alarm's flashing numbers.

4:08

Over and over until suddenly-

It was gone.

Oh, the power had turned back on - four hours ago. And then gone out again just this second.

Kate shivered as she slid out of bed, realized the light in the room was actually from the white beaming through their window - snow falling quietly, relentlessly to the earth.

It looked like they'd already gotten about three inches and more was falling. The clouds were thick but the way the white beamed was beautiful, casting everything in an ethereal light.

But the cold was already inside the cabin.

Kate shivered and ducked away from the window, drew the curtains over the beautiful view to keep their room as insulated as possible. She shuffled over to their suitcase and tugged a sweatshirt from its depths, discovered it was Castle's FBI one. She pulled it over her head and had to sit down suddenly on the floor as dizziness rushed over her.

She ignored it and fumbled for socks, a knee getting caught in the loose sweatshirt's hem, her body canting hard towards the bed. She tangled in the sock and the sweatshirt, and her cheekbone hit the bedframe hard, making her wince, her elbow against the floor.

She closed her eyes and breathed, breathed, and after a moment the dizziness abated.

Kate lifted slowly from the floor and uncramped her fingers from the pair of socks, dragged them slowly onto her feet. She paid careful attention as she stood, but it didn't return.

She was fine now.

Maybe it had been pulling the sweatshirt on over her head after having been so deeply asleep. No way of knowing.

Kate padded out to the hallway, had to rise up on her toes to see the thermostat. Fifty degrees inside already. She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest, went looking for the dog.

Sasha was curled tightly into the back of the laundry room just off the kitchen, her nose pressed under a pile of towels her father had left to be washed. Kate kneeled down on the floor and reached out a hand, but Sasha picked her head up and gave her a longing look.

"Oh, honey, why didn't you crawl in with us?" she whispered. "Come on, Sasha. Come sleep with us. No more lone wolf, puppy."

She curled her fingers in Sasha's collar and stood, half bent to get the dog up. She realized that with the dog's thick coat and her time spent in the wild as a puppy, she probably was used to this. She probably wasn't that cold.

"You'll be a nice little heater for us though. Come on," she called, letting go of her collar and stepping back into the kitchen. She patted the side of her leg and Sasha came, her nails clicking on the linoleum, her tag jingling once against her collar. Kate led the way back to the guest bedroom and went inside, turning in the doorway to make sure Sasha was following.

She slid under the covers and turned on her side to put her back to Castle, patted the empty mattress. "Up, Sasha," she whispered. "Come on."

The dog jumped swiftly, smoothly, the transition so easy that Kate barely felt her hit the mattress, and then Sasha was standing over her in the bed as if she didn't know what to do next.

"Under the covers. Sorry, wolf. Come on." Kate looped her arm around the dog's body and dragged her down; Sasha seemed willing to let herself be guided and soon she was tucked into Kate's chest.

She flipped the covers over the dog and wriggled deeper into the nest of them in bed, pushed her cold nose into the pillow. Sasha huffed like she was put out, but she didn't move away, and Kate curled her arm around her dog and closed her eyes.

Just when she'd begun to drift down, her thoughts quiet and falling like snow, Castle shuddered behind her and rolled half on top of her, his face buried into the back of her neck.

He let out a breath but he was still asleep and she was warmer this way.

She fell back to sleep.

"Power went out again," he said quietly.

Kate was huddled under the covers in the living room, half-asleep, the dog curled up with her. Castle had heard the pop of the generator as it went down and he needed to go back out there and see if he could fix it so it would last.

"Kate?"

She roused from the nest on the couch, the dog lifting her head as well. "Yeah, I heard you. Come here. I'm cold."

"I gotta check the generator again," he said. But he came to lean over the couch, brushed a kiss along her forehead. She shivered and rubbed her skin where his lips had been.

"You're freezing, sweetheart. Warm up and then go work on the generator." She'd clutched his wrist and was trying to pull him down.

"I don't want it to freeze up," he murmured, but he curled his cold fingers at her nape and squeezed, laughing when she shivered again.

"That's so mean. You're freezing," she whined. A leg came out of the blankets and kicked at him and Sasha whuffed low in her throat, almost a growl.

"See? The dog's taking up for me," he chuckled.

"She's taking up for me. Get warm for a little while; we've got the fire going in here and it's nice and toasty."

