It has been three days since he slept beside her on her couch. He hasn't seen her since that morning after she'd casually quipped she needed to shower and he could do with one too. He had taken the exit she may or may not have been offering him, hoping he would take, wishing he wouldn't. He hasn't had a reason to call her. she always calls when she has a case, so there have been no cases. Meaning she has, most likely, been chained to her desk completing reports and going through cold cases on the days she hasn't had to go to testify in court. Except now he has finished his book, only two days past the deadline, an uncommon occurrence but he has had some inspiration lately. He emailed the last chapter off to his editor fifteen minutes ago. He has spent the moments after the email disappeared from his screen curling and uncurling his fingers, then running his fingers through his hair, debating whether he should call her, check in. Maybe she has nothing to do herself and would appreciate the distraction. He doubts it. But checking in with her can't hurt, plus now his book is finished – she always likes to find out that snippet of information. Plus it means he has more free time on his hands for the next few months. He wants to make that known to her, unsure of his own reasoning.

Sure he wants her to know. He wants to give her some underlying message that he will be spending a great deal of his new found free time with her, and that doesn't involve shadowing her at the precinct (that has long fit into his writing schedule). It is the evenings and late nights he stays up writing that are now free and sharing more of those with her would help her, he knows they would help him show her how much he cares. That he is here for her whenever she wants him to be, as long as she wants him to be there. He dials, he has to see her before he begins to assume she is freaked out.

"Beckett," she answers with her usual greeting. The busy noises of the bullpen hum behind her, it strikes a twinge of envy in him. He wants to be there, amongst that hum of activity.

"It's me," he says, he can hear the smile in his own voice so he knows she can too. He reclines in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk in front of him, crossing his ankles, resting his head on his free hand.

"Hey," she says, her voice uncertain and nervous, like she's caught him off guard. But she doesn't say anything in response, staying quiet. He can picture her looking around, checking for prying ears or eyes. But he knows no one would think twice of her taking a call at her desk.

"Please tell me we have a case," he says softly, confessing to her what he hadn't meant to. But the words had tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. She is silent for a long moment on the other end of the phone. Then he notices the background noise has vanished, fallen away completely like she has ducked into the break room for some privacy, feigning inability to hear him over the hum if anybody were to ask, or he were there to accuse.

"Unfortunately not," she quips. Her memory triggered back to the last time they had a conversation like this, right before he was held hostage in a bank. The similarity sends a chill through her body, causes her to lean against the bench in front of the coffee machine he brought for them, for her. to any passing observer she looks like she is making a coffee, taking a call. But she's not, she just needed a place to hide out, the flush which she had felt rise across her chest when his voice had come through her phone had made me feel self-conscious, even though no one around had noticed she deemed she was better to be safe than sorry, she didn't feel like dealing with the ribbings of fellow detectives, at least not yet.

"Damn," he responds vehemently, not bothering to veil his unhappiness. It snaps her out of her thoughts.

"What's wrong?" she asks softly, cautiously, as if the lighter she treads the less likely it is to be something serious.

"Nothing," he says quickly and she releases a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. "I just… I finished the book." He is being elusive, she knows he didn't really call just to tell her this, at least not in the middle of the day.

But the way he is beaming with pride makes her smile. "That's great," she responds. She's confused, but tries not to show it. he should be delighted with himself, buzzing in the hum of his freedom, but instead he has called her immediately. It is like he is seeking her out.

"It is," he volunteers slowly. She senses a 'but' and gets it. "But it takes away from the moment when no one is around. Alexis is at school and my mother is… actually I don't know where she is," he scoffs a little over the phone, amused by the older woman's antics. Having gotten sidetracked he comes back to his point. "I just needed to make it official, tell someone."

She laughs at him. It is soft and gentle, but she is laughing at him. It doesn't hurt like he would think. She is lighter, more carefree than normal, something in her different. How had he not noticed?

"What?" he asks, joining her in breathy chuckles. He removing his feet from the desk, choosing to instead curl his body in on itself in a futile attempt to bring the phone at his ear closer, to make it seem the woman on the other end is pressed against his body, curled in the chair with him.

