He's relieved and disappointed at the same time that they have company in the elevator.
He made some promises to himself before tonight: he's not going to push, he's not even going to cross the line - he can flirt a little, however much she'll let him get away with, but he is mostly supposed to follow Beckett's lead. Toe the line.
The thing is, he's not sure Kate herself knows what she wants here. He's still cradling her hand in his, enjoying every brush of skin against skin, and she's still smiling - that awfully sexy little grin that makes his blood boil. And if *he* has to be the reasonable one, the one to keep them in check -
Oh, man.
The doors glide open and they step out first, quickly making their way through the lobby and into the ballroom.
Yeah. Of course, everyone is seated by now, and they'll have to bear the stigma of being late. Not that Castle cares much, because really, he can still hear Kate's beautiful laugh resounding in his ears, and feel the press of her thigh against his, and it's worth being late.
It's worth so much more than that.
But that doesn't mean he's very comfortable when he sits down at the table, finds two pairs of eyes staring at him with blatant interest. He sneaks a glance at Kate; she isn't blushing, but there's a definite hint of embarrassment in her eyes.
At least the entrees haven't been served yet. He wants that steak.
"Sooo." Lanie Parish is looking at them, and that cat that ate the canary phrase has never made more sense. "You two wanna explain where you were? Cause I happened to talk to Ryan's sister, Colleen, and she swore she had seen you at the beginning of the reception. My guess is that you must have gotten lost in the absolute *maze* that is this hotel."
The sarcasm latent in the ME's voice makes Kate stiffen her spine so that her shoulder accidentally brushes against his; he tries to control his reaction, looks at her as if it will help. Her green eyes are narrow slits, flashing that cold, *not here* look that he's seen directed at himself a couple times.
Okay, too many times to count.
Lanie only smiles. To be honest, the rest of the table is engaged in a discussion over red wine (can South American wine really compete with the French? seems to be the fascinating topic) and is not paying much attention to them, which means she's certainly not going to stop now.
Castle suddenly regrets not switching Esposito and Lanie's place cards with someone else's.
"Or maybe," the ME suggests, a sly look in her eyes, "you forgot something in the car and had to go back. Although, if that were the case, then we'd be tempted to wonder what else you might have done in the car, that would have taken so long."
His insides twist eagerly at Lanie's insinuation, only wishing it was true; a faint sound of need vibrates in the air, inaudible to anyone but him. It takes him a shocked second to realize that if it's not him, then it has to be -
"Lanie," Kate warns between gritted teeth.
The ME is braver than Castle; he would duck for cover if that growl was intended for him, but Lanie holds her ground, her finely-shaped eyebrows reaching new heights.
Esposito, on the other hand, has lost interest. He gave them a good stare at first, but he must not have found any evidence on their faces; he's now reaching for the bread basket, which makes Castle's lips twitch nervously.
"Oh, man," he complains when he comes back empty-handed. "How is there no bread left? *I* didn't eat any. You, babe?"
"No," Lanie says calmly, her eyes not leaving Kate's. "Me neither."
Esposito's other neighbor, a woman in her fifties, seems moved by his desolation and abandons the wine conversation long enough to explain, "One of the head tables was missing a bread basket, apparently, so Ryan's sister came to ask if she could take some of ours."
Knowing the reason obviously does not make the Hispanic detective any happier, but Castle, despite his best efforts, cannot help the silent laugh that shakes him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Kate struggling too, her lips pressed into a tight line, her brow knit with the effort of holding back; she elbows him as a much-combatted smile stretches her lips.
Lanie looks from one to the other, clearly miffed that she's missing something. Then she looks at the empty basket, and understanding lights her eyes. Along with a vague sense of disappointment.
"Don't tell me," she starts, her tone disbelieving.
Rick nods, wiping the tear that threatens - too much laughing - as he feels Kate shrug at his side.
"Seriously?" Lanie says. "You know there were appetizers at the reception, right?"
That sobers him up. He opens wide, indignant eyes. "What? We didn't see that!"
Esposito snickers, and the writer glares at him, pointing over at Kate.
