Slow Burn
Chapter 18
Kate walks in through her own front door and kicks it shut behind her. She pauses to drop her keys into the bowl that sits atop a little table that is stationed beneath a row of coat pegs in the entryway. The metallic clatter as the keys land and slide down the side of the maiolica bowl is jarring. Her head is full to bursting and she may have tossed her keys a little too hard, a mite too carelessly. She stops to inspect the bowl – a souvenir from a long-ago trip to Italy – her hands automatically performing the task because her mind is on bigger things. Thankfully the bowl is colorfully painted with a crackle glaze so crazed that minor chips do not show. She skims her fingers over its smooth, cool surface as if reading braille. Once she is satisfied that she's caused no lasting damage, she turns to face the empty living room.
Kate had always assumed that true happiness, when it finally arrived, would equal levity, a kind of weightless floaty feeling that would require daily, joyous effort to keep her feet on the ground. Today, she realizes that it is so much better than that. She feels a substantial weight pressing down on her, a warm solidity made of kindness and love, a kind of psychic handholding tethering her to the earth. This feeling of heft, of anchoring, is something she doesn't want to run or pull away from, and that surprises her.
For Kate, especially, this weight is what peace feels like, peace and safety, and it resurfaces now as a memory, a moment of déjà vu: her mother's kind face, the weight of her hands as she tucks her in at night, the image as clear as if she'd searched for the definition in an encyclopaedia and found Johanna's smiling face printed alongside.
She has found the ultimate escape in her partner, Rick Castle, but instead of freedom, it is a warm enclosure, a safe little cave where they can be their truest selves. Together they have tamed one another in ways both large and small, ways that no one could have predicted when they met four years ago. In the beginning, Kate chaffed while Castle champed, but in the end, each buffed away at the other's sharp edges until they became a perfect fit.
She drops her bag by her bedroom door and goes to sit down on the couch, momentarily winded by memories. She lays her hands flat on her thighs, side-by-side to compare. Her nails are neatly rounded and painted the pale pink color of shells, the veins on the back of her hands, the crinkles of skin over her knuckles, the scar she got when she fell off her bike when she was eight…all so familiar, all exactly the same. Her eyes are drawn to the ring, the beautiful emerald and diamond engagement ring that belonged to Martha's mother. Castle is giving her a family with this ring, adding her to his own history, a place on the Rodgers' family tree. He's slotting her into his life next to Alexis, and, here, too, the fit feels unexpectedly perfect.
She rubs the emerald with the pad of her thumb to clear a smudge and watches it glow a quiet, grassy green in the low afternoon light filling her apartment. The space is so quiet and that used to be what she loved about being here, about being home. She closes her eyes and sits for a moment longer, quietly meditating, slowly becoming aware of her breath, feeling her way through her body from her toes to the top of her head. Halfway up, her body aches from the recent intrusion of his, and she smiles, her face warming and her heart responding as these more recent memories flock back to her. Her thighs protest when she tightens her hamstrings and again she smiles.
He did this. They did this.
Eventually, she opens her eyes, breathing out for as long as she can, holding her ribcage down, her belly soft and empty. By the time she is finished, her mind is clear. Her mind is made up.
In the bedroom, she quickly empties her bag. There's not much inside, just yesterday's underwear, which she drops into the hamper, her makeup bag, and heels from the wedding the day before. Castle still has her dress in his bag. She hopes he hangs it in his closet, not because it will wrinkle otherwise, but because she wants something of hers to hang beside something of his. That's just the way it is now and she's good with it. She's good with all of it.
The bedroom looks like a bomb went off in a clothing factory for the next half hour as she pulls shirts and t-shirts, pants and jeans, underwear, sleepwear, shoes, and boots from her closet and drawers to create a workable, interim, day-to-night, work-to-leisure capsule wardrobe. When she's done editing her clothing and footwear, she goes into the bathroom to collect her razor, shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel. In the end, she packs the razor and puts the rest back. She needs little more than her makeup bag, toothbrush, her curling irons, and brushes. The rest is heavy and largely immaterial. She wants to feel unencumbered. Castle's solid, loving presence is the only thing she has room in her life for right now.
In the kitchen, she empties the fridge of the few perishable items that remain then totes a single garbage bag to the small trash room down the hall. She waters her plants and wanders around her silent apartment turning off switches, unplugging lamps, her router, her phone.
A little over an hour after arriving, she rolls her carryon case to the front door, throws on a feather-light, silk parka, carefully lifts her keys from the maiolica bowl, and walks out the door.
