December 8 - Wishing Song
She runs her fingers over his blu ray collection just to have something to do other than stare at him, or the snow, which might hypnotize her with its quiet fall, tempt her to fall right down with it. Into him.
"Pick something," he says.
She notices that he's grouped them by actor or director. Elf, 500 Days of Summer, Yes Man, Failure to Launch (really, Castle?), Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. . .ah-ha. She gets it now.
"Oh my word. You're in love with Zooey Deschanel."
"What? No."
She gives him a look and he winces.
Kate laughs. "She's on your list, isn't she? What number? Looks like she's right near the top. I mean, Failure to Launch?"
"That's Alexis's movie."
"No, it's not."
He opens his mouth, shuts it. He wrinkles his forehead. "She was on the list. But I don't. . .keep a list really."
Kate raises her eyebrow. "Right."
"Really. When you start actually coming into contact with some of these people, it just. . .the list kind of falls apart."
She considers that for a moment, thinks about their time in LA, about Natalie Rhodes in the 12th, about Ryan's misadventures with Jenny. Remembers the actress who slept with Castle so she could get the part of Nikki Heat. Okay, so yeah. He might be right.
"You have a list?" he asks suddenly.
She pulls Elf and gets on her knees in front of the player, pops in the disc while Castle adjusts the television.
"Actually, no. Not. . .no." Not anymore. Not since meeting him, having him hang around all the time.
He *is* a celebrity, even if it's within a narrow world, with a narrow focus. He has fans. She's been one of them. She *is* one of them, in a strangely compartmentalized way.
Or not so compartmentalized. Depends on the day.
Still, it's not like she had a list with him on it. Not exactly. Not written down.
(She wonders if - when - she wonders when they do this, will she tell him? You were - are - on my list. From the beginning. And I only said no that first case because I wanted to mean more to you than a conquest.)
Kate stares at the blu-ray player, feeling a little breathless.
(She wonders when they do this, when she's in his bed or he in hers, will she say, You were on my list but George Clooney was number one.? Just to hear him groan. To watch the flicker of not-entirely-fake jealousy as he pulls her down to his mouth and-)
"Okay, it's starting. Get up here," he says, interrupting her daydream.
Daydream. She has got to stop this.
Kate crawls up next to him, sits close enough to feel his warmth, shares the blanket he's pulled out here from his study. A Christmas movie, the light snow drifting down outside, the dark apartment, his warm shoulder against hers-
Kate falls asleep on his couch sometime during the first fifteen minutes of the movie, wakes up roughly to his laughter. It's just after midnight according to her father's watch; she tugs a hand through her hair and sits up a little.
"I woke you, didn't I?" Castle sighs and wraps his hand around her upper arm as if he wants to pull her back down.
"Did I fall asleep on you?" Kate resists his pull and leans forward on her knees, rubbing her hands over her face, then pressing the heel of one hand to the tightness of her scar.
He rubs her back for a moment, scratching at the space between her shoulder blades. "Little bit. It's okay. You didn't drool too bad."
She laughs and flashes him a look over her hunched shoulder. He slides his hand down her back to the place at her side, his thumb gentle over her ribs.
"Does it hurt?"
"Sometimes."
"How bad?"
"Bad isn't exactly the word for it. Annoying."
"Oh," he says softly. He's looking at her strangely though; she turns her head back to him, frowns.
"What's wrong, Castle?"
"Just annoying?"
She blows out a breath and shakes her head, but she doesn't roll her eyes. She's promised herself she would stop doing that when he got too close. Because it's *not* too close. It's just fine.
She's the one with the issues.
Of course, eye-rolling has turned into compressed lips struggling to smother a smile.
"Not just annoying," she admits finally. "It gets tight. Pulls."
"How about. . .the physical therapy?"
"It's over now. The day after would be bad at first, but it did help."
"And you're back 100% otherwise?"
She worries her bottom lip with her teeth and sits back against the couch. She owes him. "Almost."
He absorbs that, nods at her once. But there's a sense of shame or regret in his face that she doesn't understand.
"Castle. What's this about?"
