Wintersong
December 14
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tell someone all the truth
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He is such a beautiful man.
He stands in the snow with his coat collar popped up to fend off sudden landslides from the tree branches overhead and he's grinning.
A man who has somehow gone from asshole to jackass to her only light in the world, even as he crafts a snowball in his hands, palm to palm, his eyes in a knowing slant, as male and irritating and immature as he could be in this moment and yet still her breath catches.
She's so taken by how beautiful he is that she's caught off guard. She might have ducked and avoided his gleefully childish behavior; she might have scolded him for ruining their sweet walk through the woods behind the cottage; but instead she just stares, the sunlight on his hair and the way his face transforms when he's smiling at her, the joy he takes-
And his snowball smashes her directly in the chest. Kate wheezes, reeling back, cold snow trickling down the collar of her leather jacket. Castle chortles, pumping both fists in the air. "I got you." Another triumphant shout. "I got you good."
She laughs, breathless with the cold that melts through her thin shirt. Castle is coming for her now, beaming and so proud of himself, and he catches her up and spins her around, like he can charm her into not retaliating.
But, oh, she has no thoughts of retaliation; she's still struck dumb by him. And he hasn't put her down.
With every spin, she's laughing harder, dizzy, caught by beauty and cold, somewhere in between crying and giggling, and she knows her gratefulness is overwhelming, but she can't do anything about it. He kisses her, a smudge of cold lips and peppermint, and then he puts her back on her feet.
"It's all my prowess at laser tag," he preens.
"In laser tag, you're all covered up and it's dark."
"And... so?" His chuckle reverberates between them, her chest warming with the press of his torso against her own. How close he is. She could narrow her stance and his legs would cradle hers. "It's not that dark for laser tag. The whole vest is lit up anyway."
"No, just. You sneaked up on me out here in the light. Dazzled by the light. And looking handsome." She tilts her head and sneaks a look at him, and he's even brighter than before, if possible.
"Me?" he says, sly shyness. Though some of it might be authentic, under all his showman exterior. Some of that shyness probably is real. The man who was wounded when she walked out on him; the man who has sleepless nights over things in the past.
"You," she whispers, lifting her chin so her lips graze his rough cheek. "Are really handsome. I also like the scruff you're sporting. There's the rugged part. Makes me shiver."
"Laying it on thick, Beckett." His throat sounds thick, his voice like a saw. She's getting to him. She's making him believe.
"Just explaining how it was possible for you to sneak up on me in full sunlight, middle of the day."
"I was going with snowblind," he answers. A happy shrug. He does believe.
"Snowblind," she sighs. "Castle-blind? That doesn't have the same ring to it. Let's call it snowblind then."
He does laugh at that, like he's surprised by her, and his hands tuck up under her leather jacket and make her gasp with the shock of cold. He doesn't let her escape, keeps her close by resting his chin to the top of her head.
She wore her flat black boots to ride the bike, and she's so glad. Not just in deference to the snow out here, but for the difference in their height. She pushes her cold nose to his neck and he gasps, making her chuckle.
"Deserve it and worse," she tells him. "I have snow down my bra."
"I can warm those up for you."
She would be abhorred to find herself giggling like this any other day. But she can't help it. And the sun is bouncing brilliant off the snow, and he smells like them rather than just himself alone, and she loves him.
And he still loves her.
"Did I ruin our romantic walk?" he murmurs.
"Little bit."
"Oh, good. I was getting cold. Can we go inside now?" he whines.
She thumps his shoulder and shakes her head. "I want to do - everything. Our last day freely being us."
"We could do us inside. Under the covers. Where it's warm."
"We can do that kind of us in the city. Remember the Old Haunt?"
"Oh, do I."
"Then walk with me, Rick. No - wait. Play with me." She releases him and catches his flicker of consternation, the look that runs over his face that she can't entirely identify, but it's gone before she can find something to say.
