As soon as the door shuts behind him, he realizes that he's made a mistake, a tactical error in the siege of Kate Beckett.
He's either pushed too hard or given up too soon.
Castle clenches his fist in his jacket pocket, pulls out her spare key. Which he stole. But he still can't bring himself to lock the door after him. He should. There are people out there who tried to kill her, may still be trying to kill her, but while putting a door between them doesn't seem like surrender, locking it definitely does.
Her hallway is badly lighted, and the bare wood groans as he shifts his weight, hesitating. He can't move forward, can't go back. It smells like dinner; the knuckles on his right hand sting with the scratch he got trying to tear open a package of seasoning.
He waffles there, outside her door, trying to work up the resolve to leave, to do as she asked, even as everything in him tells him to go back inside. Trying to figure out which one it is, pushing too hard or giving up too soon-
Does it matter? Either option, this doesn't look fixable tonight. But if he leaves now, it's back to the status quo for them, back to not talking about nearly freezing to death and kissing undercover.
This time, it'll be not talking about two nights worth of-
Unacceptable. Completely unacceptable. They are already in this, already doing this. If he leaves now, then he knows it's their last chance. The weight of that fear has shape and taste in his mouth.
And then he realizes - at the first sign of real active resistance from Kate, he folded like a house of cards. What an idiot. She needs him to be the strong one here, not the one that runs. She can run enough for the both of them.
Damn. He's an ass. He's no better at this than she is.
That's it. His chest tight with need, Rick twists the door knob and pushes in. He collides with her in the doorway, both of them stumbling into each other, bodies close.
She's crying; he can feel her wet cheeks against his neck.
"Kate." He holds on to her, an arm around her shoulders, one around her lower back, and pulls her into a hug. She's stiff, her arms still folded across her chest.
He was wrong. It's not one or the other but both. It's pushing her too far and giving up on her too soon, both at the same time.
She tries to step back, but he squeezes harder, kisses the side of her face with a chaste brush of his lips.
"You were coming after me," he says softly. It's not a question; she was opening the door at the same time he was.
Rick pulls back, unfolds her right arm, traps her fisted hand in his. Glancing into her shuttered face, he uncurls her fingers from around her keys. He takes them from her wordlessly and tosses them to the kitchen counter. They skitter across the top and stop beside the sink; Kate's turned her face away from him.
"Kate," he apologizes, dropping his hands and stepping back. He can't leave, but he can give her a little physical space. "I won't stay away from you. Won't leave here without saying-"
She makes a noise in her throat. "Castle, stop. I told you, I can't do this-"
"You already are," he laughs, desperation tainting his voice. "We're already doing this."
"You tricked me into-"
He raises an eyebrow at her, leans back against the kitchen counter; he takes offense at her word choice. "You mean, I *seduced* you."
Her jaw works, glittering eyes meet his. Some of that hard-as-steel straightness is back in her spine. "Yes."
"You seduced me first," he shrugs.
Her jaw drops; she spins around and stalks around the kitchen island.
"Why were coming after me, Kate?"
"I don't know." She yanks on the oven door; Castle can smell the rich aroma of chicken and seasonings. His stomach growls.
"I think you do know," he says.
Kate reaches in like she's going to grab it bare-handed; Castle stays her movement, pushes her out of the way. He pulls an oven mit from the drawer, glances back to see the flush of embarassment on her face. She grabs two plates. A knot forms in his throat and he swallows past it, putting the casserole dish on the counter, moving to accept the plate from her. An invitation to stay and eat. At least that.
"I don't know, Castle," she says, her voice low and hard.
He accepts the spatula from her hand and scoops a piece of chicken onto her plate first, then his, adds the sauce. She stands beside him; he can feel the tension rippling from her, her movements jerky.
