Window 12: Wish I Had a River

She carefully tests her balance, sinks her full weight onto her feet and legs, steadying herself before she slowly pushes off, glides forward. The familiarity of the skates beneath her feet returns to her faster than she expected as she makes a couple of strides onto the ice, then does a quick 180-degree turn, sending particles of ice flying when she comes to a standstill.

"Come on, Castle," she encourages, watching him get up and hobble across the rubber path toward the ice rink.

"This does not look like 'it wasn't pretty'," he complains, making air quotes at her when he cites her past comment from, when was it, a couple of years ago? The man really doesn't forget any random fact about her, does he?

"All I said was that it wasn't pretty at the time," she clarifies, skating back toward him, leaning against the boards. "You okay?"

"Yeah, fine, I'm good." He cautiously steps onto the ice, tests his stability by shoving his feet back and forth a couple of times. And then he pushes off, skates forward across the ice in long, even strides. She follows him, catches up to his side, lining up next to him.

"Hey, look at you." Kate watches him from the side, admiring the sure pace of his legs, the tight curve of his butt; the grace of his movements, sure and familiar with the skates underneath his feet.

"I never said I couldn't skate either." He turns his head to look at her, an eyebrow quirked high.

"Touché," she grins while she reaches for him, threads her gloved fingers through his, falling into his pacing. Slowly at first, they circle the oval of the skating rink, the stride of their legs synchronized, their breaths rising into the air in swirling white clouds, mingling together in the icy winter wind. Their pace increases as they get more comfortable, glide along in rhythm with the rock-pop versions of popular Christmas songs that blast from the large speakers on each end of the outdoor rink.

"So why ice skating?"

She shrugs, shivers a bit when a gust of cold air finds its way underneath her scarf.

"Just been a couple of rough days." She runs her eyes over the rink, over the clumps of teenagers jostling one another while they skate, the couples smiling adoringly at each other, the swirls of children with their colorful hats and wool mittens and red, dripping noses, who are giggling brightly, falling and dusting themselves off, hands entwined with mom's or dad's, or shooting off on their own to the wide-eyed shock of their parents. People unencumbered by drama and murder and incidents of nearly dying, again.

"I wanted to do something fun. Something… normal."

He nods in quiet understanding, tucking her arm into the crook of his elbow and she leans her cheek against his shoulder, allowing his rhythm to guide her as they travel forward. She's lulled by the cadence of their measured movements, the ice scraping underneath her skates and she focuses on crossing over her feet when they turn the corners.

"I used to bring Alexis here all the time. She was so tiny still, when we came here the first time, but she was fearless. Would take off with these plastic penguins they have here for the little kids to support themselves, her pigtails flying behind her, her little legs so fast." His voice is laced with warmth and the ache of reminiscence as he talks and it never fails to grip her, the kind of attentive father he is, so caring, so different from the playboy image he portrayed to the media. It curls warm and wanting, somewhere deep inside, in the place that is too much, too early to address yet.

"I could barely keep up," he laughs. "I had no skill. Just wobbled across the ice behind her, pushing my feet along as best as I could, scared shitless that she'd fall, crack open her head and I couldn't get to her fast enough. But she loved it," he reminisces, his eyes following the path of two little girls scooting past them.

"So you learned how to skate."

"I learned how to skate." He looks over at her, smiling at her and it's like a shot of warmth that blossoms from her heart out to her limbs, leaving her skin tingling.

"I'm no Todd Eldredge…" He winks at her and she chuckles. "But I can skate forward and a little backward and, most importantly, I can stop." He is a bit better than just that but she lets it stand; content to be pressed to his side, the warmth of his body against hers, so vibrant and alive.

"I learned it for my mom. Or rather because of her, I guess," she shares after a couple of minutes, the quiet only dissected only by the rhythm of their feet slicing across the ice. She wonders sometimes if she has any significant memories or pieces of her life that don't in some way relate to her mother. It bisects her entire life, the brutal slicing line of the murder.

