Horizontal

So I hadn't intended for this to be anything more than just a tiny little thing that popped into my head. I'm glad you all appreciated it so much. This is, however, only a two-parter because I don't think my brain has the capacity to do plot right now. (ESPECIALLY NOT AFTER THE FINALE LAST NIGHT, BECAUSE OH MY GOODNESS). So this is it.

It'd been weeks since Kate Beckett spent an evening lying on her living room floor with Richard Castle. Weeks since things were okay, since she thought they were making progress, since she thought she might be ready to dive in. Since she felt the wall breaking down for the first time.

The weeks following that evening were confusing. Beckett found herself lying on the floor more often than before, trying to make sense of things, trying to figure out where they'd gotten off track.

Something hadn't quite been right after the bombing case. She passed it off as everyone (herself and Castle, included) being stressed.

Something absolutely hadn't been right when Castle showed up to a crime scene in his Ferrari with blonde bimbette. When he told her he needed someone fun and uncomplicated. Someone not her.

Then he'd disappeared for a couple weeks to write and had come back. But not for her. For another more fun and exciting detective.

Nearly every night she wasn't working late at the precinct, Kate would come home, shower off the grime of the day, lay down in the same spot she had when Castle had been there, and try to use the altered perspective to think of a reason he'd changed his tune. She'd hear the echo of his I love you, Kate and berate herself for waiting too long.

She thought he'd moved on.

She'd been wrong, of course.

It had only taken an argument over cutting a deal for her life and tears from both parties and two very straightforward I love you's for her to realize that.

And again, she'd wished she could lay down on the floor with him and explain. Wished she wasn't so upset with him. Wished she could just let things go. Because with them, up was never always up, and down was never always down.

They were twisted and upside down and inside out in their own bizarre way.

When she had made the long walk in the pouring rain to his apartment the night before, she'd come up with all the things she needed to say, to explain, to apologize for.

It had only taken another near-death experience for her to realize it.

But once she had seen his face through open door, all the coherent words and explanations dissipated. Every ounce of articulation had been overridden by pure want. It was reduced to repeated I'm so sorry's and many, many kisses.

She's lying horizontal with Richard Castle again. And not in the purely innocent fashion this time.

The menacing thunderstorm had given way to a particularly grey morning, and there's very little light in Castle's bedroom. Not that Beckett needs the light to think. Everything was topsy-turvy, whether the sun was out or not.

But despite the topsy-turviness, things were simple. She was able to let go—if only for now—of her mother's case. She's in bed with the man she loves.

It was very new territory.

She's absentmindedly running the pads of her fingertips over Castle's hand and torn between watching him in his contented sleep or waking him up for another round of the previous evening's activities.

And then he's rolling over and his blue eyes are piercing into hers. There's no question in them. There's no doubt like there's always been before. Somehow, he just knows she isn't going to run this time. Perhaps she's not the only one with an altered perspective when lying down.

Kate smiles at him. "Morning."

He gives her a sleepy grin, but says nothing.

"Should we…?" Kate doesn't know where her question was going. The words, laced with a hint of uncertainty, escaped before she could fully form the thought.

"No," he smiles. "This is good for now."

Thoughts? Opinions? Love it? Hate? Want to hug me? Tar and feather me?