She arrives at the loft within twenty minutes. As soon as she hears Castle's footfalls echoing on the hardwood floor, she has to take a deep breath. Her eyes are glued to his face when he opens the door: reading, absorbing, terrified she's doing the wrong thing though she is surer than she's ever been that what she's doing is rash but right. She's so high on him and her decision that she forgets to lead with any polite preamble and simply launches straight in. "I went into my apartment…" She's shaking her head. "...and I couldn't stay."
"What's wrong?" he asks, his face full of concern.
Unconsciously, she clenches her fingers into a fist and presses it over her heart. "I got home and it didn't feel like home anymore. Castle, it didn't feel like home because you weren't there."
She pauses for breath. Her hands are shaking and her heart is suddenly racing so hard that she imagines she will be able to see its jerky fibrillation beneath her chest if she just looks down.
Castle reaches out and takes the bag from her hand without a word. Then he walks around her to fetch the wheeled case that is propped behind her legs. Kate follows him with her eyes, twisting her body when he disappears from view.
"Come," he says quietly, beckoning her in with his head because his hands are full, to say nothing of his heart. "Come. Come on in."
When he dropped her off at her apartment a couple of hours ago, he kissed her slowly and deeply before he wished her goodbye. Neither of them had thought to make plans for later, too tired, too wired, too tied up inside their own heads remembering every nuance, every detail of the last couple of days. And perhaps they were settled, too, comfortable in the certain knowledge that there would be a "later" for them now. There would be years, decades of laters.
Castle had blown her a kiss at the curb, watched her swing her hips and her endless legs as she walked to the door of her building, his brain overflowing with first-hand knowledge of that amazing body. Then he had driven the Bentley back to the dealership, promising to return someday soon with his "good lady" to make a decision on the car. The dealer had looked at Castle with one eyebrow cocked when he patted the powder-blue convertible and said, "Come on, Ricky. You know you love her." To which Castle had smiled, his heart fit to burst as he had agreed, "Never a truer word spoken, my man. Never a truer word."
Kate follows him into the vestibule now. She closes the front door behind her and stops.
Castle has already moved over to the kitchen island, where he drops her bag and props up her wheeled case; he'll hold her luggage hostage if he has to. For the remainder of their time apart, he kept himself busy by doing laundry, making soup, he even cleaned his bathroom floor to stop himself from picking up the phone and calling her or sending a text, worried that to do so might burst the bubble they've been living in for the last twenty-four hours. As he worked, he was besieged with images of their night together. He could still feel the velvet of her skin moving over his, he could smell her, without even trying he conjured images that far surpassed the considerable skill of his imagination. He closed his eyes, breathed through his nose and quietly enjoyed the slideshow. When the accompanying sensations became too much, he cleared his head by scrubbing the floor tiles even harder.
"Rick?" Kate stands by the front door chewing her lip. "Rick, say something, please?" Her voice has an anxious edge to it that is the opposite of the calm serenity and clear resolve she found as she meditated in the quiet of her own place.
Castle hears this note of panic and he turns towards her, smiling. "Come here." He beckons to her once more. "Kate, love, come over here," he says softly, nodding encouragement for her to do just that.
It's the sound of his voice breaking on this beautiful term of endearment that has her rushing towards him. He opens his arms, engulfing her, and they both emit a sound that is part painful cry for all the years they have spent beside but without one another and part joy for the future that stretches in front of them now.
"I missed you," he whispers hoarsely, kissing the top of her head before burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. "I missed you, but I didn't want to call and harass you in case you needed space."
She tucks herself into his body, slotting her head beneath his chin, her arms wrapped tightly around his trunk. When a tear wets her cheek, she isn't sure if it came from him or if it's one of her own. When he holds her even tighter, squeezing hard, she laughs and hiccups a watery sigh. "You just saw me two hours ago."
But this bravado is false, and they both know it. She missed him as desperately as he missed her. When she kisses him, the gentle softness of her lips brushing over his, the warm, damp peek and tentative tease from the tip of her tongue turns white hot very quickly.
"Are we alone?" she asks breathlessly as he whips her t-shirt over her head and tosses it to the floor while simultaneously popping the button on her jeans.
She's unable to control the curse word that turns the air blue when he merely nods because his mouth is too full to answer, lips already covering her nipple, sucking hard, his free hand kneading her other breast, greedy fingers easing damp lace aside before he abandons this pursuit to slip his hand inside her underwear and cup her. He is like a man presented with so many delicious options he wants to sample the entire feast at once.