Like why do you look at me like that?
She's not sure she wants an answer to that question.
But he turns it into a leer, just that fast. Jackass. "Play with you. I am certainly up for that." Eyes turning smoky, like grey embers. "I'll make you wish you had chosen in bed where it's warm."
She takes a step back and his eyes grow heavy, as if he's already narrating it in his head. He does that sometimes, starts the story before she can join. It's hot when he's being creative, but it's also frustrating.
Wait for me, she wants to pout. Like a child.
Kate sets her jaw and bends down, scoops up the first chunk of ice and snow she finds, and then she stands and rapidfire throws.
It nails his shoulder and runs down his arm to his fingers, wet and icy, and he stares at her.
"Looks like I got you." She puts her hands on her hips and smirks. "What are you going to do about it?"
And then he tackles her, and instead of a snowball fight, they're wrestling under the evergreen trees, shoving snow down each other's backs and into faces, flipping and rolling, grunts and laughs sharp in the air.
X
She giggles as she lurches away from him, and he would give away his Ferrari to hear her laugh like that for the rest of his life. He catches her by the tail of her leather jacket and tries to tug her back, but his fingers are too numb to be accurate any longer.
She clings to a bare tree trunk and swings back around, pole dancer and wood sprite in one, and she reaches out for his coat, hooking the lapel. "You're cute, but I'm starving. Feed me, Castle."
"Yes, ma'am." His stomach has been twisting in knots for the last hour, but he was having too much fun to go inside yet. He's nearly soaked to the skin and so is she, her hair drying like spiraled icicles, stiff and faintly white where the sunlight makes it sparkle. "Back to the cottage."
"Yeah, hot shower," she says, letting a suggestive smirk come to her lips. But as she trips into him, the leer falls away and she grips his coat, sinking.
She's sinking.
"Kate," he laughs, catching her at the waist and lifting her up. "You sunk in a snow drift." He still has her by her hips, but he tilts his head back, trying to see between the branches to the sky. "Oh. Wow. It's really coming down."
"It is?" she croaks. She's gripping his coat and struggling free of the foot of snow she fell into. "Oh, God, Castle, I didn't even check the weather report on my phone. I don't - even know if my phone is still charged. The precinct-"
"The front was heading to the ocean, not towards the city," he says. "I checked. But where is your phone? Espo has probably been trying to reach you."
"I forgot," she mutters, lifting one boot and placing it square on the root of a tree. "It's Monday, and I didn't even think." The root holds and she practically climbs out of the sunken snow, the little hollow that trapped her. "I didn't even think. You make me forget the world."
He grins. "Is that a bad thing?"
A slant of her eyes as she looks back at him. Her hand comes up, gloved fingers wriggling. He takes her hand and carefully bypasses the collapsed portion, the two of them knocking into each other as they trudge through fresh accumulation. As the trees thin, the sky appears, and with it, the still falling snow. Little baby flakes this time, but obviously it's still piling up.
"Not a bad thing," she says then. She's breathless with effort, which makes him feel better about the work he's having to do here too, and they fall into silence while they climb uphill through the trees.
Once they clear the thickest part of the woods, the snow really starts to fall, piling up in strange forms and shapes as it covers tree roots, fallen logs, and underbrush. They have to separate more than a few times to use their hands to clear a path or go over a limb, and by the time the reach the back lawn of the cottage, it's obvious.
They're not getting out of here today.
"Have the snow plows come through?" Kate asks, her voice altered by the cold air and their hike.
"I can't tell from here." He snags the placket of her leather jacket and tugs her back towards the door, away from the street. "Warm up first, Kate. We'll get your phone charged-"
"I don't have the cord on me. It's back in the city." She shifts ahead of him, walking more quickly now, and his heart sinks. He hopes she's not regretting this.
"We'll find one. We'll figure something out."