"Nothing I'm just… It's funny. Finished your book for five minutes, Castle and you're already looking for something else to do." She is silent for a moment, and he doesn't respond. He knows she has something else to say so he will give her the time to say it. "Its been too quiet around here. Even Ryan and Esposito have noticed." She is saying she misses him without saying the exact words, he knows her too well for it to go by unnoticed. He echoes her previous breathy laugh, then realises maybe she was laughing for the same reason he is now. She missed him and couldn't voice it, and the soft laugh was his way of acknowledging he knew exactly what she was saying. They are quite the pair. He has always known they avoid conversations about feelings and never acknowledge their actions. Hell one of the worst fights they've ever had had been over it, both realising the truth of it then never speaking of it again – sticking fiercely to their pattern.

"You there?" she asks softly, breaking his ravine.

"I could come in and visit, bring you coffee. Keep you company for an hour?" he suggests. He needs to see her, even if it is in the bullpen surrounded by a dozen other cops, while she is distracted by her work.

"No," she says too quickly. Then winces at her own word choice. "I didn't mean-" she stammers, fumbling over the words, trying to correct herself, convey her true meaning.

"It's fine. I understand," his voice is soft, trying to conceal his hurt.

She feels terrible, she's crushed him. "I didn't mean it like that." She hears him sigh on the other end of the phone. "I was actually going to suggestive we meet up later, have coffee or pizza or something. If you come in now Gates will-"

"Flip out? Have an aneurysm?" he offers, his tone lighter. She knows he understands.

"Maybe both?" she agrees, smiling. "The boys are off looking into an old case, chasing their tails I think. So it's just me anyway."

"There is nothing wrong with my coming in to pay my favourite detective a visit and give her a cup of coffee. Maybe distract you for an hour," his tone is mischievous. She knows if she doesn't stop him soon she will find herself agreeing to this.

"Castle," her tone has a warning in it that she rarely has to use anymore. He no longer pushes the boundaries within her team, threatening to put them all in danger with carelessness. He found his place long ago so she doesn't have to handcuff him to the car anymore to keep him out of trouble.

He ignores the threat, continues. "I have to make up for lost time." She can almost hear his smug smile through the phone.

"I'll call you when I finish, Castle," she says, her statement has a definite finality to it.

"Just show up, surprise me," his tone is still laced with the smug smile she could hear before.

She rolls her eyes and hangs up the phone, wordlessly agreeing, not bothering to say goodbye.


She had debated for a short moment headed straight from the bullpen to his apartment, but had decided against it. Too eager, she had told herself. Sure she wanted to see him, had missed him amongst his meetings, desperate attempts to finish his book and their lack of case. But she knew he wasn't going anywhere, he would probably sit and stare at the door until she knocked. Maybe not literally, but he would be waiting for her. Plus she wanted to wash the musk of the monotony of her day from her skin, that odour which she could smell on herself, stale coffee and a disgusting hint of sweat that always lingered in the air. A classic indication she had spent many hours at her desk doing monotonous tasks.

It is like a fresh start to the day when she pulls on a pair of jeans. The clothes she wears to work certainly aren't uncomfortable by some standards, but the ease of slipping into jeans and a sweater is so much more comforting than the dress pants and blouses she wears day to day. She pulls on her boots, flat ones this time – she doesn't want to sleep on the sleet forming on the footpath below, while she juggles the coffee she said she'd bring. He has a coffee machine, it would just be easier to use that – but there is something far superior about a coffee you do not have to make yourself.

She slips back into her jacket, still a little warm from her last wear. She hasn't dried her hair, simply let it hang and dry. She'll regret that as soon as she steps outside she knows, she checks her wrist – normally she has a hairtie, just incase. Not tonight apparently, so she grabs a scarf, at least it will keep the hair off her neck while its wet. She slips her phone and wallet into her back pocket, and grabs her keys from the table.


