By the time Richard Castle's done counting the day's receipts, low rumbles echo through the bookstore, sporadic flashes of light lighting up the first floor. He walks downstairs, dog in tow, and sits at his desk, glancing outside. The sky is charged, dark patches slowly spreading across the horizon, and it won't be long before it all explodes and stabs the roof. He's felt it coming, the air had been moist and clammy all day long, the air so heavy that the bookstore had been rather empty today. He can tell that soon a furious warm rain will lash out against the windows, leave a wet, stale smell in its wake and yet won't cool down the summer air.

Buddy is lying down on his belly by Castle's feet, his brows shifting from one side to the other and his ears twitching with each distant and growing rumble. He whines blinking lazily, but his nostrils flare and his eyes bounce around in unease. He's never like storms, often hides under the desk, or some place hidden until it dies down.

Castle nudges the stiff beast with one of his feet. "It's okay, bud. Just a storm." The dog doesn't exactly answer him, but the small moan he gives out lets him know he heard him anyway.

Surely enough, the rain pelts down suddenly and crashes against the window like sharp needles. As the sky darkens considerably along with the angry clouds and the upcoming nightfall, the bookstore falls dark and Buddy whines pitifully once again.

Okay, it does look kind of bleak in here, but since he's almost done, he doesn't deem it necessary to turn on the lights. Plus, he likes it; how the yellowish glow of the fairy lights cast gentle halos on the cold stone walls, how so much more comforting it feels - like the flames of a crackling fire that wraps around his bones and soothes his soul. There's also something about the sky splitting apart above his head into a hair-raising crack, and the wet sound of the pouring rain like a curtain around his ears that sends a faint chill creeping under his shirt, biting his skin.

Shuddering under the cold shiver that his musing roused, he shuts his laptop off and pushes himself up when the door bursts open, a strong gust of wind rushing and swirling into the room with a hiss. The chime rings, though the particular loud clap of thunder that follows deadens the jingling sound. His eyes shoot up just as the dog jumps on his paws and snarls at the grumbling shadow wrestling with an umbrella.

He's pretty sure he'd turned the sign to 'Closed', but by the way the figure drags itself inside, it's pretty clear they're not having a good day- or evening rather. "Hey, uh...need help?"

Wincing at the loud boom bouncing off the walls, he steps closer, trying to get a clearer look while Buddy stands his ground behind him, the hair on his back bristling. Castle clacks his tongue at the beast in reprimand, pins him with a pointed look. It's mostly for show, and he wouldn't hurt a fly, but he's quite defensive - protective.

"Shit," the agitated figure hisses, making his eyes widen just slightly. He knows that voice, yet his brain can't quite register it. Instead, he stands there watching as the wind causes the rain to splutter on the floorboards.

"Fuck, Castle, are you just gonna stand here and watch?"

He springs forward the moment his brain connects two and two together, and oh- he's in trouble. He takes the wrecked umbrella from her (hadn't she thrown that thing away?) and chucks it carelessly on the floor. "I'll buy you a new one," he mumbles as he slams the door closed. When he turns to her, her back is as stiff as a board, her slim silhouette shivering. "Kate, you're drenched, what-"

"I don't care," she hisses pushing her poor excuse of a jacket off her shoulders, lets it drop to the floor in a puddle at her feet. Her hair falls down her back in wet tendrils dripping down her spine, seeps through the fabric of her shirt - no wonder she's cold. He sees her drop her face into her hands, shoulders curling inward, and his heart constricts hard inside his chest.

"O-kay," he says warily. She's all sizzling sparks and charged energy, and all he has to do is say one word wrong and she'll explode before his eyes, rivaling with the roaring sky. No one wants that, he needs to proceed with caution. "What do you want me to do?"

Her hands drop to her sides, but her frame remains rigid. "Hand me a book I can throw," she growls before storming upstairs, her feet stomping on the wooden steps.

He blinks, trying to wrap his mind around what just happened, and glances at the dog who has watched the scene from behind, sat on his haunches, not alarmed at all. "You go first," Castle tells him with a directive tilt of his head. Buddy cocks his head, looking at him with dazed eyes. "She'll bite my head off."