On the back porch, she stomps to clear her boots and jeans of snow, and he bends over and brushes at her pant legs to help. She lifts one foot to shake out her jeans, but he takes over for her, and she simply hangs on to his shoulder for balance, letting him.
When her pants are clear, he moves to do his own, but Kate knocks his hand away and does it for him, crouching down to knock the snow from his laces, scrape the ice from his jeans. She lifts her head. "Your feet have to be freezing, Castle. You're not wearing boots."
"Little bit numb, yeah."
"Okay, come on. Hot shower. First thing. And your gloves are the cheap ones from the store. God, Rick, you're going to have frostbite."
Her face is rippling with concern, her frustration over her phone and being out of contact with her job now bleeding over into him. He lets her lead him inside, but he's surprised when she starts unwinding his scarf and then unbuttoning his coat.
"Take this off," she murmurs, standing close. She smells like snow. "Hugh made a fire in the kitchen fireplace this morning while you were getting supplies. I watched him, so it'll be simple to build a new one and dry off our coats." Her fingers are nimble, fast, and he feels her like little sparks of electricity where she tugs at him.
"Good idea."
"Here," she says, a hot breath against his cheek as she goes up on her toes to slide off his coat.
He shrugs out of the sleeves, and she passes her hand down his plaid shirt, her eyes following the movement of her fingers. He catches her hand in his, plays with her ring as he feels how chilled her hands are. "You too, Kate." He releases her to tug at the zipper of her leather jacket.
She lifts her eyes to his. He pauses.
He doesn't know what she's trying to say in the silences, what her eyes telegraph. Something is moving through her, something powerful, and he can't tell if she's working to suppress it or simply feeling too much.
"Fireplace," he reminds her gently. "Phones. Shower."
"Fireplace, yeah," she echoes. "But the shower is first, I think. Warm you up. Priorities, Castle."
Well, that he hears clearly enough. She didn't mention the phone at all.
Priorities.
X
When the hot water runs cold, they have to scramble to escape the narrow tub, tripping over the rim and tangling together as they work to get out. Castle shuts off the spray, Kate lunges for their towels, and when she turns back to him, his lips are blue but his cheeks flushed red, his ears pink, and she grins.
He's like a big old kid. Her husband. She wraps the towel around her. "Cold water kinda ruined it, but you warm now?"
He nods happily, shivering as cool air eddies around them. She tucks her own towel around her breasts and he takes the other one, rubbing at his hair first so it sticks in spikes all over his head.
She doesn't resist the urge to run her fingers through it, their skins catching with the wet bump and slide. He tilts his head down for her, like a pet, his eyes slanting shut just the same way.
"You're cute," she says, and his eyes pop open. She shakes her head and steps back, taking her hair and wrapping it around her fist to ring out the water into the tub.
"Did you check your phone?"
"Not yet," she says. "But I've been conservative. Might have enough juice left." When she straightens up, he's carefully not looking at her, and she carefully does the same. She's not checking her phone just yet. She will have to, decisions will have to be made, but she wants to remain master of her fate; she won't allow the tyranny of the so-called urgent to sway her into abandoning this.
It's vital that she be here with him, and she knows it.
"Here," he says quietly, handing over her pile of clothes.
She takes them and presses them against her chest, watching him as he goes about his routines. The towel swiped across his torso and down his legs, the deftness of his hands, the way his stature fills the small bathroom. He steps into boxers and then dives into his undershirt, breaking the surface with a grin.
"Free show," he laughs, wriggling an eyebrow - and his ass - until she cracks a smile. Not just Jameson Rook who shakes his ass for his partner.
"Yeah, it is a free show. You never do seem to charge me."
"My mistake," he says. "Always forget to you with you."
She feels warm, all through. Standing in a towel as the cold leaks in around the narrow bathroom window, she feels flooded with heat. It's stupid and it's silly, but it's also everything. And he still shows up for it.
"Come on, Kate. Get moving. Miles to go before we sleep, all that."