"I should've put it first. I didn't think about it like that-"
"What? What first?"
His eyebrows knit together and then his thumb is brushing over her ribs again, bumping down her skin. "The gift for today. I should've put it first. I wish I had thought of it sooner."
Her curiosity piqued, she studies his face for clues but sees nothing other than a faint sense of guilt.
"I'm sure it's fine."
"Let's go get it," he says suddenly, sitting up.
"It's still snowing. Has been all night." And she doesn't want to leave. Not now. When it's warm and quiet in his loft, when the bag of chocolate rests on the table behind the couch, when she can fall asleep on his shoulder.
If she goes back to her apartment, she'll be there. And not here.
"The snow isn't sticking." He pops up from the couch and shuffles over to the window; she sees his shoulders twitch with the cold. "Oh. Well. It's still do-able. I can drive. Or you. You're probably better at it."
"Whatever it is, I'm sure it will keep, Castle." She tilts her head back on his couch and closes her eyes. After a moment, she's certain he's watching her. She can almost feel the roaming gaze.
"I feel badly for leaving it so long," he says finally, much closer than she expected.
Kate opens her eyes and finds him at the far end of the couch, still standing, goose bumps rising on his forearms. He's only in sweatpants and a tshirt; she at least has on a couple of layers.
"Tell me what it is and I'll tell you if you should feel bad about it," she answers finally, quirking her eyebrow at him and then lifting her head. "It's after midnight, so it's technically okay."
Castle sighs and drops back down in his seat, this time sitting a little bit closer. She's perversely proud of his move; it's about time.
(Only, he isn't the slow one here, is he? He isn't the one holding them back.)
"You remember when you told me how you figured out that the sniper was physically disabled? Because you tried to climb the ladder to the roof and couldn't?"
She nods, a fragment of winter cold slicing through the warmth of his apartment. The fingers of her left hand start to tingle. Kate battles it back, squeezing her hand into a fist over and over.
Castle glances down and sees it, drops his hand over hers. "I did some research when I wrote Hell Hath No Fury, thinking I'd use fire as a means for those cult murders-"
Kate snorts and puts her hand to her mouth, amused by the way he narrows his eyes at her.
"Anyway," he says pointedly. "I ended up not roasting the victims alive, but I did a lot of research on burn victims. I got sucked into it. But it. . .was a little too horrifying. Too real."
Her lingering amusement falters.
"I remembered a few weeks ago. Something I heard more than a few doctors and burn victims rave about. So I got you the treatment lotion they use on their scar tissue and skin grafts. It's really greasy, but it keeps it hydrated and pliable. I thought-"
"Castle." She stares at him, stunned by. . .by his thoughtfulness. "Castle, I don't - that's-"
He gives her a whipped puppy look. "But I should've just given it to you when I first got my hands on it. That sniper case was a week before Thanksgiving. I wish I-"
"Hey." She shakes her head at him, can't help lifting her hand to brush down the outside of his shoulder. "It's fine. It's. . .really good. That will help a lot, especially now that I don't have physical therapy."
He nods once but he doesn't look too convinced. "I could run over to your place and get it. It will only take me-"
"No, Castle," she says gently, shifting closer on the couch. Her hand is still at his arm, thumb in the crook of his elbow. She can feel his pulse jumping there.
Or maybe that's her own.
"I wish I'd thought," he says with a sigh, tilting his head back on the couch.
She puts a hand on his chest to steady herself. Unsure why she feels like she's swaying, like she might fall into him.
"You did think. And you came up with a really great, thoughtful gift. A week's worth of great, thoughtful gifts. Timing is everything, Castle."
She can't resist raising her hand and skimming her thumb over the hard ridge of his chin. His eyes are on hers in the semi-darkness, the movie still playing but the sound low.
She leans forward and lets herself brush her lips against his cheek, a complement to the one he gave her hours ago.
His hand raises to brush the back of his fingers at her neck, at once more familiar and caressing than a kiss.
Kate's lashes drift down; she can feel them skim his cheek. She breathes, leans her forehead into his.
"Thank you for thinking of me."