He hasn't had to deal with such a moody Beckett up until now, and while he's not scared per se, he has no idea how to handle it - and he's positive there's a 70% chance he's gonna screw this up. "Okay, fine, be like that," he huffs at the dog.

He takes a deep inhale of air, straightens his shoulders. Yes, she's angry - but it looked like it was only a way to hide her distress. Whatever happened, she came here - she needs him, and he'll take the punches if need be.

Just not too hard, he hopes.


A fierce line of goosebumps breaks along her nape when she reaches the first floor, what with the room being just under the roof, the slap of the rain is unforgiving - reminiscent of the outpouring of water that had bent her and forced her to harden her grip around the shaft of the umbrella.

She'd felt like a walking shell, a mere shadow in the chaotic backdrop, roaming the slippery streets aimlessly. She'd felt nothing at that moment but the stifling humid air suffocating her lungs and sticking her hair to her forehead, forming pearls of sweats between her breasts.

She'd stopped once in the middle of the sidewalk. She'd dropped her umbrella without much thought just to feel the rain on her face, feel it run down her neck. Just because she wouldn't let her own tears stream down her face and join the race down her chin. Perhaps to cleanse herself to some extent, purify herself of her demons. A strike of lightning had split the sky apart, and she'd felt it slash through her, almost had shattered, too. Instead, she'd faced the dark slate sky head-on, watching through blurred lashes as it lit up in its fury.

She'd felt that, too.

It had felt good, but now that all is quiet, she feels vulnerable - though not less furious.

She sits on the chestnut brown sofa at the far end of the room, folding her legs under her and wrapping her arms around her chest in an attempt to shield herself. It was dangerous to come here, she doesn't want him to see this, doesn't want to explain. She had gone home first, the words ringing in her ears and drawing her hands into fists, Go home, Officer Beckett. Come back with a clear head, but it wouldn't stop - she couldn't make it stop. How much of a failure she was, how she'd foolishly almost lost her job - her only way to get the bastard who killed her mom.

Breaking into the archives? What was she thinking, she should consider herself lucky that she still has her badge.

Dropping her head backward, she blinks hard, forcing the stupid hot tears away. Her chest aches; heaves too hard - her breath is too ragged, her mind too bruised. She closes her eyes for a split second, squeezes hard enough for the last droplets nursed in her lashes to flow down her cheeks - it's not tears, but the illusion is enough to bring her some relief. The darkness helps, too, soothes the throb at her temples, even when the muffled claps of thunder pound inside her head.

She hears the wood creak as he walks up and braces herself - recoiling in the corner of the sofa. She knows he won't push, knows she can simply let him sit here, let him work his magic and heal her wounds without asking for answers she can't give him, yet her lone wolf side is stepping on the forefront baring its teeth - wants to lick its wounds in peace.

"Kate?" Her name spills from him with an anguish that strikes deep, has her gritting her teeth when her eyes start to sting and burn. Just when she had herself together, all it takes is his voice - and she's undone.

She tries to ignore her pounding heart, how her breath stutters around the words when his shadow drifts closer - a silent specter floating through the air that has her hair at her nape standing on end. "Yeah, here."

He stops moving for a second, long enough for a gentle light to paint the room in earthy and warm shades. Her hands consciously lift to stroke her cheeks and under her eyes when he walks up to her and sits - keeping a distance between them that she feels grateful for and yet resents.

"I brought you a blanket," he tells her peering at her searchingly, his eyes gleaming in the dusky light. He starts to move as if to wrap the red throw around her shoulders, but something sudden comes across his face, making him pause. His eyes fall to his lap just as he lays the blanket next to her instead. "Here."

Her brows furrow under the pang that stabs her chest and cuts her breath short, her fingers curling around and stroking the soft fabric in a vain attempt to soothe the blow. "Thanks," she says with a short nod as she avoids looking at him.

"Coffee?" The question is simple enough, should ease her nerves, but it's too trivial and mechanical, even she can hear how it sounds - evasive action. Even from the corner of her eyes, she can see how stiff and tense he is - almost bracing himself against a potential blast. The lump in her throat swells, almost chokes her when she realizes she doesn't want that from him when from anyone else, she would.

