December 11: Crepuscular

"We getting anywhere?"

She glances up at him and he shoots for a smile, must succeed if the languid slide of her own mouth into a curve is any indication. Kate shrugs, runs a hand through her hair and then brings it around to rest three fingers at her chin, the skin between her brows creased.

"The boys have just managed to get a hold of Erin's parents; they're on their way in." She glances to him again, exhaustion pooling beneath her eyes.

He settles in his chair, hands her a cup of coffee. Her second already today, and he can see the hum building up just underneath her skin. If he gets enough caffeine in her she'll tug him straight to bed when they get home tonight, demanding release.

Of course, he doesn't often have to ploy her with coffee in order for that to happen. She wants him just as much as he wants her, both of them having to battle it back all day.

The cup goes back to her desk empty and he laughs, shaking his head at her. "You should have sent me sooner if you needed it that badly."

Her teeth cut in to her lower lip, her eyes never leaving the murder board even as she shrugs. "I didn't want to send you away."

"Oh." Wow. "Okay. More?"

"Not yet." She stands, and he watches the arc of her spine, the dormant strength of her thighs so evident even through her pants. "Maybe when Lanie gets back to us with the toxicology report we can trace the drug to a specific dealer? Find out who bought it."

"Sure. Sounds good."

She turns to him with a smile, folds her arms on the desk and leans forward. "I need to get this thing solved before the weekend."

"What's happening at the weekend?"

Her eyes are like liquid when they meet his and it turns his knees to water too. "I'm going up to my dad's cabin. He usually spends the whole month out there. He can't, uh-"

A curtain of hair falls forward to hide her from him when she ducks her head and he burns to brush it back, smooth his thumb over her cheekbone.

He watches the lift and fall of her throat as she swallows, the muscle in her jaw that flickers with the tension. "He can't handle it without Mom."

"He spends Christmas alone?"

Kate shrugs and he can't stop himself from reaching out, circling his thumb over the back of her hand and nudging his fingers inside the sleeve of her shirt sleeve to cradle her wrist. "He has a friend, a widower too, who makes it out there for the day itself most years, so they can keep each other company, but yeah. He's mostly by himself, which is why I try to get out there for a weekend."

"Do you want me to go with you?" He needs to get up, draw her into a hug, because there's a fissure forming down her sternum and he wants to help hold her together. Instead, he takes his hand back, folds them both in his lap, trying so hard not to touch her.

"It's not exactly fun, Castle. Just a lot of walking in the woods and reading and stuff. All very quiet."

"I can be quiet." She scoffs and he shifts in his chair, affronted. "I can. I'll be whatever you need me to be."

She comes around to lean against the edge of her desk, ostensibly to study the murder board but her hand flutters next to her thigh until he catches it in his own, lacing their fingers for just a moment.

"I'll ask my dad, but you should stay in the city. Spend some time with your kid."

"She doesn't break for Christmas until the 18th. Just let me know what your dad says and we'll work something out."

She lets Esposito talk to their victim's parents, already on her way to see Lanie when the boys get back with the haggard couple. She sees the clutch of the wife's fingers in the husband's, sees how grief threads through every line on both their faces, and it must show on her face because in the elevator Castle's hand nudges against hers, their knuckles tangling in an inverted handhold.

"You think it was either of them?"

He's watching her, the line of his profile in her peripheral vision made softer by the dimmed lighting in the elevator. She shrugs, chews at a hangnail on her free hand. "Can't really tell just yet."

"But they look so-" He trails off, can't find words to put to the parent's faces. She understands. Even for a mystery writer, there's so much written in the crumbling civilisations of their mouths that is unspeakable.

"Could be grief. Could be guilt."

She knows he hates her cynicism sometimes, hates that she can't afford to give anyone the benefit of the doubt. It's in his nature to be open and trusting, and that terrifies her. It's too easy to get hurt that way.

They are both quiet in the car on the way to the morgue and she can't help wondering whether he's trying to prove to her that he can do it, that he can be what she needs this weekend. She has to stop for a traffic light and she takes a second to slide her hand over to his thigh and smooth over the material of his pants.

"Kate?"

She hums, has to turn back and face the road again, the rest of the traffic sweeping her car along so she doesn't even really have to try.

"Today's gift is quite light-hearted. Fun. If you want I could reshuffle them, give you something more fitting. Or we could skip today altogether."

She chances a look at him, the rock face of his jaw set tight. "No. Light is good. I need the cheering up, Castle. I'll come home with you."

He disappears into his office the moment they get through the door and then he's back, watching her tug her boots off, slip out of her coat. He hands her a folded piece of paper, kisses her for a moment, just long enough that she starts to arch into him and then he's pulling away.

"Here's your clue. See you later." He nudges her over to the couch and then he goes off upstairs. She's not paying any attention to him, already caught in the web of his mystery.

Kate sinks onto the couch cross-legged, the paper in both hands. She knows what she's supposed to do, remembers from the case two years ago. He's disappeared off somewhere and for a fleeting moment she wonders whether he has cast himself in the role of treasure, whether she will solve to find X and find him instead.

