Kate pushes through the door with the weight of him in tow, tumbling into the soft hum of a dimly lit all-night all-rounder. The Oxford Tavern, as its sign reads, arches around the street corner, heavy set red-wood bar and opposing booths all sweeping around the arc on deep-green carpet.
The air is musky, dense with alcohol, the lingering smell of cheap cigars and day old oil. It rushes out over them as the door opens and Kate sucks in a harsh breath, the taste of this place settling on her tongue like stale memories.
The whole space is set in a soft glow from the low hanging tube lights with their green glass shades and feels like the inside of a heartbroken hangover, soft music flowing from an old-fashion juke-box in the corner housing the bar.
The door squeals with their arrival and several heads turn in their direction. Kate stills as the sprinkling of patrons, all drowning in alcohol or mowed down by exhaustion run glazed eyes over the intrusion of them and Castle careens into her at the abrupt snag in their momentum. His fingers clench around hers, his other hand curling tight around her waist and she feels the gasping stutter of his chest against her shoulder blades, wincing as his body goes taut against hers.
She covers the hand he has curled around her, fingers slipping between his in gentle apology. "Sorry," she whispers to him, though she's already learnt that he won't yet hear.
A knot of stumbling dart players turn then, dragging glassy eyes down her body. They mumble unintelligible pick-up lines, bumping clumsily into each other and Kate considered pressing Castle back out onto the street, but their attention slowly comes to focus on the tangle of their fingers knotted high on her waist and the roundest chuckles, nudging his buddies away.
They go back to their game, entirely uninterested.
Kate sighs, keeping Castle's body curled around hers as she steps further into the space. She tugs him down the longest leg of the high-topped bar, the curve of the building that serves as more diner than drowning place.
She unravels their fingers and presses him down into a tiny booth buried in the back corner, soft light spilling from the kitchen in broken lines there.
She remembers that he'd whispered to her - a few nights ago when she'd moved to tug him into a café and he'd reeled her body hard and fast back to him – that the pressure helps, so she scoots further into his side, pressing him tightly between the warmth of her body and the cold sting of the full length window, settling into the achingly familiar silence of him.
Finally she feels the warmth flooding back into his thigh where it's pressed against hers and Kate waves the waitress over, orders something for him to drink when he finally comes back to her.
[x]
It's quieter in this curl of the tavern, garbled sound barely filtering around the bend and Kate's mind drifts off, tearing through the details. The open spaces, the cracked light, the trigger and distance and the way he reached for her, the chill of his fingers. She's replaying the sound, piecing together the importance of their surroundings and building the patterns to know him, to see it coming next time, get him out sooner.
She startles at the feathering of warm fingertips over her forearm and looks up to find their waitress - a soft older woman with kind eyes, freckles splattered over her drawn cheeks and a concerned smile looking down at her. "You two okay here, Sweetheart?" She asks, eyes flicking pointedly to Castle and back like the offering of a lifeline.
Kate rakes her eyes back over him then, half buried in shadow. His broad frame, blurred in the dimly lit space, looms over her. Every angle of him tense, his body stiff and trembling beside hers, and his gaze empty.
"Fine," Kate smiles warmly, "He's just… we're... I'm a cop. Detective," she finally settles on with a sigh, "He's my partner."
The waitress' body slumps a little in relief as she unloads the strawberry milkshake and herbal tea from her tray and Kate fills with warmth for this woman, reaching out to a random customer in the middle of the night despite what it could cost her. Her dark brown eyes soften as she skims back over their bodies, pressed tightly together with Kate's small frame attempting miserably to shelter him. Her lips curl into a sympathetic smile. "Tough night out there?" She asks, eyes drifting out to the darkened street and coming back to Kate.
Beckett releases a slow breath. "Yeah," she nods, reluctantly agreeing. "Tough night. But, we'll be fine, thanks."
"Okay, Honey, well you just look after your… partner," the astute waitress says with a cheeky wink as she turns on her heel. "And it's on the house tonight, Detective, we appreciate the finest around here," she throws over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.
The corners of Kate's mouth twitch as she shakes her head and turns back to Castle, his silence suddenly unsettling. It's the irritation she misses, the sly comment about his drinks being on her tonight or a wink of his own that would look simply filthy.
Nothing.
Her body deflates and she twists into him, reaching over his shoulder with rattling fingers to slowly re-zip his jacket and wrap him back up. Her fingers slip off the metal loop when it reaches his chest and she presses gentle fingertips there, her stomach turning to stone and sinking down, down, with the weight of missing him so wholly in each of these moments that he needs to be gone. It's different each time she loses him, yet unequivocally shattering, and she's exhausted with the efforts of rebuilding.
She takes a slow sip of her tea, steam billowing out over the rim and warming her closed eyelids. It smells heavenly, a specific mix that Lanie forcefully insisted her body needs, but it's an acquired taste she's still studiously attempting to acquire. Her face scrunches as the bitterness coats her tongue.
Finally, she feels the first rustlings of Castle at her side and turns to him. His face is suddenly close to hers, brow furrowed as the focus in his eyes clears and a question she doesn't understand appears.
He studies her for a moment before reaching across her body to lift her mug to his lips.
His face screws up in disgust as he spits the offending liquid back into the mug, choking and glaring at her. "Kate, don't drink that. That's definitely rat poison," he scolds.
She chuckles, thick hiccupping waves of relief rushing out of her as her head lolls against his shoulder because of course that's the way he comes back to her; silly and dramatic and outraged.