This isn't what he planned. "Kate. You have to know-"
"I don't," she cuts in, walking away from him, grabbing forks. "Don't say anything. Don't ruin-"
"Kate," he sighs at her back, but follows her to the table, taking the fork she holds out as she goes. He did say he wanted to eat first and fight later, didn't he? Best abide by that.
Kate stumbles to a halt in front of his storyboard; he pauses behind her, trying not to stab her with the fork.
She turns to him. "Are you - can we - is it okay to sit here?"
He takes a moment to wipe the smile off his face and moves around her to an empty chair. "Yeah, course. Sit down." He likes inviting her to sit down at her own table.
She does, but the moment her plate is on the table, she drops her head into her hands, eyes closed. Castle waits, watching her. They are on the edge of a line she's somehow drawn in the sand; he knows that. He just hopes he's managed to erase those lines, knock down that wall.
She rakes a hand through her hair and lifts her head, her eyes shadowed, deep lines in her face.
"Eat your dinner, Kate," he says softly, and drops his eyes to his own plate.
After a moment, he hears her start eating too.
She doesn't taste anything.
She's not ready for this. She can't do this right now, not as the person she is. She's too damaged, too ready to flee, too biting, too cynical about life, too willing to quit on him. She'd quit right now, if he would just give her the space to-
Except, when he did leave, something needy and desperate rose in her and pushed her feet to the door after him. And he was already there.
Kate bites her lip. Will he *ever* give her a moment's peace for the rest of their lives?
No.
But he should. For his own sake.
But he won't, something tells her.
She's going to ruin it. She's going to ruin this, the best thing that's ever happened to her. (Best thing? Him. Not the sex, not the way their bodies lace together, but him.) She's *already* ruined it. She invited him up and then didn't have the fortitude, the will power, to kiss him with a promise and make him go home.
If she had just stopped at a kiss. That small promise of hope, that light in the darkness. Now they're long past promises. Promises are already broken, and the moment he figures that out, she won't be able to keep him.
You can't have him, Kate. Not yet. You're not good enough for this, not up to the work of a real relationship with a man you love. The man.
Her food is gritty, turning to sand as she swallows.
He rinses their plates and puts them in the dishwasher, keeping his ears open for sounds from her, any clue that might tell him where they go next. He wants to kiss her mouth and feel her chest brush his, her hands at his back; he wants last night and the night before to go on forever.
But it's very possible he'll never have that again.
When he turns back around, she's still sitting at the table, her fingers playing with a blank index card, her eyes staring into the distance. He wonders what she sees, if she sees anything at all.
Well, he's still here, isn't he? He's fed her, he's managed to make her admit she was coming after him, and she's waiting for whatever comes next. Just like he is.
Rick doesn't want to talk anymore; he's afraid of what might be said. He wants to wrap his arms around her and take her back to her room and show her, again and again, what they are, how good they are.
I don't know what we are. . .We never talk about it.
Maybe that's the problem. All he has left is showing her, and showing her never solved anything either. But words? Words are elusive and hard to pin down. They can be forgotten. She can't possibly forget the way her body responded to his, the hot trail of her fingers down his back, can't possibly forget how it is when they come together, so good, so right.
He approaches her slowly, standing over her and studying her hunched shoulders, the line of her finger as it traces the edge of the index card. Castle reaches his hand out to her, offering help up, extending an unspoken invitation. She glances up at him, and he's startled to see tears on her cheeks again.
"Castle." She swallows hard. Her voice is raw. Another tear leaks from her eye. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Oh, God.
He drops his hand; he wants to kiss her tears, he wants to make love to her and wake with her in the morning to make love to her again. He wants it so badly it might shatter him. And there's no chance in hell she's going to let him do that, is she?
"Take it easy, Kate," he says finally. "It's okay." I won't push.
He'll promise her anything, do anything, to not hurt her. Ever again.
Even if it kills him.
He has to close his eyes to remember how to breathe. His heart is pounding, a buzz in his ears from the blood rushing through his veins. He should turn around; he should go. This was a mistake and he-
Her arms slide around his neck.