For once, she wants him to break through the wall, make her inner wounded wolf turn away his tail tucked between his legs.

"No, I- I'm good." She pins her lip with the sharp stab or her teeth, lets her finger scrape against the soft cotton. She could do with a coffee, would gladly welcome the searing of the hot porcelain that'd mark her skin and warm her chilled bones. But that would mean him moving to the other side of the room, and she'd rather keep him here - let his own body heat wrap around her, his smell quell her raw nerves.

"You're still shivering," he remarks, though this time, concern bleeds through his gruffy voice - his eyes alert on her face as he takes in her shaking frame.

She is, her muscles are so tense that she aches all over. She wants to tell him it's not because of the rain that had been kind and warm, forgiving - wants to tell him it's because he's too far, and yet her chest feels too tight and her tongue won't form the words she needs, and she snaps."I'm fine." It's harsh and not what he deserves, but she doesn't know how to accept his concern, only feels the crushing weight of her own stupid pride forcing her to reject it.

Yet, he doesn't blink, only assesses her with eyes that bore into her and keep her grounded. "Wanna talk about it?"

Does she want to? No, there is nothing to say. She let her emotions get the best of her, let them drive her against her better judgment. She knows what happened, doesn't need to talk it out.

"Not really, no," she offers as calmly as she can. His chest heaves up, then down with a sigh as he considers her closely, his scrutinizing look almost too much. He nods once and lays an arm along the backrest, his fingers brushing her shoulder. "Kay," he accepts without as much as a frown. His face is clear as he seems to wait on her, let her decide if she'll take the invitation or not without a single word or expectation.

Her fingers curl inside her palms as she weighs her options, her thrashing heart inside her chest enough of a hint. She eyes his broad chest, picking at the dead skin chapping her lip, and eventually, she just goes for it before she finds too many groundless reasons not to. She wordlessly drags herself across the sofa and lets herself rest against his chest, an arm curled around him, ear pressed down against the lulling beat of his heart. His arm comes around her, cups her shoulder and even when his scent works its way through her system, she still can't find a way to relax.

They've hugged before but never had it hold such a weight. She'd never given much thought to it because it was always easy, natural. But this is different, this is her caving in at his thoughtfulness, his willingness to offer himself without expecting anything in return.

She doesn't have anything to give him.

It's wrong in so many ways, yet that's just what she needs.

"You know you can tell me, right?"

Her hand fists around the fabric of his t-shirt as the low rumble of his voice tunes in with the muffled noise of the fading storm. "I know," she says, her voice so small she almost doesn't recognize it. She knows he'd listen, knows he would not think less of her, but she's not there yet. "One day, I will," she promises herself, even when her pulse jumps in protest.

"Whenever you're ready, Kate. I'm not going anywhere." She feels his chin dip into her hair, his thumb at her shoulder slowly going in circles against her exposed skin. Flutterings erupt in her stomach at the dedication, at the unspoken promise that coaxes her lips into a soft smile.

Something about his unusual composure has her stomach twisting, her chest tight with a radically different tension. The silence is too loud, and she's too aware of her increasing pulse as her breath comes in short puffs against his chest. She pushes herself off his chest, just enough to see his face, swallows when her heart swells up into her throat. Her hand fists the fabric of his t-shirt, clenching hard as her eyes roam over his face. "Gosh, I just- I just want to forget."

She's not sure what she's asking him, isn't fully aware of it, but his eyes darken the second the words are out. Her eyes follow the hard flexion of his throat as he swallows, "I can help."

His eyes never leave her face, only drift down to her lips briefly before coming back to her, a little drugged.

His chest undulates up and down more erratically under her, the air he blows through his nose tickling her face. "Oh?"

She blinks leisurely, breathing through the sparks that snake through her nervous system and make her mind go blank.

"Maybe," he says bringing his face so close that all she has to do is tilt her chin up.

"Maybe," she echoes, her lips brushing his as she does.

Both of them wary to make the final move, their eyes meet and fuse as they grip each other fiercely. Pushing herself up, she moves a hand up his cheek, just laying it there as her lips meet his, her fingers curling against his rough skin.