"Why Detective what a lovely surprise?" he greets, taking both cups from her hands to allow her to shed her coat and remove her boots. He takes in the sight of her, nose and cheeks pink from the cold. Hands deathly pale from being exposed to the cold for that long moment between her car and his loft. Once she's shut the door behind herself, he eases away from her, back to the movie he has paused in the lounge room. He knows she'll follow, he does after all have her coffee.

"Thanks," she says softly as she takes the cup in both hands, holding it close to her face, letting the heat seep out through the small hole and touch her face. She isn't watching him, she is studying the frame frozen on the tv screen. "What's on?" she queries softly.

He notices for the first time it is still paused. He has been too intent on the sight of her, on her presence, that the outside world has disappeared, everything falling away except for the woman in front of him, drinking deeply from her coffee cup, darting her eyes to his every few seconds. Apparently, waiting for him to speak, or maybe she can feel his gaze studying her, memorising every facet of her as the heat from her coffee radiates against her skin giving her a soft glow as it settles warmly in her stomach, causing her to ease further back into the cushions of his couch, relishing the comfort they provide.

The image on the screen is completely non-descript, the only clue is the familiar New York skyline. He is not answering her either, apparently completely uninterested in the movie. But that doesn't explain why he is sitting on top of a blanket that someone has not too long ago been curled beneath. She is assuming it was him. The idea of him curled on his couch triggers memories of the last time she saw him, curled on her own couch, with her. Their prior sleeping arrangements lead to a tingle of longing and a twang of unease. She hasn't slept properly since. She keeps feeling the quilt brush against her skin, the sheet catching in her movement and thinking it is him that he has curled in beside her. It always causes her to both panic and relax, simultaneously. Impossible she knows, but it happens. The idea he is beside her completely reassuring and comforting, but the question of how he got inside sends a jolt through her, always makes her mentally check that she flicked the locks on her door.

He sees her shudder, it jolts him into awareness. He volunteers the title, tells her it only just started. She smiles that explains the city skyline, she decides. She agrees to watch, curling her legs up leaning her head against the back of the couch.

When she goes back to her coffee, he drinks deeply from his own. Realising that the beverage isn't quite filling his stomach, indicating he needs to find some dinner. "Have you eaten?" he asks from behind his coffee cup.

He sees her raise her eyebrows, then she shakes her head.

"Grilled cheese?" he offers. When she nods he leaves her to her coffee, returning a few minutes later with a small stack, cut into quarters. He drops the plate onto the couch beside her, gestures for her to take one. He watches her as she hesitates at first, the watches her grab for another as soon as she finishes the first. Apparently she is hungry.

She finishes her fifth piece before that heavy fullness settles on her stomach, joining the coffee. "Thanks Castle," she says softly, draining the last of the coffee from her cup. She glances over at the still silent screen. "This movie sucks," she smirks as she reclines back on the couch, letting her head lull to the side, waiting for him to turn it on. Except he does the opposite, changes it to the TV, tells her to pick something as he tosses her the remote.

"Just put the movie back on," she tosses the remote back.


"I shouldn't let you recline on the furniture," he mutters softly. Rousing her from her almost slumber. Apparently he has been watching her keenly enough, frequently enough to notice just as her head lulls to the side, succumbing to sleep, then snaps her awake as her middle ear registers the imbalance. He's never seen someone fight sleep so much since Alexis was a toddler, insisting she wasn't tired, wanting to keep playing.

"This movie sucks," she defends herself. She fails miserably, her voice thick with sleep and unable and unwilling to open her heavy eyes.

"Twenty minutes ago you were happy enough to watch, now you're deeming it too boring?" he teases, shifting closer to her, tugging the empty cup from her hands, it dangling precariously in her hands, threatening to drop into her lap.

"I'm… I'm just tired," she says softly, finally opening her eyes to look at him for a second. She slides her shoulders back a little, away from him and shuts her eyes again.