She pushes the edges of the paper together slowly, tries to see if there's any place it creases naturally, some hint as to how she's supposed to fold it. She finds it quite easily, smoothing her thumb over the raised edge of the letters.

Your favorite thing.

Her feet take her to his coffee maker almost without her consent, and she laughs when she finds her second clue tucked inside the pot. Ridiculous man.

It takes her a little longer to find the words on this one; she rests her hip against the counter and frowns down at the paper. When she gets it she laughs in delight and then clamps her mouth shut, startled at herself.

Guilty pleasure.

In his study she finds the shelf with his DVD collection, her clue tucked between her box sets of Nebula-9 and Temptation Lane. He has yet to make good on his promise of a Nebula-9 marathon with her.

She brought Temptation Lane over to his place after a particularly rough case, when she wanted to curl up in his bed with her favorite show and pillow her head on his chest. Both of them have stayed here. She told him it's because his television is better than hers, but really, she just doesn't want to watch either show without him. Not anymore.

She sits in his chair to solve the next one, spinning back and forth just a little. She can hear him coming down the stairs but she tries not to look, doesn't want to ruin whatever it is he's doing.

Your favorite thing of mine.

It takes her a while to work out what on earth that could possibly be, but then it clicks and she grins, goes through to his closet.

She finds the clue tucked in the breast pocket of his navy button up. She's never even told him how hot it makes her when he wears this shirt, but clearly he's noticed how her eyes get stuck on his biceps before they meet his own.

And oh, how blue this shirt makes them.

She crawls into his bed, curling up on top of the covers with the clue. She just-

She needs to take a second to breathe through everything, let the cloak of his gift settle around her. It means so much. Everything, all of it, she can't fathom what she ever did to deserve him.

He comes to her before she can solve the final clue. Must have seen her curled form as defeat when really she's just trying to cherish him.

He climbs in and mirrors her, his knees bumping against hers. His fingers are hot on her cheek when he brushes her hair back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm just soaking it in. Everything you're doing."

"Okay. That's the last clue anyway." He covers her hands in his own, guides her into the correct fold of the paper. "See?"

My favorite thing.

She laughs, shaking her head at him. "It's under my pillow isn't it?"

"Yeah. But not- not sex, Kate." She arches an eyebrow at him and he huffs, his hand spanning her waist to tug her against him. "Being with you. Falling asleep to the sound of your breathing. Waking up with you, even at three am, it's so much more than I ever hoped."

She snakes a hand up underneath her pillow, comes back with a bag of chocolate coins. She can't stop her grin at that. "You shooting for another sweaty hug?"

She curls into the armchair across from him and he glances up from his laptop screen, meaning only to smile at her. Her face, though, is a carefully constructed mask, and already he can see her edges unravelling.

He waits, moves his laptop to the couch cushion next to him, tries to look open.

"I did love him." She brings her feet up, rests her chin on the apex of her knees, the sleeves of her sweater tugged down so her fingers can curl against her palms and keep them in place. "Royce, I mean. I loved him."

She looks so very young that he could weep.

"I know. I could tell."

She watches him, her eyelashes drifting like shadows. "I thought so." She pauses a moment, sucks in a breath. "We slept together."

It shouldn't hurt, but it's like she's poured gasoline on the embers of jealousy that reside low in his stomach and now the fire roars up and into his throat, chokes him. "Oh."

"It was the day I got promoted to homicide. I went over to his apartment and cried on his shoulder because I was so scared of letting my mom down. And he held me and stroked my hair and when I got it together enough to catch my breath I kissed him."

He grits his teeth against the urge to go to her, closes his eyes so he doesn't have to watch. "Kate-"

"It wasn't even- he didn't want to sleep with me." She picks at a loose thread on the cuff of her sweater, tugging at it until it starts to unravel. "I was in love with him but he didn't love me back. So when I tried to make love to him he wouldn't let me. He fucked me against the wall, and it was still the best I'd ever had because I had never cared about anyone the way I cared about him."

"Oh God, Kate, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It was what I needed. To get it out of my system. I knew it never would have worked between us, but that didn't stop me wanting him." She meets his eyes again, manages a smile for him.

He gets up, falling to his knees in front of her. She rests a hand at his crown, cards her fingers through his hair. "I was so naïve. I thought for the longest time I would never love someone like I did him, that no one would understand me the way he did. But here you are."

"Kate-" he drops his head to the couch cushion, forehead meeting the top of her thigh.

"I still miss him so much." She's trembling, tremors that wrack her whole frame and leach into him.

He manages to get a hand up to wrap around her ankle, his thumb circling the bone. "I am so sorry. For everything."

"I know. It's okay. The thing with Royce, that wasn't healthy. That's not what love should be like. This is it, Castle. This is exactly right."

Crepuscular:

(adj.) primarily active in twilight hours; at dawn and dusk