His eyes snap open; she's up against his body, the long, trembling length of her.
"Kate?"
She presses her face into his chest; he can feel the damp seep into the material of his shirt. Her fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
Slowly, his hands find her back, press her against him, dazed. She feels hot and restless, her hands moving, her body shifting, her breath skirting his jaw as she turns her head to his. He might - he might fall apart if she leaves now, if she moves away from him.
She leaves an open-mouth kiss on his neck, drops her arms to run her hands down his chest, her fingers trailing against his sides. His skin ripples with the touch and he lowers his head to meet her mouth.
The kiss is deep, intent, filled with knowledge. She breaks their lips only to come at him again, a different angle, as if testing a hypothesis; he hopes he holds true. Kate lifts on her toes and rocks her hips against his, her tongue echoing the movement.
Castle breaks the heat of their fused mouths and trails down her neck, past her clavicle to bite the strip of skin at the edge of her shirt, nudging aside her collar with his nose and licking the mark. She curls around him with a dark sound, her hands tightening on his lower back. He can't let go of her, can't possibly let go. She's his; he hasn't lost her yet. Not yet.
Tonight is a gift, he knows. He can see it in her face, in the drying tears, feel it in the panicky clench of her hands. She's giving him this one last night, because she's seen the terrible grief on his face, one last night-
But it's too late. He's already here. No last night about it. He can't give her up.
Rick lifts his head and kisses her mouth again, herding her slowly to the wall where he's taped up his storyboard, her back hitting it suddenly. Her legs part; she bears down on his thigh and drags her lips against his jaw. "Why are you doing this to me?"
He groans and pulls back, blinking hard, pushing the need back down, trying to be good-
Kate hooks his neck with an arm, tugs him back down to her, sucks on his lower lip with a growl.
"Kate-" he pants, uable to stop himself from pressing her harder against the wall, leaning into her, as if to pin her there, a caught butterfly, her legs spread like wings. "Kate, please-"
She undulates against him, her fingers under his shirt, raking up his back. He buries his mouth in the hollow at the base of her throat, works his way down, suckling at her skin, the slope of her breast. Her foot hooks around his knee.
"I don't know how you're doing this-" She grunts as his lips touch the edge of her bra, his fingers work at the buttons of her shirt. "How did you do this?" She's breathless and arousing and he can't possibly let her go.
"Do this?" He brushes his cheek against the so-soft skin, touches his lips to it like a whisper. He can't understand her. "We're already doing this. We've *been* doing this. We'll never stop doing this."
She cradles his jaw and pushes at him, lifting his head so that he's looking into the dark depths of her eyes, her irises as black as her pupils. The vulnerability on her face makes his chest ache. "I'm going to hurt you, Castle. I'm going to say something stupid or - or - or get shot again, and I don't-"
"Not having you only makes it worse. Not having you is time wasted, an awful, hollow waste and I can't-"
She swallows hard and strokes her thumb against his lips to silence him, brings her other hand to splay over his heart. "I don't - I don't know to do this right. For - for good."
"Kate. I just want you with me," he pleads, nudging a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "I'm already in, Kate. Come on in with me. The water's fine."
Something desperate and choked, something that could be like a laugh, bubbles up from her, bathes his ear where her lips hover over his skin.
"I shouldn't. . .I shouldn't, but I do."
"You do?" He can't understand her. He slides his hands around her waist, pulling her hips back against his.
"Yes, I do," she breathes, sliding her knee up his thigh and bringing her mouth to his, something like sorrow in her taste. "I do love you, Rick Castle."
Love.
She loves him?
She *loves* him.
The words split him open, a sharp-edged knife that severs him, leaves him numb, stunned, devastated in its wake.
She loves him.
It's not like he's never thought about this before – Kate Beckett's hypothetical feelings for him – but the truth is, he generally tries to *avoid* thinking about it, because his self-confidence has this deplorable habit of deserting him whenever he does.
