"You're being ridiculous."
"I'm trying to be a gentleman."
She paces into her apartment not bothering to look behind her, leaves the front door open. She knows he'll follow, he always follows.
Which is why she is so incredibly frustrated with him right now.
The argument had started during the short car ride home. He apologized for insinuating himself into her home, asked her several times if she was sure. Always the man of honor he even offered to stay with his mother and daughter at the hotel if she wasn't comfortable with his being there.
She told him with a slightly raised eyebrow and a largely confused expression on her face not to worry about it, that she was happy that he was at her side.
She'd meant it.
And he'd disregarded it in his zeal to be chivalrous.
He persisted, ranted on and on about doing it right, about dating and flowers and starting over when they caught the Triple Killer. So wrapped up in his previous fantasies about how this thing between them would start that he was suddenly seemingly oblivious to the fact that it had already begun.
The sentiment was sweet in retrospect. Bewildering in the moment.
He continued in the elevator up to her place, wringing his hands, not looking her in the eye. Acting more like a angst ridden teen on a first date than the passionate, assured man she had grown to love, want, need.
The man had spent four years proving his love, she'd spent the last day trying to show him hers, show him that she was ready. Hell, she'd told him. No small feat for the woman who had spent every serious relationship of her adult life with one foot out the door.
And now this?
His sudden urge to overcompensate, back track and withdraw was exasperating. When had the cocksure, brazen, Richard Castle that she relied upon become the cautious and hesitant man before her?
This was much more her style; it was unnerving her immensely.
He said he just needed a place to stay because his kitchen wasn't finished, he said he'd cook her dinner and sleep on the couch.
She saw red.
She felt her nostrils flare, her eyes squint and her brow furrow. Static echoed between her ears and she felt her control snap. As they exited the elevator she looked him in the eye, shoved him by a shoulder into the wall and began spewing angry words like a long dormant volcano, releasing her pent up frustrations.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me", she spat. "You just need a place to stay? What the hell have we been doing for the last week? Fuck Rick, the last year? Four years? You need a place to fucking stay?"
Her expletive laced diatribe seemed to snap him out of his mad ravings.
He blinked. Once, twice. His eyes went wide and he stuttered a little.
"Shit, Kate..you know that's not what I meant..I just thought..."
"No.. you didn't," she sighed, backing out of his space and pulling her keys out of her pocket.
"Kate.." he closed the door quietly and came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned his head on her shoulder.
"Can I get a do-over?" he exhaled into her hair, wrapping his arms a little tighter. He didn't know if it was more to keep her from running or to protect himself from her wrath.
He wonders what the hell is wrong with him. He's finally, finally, reaping the rewards of four years hard work and wall-whittling only to panic the minute she accepts his advances. He'd slap himself if he wasn't so busy trying to prevent her from doing the same.
He feels it when she lets go of her anger. Her shoulders slump and the persistent tapping of her foot slows to an occasional twitch. His body starts to respond to her close proximity, her inviting smell and he wisely untangles himself before he can get into any more trouble.
"You wanna explain yourself?" she suggests, moving into the kitchen and rooting around the cabinets for wine glasses.
"I'm an ass?"
She huffs and reaches for a bottle. A very nice bottle he notices. He sees a sliver of hope for himself yet. Surely if she was going to send him packing she would pick out something more commonplace. Something in a box or a shot of whiskey perhaps. A finely-aged red suggests forgiveness. His heart beats a little slower in his chest, the vise releases it's grip a notch.
"Quit staring and order us some food," she commands.
"Yes, Ma'am," he chuckles pulling out his phone. "Thai?"
"Yeah, that'd be nice," she replies and he notes the small smile beginning to form at the corners of her mouth.
They spend the rest of the evening slowly regaining their balance.
The food is delicious, exotic and spicy. Mangoes and basil, coconut milk and peanut. Different flavors contrasting and mingling, striking a perfect balance between sweet and heat.
Like us, he thinks.
Even better it gives them something to laugh about when he mistakenly chews on a raging hot pepper. Tears spill down his cheeks and his face is five shades of red. He's coughing and spluttering and she's biting on her lip, covering her eyes and trying not to laugh at him.
"Dumb-ass," she finally laughs and he revels in the insult.
The sound of her happy giggle is like a cool drink of water.
"Gravy-headed bacon-nugget," he responds drolly.
"Slime-speckled donkey-puffer," she smirks.
"Why, Katherine Beckett. Does your father know about this mouth of yours?"
She smacks him playfully on the chest and pokes him meaningfully in the ribs.
"I'm still mad at you," she says seriously.
"I still love you," he replies, more so.
She shoots him a brilliant smile, all white teeth and pink gums. Tempting red lips. He thinks if she ever gets tired of police work she could moonlight as a toothpaste spokeswoman.
A flush rises to her cheeks as he watches her contentedly, her gaze flicks to his lips but she rises from the couch and begins to gather their plates. He picks up the glasses and follows her into the kitchen. They stand side by side, washing dishes and shooting each other longing glances.
Kate wants nothing more than to grab him and pull him into a fierce embrace. Drag him into the bedroom and show him exactly what she means when she says she's ready. But she's still a little annoyed with him and his earlier display of lunacy. She's also willing to admit he may have had a point about slowing things down and enjoying the part they have, so far, missed.
"You're sleeping on the couch," she grumbles as she reaches into the linen closet for a pillow and spare blanket.
"Isn't that how this whole thing.."
"Don't.." she cuts him off with a glare and he wisely changed tactics.
"Wouldn't have it any other way, my lady."
"That's better," she smiles, laying the bedding on the couch and kissing him gently on the lips.
"Until tomorrow, Cupcake."
"Don't push it." she admonishes with a small smirk as she leans against the door frame to her room, not quite ready to say goodnight.
"Honey?"
She grimaces and he tries one more.
"Angel," he sighs on a warm breath.
"Hmm...better," she replies as butterflies start flapping wildly in her stomach.
"Goodnight Kate," he grins knowingly, fluffing the pillow and spreading out the blanket on the sofa. He notes the way her eyes crinkled and her lips quirked at that last moniker and promises himself to use it at least once per day.
"Goodnight Rick"
She tosses and turns, finds no position comfortable; and in the quiet, solitude of her darkened bedroom, she questions the logic in making him sleep on the couch. She has spent countless nights imagining him in her bed. Waking up to his unique smell, to his arms wrapped protectively around her waist. Hushed whispers and warm embraces.
While once she found comfort in her isolated and solitary existence, more recently she just feels lonely.
Barring tigers and kidnappers hell-bent on malfeasance, the recent morning and subsequent day she woke cuffed to Castle was one of her fondest, new memories. She had enigmatically promised 'next time'.
'Next time' could be now. All she has to do is ask.
She shuffles out to the living room and gazes towards the writer laying on her sofa. His arm dangles limply to the floor and his feet are curled awkwardly under a cushion. He looks awfully uncomfortable and yet a contented smile adorns his lips.
Decision made, she grasps his hand and gently pulls.
"Come on, Writer Monkey," she hushes and he slowly blinks open his eyes, questioning and patient. Expectant.
"I was lonely," she shrugs.
He doesn't need a second invitation and happily follows her back to her bed.
A/N: As always thanks for the reviews, favs, alerts, sharing, etc. Of course, more would never hurt. I'm greedy like that.
Irina: You are my hero. Thank you for kicking my ass to write something.