"Kate," he breathes. He has moved closer again, somewhere beside her, she can feel the couch sagging under his weight, lulling her body slightly towards his, she doesn't bother to open her eyes to him. "I'll drive you home now, then pick you up in the morning-"

"No its fine. Watch it and I'll just rest for a minute," her voice is so thick with sleep and her head is nestled deep into the crevasse of his couch cushions that he doesn't want to force her to move.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure Castle. I just… wanted to visit, mmkay?" Her words slur and he can tell she's about to sink into sleep, give in to her fatigue.

"Okay," he whispers before he tucks a stubborn strand of hair, which has been hovering over her nose, trailing across her lips back behind her ear.

He does go back to the movie, for the most part. He has seen it many times before so he watches her during those tired scenes he knows too well or finds poorly written, or acted.

She is dead to the world, completely unaware. She doesn't even stir when a loud sequence is played and has him diving for the remote to turn the volume down. He should have seen it coming but he was too busy studying the way her bottom lip quivers as she sleeps, her tongue twitching against her teeth. She must be talking in whatever dream she is having.

He stops the movie again, turning it off because he isn't watching it anyway. Even if he hadn't seen it before he would under no circumstances be watching the television screen and not the woman next to him. The sudden silence causes her to shifts in her sleep, aware the atmosphere of the room around her has changed as she sleeps. He scooches over next to her, touching her shoulder gently with his whole hand, giving a gentle squeeze, trying to catch a grasp of her through the hazes of her sleep.

At his touch her body jerks, her eyes open as she gasps beside him.

"It's okay," he mutters. "It's just me." He slides his fingers back and forth, attempting to soothe her as she wakes.

"Castle," she whispers, confused, but it isn't a question, it seems more like a greeting.

"Hey," he says softly, resting his head on the back of the couch watching her closely, his fingers still grazing her shoulder.

She blinks several times before she opens her eyes, just like she did when she woke on her own couch, right before he handed her the coffee mug, not only weighted with the hot liquid but a hope of another morning watching her wake.

"Creepy Castle," she accuses, screwing up her face and turning away from him, showing him the long curve of her neck as she looks behind her at the silent television.

"Come on, I'm driving you home," he offers, standing up in front of her extending a hand to help her up.

She takes his hand, but shakes her head in disagreement, tugging him back toward the couch, settling back into his couch for effect.

"You are even more stubborn when you're tired."

She just hums her in response, smug half smile on her face, her eyes closed against the world. Even with her shut eyes she shifts on the couch to face him, her whole body twisting so each section of her body is only a few inches from his. She is almost completely curled against the curve of his body, not touching him at all. His body tingles as he examines her legs, her thigh, her hips, her torso, her shoulders and her head, all within an inch of him. if he just shifted his weight on the couch she would rest against him, he would tip her weight cause her to overbalance. But he won't. She isn't initiating anything so he won't push. He had vowed long ago to pass her the reins. However, at the first sign of an invitation, he can't promise anything.

"How come you're so tired?" he asks softly, unsure if she is still awake or if she has fallen into a light sleep he shouldn't wake her from.

"Huh?" she asks, lifting her head off the couch slightly. He realises she must have been on the verge of sleep and he caught her just in time, though really he shouldn't have. He should send her up to the guest bedroom seeing as she refuses to let him take her home. But not yet, he wants to spend more time with her, talk to her, find out why she is so tired – their week has not been as strenuous as others have in the past.

"I asked how come you're so tired," he repeats softly, meeting her eyes as she blinks heavily, attempting to rouse herself. Really he wants to ask how come she is so tied now, she had sounded fine on the phone earlier, more than fine.

"I uh… I haven't slept in three days," she whispers, her voice much louder than a normal whisper as she overcomes the sleep still weighing on her tongue, her eyes finally staying open, fixed upon his own.

Three days since he stayed with her. "How come?" he whispers, it is almost a stage whisper, matching her volume.

She gives half a shrug. "I don't know exactly," she offers, only half a lie. She has a theory. She knows her body is seeking his own, seeking his warmth, seeking his comfort and seeking him.

"Have you missed me?" he teases. A wide smile graces his face, having deciding to lighten the mood before she has to explain herself. He knows what he's said will ring true, but she will no doubt have some witty comeback.