"She was hungry. Trust me, you cannot judge me if you haven't dealt with a hungry Beckett before."
He can almost feel Kate roll her eyes, but at least Esposito backs off. That leaves Lanie and her mocking face staring at them.
"You two couldn't wait for the appetizers, so you decided to steal some rolls and then hid away to eat them. Is that right?"
"Shhh," Castle urges, putting a finger to his lips in the universal plea for silence, theatrically glancing around to make sure no one heard.
Kate sighs, shoves his shoulder. "Let it go, Castle." And she firmly stares back into her friend's eyes. "Yes. We stole bread from the wedding tables because we were hungry. So?"
Lanie shrugs, the movement nonchalant, a little too studied. "So, nothing."
"Fine, then."
"Fine."
"Oh, look, they're bringing the entrees," Esposito intervenes in a cheerful voice.
Castle's stomach, despite the bread, greets this announcement rather enthusiastically, and he peers at the next table, anxious to see what the steak looks like, and to escape the heavy atmosphere that surrounds him.
One thing is sure, he thinks as he settles back. Tonight is absolutely not going like he expected.
"Oh no," she breathes and turns to him.
He glances at her, eyebrows knitting together.
"Castle," she hisses, grabbing his thigh and jerking her head towards where the server for their table is making his way over.
Castle breaks into a wide grin and laughs. "Ah, well. A sign from the universe?"
She lets out a soft moan and avoids looking at their waiter.
Their waiter who knows them.
Fortunately, he seems intent on his task, settling the plated entrees in front of the women first, starting with Lanie. He moves around the table and comes to Kate and she can practically feel the young man's burning blush; he falters, her plate clunks to the table, and then he leans in close, between her and Castle, his voice a poorly-staged whisper.
"Ah, I've already served the salads, but if you're still hungry after the entree. . ." The man trails off, lifts his head a little, but he won't look at Kate.
Castle pats him on the back, gives him a nice, gentle smile. "Don't worry about it. I don't think a salad would really help. We'll just start from here. Fill up on. . .rolls."
Oh, no. No. He's just making it worse-
The waiter nods his head and backs up, his face still flaming red, and Kate finds Lanie's eyes on the waiter, on Castle, narrowed and suspicious.
And then the kid speaks.
"I hope you and your wife found the bathrooms all right?"
Lanie's head jerks back to Kate. "Wife? Bathrooms?"
Oh jeez.
Castle shoots a sharp look to Kate, but most of the fierce embarrassment has left her cheeks, although her eyes are still that stunned and illuminous brown. She looks a little out of it, and she's eating her chicken slowly, but that could be because of all the rolls they've already eaten.
Esposito has asked him twice, point-blank, if he and his wife need a bathroom break. Kate only glares. The narrowed eyes, the deadly look, the fork that she jabs his direction - it's all offset by the flush of her cheeks and the fact that she still, still, has her hand on his thigh.
He's not sure she's noticed. He thought, at first, it's because she was trying to hide her ring-less left finger to maintain their cover story, but now that they're halfway through the entree, Castle isn't so sure.
It could be that she doesn't want to be surprised by the kid when he comes back to refill their tea or water glasses. That is an entirely plausible excuse.
Sounds like the kind of excuse *he* would make though. Not the logical, well-thought-out, entirely rational reason that Kate would use for keeping her hand on his thigh.
But seriously. He is so not going to mention it.
Dessert is served the moment the plates are cleared; they both flip their cups upright for coffee and wait to dig in until it's poured. The cheesecake waits patiently, although Kate does not. When they do get coffee, they both grab their cups. Rich with a hint of cocoa, he lets himself get lost in its brown depths, breathing it in.
"You two need to be alone?" Esposito jokes, giving him a deadly stare over the rim.
"I like coffee," Castle defends himself with a whine.
"Honey, he ain't talking about the coffee." Lanie hums at him and tilts her head to Kate.
Castle glances over and finds her cradling the cup much like he is, the two of them mirror images in their reaction. (Mirrored because her left hand is *still* on his thigh and his right is down at his side, twitching, waiting for a moment that will never come - the moment when he can return the favor.)