"I'm fine," he sighed, but truth was his bones ached.

"Castle. Sit. I want to huddle for warmth with my husband and catch up on the sleep I missed when you left the bed to mess with the generator."

"It was only six o'clock," he snorted, but already he was canting down into the couch. She threw back the quilt and made room for him, the dog shuffling to the other end, and so Castle sank into the warm little nest she'd made.

"Six in the morning is too early for vacation. Get in here," she muttered, straddling his leg and wrapping blankets around them. It was nice, the little cocoon made of bedding and the brilliant heat of her body over him. Her nose was cold, her fingertips, probably her toes too, despite the socks, but he nudged his chapped skin into her neck and breathed in.

She smelled like sap and smoke; she smelled like honey and almond milk and the pancakes they'd had leftover for breakfast. He wrapped his arms around her and she burrowed deeper into the couch, taking him with her so that he was practically lying down.

"You smell like diesel and gears," she said at his temple. It made him laugh, both the tickle of her lips but also that she was smelling him right back.

"Your dad's generator is a mess," he admitted. "I don't know that I can get it to work."

"It's still snowing out there too," she sighed. Her lips grazed his cheek as she pulled back to look at him. "I don't want you out there for too long, Castle."

"It's not that cold. Only thirty. I'm more concerned about in here. Gets too cold and the pipes will freeze." He lifted a hand and stroked the hair back from her cheek, watched the ripple under her skin from the cold because she couldn't hide it. "And you. You're too thin to regulate body temperature correctly. I don't-"

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Really. It's toasty in here and the blankets and Sasha. And when you stay, you warm me up."

She had witchery in her eyes, but it didn't work on him. Well, it did work on him, obviously, since she'd gotten him into the couch with her, but he was aware that she was sensitive to the cold. Not just physically, but mentally as well. After Russia.

Spikes of cold went through her, psychosomatic or not, and he tightened his arms around her thin frame, shifted to lay over her. He knew she felt better sometimes if he weighted her down, but if she got caught in a panic attack, it would be the exact opposite. She seemed to be fighting off chills though, not panic, and she pushed one of her hands under his armpit to warm her fingers.

He chuckled softly, but it was a dark thing, and he wanted to be in two places at once - here on the couch warming her up and also outside attacking that generator, doing something long-term about it.

Her fingers were still like ice. Her body was wracked in a long shudder that had her breath catching, but she pulled him closer when he moved to rise and give her room. He tilted his head back to the crook of her neck because he was tired enough to not want to see it, weary enough that he couldn't face whatever misery might be in her eyes as memories flared to life with the cold. She stroked her fingers at his nape and murmured nonsense in his ear and she let him pretend.

"I'm okay, we're okay," she sighed. "It's just a little cold."

It was never just a little cold.

"Shit," he grunted.

Kate jerked awake and he was trying to untangle his body from the nest on the couch, from her, and she sat up so that the blankets fell away.

Shit, it was freezing.

"I fell asleep," he muttered, sounding pissed. She unwound the quilt from her leg and he raked a hand over his face as if trying to wake up. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep."

"It was a hard night," she murmured, an excuse because it hadn't been. Not for him at least. And Kate had gotten at least five hours before the cold had woken her.

"I've got to get the generator up and running." He'd already moved towards the kitchen and the side door, and she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and followed. The floor was like ice, and she heard Sasha's toenails on the linoleum as Kate came up at Castle's back. He flinched and she realized her nose was freezing.

"Sorry. I'll build the fire back up. It went out. Are you sure you-"

"Holy... Kate. Look at that," he whispered.

She peered around his body to look out the door and was met by unending, resplendent white.

"It's got to be six inches," she breathed. And then the shiver wrenched violently through her body. Castle wrapped an arm around her neck and drew her against his chest, giving her some of his heat even as he pressed a cold kiss to her cheek.

"Well, we're definitely stuck," he laughed. "If I could get the generator working, it'd be kinda nice."

"Even if you don't, we'll just keep the fire going. It'll be enough," she promised, kissing him back. "We'll make s'mores too."

A slow grin shaped his face and he turned his head to look at her. "You're a good woman," he murmured.

She laughed, surprised by it, but she knew what he meant. She'd managed to take his mind off the worry over her. But he didn't need to worry. She was fine.

"Go fix the generator. But don't stay out longer than an hour, Castle. You come back inside and let me warm up those fingers."

