heart so helpless
Ugh, I'm useless with updating. Sorry. This is just really difficult to write lately and I'm not exactly sure why. Thank you all for your positive comments on this fanfiction, they honestly fuel me for getting through difficult writing stages like this one. Also I've literally just written this and it's quarter to one in the morning here so my proofreading is probably terrible as I'm half-awake as I type this; sorry for any mistakes, and generally bad writing.
They stayed separate for what seemed to be the rest of the day. Castle too busy writing away, absorbed as he normally was whenever he thought of a new idea, and Kate too busy investing herself in his older words; the ones he's writing over with words of her- the twist of her smile, the twinkle in her eye, the shine in her hair.
He changed his idea of Nikki as he wrote, of course. Since he'd learned that she was a cop, once, he'd changed her from CIA to Detective- Homicide. It had seemed fitting.
They'd seen each other once that day, after their yelling match. Castle had escaped to the bathroom and, as he was headed back to the study, caught sight of her leaving the kitchen with a class of orange juice in hand. She'd stopped, stared at him for a moment with intense eyes and he could've sworn he saw her throat bob as a blush rose to her cheeks.
"I'm still working on the guy looking for you. So you can go home as possible." She'd said, and without waiting for his answer, abruptly spun on her heels and rushed up the stairs.
He went back to the study and wrote about her- for her.
"Castle? Castle."
Castle feels a smooth, cool hand tracing patterns at the bottom of his back, another brushing away the hair that flops in front of his forehead. Lips by his ear; her lips, her voice, her.
He jolts awake immediately to the sound of her amused laughter, finding that he's fallen asleep at the desk, one piece of paper sticking to his face determinedly as he rises. Blearily, his hand reaches up to his face and tears the piece of paper away from his cheek. Once his hazy eyes focus he finds it's the plan he'd written earlier for Nikki Heat. Huh.
When he turns he finds Kate crouched beside him, eyes watching him with a tenderness that he didn't think she knew she was showing at that moment, but the way his heart dissolved at the sight prevented him from calling her out on it.
Perhaps it were selfish of him, but he would rather she look at him like that- as though he's the reason for the sudden light in her life, as though he hung the moon and the stars single-handedly just for her and set her night sky ablaze with a kaleidoscope of patterns of light- than acknowledge there's something there and she never look at him that way again. It's just too beautiful and he wants to cherish it, he needs to see it, all the time, because nobody has ever looked at him like that before aside from his daughter; and that had come from gratitude for him raising her, a childish idolization that all devoted daughters have on their fathers. But with Kate, it was different. Loving Alexis is just as easy for him as it is for her. With Kate; she's different, if that were the word to even begin to describe her. She's hard work. Though isn't he just the same? And she's guarded. But perhaps he is, too, since he's known betrayal from an early age of growing up fatherless. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that more than anything, they are alike in their reluctance to trust. He has a huge heart, she does not, but that doesn't mean they're so different. Despite his huge heart, he knows the sting and absolute bitterness of betrayal. He's not so trusting anymore. Neither is she.
Something sticks in his throat, words that sound suspiciously too much like I love you that he wants to cry.
Because he doesn't possibly love her, does he? He's barely known her a day.
But then her hand reaches up to brush the hair out of his eyes, and he feels his heart stutter; a punishment for his absolute denial regarding his feelings for this extraordinary woman.
"You fell asleep, Castle. It's one am. You'll get a crick in your neck if you sleep like that."
Her voice is soft, warm, and he doesn't think twice.
He kisses her- easily, naturally. As though this were a thing they do all the time.
Kate neither shoves him away nor responds in kind. But when he reluctantly pulls away from her soft lips the tenderness in her green eyes hasn't left. She simply switches them to study the words on paper. "Nikki Heat, huh?" Her voice is ragged now, out of breath, and if the darkness in her eyes is anything to go by then he knows exactly why.
When he doesn't reply, her eyes find his again and she raises an eyebrow at him. It's probable that he finds that look more sexy than it is- but then again, what's not unbearably hot about this woman?
"Not Derrick Storm?" Kate murmurs.
Castle feels his own lips curve into a smile. "Kate," he laughs, "I know you're a fan."
Her eyes widen, panic flitting across her beautiful features. "Castle, I-"
"Don't even try to deny it, Kate. I saw your copy of Hell Hath No Fury. Only serious groupies have read that one." He teases her, enjoying the pink stain that tints her cheeks.
"I'm going to bed." She tells him sternly, but the smile on his face doesn't drop.
Kate smiles back at him shyly, and he wishes that the room were not so dimly light, but is grateful for the sliver of moonlight that sneaks through the open blinds of the windows and paints in her in silver. She glows, and it takes his breath away. So much so that when she leans forwards and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek, he cannot move, simply watches her go with his eyes studying every movement, every play of muscle, down to the small detail of the way her index finger taps against her left leg when she walks.