He's spent the whole summer skirting the issue of Kate Beckett's feelings.
In case it might break him. In case it might definitely blow out the flickering, dying candle of his hope, leave him alone in the dark.
And now she's telling him –?
Even as his brain struggles with comprehension, Castle is still kissing her – or rather, she's kissing *him*, her tongue infinitely gentle along his lower lip, across the roof of his mouth. Kate, Kate.
His mind is swimming, spinning; he needs an anchor of some kind, something to tie him down, to connect him to the earth. Can she feel it? Kate abandons his mouth, puts enough distance between them so she can meet his eyes.
Her eyes are lovely, but he wants it all, her eyes and her warmth, the jut of her hipbones against his. He tries pulling her back into him; she resists, the makings of a smile illuminating her face, dispelling the clouds.
Her smile.
It breaks through like the shy, trembling sun of the winter months, that flames hesitantly and flirts with the horizon in the mornings, as if reluctant to face the cold, barren landscape.
It's so beautiful that Castle's heart clenches painfully. He almost forgot, almost forgot, intent on the siege as he was, bent on making her see what's there. He almost forgot what her smile is like.
Not the teasing smirk she saves for their banter, or the cynical sneer she sometimes gives her suspects.
Her little girl's smile, the awed, timid one, that dances at the back of her eyes before it even makes its way to her lips. The happy one.
She looks so young and peaceful, unburdened. Did he do that to her? Was it the whispered confession of her love for him, Richard Castle?
He wants to believe it.
His fingers, that have gone slack in his contemplation of her, curl around her waist again, tug demandingly; she comes. Her hands slide back from his shoulders to his neck, and she buries her smile into his neck, her breath fluttering across his skin like a butterfly.
"Kate," he says, and it's a wonder she can understand him at all, because the need and dizzying joy that swirl inside him turn the words into a growl.
He feels, more than he hears, the amused puff of air she lets out; she rubs her nose against his shirt. Adorable Kate.
And then she presses herself to him, every inch of her delicious body invading his senses. His lungs are a dead weight inside him. Sexy Kate.
"Rick," she breathes out after trailing her lips up to his ear. He wants to close his eyes, finds that it's already done. It's funny, how fast things can change. Only moments ago, he wanted nothing more than to push her up against the wall and brand her, his love a hot, burning iron; and now he's quite content just to hold her, savor her, her smell and her taste and her lean, graceful form.
"I love you," he hears himself say. Interesting, the way words seem to be leaving his mouth without having had any previous contact with his brain.
She stills against him. He holds his breath; but then she lets out a long sigh and surrenders, relaxes, her mouth at his chin. "I know."
She knows?
His mind is too hazy, too drunk with happiness to consider all the implications of her answer. Of course she knows. And it's a good thing she does, too, because obviously he's not fit to make speeches tonight, not fit to romance her.
He just wants to love her.
He opens his eyes again when Kate's lips desert his neck, and he is entranced. The light radiating off her is no longer shy, no longer hesitant; it's a triumphant blaze, so bright he has to blink.
All this for him?
Unbelievable.
"So...What's going to happen between them?" she asks, her fingers drawing relaxed, arousing patterns in his hair, at the nape of his neck.
What?
He must have said it out loud; she laughs, low and throaty. He almost whimpers; the need for her is back with a vengeance, pulling at his insides.
"What happens, for Nikki and Rook?" She whispers, her face alive with interest and desire. Playful.
It sparks something inside him. This is what he wants, what he's been longing for. Kate, light and teasing in his arms. This is who they are.
There has been enough darkness, enough suffering, when all he wants is to make her smile, make her laugh. He knows, he *knows* that he can make her happy, if given the chance. This is his goal tonight: that soft curve of her lips, the surprised look in her eyes when laughter spills without her consent.
And, well. He wouldn't mind eliciting a moan or two in the process.
"I'll show you," he says.