It's slow, and hesitant - their lips merely testing the waters, dancing around each other with a sluggish pace that only heightens their thirst for each other. "Is this okay?" he mumbles against her mouth, his eyes checking in with her. It's sweet, makes her fingers scrape the light stubble that covers his jaw, but her throat is dry with lust, her guts wound up tight and she needs more of his lips. Angling his face with a finger, she nods before crashing into him more harshly. His low rumble vibrates through her as he chases her lips gently, but with enough pressure for her to moan at the ministrations. He doesn't waste any time and thrusts his tongue past her lips the second the sound is out, the hand at her shoulder running up her neck to cup her jaw with a reverence that almost has her choking. Her blood boils and spreads so fast that her skin feels as if it's on fire, and the moment he's biting down on her lip, she can only throw her leg over and straddle his lap. He growls in the kiss, his hold around her jaw more insistent, and the twist of her hips is so wrong, but his teeth are pinning her lower lip inside his mouth, and she might self-combust if she doesn't do anything.

She's too far gone in the silky feel of his lips, so caught up in her selfish quest for more and more that she can't stop her hand from skimming down his torso until they reach the hem of his t-shirt, isn't quite aware that she's pulling on it before he promptly breaks the kiss and grabs her wrist. She frowns, trying to catch her breath as she looks at him, a little stunned.

He shakes his head, gives her a small smile that twists her stomach into a vicious knot. "Not- ah. Kate-"

Oh. She looks down to where she's sitting, feels a rush of blood surge up her collarbones and cheeks.

She's an idiot.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm- I thought-" she stammers in embarrassment, the searing heat of his lips still so deeply branded on her own that she can still taste him. Averting her eyes, she swallows and gets off of him, returns to her initial position.

"Hey, hey. Look at me," he calls, squatting forward so he can nudge her hand, get her to look at him. Instead, she flinches and recoils farther away. "Just - not like that."

A sudden wave of nausea travels up her trachea, making her take in a short intake of breath. She breathes through her nose as the words swirl around in her head, the innocent phrase like a bucket of iced water.

She thought he wanted her, too.

She nods mechanically, feels herself shut off. "Yeah, you- you're right," she says willing herself to look at him in the eyes. She doesn't miss the alarmed glint that paralyzes his eyes, but she can't be here now. She misunderstood, and perhaps it was just his way to comfort her - either way, she needs to leave.

So, she stands, gives him a small smile that is more of a strain, one she can tell he doesn't buy and walks away.

When she steps outside, the world is anew - dark but serene, the sky clear and revealing its brightest stars that carry with them the promise for a better day.

Not like that.


Richard Castle is a patient man, at least he likes to think so. If he thought kids were the best challenge and the greatest way to test one's patience, he's now more than ready to reconsider that.

Dogs are worse.

Today is a particularly hot day, and he thought he'd give the dog some rather lengthy play time at the park so they could stay inside the loft and enjoy the air conditioner for the rest of the day.

Buddy has a different plan, though, and has apparently decided he'd chase birds around the whole park all day. The dog may be coming of age, but he's still got more energy than Castle himself has. Besides, the scorching heat makes it impossible to walk for too long, and he can feel his skin burning already.

It's been an hour and a half of chasing the damn dog around, his face is on fire, his lungs carbonized and he's afraid he's gonna collapse at any minute. Next time, he'll take Alexis' advice, Don't let him off his leash, you'll never get him back!

No kidding.

He's got no toys, no food, no authority whatsoever on the beast - for short: he's screwed. He sighs, decides to sit on the bench and watch as the golden retriever runs around, leaps through the air with his tongue dangling as he barks at the pigeons.

He retrieves his phone from his pocket, but just as he's about to open his zombie game, the screen lights up with an incoming call which he immediately answers.

"Richard Rodgers speaking."

Since he doesn't recognize the number, he listens carefully, but nothing could prepare him to what falls upon him here and now - and he's up on his feet and whistling for the dog before he can even answer.

Kate's in the hospital, and she's asking for him.

Thoughts?

I promise they'll find their way back to each other x