Chapter 9: Home
Richard Castle walks into the apartment of Kate Beckett and looks around him.
A chair lies to his right, a table overturned. Shattered picture frames lie about his feet. A mirror which is hung over a mantle, shattered into pieces. Furniture is pushed in every direction in an attempt to block the exit. Evidence of a struggle that happened some 24 hours previous.
Castle looks in Beckett's direction, who in turn refuses to meet his gaze. She walks about the room as if home has always resembled this. She tosses her coat on a chair by the bar which partitions her kitchen, and turning the corner opens a cupboard in calm movements. She pulls two wine glasses from the opening.
"Red? White?" she asks looking up at him.
He stares back dumbfounded but finally answers, "Red. Please," his eyes falling back to the broken glass at his feet.
She is at his side quickly, handing him a glass, the red liquid dark and inviting.
"Thank you," he says reaching for the glass, returning, "Do you need help?" He reaches down, fingers carefully pulling a black picture frame from the floor. He turns it in his hands careful not to cut himself; a picture of her mother.
"I'll get to it," she retorts matter-of-factly making her way around broken glass to pick an overturned chair. She inches forward through her living room carefully, and then in a heavy slump falls to her couch raising her feet to rest on her coffee table. Two beats and she looks over her shoulder to Castle who stares sorrowfully at the photo in his hands. "Castle," she instructs, "Sit."
He looks up to her and turning places the frame upright on the shelf beside him, a long jagged piece of glass remains in the frame.
He is beside her now, looking down at her awaiting further permission. With tired eyes she looks up to him, eyebrows raised and lowers her sights to the spot beside her. He sits.
In silence they sit for a while before she finally begins.
"You know, we put locks on our doors, bars on our windows," raising the glass to her mouth she takes a sip, holding the liquid for a moment before swallowing. "We think we have the system figured out. We carry guns. We learn self defence. We're home early, in bed by eleven." She looks up to him, "We do everything in our power to ensure we are safe, we are secure. And then there are the few that get to us anyway; the few that never read the book on how to behave in society. They are the few that bypass the order of things."
He remains quiet but holds her gaze.
"I knew something was different. I knew it in my gut. He must have been waiting for me. He knew to wait until my gun was off. He knew where to hide, where to be so I wouldn't notice him." She takes another sip of her drink, "I must have been home for a little more than a half an hour. The psycho was watching. He was waiting for the right moment." She pauses, contemplating, "You know Castle, it was as if he knew my movements before I made them. Like it was already on the written page. Like I was meant to fail."
"You didn't fail," is his sorrow attempt at consoling.
"No. I did," she says looking down to her glass, "I've survived much worse, trust me. But in my own home. It was dark; he knew how to avoid every obstacle I threw at him. With all my training, I couldn't run 12 feet to save my own ass."
"You're being too hard on yourself," he says turning his body toward her, "This guy was special. A special type of psycho if you will. He was able to get past the security in my building."
She lowers her head further, fingering the rim of her glass, "He used my set of keys. We came in the back."
Castle lowers his head as well and takes a sip, the thick liquid filling his senses. Silently he wishes to feel numb.
"I just kept praying that no one would be home," Beckett says quietly, truthfully. "But thank god there was Martha."
Castle smiles for the first time in a while, breathing out quickly, "She really did enjoy the hero worship a little too much."
"Nah," Beckett returns, "She deserves it. Your mother was spectacular."
They nod in unison. Several moments pass between them, listening to the traffic outside her apartment; a dog barking, a car alarm sounding. Finally with one last swig of her glass, she raises the empty in Castle's direction.
"Refill?" he asks, reaching out for her glass.
"No, but I do think I will take you up on your earlier offer."
He leans forward placing his glass on her coffee table, "Where can I find a broom?"
***
A dark shadow waits in the doorway, heaving breathing attempting to subside. The figure of Beckett disrobing, unbuttoning her blouse, throwing it to the bed. Her back to the doorway she is dressed now in a black laced bra, tight fitted jeans. The shadow raises a hand to the door frame, wrapping gloved fingers around it. He sighs heavily.
She stops in her motions for a second, head spinning, and reaches hands behind her to her bra strap, fingers curling around eye and hook. He is on her in a flash of darkness. His body pressed against her, he throws her to the bed, fingers wrapping around her delicate neck as he squeezes. She is fighting for air.
***
Castle awakes, startled. Cold air coming in through the open window to his right, a fire escape. The room is dark, light barely streaming in from the streetlamps outside. A clock ticks on the mantle ahead of him; a black shape, he cannot tell the time. He rubs his eyes and his sights begin to accept the shapes around him.