Coffee. Sign from the universe, for sure.
Kate is glaring at Lanie so hard, Castle's sure her eyes are going burn a hole through something, catch someone's dress on fire. She doesn't release her coffee though, and her fingers squeeze his leg when she leans forward.
"Eat your dessert, Lanie."
Lanie glances down at her already empty plate; Castle and Beckett are the only two who haven't eaten a bite because they wanted coffee first. Lanie glances back up to Kate with a suspicious expression. She knows Kate's gotten her back, but she doesn't know how.
Castle knows, and he mimics Lainie's voice as he says, "Honey, she ain't talk about the cheesecake." He throws an aggressive look at Esposito.
Espo might actually be blushing.
Kate's thumb brushes his thigh; when he looks at her, she's grinning.
Partners.
"Amaretto?" Kate murmurs, raising an eyebrow at him when comes back to their table with drinks.
"Disaronno," he nods, offering it to her. She takes it gingerly and holds it under her nose, then takes a sip, finds it pleasantly, sweetly bitter. Those Italians. Lovely stuff.
The open bar at the back of the room has lifted the formal stiffness that fell over the wedding party as they ate dinner in the dining room. Through the archway, Kate can see a younger crowd already up and dancing to the DJ's mix - something about keeping your hands up - and she knows the voice singing is familiar but-
"Oh jeez, no." Castle slumps back down in his seat. Apparently, he was listening to the music as well. "I am not dancing to Miley Cyrus. Who chose this? I bet it was Ryan."
"Sounds like Honeymilk," Esposito calls out.
Lanie is dragging him after her towards the ballroom side of the reception; Javier tosses off a salute at Kate and she laughs after them. Someone doesn't mind dancing to Miley.
Forget it. Either Castle is only looking for an excuse to keep sitting beside her because he thinks she won't dance, or he has some traumatic event associated with a Miley Cyrus song - but regardless, regardless, he is going to dance with her. Now.
Kate knocks back the rest of the amaretto and squeezes his knee to get his attention. "Too bad, Castle. You *are* dancing to Miley Cyrus."
She wraps her fingers around his tie, leaning in close, knowing he can smell the drink, her perfume, and then she tugs him forward, standing as she does. Castle kinda crashes into her, hands on her hips to keep from toppling over, the full, hard length of his body pressed to hers.
She likes it. She really likes it. She needs another amaretto, and she needs those hands on her hips while Miley sing-squeaks party like there ain't no curfew.
Yes, let's do that.
She doesn't even need to lead him by his tie because he's already crowding into her back as she moves towards the ballroom, leaving behind the very old and the very young - though even most of the flower girls and ring bearers and little cousins have scrambled from the stuffy tables towards the fun on the floor as well.
She likes to dance. She likes to watch him watch her dance. The dress is tight, the alcohol hasn't even buzzed her yet, but she wants to dance. With him.
It seems to be a kind of group thing, everyone loose and having fun and trying not to pop buttons or split seams; she and Castle don't manage to stay together but it's okay, she can always see him, he's looking her way, and the dancers are all kinds, moving and massing from side to side. She ends up back to back with Lanie at one point and Esposito is yelling something into Castle's ear above the music thumping wildly through the floor, and poor Javi, he's Latin but he looks like he's going for finger-snapping tonight, and most of them are singing along to Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock, freestyle rapping when they don't know the words it takes two to make a thing go right, it takes two baby you're outta sight?, Castle staring at her, mystified, and is he taking her picture with his phone?
Everything shifts in an instant and the DJ has been replaced by a band doing a set of wedding songs - friends of the bride's brother. As the introduction of Kevin and Jenny for their official song goes out, they all get cleared off the floor, hanging around the edges while the newlyweds dance, slow and swaying and whispering things to each other with wide smiles and Kate-
can't take this.
She turns her head, body twisting to escape the press of the crowd awaiting their turn again, the music crooning You look wonderful tonight but her head pounding, her blood like a waterfall in her ears.