Except she doesn't say anything. She stares at him, eyes a little wider, mouth slightly agape, tongue twitching begging for permission to form words. She licks her lips, closes her mouth and swallows.

She doesn't need to say anything, they both know it. It was written all over her face. So she gives him half a smile. "The benefit just…" she chews her lip, taking pause before continuing. "It changed things."

He blinks slowly, as if he makes any other movements she will vanish from in front of him. he needs to let her speak, be patient, silently urge her to find the words without placing any pressure upon her.

"I feel… lighter, like this giant weigh has been lifted," she says softly. She thinks she may finally have some closure, have grieved her mother for long enough that she can focus on remembering her. It won't stop her missing her, nothing ever will, but she has found that unique balance. The balance between wishing she were here and simply understanding that she never will be and nothing can change that.

He touches her forearm, timid, his fingers just grazing her skin. "That's great, but-"

"No, buts tonight, Castle" she interrupts; it sounds almost like a plea. She didn't bring this up so they could discuss all the dead-ends in her mother's case, stare for hours at the files and hope something pops out to them. She knows that for now, the case has no leads. He told her that, but he looks almost willing to investigate it with her again.

"I wasn't going to…" he says softly, stroking the length of her forearm, her fingers skimming the back of her hand. "I wasn't going to ask about the case." He swallows at her expectant eyes. "I was going to ask if it was gone for good, the weight I mean." He hopes she understands, hopes he hasn't crossed too far over her line, but just enough that she has to take notice, shot him down and make a hasty retreat. But he will watch her go, follow her tracks and do the same again, when she pops her head out again like he knows she will. He knows she can't resist testing the boundaries either.

She looks deep in thought a moment, her eyes watching his fingers still grazing her skin, lingering now on the back of her hand. "I think so," she says, still fixed completely on their contact, their only contact. She watches as he slides his fingers under her palm, she turns her hand to accommodate the touch, but doesn't move otherwise. He does notice the definite twitch in her fingers as he grazes the skin of her palm with his fingertips, resuming his trail of lazy patterns across her skin. He studies her, watches the half smile on her lips as she takes his breath away, completely unaware.

The sound of her gentle sigh breaks his trance, stops his fingers in their tracks. He looks up to meet her eyes, except he finds them closed again, almost asleep.

"Hey," he says, tapping her palm with his fingers, rousing her. "You need to go to bed," he instructs. This time when he stands in front of her, tugging on her arm, urging her to stand she does so. He keeps himself close, watching her sway slightly as her blood pressure reconfigures to this new position, touching her elbows to steady her, finds her gripping his forearms, using him for support.

"Ready?" he asks softly, not quite yet ready to step back away from her, sending her off to a separate room, separated from her by not only a wall but several and a flight of stairs.

When she shakes her head, gripping his arms a little tighter, sliding her hands a little closer to his elbows. "Another minute," she breathes out, still swaying slightly, closing her eyes against it.

He doesn't miss it, crowding her, dropping her left elbow so he can put his right hand at her waist.

"Okay," she hums, sliding her left hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder, her voice soft as she moves to step through his right arm. But now he isn't ready to move, doesn't want to let her go again, his hand slipping around to the small of her back as she steps forward.

Startled at his refusal, she meets his gaze, finds it fixed upon her intensely. But he isn't staring at her, it is like he is looking through her, his eyes having worn a hole completely through her and travelled to some other place. It must be a happy place, he way his lips have turned up at the edges suggests it is.

She clicks her fingers in front of his face then quickly returns her hand to his shoulder.

She watches as his eyes tear back to hers, his gaze suddenly intense. He is too close, his eyes are too intense for him to be standing this close. Except, she doesn't want to move. She regards him, tilting her head to the side, jutting out her chin a little in defiance. "Castle," she breathes.