Her feet in his lap, Castle looks to Beckett who holds a pillow, her breathing soft in the room's darkness. Carefully he picks her feet out of his lap, placing her long frame behind him. He draws nearer to the coffee table and takes a seat, leaning over Beckett to let the light flow upon her features.
She does not move, is not aware of his prying eyes. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he reaches over her, pulling a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He leans back to view the peaceful Kate Beckett. A sight so rarely witnessed; no brow to furrow, no eyes to roll, no smart ass comments to throw his way. He smiles.
After several moments of watching her sleep, her chest rising and falling with each breath, he makes the executive decision to move her. Placing one hand behind her back and another behind her knees, he lifts her carefully into his arms; her long frame stabilized in his grasp. Her head rolls to rest on his shoulder and he moves carefully around each shadowy obstacle to her bedroom and places her gently on her bed.
As he leans over her to grab a blanket, she reaches up suddenly to curl her fingers in the collar of his shirt. Her breathing erratic, choppy, she pulls him gently nearer to her, his face inches from hers. He can feel her breath on his face; feel the heat rising from his toes. He licks his lips without thinking as she pulls his face closer, their lips locking in union.
They hold their lips together without moving, Castle afraid he may lose his balance and topple her. As she carefully slides her tongue into the corner of his mouth, he releases his hold on her blanket, drawing his hands to her sides in order to support his weight over her body; gravity willing for collision.
He returns her kiss deeply, dragging his tongue into the far reaches of her mouth, their breathing increasing with each movement. Sighs and moans are shared between them without intention or delay. He can feel her audible, from the back of her throat, and she is pulling more securely now, drawing him nearer, yearning for his weight on her body. He obliges, resting a knee on either side of her long frame, a hand released from his collar she runs her fingers through his hair. With the flick of his tongue against hers, her back arches, needing; a victim of her own desire.
He releases them from their bond. As he pulls away, she tightens her grasp pulling on him again, her hands at the side of his head, a finger wrapped around each ear. Her eyes searching his; wild and wanting.
He draws a finger to her lips and pushes her gently to rest her head back on her pillow. As her grasp loosens, he draws back running his hands slowly down the sides of her body. He tugs gently at the base of her shirt and raises it slowly exposing her abdomen. Her stomach is tight, rising steadily with each heavy breath she takes.
He draws his lips to her body running his tongue along her sides, placing gentle kisses as he explores. Her breathing increases as he nears her waistline, running from her hip bones to the button on her pants. She brings her hands to play with his hair, digging her nails lightly into his scalp.
"Castle," she mutters almost inaudibly.
He continues to place kisses along her stomach around her belly button, running back down to her pant line; his hands trailing her sides slowly. He reaches up, taking the button in his fingers, undoing her pants.
"Castle," she says with force now, her hands carefully pulling at his hair.
He looks up slowly to see her looking down at him, their breathing the only sound in the room. She brings her hands to her hair now, running her fingers through it, covering her face slightly.
"It's too much," she continues, her words muffled, "I'm so sorry."
He nods his head, sighing softly, and places one final kiss to her abdomen. Lifting his body away from her lower half, he returns to rest his body along the length of her own.
"No, I'm sorry," he mutters, bringing a hand up to pull her hands from her face, "I know. It's too soon."
"It's more than that, Castle," she moves her head to face him, "I'm not very good with all this hero riding in on his white horse mumbo jumbo. I don't do very well when taken care of."
"That's apparent."
"I'm independent. I can't help it. And this," she reaches out to place a hand on his chest, "This is just too much to handle all in one shot. I need to stay the Detective. You need to stay the writer. It needs to be the constant in my life right now; especially when everything else is out of sync." She is careful to look him in the eyes, the dim light in the room shining in them, "I can't wrap my head around anymore than that right now."
"I understand," he says, "You're right."
"I really am sorry," she says taking her hand from his chest.
"Don't worry about it," he smiles, "I can be very patient."
She lifts her body from the bed, draping her legs over the side to rest her feet on the floor.
"Would you like me to leave?" he asks, lifting on one elbow.
She sighs again, shaking her head, "Would it be entirely selfish of me if I said 'no'?"
"No."
"Good," she says, lifting from the bed, motioning toward her bathroom, "Because I owe you breakfast in the morning."
Hopefully more twists and turns to come soon... thank you for your dedication and reviews, especially if you have followed me this far...
Your words really do mean a lot to me... and I find they make me update quicker... I must do this to please you... :)