He grinned even wider, something devilish in his eyes. "I know right where to put them."

He'd spent so long staring at the damn generator that his eyes were beginning to cross. Castle shifted on his heels and felt the ache in his knees from squatting like this, but the thing eluded him. He had no idea why it wouldn't stay on. He'd gotten it started again and again, but it quit on him within twenty minutes each time.

He rubbed his jaw with two cold fingers and reached inside the casing once more to check the belt.

"What are you doing?" she hissed.

Castle yanked his hand back just in time to keep them from getting burned, so surprised by her appearance at his side. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you inside before you freeze to death, you idiot. That generator's been running for ten minutes and you're still out here mooning over it."

"It'll quit again," he sighed.

"So what? We've got the fire going. Come on, Castle. You're worrying me."

And like she must have known it would, her worry over him drove him to his feet in the snow he'd dug out around the generator, made him reach out and take her hand. She shivered hard but wouldn't let him let go, instead began to drag him back through the knee high tunnel he'd made from the side door.

"Where's your coat?" he muttered.

"Inside. It was strategic on my part," she shot back, her face pale in the weak winter sun. The snow still feel in steady flakes, dusting her lashes and coating her hair, and he could see the purple tint to her lips.

"To make me come back inside."

"Yes."

"You're devious."

"Well, you're stupid. Wife's gotta do what a wife's gotta do," she growled, tugging on him harder. She was wearing shoes at least - good, sturdy boots and not those ballet slippers she'd worn on the drive down. Thank heavens for small favors.

"I'm stupid? Who came out in the snow without a coat?"

"Who's been standing in the snow without gloves or a hat just staring at a generator for the last forty minutes? Castle, give it up. It doesn't matter."

She wrapped her arm through his and he realized his skin was chapped and chilled, that his lips felt numb and his nose more like a blunt instrument. The burn was starting up in his fingers too, which meant he'd been too long out here.

"Fine," he sighed.

"Come curl on the floor in front of the fire with me," she murmured softly, her lips brushing his jaw now even as they walked. It was awkward but it felt electric in the snow, like she'd start a fire just with that friction.

"On the floor?"

"I dragged out my dad's air mattress and inflated it, put it right in front of the fire. Sasha will do her trick for you."

"Her trick?"

"She likes to jump on it," Kate laughed softly. She opened the kitchen's screen door and held it for him like he might not follow her inside. So he passed through into the kitchen and stomped his feet free of snow. Kate came in behind him and nudged him to the kitchen table, made him sit. He watched in dumb surprise as she kneeled down and unlaced his boots, tugging them carefully off his feet.

"You don't have to-"

"I think your fingers are too frozen to manage. And I want to see how frozen solid your feet are. Don't want you losing toes," she muttered. Her hair was falling into her face as she bent over his foot, and her hands were rubbing his toes hard, almost painfully.

"Kate, don't-"

"Shut up and let me do this. You're freezing and I don't want these cold toes anywhere near my calves."

He laughed, saw the laughter on her face as well. At least there was that, at least he hadn't ruined their holiday with his inability to get the stupid generator to work.

"I want s'mores," he said then, determined to lighten things. "Let's make the fire really hot and roast marshmallows on coat hangers and melt chocolate on graham crackers."

"That is what s'mores are," she murmured, little bits of humor flaking off in her voice. She stood before him. "All right. Come on. On your feet, if you can even feel them."

"I can feel them," he muttered back, but she was right. They were numb. He stood anyway and cupped his hand in her hair, swept it back from her cheek so he could look at her.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

Tenderness edged the concern laced in her eyes and he leaned in to press a cold kiss to her mouth. Her lips were cold too. "You had to come get me out of the snow. Least I can do is warm you up too."

"Warm me up," she murmured into it. "That's what I've wanted to do all morning, Rick. Why are you so hard-headed?"

He laughed, breaking his kiss to look at her, Kate so eager and wanting, and he cupped her face even though he knew his fingers were still cold and translating that chill to her. "I don't know, Kate. Good thing you love me anyway."

She closed one eye, looking at him crookedly. "Air mattress and s'mores. Come on. Make it up to me."

"Coming, love. Let me get you some chocolate."

"I've already gotten it. It's in the living room."

He laughed then and let her go, followed her to the little nest she made before the fire. She was right; this is where he should've been hours ago.