"Firstly, Lanie says I have to and secondly, well I wouldn't drink it now." She scowls as he pushes the mug out of her reach as though she might still be tempted.
He shrugs unapologetically, plucks another straw from the dispenser at the edge of the table and drops it into his milkshake, pushing the drink between them. "Well, I hate to break it to you, Beckett, but I'm fairly certain that Lanie's trying to kill you," he says matter-of-factly.
Kate shakes her head at his antics but pulls a long sip through the straw and settles back into the booth nonetheless.
His body follows, always follows, but it's heavy and clumsy, falling hard against the cushion and bouncing her up on a puff of air. He reaches out for her quickly, warm palm landing on her knee and pressing her down. "Whoops, sorry," he chuckles and she smiles despite herself.
"Goof," she mutters as her head tips back onto his shoulder and her eyes slip closed, the relief of his voice, the warmth of his palm and the simple presence of him all undoing her swiftly and without remorse.
Her fingers slip down, tangling up with his and he drags their joined hands into his lap, cheek falling gently to the crown of her hair. He breathes in the scent of her, sweet cherry wine intoxicatingly flooding his senses and he sighs, body slowly dissolving in the tide of her breathing.
"How long was I gone?" he finally whispers, grimacing as she jerks away.
Her fingers slip away and the relieved tilt of her lips falls. "Does it really matter, Castle?" She counters, the shame in his eyes tearing savagely at her heart every time.
"No," he sighs, throat burning. "No, I suppose not, but… thanks. For having my back," He finally manages and she lifts her eyes back to his.
She holds his gaze and nods. "Partners," she says like an ending, even though the single word tastes like a cowardly little lie scrambling out over the choking truth of it all.
He stares for a long moment before clearing his throat and busying himself with their milkshake.
[x]
"Have you heard from Nikki lately?" Kate finally asks.
"Yeah!" he blurts, loud and excited and startling himself. He blushes for a second and then barrels on, launching into a jumbled mix of stories, snippets of days here and there that brought him to the perfect scene and she's tripping along with him.
He twists his shoulders to face her and brings his hands into the story; wide, flailing actions that draw the attention of the man in the next booth and make Kate blush.
His eyes widen in genuine horror and she laughs. "Don't laugh, Kate," he glares as she presses her lips together. "I actually scared myself, that's how good this scene is," he presses and she rolls her eyes.
He tugs her hands into the story too then, lines them up on the table like bookends and dances his fingers around between them, setting the scene with splendour.
Kate falls involuntarily into the action, caught in the silky weave of details as he ties everything together and explains the way his unconventional attempts at research flip over into a tormenting escape for Nikki.
She loves the brightness of him in these moments. Bursting into the story and fizzing over every detail. She loves that he takes her along with him, that he grabs at her fingers, twists and turns them around and makes her Nikki all over again.
She gasps suddenly and he falls back into the window laughing loud and long as she presses her palms to her ears with a glare, singing, "La la la la la, I did not just hear those spoilers."
God, she's completely childish about it. Petulant and silly and so so beautiful.
He's winded by the way she pouts and he reaches for her on instinct, fingers curling around her wrists to pull her hands away.
"Kate." Her name falls out of him. Just her name spilling from somewhere deep in his lungs and they're drowning.
Her focus tunnels down to him. To the way his blink falls heavy and slow, the way his eyes flick over her lips and his body angles closer.
He tugs on her wrists.
She tips into him and then he's kissing her. Hard and breathless. It's barely an instant. A quick brush of his lips over hers.
"Don't," he whispers, the sound barely carrying between them. He kisses her again, tipping down until his lips catch hers and lift away on a chuckle, "Don't pout, Kate."
He pulls away, warring desires stretching him thin. He needs to see her, needs to kiss her again.
Her wrists are still trapped in the burning circle of his fingers, held out on either side of his head and her arms snap taut as her body falls back in surprise. Her eyes go wide and she blinks up at him.
Her face lights up as her lips stretch slowly into a smile. "I wasn't pouting," she whines through a lopsided grin and he laughs, deep and honest like he hasn't in so long. She's ridiculous. Adorable. He almost says that.
He tugs her in again and she's there to meet him, wrists slipping from his grip and arms circling his shoulders. She sighs into the kiss. Her body crowds against his, pressing him into the corner and he reaches for her, one hand wrapping around her hip, tugging her into him and the other burying in her curling hair.
Her mouth opens and something shatters. Some hesitant thing cracks between them and he almost collapses with the relief of it. She feels it in his shoulders, the slant of his lips, and her hand smooths out gently over his chest. She kisses him slowly, carefully, and pulls away, resting her forehead against his.
"You were pouting, Kate," he whispers over her skin and she laughs.
She shoves at his shoulder and scoots out of his grasp. "Shut up, Castle."
He's completely demolished by the sight of her, all flushed skin and glistening eyes when she reaches out for their milkshake and wraps her fingers around the glass. His hand falls down to her thigh, warm palm wrapping around her and tugging her closer. Her body jerks against the seat and she gasps, sucking in a harsh breath as her eyes slam closed.
He grins at the wreck of her, presses his nose to her hair and whispers over the shell of her ear, thready and raw, "I'll change the book, Kate. If you're gonna be all pouty about it."
He pulls back, presses a smacking kiss to the rising colour in her cheeks and she ducks away.
"Good," she nods, biting her smile around her straw. "Good."