#10 Smile

.

Beckett throws the highlighters and pencils back in the desk drawer, slams it shut, then drops her head into her palms, pressing her fingertips against her forehead for a moment, trying to rub away the onset of a headache. She is ready for this day to be over, this week to end and it is only Thursday morning.

Maybe she should take a day off tomorrow; hop on her bike, feel the wind in her hair as she winds along quiet country roads toward the beach.

"Morning, Beckett," he greets, startling her out of her thoughts and she looks up, finds Castle smiling warmly at her, a take out cup from her favorite coffee shop extended toward her.

Warmth laces through her at the sight, a low pleasant simmer and despite her awful week, her smile for him comes naturally.

"Thank you." She takes the cup, savors the first sip with quiet pleasure, her eyes closed, letting the flavors melt and coat her tongue, feeling its warmth rush along her throat.

He sits down and she can practically feel him watching her, his gaze prickling her skin. She opens her eyes.

"I, uhm…" He fidgets, then holds out a slim rectangular package for her. "Brought you a gift."

She grins, hikes up an eyebrow teasingly. "What do you want, Castle?"

But he doesn't volley back, his smile mellow. "You had a bad week," he explains, and she reaches for the gift, warmed by his attentiveness. She smiles at him appreciatively before she runs her fingernail under the edges of the brightly decorated paper, pink and purple balloons and streamers. Birthday wrap. She grins a little, it's not even her half-birthday, then lifts off the tape that holds the wrapping together.

"I wanted you to have this." She looks up at his words, wonders why he seems so nervous. "I mean, I thought maybe you'd like to have it."

Folding away the paper reveals the back of a black picture frame. She turns it over; for a few moments she can't make sense of it and then her heart starts hammering, her blood rushing loudly in her ears.

"Castle," she whispers, stunned, staring at the images cornered within the black edges of the frame.

It is a newspaper clipping, its borders fuzzy from being ripped from its source, showing mostly a grainy black and white photograph with a small headline underneath.

Lines formed for hours outside of Barnes & Noble on 5th Avenue as New York Times Bestselling author Richard Castle signed his latest book for his adoring, mostly female fans.

And the young girl in the photo, captured just as she receives her signed book from the hands of Richard Castle, is her. Her profile clearly visible as she smiles at him shyly, her hair past her shoulders, tucked behind her ear, with thick bangs that covered her eyebrows, frizzy from standing for hours in the grey drizzle that had wrapped around New York that day.

"How…?" She exhales the question as she takes it all in, runs her fingertip over his image, still a boyish slimness to his features. It must've been a snapshot; she doesn't recall a picture being taken at the time

"Alexis and I were going through some stuff, cleaning and sorting and we found it. In one of my writing journals."

She runs her eyes across the rest of the frame; so overwhelmed at first by the unexpected visualization of her fond memory that she didn't consciously notice the rest.

"I used to just write down stuff, all the time," he explains quietly, "thoughts, ideas, whatever inspired me…"

The photo is tacked on to a piece of lined notebook paper, off-white in color and full of his handwriting; scribbles, words, phrases running along the sides of the clipping, underneath it, tilted, dancing hastily together, urgently falling off its lines.

"I had no idea," he says, sounds apologetic but no, she shakes her head, takes it all in, no. This is… magical.

Her heart hammers against her ribs, pounding so loudly that she wonders if he can hear it. She blindly reaches for him, covers his hand with hers while she still stares at his writing, can't tear her eyes away from his words.

His words. For her. About her. Before they ever truly met he had written words about her. She skims along his thoughts, traces the sharp skinny edges of his writing, her eyes welling with unstoppable tears as she takes in some of his unnervingly astute observations.

gorgeous. wounded. strong. heart-stopping smile. eyes like a forest at dawn, moss and dew and oak. warrior. haunted. The moment she stepped into his life, his world tilted off its axis. He stops, stares. weight of the world on her shoulders. tall. surprising strength in her lithe body. cherries. soft. extraordinary. Beautiful girl, what happened to you?

She sniffs, blinks her eyes up at him, her lashes heavy with clinging wetness and he is watching her quietly.

"I didn't even remember, Kate," he apologizes, his voice coated with a thin layer of regret, but she knows, she understands, she was one of tens of thousands, just a fan at a random book signing. She never expected him to remember.

Yet he had noticed her. He saw her.

This man. This amazing, maddening, wonderful man.

Heat slices through her, hard and unexpected, clogs her throat with viscous need and she rises from her chair, tugs on his hand, decisive, urgent. Pulls him with her, through the bullpen, inside the elevator.

She stands, forces her body to stay stock-still, waits impatiently for the elevator doors to close, his breathing surprised and heavy, next to her in the enclosed space. While her stomach jitters, her fingers twitch against his and she can barely breathe through the heady expectation swirling between them.

And then the heavy doors slide into each other with a low thud and she whirls around, laces her arms around his neck. Pulling herself tightly against his body, she nudges her face into the crook of his neck.

Kate stills then, breathes him in, takes an infinite moment to soak up the inevitability of this moment, the wondrous magic that is them.

"Thank you," she whispers the words into his skin and he winds his arms tightly around her, exhaling with a moan of relief, insistent and heartfelt.

"How could I not remember you?" He asks, his voice incredulous as he murmurs into her hair and she tenderly runs her fingers along his neck, lifts her face to him.

He stares at her, his eyes mysterious blues that shine with admiration, drip with unabashed want and her heart slams against her ribcage, hard, exhilarated.

"Maybe you always have." Kate presses her palm against his heart, feels his heartbeat fast and strong. "In here." She scoots nearer, his mouth close, so close that she can feel the hot bursts of his breath against her lips. "Just as your words were always with me."

And then she closes the space between them, and kisses him. His mouth is warm against hers, soft and welcoming as he opens to her, and she tastes him tenderly, tugs his bottom lip between hers, then the top, her insides erupting with hot, breathtaking flutters.

He moans, a sound like her name on his lips, his fingers digging into her hair, tugging her closer and she delves deeper within him, tongue daring forward, seeking his, exploring his texture and flavor, enticing and wondrous and she melts into him, wanton and limber and flaring with heat. He meets her, intense and daring, holds her tightly to him until she can't breathe, gasping for air.

Castle kisses her lips softly, once, twice, calming touches; skims his fingertips along her cheekbones. "What did I say to you? In the dedication?"

She smiles brightly as she sees the words dancing in front of her inner eye, the memory as vivid as if it was only yesterday, even though the book has long since gone up in flames.

"You wrote," she starts, dances her fingertips up and down his chest in rhythm with the familiar words, and he watches her as she speaks, his eyes affectionate, adoring.

"Kate, Live life as vibrantly as possible. Be free. And smile that beautiful smile. The world needs to see it."

She kisses him once more, tenderly, lingers on his lips for a moment. "I think it's time that I do that."

.

End of Scene

.

.

AN: Let's just roll with the epically long, Grey's Anatomy-like elevator ride, 'kay? Thanks. :)