Kate slips between two people wrapped around each other, sidesteps the little flower girl waiting for another ride on her father's shoes, heads for the tables, another drink maybe, and-
Castle catches her arm and the force of her escape swings her back around, thumping into his chest. She laughs, breathless still from dancing, stomach and palms and neck still damp with it, and Castle leans in and his lips are even with her mouth because of these shoes-
"Where you going?" he murmurs, his voice rich and textured with an hour on the dance floor keeping her in sight. He doesn't even need to speak any louder than that, because she tunes in to that frequency without any effort, can hear him even if the bass were rattling the walls.
I feel wonderful tonight threads through the room and vibrates under her skin.
"Drink," she says, the only answer she can give. She can't say I want someone to whisper in my ear while we dance close and forget how the whole world is watching.
Someone? Right. She knows who she wants.
"Drink? Let's go," he says, and his hand slips down to hers and tugs her back to the bar. "Disaronno." He holds up two fingers and the drinks are in front of them before she can even suggest something else, anything else, and then she realizes that her first choice is probably tequila, and *that* is not a statement she wants to be making tonight.
So she drinks the amaretto, nursing it a little to avoid going back over to the ballroom and seeing the two of them, blonde and beautiful and in love. Because it's amazing, and amazing has a way of hurting her heart these days.
"Where's your camera?" he asks.
She gestures back towards their abandoned table. "But I got some great ones during dinner."
"We should pass it around when they let us all back on the dance floor. See what kind of shots you get."
She lifts the corner of her mouth in a smile at him because, yeah, that sounds. . .amazing. And it doesn't even hurt.
"Great idea, Castle."
"It's been known to happen."
He grins at her over his drink and she grins back, glad for easy, grateful for familiar, and still quite aware of how thrillingly new this is, how tantalizing and different for them. She leans back against the bar, her shoulder touching his, absorbing the slow dance music and the dim lights and the way little white stars are projected all over the ballroom ceiling, turning and twisting slowly as if coming ever closer.
Close enough to touch.
Maybe even tonight.
Castle is alternating between these strange moments of heightened awareness - like now, his body absorbing the warmth of Kate's arm against his, the flirting of their hips as she unconsciously sways to the music, the clear line of her profile, so close - and a blissful, befuddled state that is not unlike being high. Or drunk.
Except he's neither.
Well, okay, he's had some Amaretto, but not enough to give him more than a buzz, and by now he's probably danced off most of it. Which is why they're drinking more, he thinks, a sly smile on his lips.
He wants to see her dance again.
He cannot get enough of Kate Beckett's dancing.
Because watching her move - watching the supple line of her body in that stunning dress, the curl of her hair on her shoulders, the way she occasionally gathers it up in her hands, as if to let her neck breathe -
He wants, so badly, to kiss it. Kiss that gorgeous curve that runs from her ear to her shoulder, a hand on her waist to steady her, the other one at her jaw...
Yeah. He has it bad.
He drops his eyes, finds himself studying the way their feet look next to each other. Compared to the shiny black of his Ralph Lauren dress shoes, Kate's heels look almost white in the dim light, even though he knows from watching her earlier that they're more like - beige. Dark beige, maybe.
He honestly has no idea how she can walk on such heels, let alone dance.
"It's a question of habit, you know," she says with a half-smile, and he realizes he must have voiced his concern.
Or she might have read his mind. That happens too.
"I don't think I could ever get used to them," he shoots back, exaggerating his shudder - although, truly, the more he looks, the less healthy the shoes seem. "Not that I don't love you in them," he adds for the sake of clarity, "but seriously, they look - painful."
He looks up at her just in time to see her flinch, anxiously rewinds the thread of their conversation. Oh, damn. He's an idiot.
Love. Did he say love? He meant like. Obviously, he meant like -
But he can't say anything without making things worse, and anyway Kate seems surprisingly okay with it, moves past it without much effort.
That only strengthens his belief that she's lying about what she remembers.
"Want to try my shoes on, Castle?" she asks with that teasing smile, that glimpse of tongue; the responsive tug of arousal on his guts immediately brings him back to the moment.
