Doomsday
She lay in bed face to face with him, fingertips touching and no more. He was watching her, but she was watching him as well.
With her knees drawn up, there was still a foot of space between them. His hand nestled against hers, his arm extended across the sheet as if inviting her to come closer.
And she would. If it meant he stopped investigating her mother's murder alone.
But he wouldn't stop. So she didn't come closer.
His thumb stroked the pad of her index finger and down to her palm, over and over, hypnotic and drugging. She didn't know how to do without this, didn't know how she'd survived the last six months without the touch of his hand. They'd had only a few days of surrender before that night in early summer, that night she'd wanted to go all in, that night he'd confessed. Only a few days of this, lying in bed and touching, an oasis of touching, and she didn't think she could go back out in the desert. Not now.
Castle scooted in a little more, squeezing his thumb into the center of her palm as he moved. Now his forehead was scant millimeters from her fingertips; she could lift them and brush the hair out of his eyes. And she wanted to. She wanted to.
But she didn't.
He studied her hand, as if to avoid the accusation of her eyes.
She couldn't stop looking at him. Roving over the straight and solid lines of his body, the hunch of his shoulders, the fall of his lashes over his cheek. He looked tired. She hadn't let herself notice lately; she'd kept purposefully back from him. But he looked so very tired.
She was tired too.
It was too much effort to do without.
Kate curled her fingers around his and tugged, pulling them both in closer until she had to untangle their hands so that she could tuck into the shallow cove of his body.
Castle sighed and slid his arm around her shoulders, guided her in.
It was dark in the shelter of him.
When her heartbeat had subsided into a more sustainable rhythm, when his breath skirted the crease of her ear in a regular, even pattern again, she curled her hand under his shirt and placed her palm flat to his stomach, warm skin heating her cold fingers.
His body rippled at her touch.
He sucked in a ragged breath that sounded like grief. "I love you, Kate."
"I know."
But it wasn't enough.
As soon as Kate fell asleep, he pulled her against him, tightly, wrapped himself around her with both arms, a leg curled around her calves, a palm at the back of her head. Only then did he start to feel any better.
Only then did the black pit of grief begin to close up, no longer quite so hungry.
Castle let out a long breath, relished the way her scent made every lungful ache, pressed his cheek to the top of her head and wallowed in the sharp sting of his heart.
Even hurting, it felt better to have her with him. Even knowing that everything he did kept them apart, it felt easier with his arms around her.
He couldn't give up her mother's case. It languished between them, festering. It wasn't a wall, it was an weeping, open wound that never healed. She needed it laid to rest, and he needed her.
So he couldn't give up her mother's case.
But maybe for the next few days, he could give up thinking about it.
If she could.
He woke to the kiss of her lips against the hollow of his throat.
His voice, when it finally came, was breathless. "Kate?"
"Hey."
He opened his eyes and looked at her, saw they'd become even more tangled up during the night. He had no idea what time it was, there was no light, no windows, but she wasn't moving. He wouldn't either.
She was watching him carefully. "Good sleep?"
He hummed something agreeable and rolled towards her, his body draping over hers, his brain not yet engaged.
Her fingers spread over his ribs, hands slid along his back. Her hands were under his shirt? Her hands were under his shirt. Wow.
"Kate."
"No murder board down here, right?"
"Ri-ight," he drew out, trying to wake up enough to appreciate this. "No murder board."
"And it's the end of the world today?"
He groaned at the tease in her voice. "Yes."
"And it's the Christmas season."
"Are you giving me a gift?"
"Of a sort. How about a truce?"
He gaped at her, his heart stampeding straight over the cliff of her rich, seductive eyes. "Truce." Yes. Anything.
She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, urgent and hot, her teeth against his bottom lip to make room for her tongue to slide in. Her hands swept up his back, rucking up his shirt, and his arms gave out, collapsed him on top of her. Her breath came out in a gasp, and a laugh he hadn't heard in months.
He stilled, pulled his head back to look at her, the smile on her face. He hadn't seen a smile like that in so very long.
Oh, he was good for her. This was good for her.
That helped. That helped a lot.
She framed his face with her hands, lifted her mouth to his, still smiling; her kiss was gentle and teasing, no less intense but easier to take. Easier to hang on.
He kissed her, preyed on the curve of her lips, then worshipped the angles of her face, animal and acolyte at once.
With her arms around his neck, her body arching into his, he pulled back, watched the passion settle in her eyes.
"I like this truce," he said finally, drawing his fingers across her cheeks and into her hair.
"I like you," she murmured and tugged on him, drew him down to her.
"Really want to do this here?" he said, taking her earlobe between his teeth, growling when she shuddered and lifted her hips.
"Just really want to do this," she said, her voice raw and circling his neck. "Don't care where-"
A high-pitched scream had them both jerking away, hearts pounding. Another scream followed, and Castle sat up, reached for his jeans in the floor and tugged them on.
When he stood, Kate was already out of bed and swiping her gun off the dresser, looking both ravished and amazon warrior in her tshirt and leggings, hair disheveled, weapon drawn.
He yanked open the bedroom door even as he pulled a shirt over his head; the screaming intensified, two voices instead of one, the shrieks like nails on a chalkboard.
The twins. In the study.
Kate dropped her gun, put it behind her back as she crowded next to him in the doorway.
The twins' mother was already moving into the room, yanking the Barbie out of their tug-of-war, and popping each one on the back of the leg. As the tongue lashing started, Castle backed up, pushing Kate with him.
He closed the door on the girls' fighting and turned back to his partner.
His partner again. For now.
"Can we go back to trucing?" he asked, and reached around her to take the gun out of her hands.
She didn't say no but she didn't say yes. However, she didn't get dressed immediately either. She watched him, a little disconcerting since that was usually his job, but she watched him find clean clothes and change out of his pajamas, her body spread out along his bed.
"You doing that on purpose?" he asked finally, narrowing his eyes at her. But if she was, it was totally okay with him. He could take it. He'd take anything she offered.
Kate shook her head and sat up, ran a hand through her hair, closed her eyes. "No. I - I'm daydreaming."
Oh?
She blushed, her eyes snapping open. "Not about - not that I don't - but I-" She shut her mouth, looked away.
"Feel free to daydream about me," he said, grinning at her and sitting down on the side of the bed.
"I've heard it's not as much fun if you're given permission," she shot back, arching an eyebrow and crawling forward to sit beside him.
Permission.
"I wish I could touch you," he whispered, plummeting his own heart back down into darkness as he looked at this woman he loved so very much but couldn't have.
She took a ragged breath in, leaned her face into his shoulder; he could feel her breath, hot and wet against his skin. And tears.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," he sighed, drawing a hand up to the back of her head. "Truce. I remember. A truce. Tell me the rules again?"
She lifted her head, swiped at her cheeks - only the faint remnants of red in her eyes, the broken edge of long-suffering. "No murder board. No case. Nothing between us."
So touch me.
He did, caressing his fingers down her cheek, over the hard, set line of her jaw until he reached her mouth. He read her lips like braille, then leaned in to kiss her, soft, light, forgiving and forgiven.
"It's going to be - so hard," she said quietly. "To not do this. When we get back."
He didn't want to not do this. Didn't want to ever not do this. "Truce, Kate."
She sighed and shared his breath, touched the side of his neck with two fingers as if feeling his pulse.
"Let's get breakfast," he said, wanting to distract her. "If it's the last day on earth, I want to spend it with you."
Her lips brushed the corner of his eye. "I wish it were."