When he returns to his bedroom and looks in the mirror, he touches his hand to his face in astonishment.
The cheek she'd kissed.
It has the imprint of Nikki Heat/Jameson Rook on it.
Their routine stays this way for a couple of days- him writing, falling asleep at the desk, whilst she reads his words and hunts down the man that wants him dead. They don't see each other often, and it's a little slow to get through the days with such a small amount of interaction, but the time they do spend together is time well spent. He's seducing her slowly, after all. Receives lingering looks when he tucks the stray strands of her hair behind her ears; lets his hand brush across her waist when they dance around each other in the kitchen rummaging for food; finds a soft spot on her neck that makes her knees buckle when he presses a hot, open mouth kiss to it.
Though not all of it is fun and games. His phone calls to Alexis are tiring. Leaves him with headaches and forces him to lay in the same spot of his bed for hours, simply staring blankly up at the off-white ceiling. His daughter sounds so sad. So tired. He idly wonders if she's disappointed in him.
Kate grows increasingly agitated as the days drag on. She keeps questioning him about anything related to her being hired for him. Have you upset anybody recently? Noticed anybody following you recently? What's your strangest encounter with a fan ever been? All of his answers are useless, of course. Although she hadn't ever expected him to be a fountain of knowledge, she'd expected the slightest amount of awareness from him. Apparently he's as clueless as she is about this perplexing situation.
She hates not knowing.
Her whole life revolves around her hate of not knowing.
"Kate?"
His hand tangles with hers- she hasn't even realized it, but she's been scrabbling at her shirt to get to the ring underneath in her unfocused state of mind.
She doesn't bother pulling her hand away from his. Despite her reluctance, these past few days he's been wearing her down slowly, so much so that she doesn't mind him pushing her boundaries so much anymore. Though only physically, at most, she supposes. She refuses point blank to speak about her past with him and he doesn't try to push too much, though she's had to give him more than a fair share of angry looks to get him to back off. Seems this guy can get pretty obsessive with certain ideas; like this idea of a a detective Nikki Heat. She's not stupid. She knows he's writing about her.
The thought sends a shiver through her even as her toes curl in delight and a warmth pools in her stomach.
"Kate."
His voice cuts through her voice again and she snaps back to the real world, slowly.
"I-" She's not quite sure what to do once she's recollected herself, standing alone with him in her kitchen, holding hands.
"Are you okay?" He asks caringly, cupping her cheek with one hand.
Gentle- He's so, gentle. Just gentle. His hands, large hands that look as though they could do damage, are so soft on her skin. She knows they'll never harm her. She can feel the way he loves her with the shortest of touches.
That's half the problem. They way he loves her through his words and his touch. He's got her all wrong: Painted her out to be this extraordinary hero who's out to save the day and is in the road back to forgiveness, headed towards some form of resolution that causes her to give up this life. He writes her like she's a saint, as though every word she breathes is magic, and every smile she sends to him is electric. He touches her like she is beautiful, as though she doesn't have blood on her hands and she's the woman she used to be before her Mom was murdered so, so long ago.
"I'm fine." She lies.
Kate knows Castle doesn't believe her.
She escapes back to her room. She's good at that, hiding.
Castle wakes at the bizarre hour of half three in the morning. He tries to screw his eyes shut and go back to sleep, but no amount of willing makes it happen. He lies there for a good twenty minutes before he finally gives in and leaves the warmth of his bed, deciding that writing will help him fall back to sleep. At least it seems to make him sleepy anyhow, if the amount of times Kate has woken him up at the desk over these past six days is any proof of evidence.
Only when he's made it halfway to the study, he notices a light on outside the house that shouldn't be there. It hasn't been there before at this hour, and this is usually the time he's slinking back off to bed from the study, rubbing his aching neck as he does so.
Castle resolves to going out there to switch the outside light off, only he doesn't find what he expects to.
Instead of a forgotten light, he finds Kate Beckett in the pool. Body barely covered by anything, just scraps of fabric tied together at the edges of her body. That really is an itsy bitsy bikini.
He watches her, transfixed, startled, and aroused all at the same time. The play of her muscles with each stroke, the way she practically glides through the water without making any noise nor a splash, all of that skin she has on show and he can see it, touch it if he had the nerve to walk over to the pool right now.
But damn. Her legs are so long, so powerful, and he briefly finds himself wondering what those legs would feel like wrapped around his waist, as her fingers dug into his back and left crescent marks, mouth falling open to let out a breathy moan as-
Oh.
She's stopped now. She seems to register the fact that he's here.
She slows to a stop at the side of the pool he's standing, and he's fairly certain the way her body practically slides through the water is completely on purpose on her part. There's no way such a sensual move could be accidental, not when she arches so that her hands can grip the side of the pool and lift her slowly onto her elbows, revealing a dripping wet Kate to her shoulders. With hooded, dark eyes that stir things inside of him that he hadn't even been aware he could feel.
Oh boy, is he in way too deep.