When he hears her speak he can't help it, he swallows, watches her eyes follow that lump of his larynx, of his Adam's apple as it rises then falls. Then when she flicks her gaze back to his eyes he exhales, the breath shuddered, completely ragged. The quick intake not providing nearly enough oxygen to his brain. "Kate," he exhales, his body demanding more of everything.

He watches her eyes flutter closed, her soft smile as she leans her head forward, moving at snails pace until her forehead finds comes in contact with his shoulder, her ear pressed to his neck, her hand gripping his should tightly.

Only then does he allow himself to act. Slipping his hand from her back all the way around her, encircling her entire body with one arm. He doesn't need to press her body closer, she is already doing it. All he has to do is hold her firmly in place and wait, watch the top of her head and cease the right opportunity. As she shifts, nuzzling her face into his neck, her breath hot against his skin he wraps his other arm around her. he doesn't need to, her slender frame fits firmly into the crook of one elbow, but he wants her to know he isn't letting her go. For as long as she will let him he will stay exactly like this, absorbing every moment he can, memorising the way her body fits exactly into the curves of his own.

He presses his nose into her hair, meeting her ear he moves slightly, nestling his nose into the depth of hair behind it. He doesn't miss the shiver it sends through her body, how could he? Her body is conformed to his own completely and that shiver wasn't suppressed.

Then he crushes her against his chest as he feels it. Her lips are at his neck, her teeth nipping the skin there, her tongue just darting out to soothe it. He breathes deeply against her ear and it spurs her on, she nips a little harder, lets her tongue linger longer as she nuzzles her nose against his, silently urging him to tilt his head, to stop trying to get her to face him. He obeys, moving the hand he had resting between her shoulder blades to the base of her neck. He hums as she slides her hands around his neck, a hand buried in the hair at the back of his head.

She is trailing upwards he realises as she breathes hot against his ear. Then she stops, catching her breath beside his ear, whether the torture is intentional or not he doesn't know. But he takes advantage of her added height, she must be on her tiptoes, levelling the playing field. He kisses the corner of her jaw now that her hair has slid back, exposing the skin of her own neck. Her neck is a blank canvas, but he will explore that another time. He knows there will be another time.

When his lips touching her skin she gives a sigh of contentment that could almost be a breathy moan. He wouldn't have heard it if her mouth hadn't been at his ear. He nips the skin, grazing his teeth along it, moving slowly towards her mouth, giving her ample opportunities to pull back, withdraw. Always looking out for her.

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She doesn't flinch. He knows she has steeled herself, prepared herself for this. So he does it again, receiving the same reaction. Then he slides his nose over hers, kisses the other side, twice.

He withdraws slightly, resting his nose against the soft skin of her cheek. She has to do this. She has to lean forward, step over her own boundary. Plus, she did afterall start this, it is only right she finishes it. He opens his eyes to sneak a glance at her, gauge her expression, finds her eyes half closed staring at his mouth, gathering courage he assumes. He presses his lips tightly together, grazing his teeth along his bottom lip, watches her study his movements. He closes his eyes again, content to give her a second. Just after he exhales, drawing back in breath he finds she has her courage. Pressing her mouth over his completely, delicately, once, twice, three times. Then her mouth is wet and hot against his. He doesn't refuse her tongue when it slides across his bottom lip, urging him to let her taste his tongue.

Neither can breathe, but neither wants to stop. When he extracts himself from her, resting his nose against her own, giving her as much distance as he can bear she speaks, her breath hot and ragged against his lips. "Night Castle," she says, dropping a lingering kiss to his lips and slipping from his arms. She heads straight upstairs, he assumes to the guestroom, his eyes following her, his mouth unable to speak, but he doesn't follow her. She no needs some time to process, some time to adjust, some time to formulate her plan of attack. All he knows is he will not be sleeping tonight, the memory of her body pressed against his own and her mouth hot against the skin of his neck will torture him all night. But she did the right thing, he knows, pulling back, stopping them both, having the control. He just has to let her process what has just happened, realise what it means, though he assumes she already knows, she just has to force herself not to fight it. Remind herself it is okay, he will wait. As long as necessary for her, he wouldn't mind reminding her if need be.