"I'd say yes," he answers with a grin of his own, "but I'm afraid I'd ruin their lovely shape, and since the wedding isn't over... I'd be sorry to condemn you to a barefoot evening."
Mmm, maybe sorry isn't the right word. Actually, her suggestion is more than a little appealing. He's not sure what is that gets to him - the idea of holding her shoe in his hand and the strange intimacy that comes with that, with her hand on his shoulder when she'd lean on him for balance; or the simple vision of a barefoot Kate that breeds a dozen others, Kate tiptoeing on his hardwood floor when she comes to join him in bed, Kate coming out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, flashing him that full-mouth grin that he absolutely loves.
"You fantasizing about my shoes, Castle?" she asks lightly, once again rousing him, saving him from himself.
Quite the opposite, he's tempted to answer, but surely it would be a bad idea. A bad idea. Right?
Kate's not looking at him, but she's definitely smiling into her glass, still nursing that last drop of Amaretto that she seems reluctant to drink. He cannot tear his eyes from the curve of her mouth, the lift of her cheekbone.
"Cause if you are," she goes on, her voice alive with amusement, delicious, "I could always lend them to you when the party's over, you know. If you ask nicely."
In a desperate attempt to push back the answer that immediately flourishes on his tongue, he swallows the last of his own glass, lets it slide down his throat, as slow as he can.
But then the Amaretto is gone and the words are still there, still tingling in his mouth, and he has to let them out. "Somehow," he says, as nonchalantly as he can, "I doubt the shoes themselves would retain much of my interest without their owner around."
He expects a sharp breath, or something to indicate a measure of shock on her part - even though, really, this is nothing she doesn't know - and when he's only met with silence, he turns his head to her, anxiety gnawing at his insides.
Kate's eyes are still trained on her glass, but she has this thoughtful look on her face. He waits her out, waits until she downs her glass, firmly sets it back on the bar, and meets his gaze.
"I guess you have to work on a way to get both the shoes and the owner, then," she says, and there's a hint of a smile on her mouth that contradicts the dark hesitancy in her eyes.
The exhale of relief is out of his mouth before he knows it, and he clears his throat.
"Any, uh, suggestions on how to do that?"
The seed of a grin becomes flower on her face.
"Well, I've heard dancing is really popular among shoes."
He lets the laugh bubble out of him, delighted with her and her closeness, with the lights, the music, the pound of his heart against his ribcage. The light-headed, giddy feeling is back, and it's all Kate Beckett's doing.
"Dancing it is, then. And Kate?"
She blinks. "Yeah?"
"Don't forget your camera."
Everybody has been allowed back on the dance floor, Kate has already handed off the camera to Espo, and it's packed now, bodies moving and sweating and crowding the space. It's a little intimidating when you're not right in the middle of it, and Kate hesitates for a second, suddenly tempted to go back to the bar, to her little bubble with Castle. That space of quiet teasing and shared, beautiful silence.
But he's tugging her forward before she can say as much, and right when they get into a corner that's slightly less populated, the music changes, slows down, the sounds of a violin replacing that of an electric guitar.
The band announces that this will be their last song, after which they will let the DJ take over.
There's a chorus of protests among the crowd, and although Kate doesn't take part in it, she has to admit that for an amateur band, they're really good.
Castle crowds her, his left hand at her waist, the other one closing around her fingers, and she doesn't know what she expected, but there's no hesitation, no beat of awkwardness as he draws her close, their cheeks almost touching.
He's solid against her, radiating warmth, and Kate lets her eyelids flutter shut, tries to keep her body from simply giving in and resting into his.
She wonders if he can feel the rapid staccato of her heart as he swirls them around, the pace of the song so slow, drawn-out, sensual, just like his hand at her back.
The singer is not Etta James, but she has a voice of her own, rich and powerful. When she sings, "I found a dream to rest my cheek to," Kate shivers, haunted by the beauty of the song, by the way she seems to read new meaning into it.
All because of the man who holds her, of course, who cradles her in his arms like something precious and delicate, like -
Someone he loves.
And in the end, she does exactly what the song says.
She rests her cheek to her dream.