Later, lying in his bed with her butt propped up on a pillow, his head between her parted thighs, she cries out, back arching, shuddering uncontrollably as he works her to a frenzied peak with his fingers and his tongue. Tears roll into her ears and hair and she swipes them away with the back of her hand.
He abandons his post, crawling up the bed until her naked body is splayed beneath his. "I have condoms in the nightstand," he whispers, gently kissing her forehead. "We should probably…" He trails off into uncertainty, which Kate reads as clearly as only she could.
She looks up into his eyes, eyes that have turned the darkest navy blue, a color she associates with moments of high emotion, a trait that is unique to him. She skims his jaw and the seam of his mouth with her fingertip and softly says, "I thought we talked about this last night? I'm okay if you're okay?" She smiles, her eyebrows rise, and there's a spark of girlish excitement lighting up her face. "Fancy playing Russian roulette with me, Castle?"
Sweat beads their skin. The bedroom is a golden cocoon around them as the sun finally sets. Labored breathing broken by the odd sigh or grunt and murmured, loving nonsense are the only sounds. With every rock and thrust their faces slacken in awe that they are home now and it's still so magical. This is not some sexy, exciting, unplanned night in a hotel room; this is real life. She came home to him, she packed her stuff and came running…he clutches her tighter, thrusts deeper, she kisses him hard, her eyes flare wide, she cries aloud…and he didn't even have to ask.
Peace and contentment find her when she is anchored once again by the weight of him moments after they have both come.
Castle kisses her stomach and nudges the underside of her breast with his nose. He breathes in deeply; he likes to smell her. Of course, he does. She can tell that he has something to say, so she stays quiet and waits for him to speak up. He circles the small scar between her breasts with his tongue before pressing a kiss to this spot, too, and it's as if he's breathing life back into her when he closes his eyes tightly and his brow furrows in concentration, or maybe he's saying a prayer. A prayer of thanks that they both survived long enough to make it here, to Nirvana.
Eventually, he clears his throat and lifts his head to look at her. "So…um…those bags out there by the kitchen counter. You didn't bring much. Flying visit? Traveling light? Or…are you here to stay?" he hesitantly asks.
Kate pushes up onto one elbow so that she can look him in the eye. She cards her fingers through his hair and he leans into her touch. "I want to be with you, Castle. Wherever that is." She scratches his scalp and his eyelids flutter closed with the blissfulness of her touch. "I'm tired of us being apart. But if this is all happening too fast…"
Like the back-alley exit from some seedy bar left propped open by a crate of beer, she makes an escape route clear to him.
But Castle shakes his head in disbelief. God, how he loves this version of her. He kisses her shoulder and strokes her hair. "Seriously, Kate? You even have to ask?"
She nods and offers a lazy smile, palming his jaw when he crawls up over her body to steal another lusty kiss.
"I've spent four years wanting you under my roof, under me," he adds with a cheeky, mischievous look in his eye. "Just the thought of being able to say, "Hey, Kate, leave the dishes and come to bed." That right there is the stuff of dreams."
"Yeah, in your dreams," she says, laughing and swatting his chest. "How come I'm the one doing dishes in this fantasy of yours?"
But he waves her complaint away with a grin and a murmur of, "Details. I'll arrange for movers to come this weekend if you're cool with that. We can pack up your place together. I'm sure you want more of your things around you than whatever's in those two bags." He grins again, devilment on his face when a sudden thought occurs. "They're full of lingerie, aren't they? That's it. You brought your entire collection."
She throws her head back and laughs. "Maybe," she says, trailing her finger down his arm. "You'll have to wait and see. But there's only one thing on my mind, one thing I can't do without." She smiles this sexy, predatory smile he's only just met and already loves and disappears beneath the covers.
Later, they lie dozing under his quilt, side-by-side in his bed for the last first time.
"You're moving in with me," he whispers in the dark with the wonder of a child before Christmas. "I can't sleep I'm so excited."
Kate chuckles quietly. "It is kind of exciting. Yeah," she agrees, snuggling into his side.
A/N: I'm fighting on. I really appreciate all the messages of support for the story, of gratitude, the understanding that to write these stories takes an enormous amount of thought, emotional energy and time. Again, no TBC but my head is whirring constantly with next, next, next. So, hopefully, there will be more to come. As always, love to hear from you. Liv