X
He doesn't mean to fall asleep, but he stretched out on the bed while she contacted the Twelfth, and somewhere in the middle of Beckett getting updates from Espo and Ryan, he dozed off.
He wakes to twilight, that particular glow of a landscape filled with snow while the dark clouds above reflect its ethereal light. He feels stiff and too heavy, and when he can finally move to turn over, he finds Kate propped up against the headboard, a book tilted on her knees towards the window to catch the last of the light.
"Hey," he gets out, clearing his throat.
It takes her a long moment to come back to him, to travel back from the world of - ah, a weather-beaten Agatha Christie novel. When her eyes clear, she smiles at him, lifts her hand from where it must have been resting near his head. Her fingers come through his bangs and he closes his eyes again, laying his cheek on her ankles, wrapping a hand around her shin.
"You missed lunch, babe." Her fingers trace a circle around his eye and smooth his eyebrow. "Are you hungry?"
"Yeah," he says, flinching as his stomach growls. "Did you eat something already?"
She chuckles softly. "Back when it was lunch time, yeah, I did. Madi and Hugh came over to check on us. Madi made turkey sandwiches - from real turkey. Like eating Thanksgiving leftovers on homemade bread."
"You're torturing me here, Beckett."
She laughs brighter, gripping his hair and tugging a little. "Not my fault that you fell asleep."
"Au contraire. You wore me out last night. Wouldn't keep your hands off me."
"Mm, I did do that."
He grins and kisses her bare ankle. "What's up with the Twelfth? I thought you would have to get back. Snowstorm is all hands on deck, isn't it?"
Her voice is soft when it comes, means her smile is soft to match. "You should look out the window, Rick."
"I'm too comfy here. You tell me what I'm supposed to be seeing."
She runs her fingers slowly through his hair. "We have two feet, and more falling. The snow plow for Somers got stuck and Hugh says the roads are impassable. They requested a snow plow from Hartford but Hartford is busy digging out their own city, not to mention the county roads. Plus every bridge from here to New York is iced over."
His eyes pop open. "We're stuck. We - really are stuck."
"We might have made it. Instead of lunch, maybe so. But when I talked to Espo, they were only getting rain. He and Ryan have it covered for me, and my admin aide can keep the emails and memos going. Plus I just approved a bunch of holiday overtime."
He lifts his head. Her hand cups his cheek and comes down to his neck, and she looks certain but also nervous. Not of him, not of them, but maybe of herself.
"So we're snowed in," he says, letting his grin spread until his cheeks hurt.
"We are. And Hugh thinks we might lose power sometime in the night."
"Oh, we can cuddle for warmth!"
"You and Hugh have fun with that-"
He growls and pounces on her, her laughter cut off by the way he rolls her under him. She's bright-eyed and dragging her hands up his back, under his shirt, scratching lightly with her nails, ready to go.
And then his stomach twists and gurgles and she laughs, catching his face in her hands before he can groan and bury it in her neck in shame.
"Dinner downstairs, if you want. Madi made a huge meal and stuck it in our fridge."
"It's already dinner?" he sighs. "All that time wasted sleeping."
"Not a waste at all." Her chin lifts and she nudges a kiss into his cheek. "I want to be right here for all that time, sleeping or awake, forever with you."
To keep his heart from fumbling out of his chest, he has to kiss her back, and hard, until he has words to speak. "Right here? Missionary forever would be boring, Beckett. I like it when you're on top."
She grins back at him, her thumbs stroking down and back along his jaw. "You think you're so clever. But guess what? Even missionary forever - so long as it's with you."
He scoffs, but he can't stop that from getting to him, straight to his heart. And she knows it, she did that on purpose, persisting until she won him, and as he bows his head, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and squeezes.
"Okay, enough of being sappy. Get off me so we can eat. Madi left us pecan pie."
"Oh, hey now," he yelps, scrambling off her. "You didn't say there was pie."
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