"The skates were a Christmas gift, and when she took me skating, it was one of the very last things we ever did together, and I was just so horrible at it. I lost patience fairly quickly, wanted to go home, and I think my mom was disappointed that I didn't like it as much as she'd hoped." He squeezes her fingers and she inhales a deep breath, letting the ice-cold air infuse her lungs.

"After she died, I was floundering, just drifting through every day. Then one night, I don't remember why, but I just grabbed those skates, took the bus over to the indoor rink close to our home, and I got on those skates and onto that ice. I was determined; I had to learn this. She wanted me to skate, so I was going to skate."

She leaves out the parts where her knees were scraped open and bleeding for weeks, her tailbone sore, her legs bruised black and blue from all the falls she took because she didn't have a clue what she was doing, relentless in her pursuit to perfect this skill, unforgiving with herself as she went skating for hours, for weeks on end.

She'd always been good at replacing one obsession with the next.

The cold wind whips through her hair, tangles and knots her curls as they glide around the oval of the rink, the background music a mere blur to the gloom of her memories but his hand is warm around hers, his presence a quiet comfort and it's easier now, with him, the past no longer drowning her out, just part of who she is, who she became.

"Eventually I gave it up when I got into NYU; I had a new goal. But it took years for me to realize that I actually enjoyed skating." It was Will who'd finally been able to drag her back onto the ice, and she'd discovered the pure joy in it, the rush of adrenaline when she travels in fast strides, speeds around the rink, the wind whipping across her face, reddening her cheeks, the blur of the world whirling by when she looses herself in only the rhythm of her legs, the almost metrical glide of the skates.

And now she wants to share it with Castle.

"Thanks for sharing this with me." He echoes her thoughts, smiles at her from the side and her stomach flutters with the intense, adoring gaze of his eyes on her, the curl of desire unfurling in her veins, fast and heated, and she wants to tackle him against the nearest wall, feel the heat of his mouth over hers, the sharp press of his body.

She swallows harshly; contends herself with pressing a lingering kiss on his cheek, stumbling slightly when she's distracted by the warm feel of his skin under her cool lips, and he steadies her by the elbow.

"So do you know any tricks?" He winks at her.

Kate chortles, lifts an eyebrow suggestively as the double meanings bounce between them. "You mean any elements, figures?"

He nods and she bites onto her bottom lip, contemplating, not sure if she can still pull it off but excitement leaps inside of her, tempting her and so she pushes off him, speeds up, travels forward toward the inside of the rink and when the tempo gives her the needed velocity, when it feels just right in her ears and in her limbs she vaults over the toe pick of her left skate, and rotates 180 degrees through the air in a low, but almost perfect waltz jump. She uncrosses her legs, lands on her right foot, left leg stretched back as she flows out of the jump with ease.

Her cheeks are glowing, blood rushing with adrenaline and she skates back toward Castle who's standing off to the side, gaping at her with stunned surprise. She flies into his arms and he catches her, swings her around as they both try to catch their balance, and she giggles.

"I didn't know I could still do this," she breathes, her chest lifting and falling in a rapid rhythm.

"Wow," he murmurs, eyes shining with delight in her, his hands strong around her waist. She curves her fingers around his head, tugs him closer and kisses him, caressing his soft, chilled lips, curling her tongue around his in a heated swirl.

"Wow," he repeats breathlessly when they pull apart, and she laughs, ruffles her fingers through his mussed-up hair.

"Wanna go fast?" She encourages, twining her fingers through his, the swirl of adrenaline still lacing her blood, the flutter of excitement unbridled in her abdomen. His eyebrows rise with his gleeful grin as he nods eagerly.

She pushes off, waits for him to adapt to her rhythm and then they speed up, travel the length of the rink in long, even strides, feet crossing as they round the corner, gain velocity. The icy wind prickles their faces, sounds and shapes and colors a blur as they speed by and the laughter bursts from her chest, freed and bright, joined by his as they swirl together, dance high into the winter air.