Writing was helping him cope. A string of senseless words and phrases, glimmers of stories that served to exorcise the demons in the dark and the questions that still had no answer. In two weeks, he had nearly filled up a brand new Moleskine with the words, writing by hand for the soothing calm that the steady clack-clack of computer keys couldn't give him.
None of it would likely ever see publication, Kate knew that, but she couldn't deny the weight that eased from her shoulders whenever she caught him hunched over the pages, the firm grasp of his fingers around a pen as the words poured out.
It comforting, normal in a world where things still seemed turned upside down and inside out.
Having him back, having him safe, it was only part of the story. The most important part, of course, but the recovery, the fragile rebuilding of the broken pieces of both Castle's confidence and their life together, that was going to take time.
Rick had called it navigating through choppy waters, given her a waning smile when she'd confessed her fear of leaving him for the precinct. She'd used a chunk of vacation days that had been reserved for their honeymoon, had been ready to call up every piece of personal and sick time to spend with him.
She hadn't admitted that she was scared he'd disappear again. He had known, read the secret like the books that his hands and mind painstakingly create to share with the world.
But, first, Castle shares them with her.
Since the printing of Naked Heat, she's received the first edition to come off the press; Castle's silent apology for omitting her the first time round. Over the years they've been delivered to various places - the precinct, her apartment, the unfortunate courier assigned to deliver Deadly Heat had been forced to wait outside the Attorney General's office for hours when he'd been denied entrance with an unsecured package.
She had cried in the car after reading the dedication, slumped down in the seat with a pain radiating through her chest at just how much she missed the man who had penned the words. It'd had all bubbled up, the loneliness and the job pressure, the dread that still coiled deep in her stomach that this indeed had been a mistake.
He had talked her out of coming home, quiet, reverent words that had pieced her back together bit by bit until she'd fallen asleep to the rumble of them; Nikki's latest adventure, another chapter in their own story, clutched tightly to her chest.
The box had been presented to her without preamble; same cardboard casing bearing Gina's looping cursive and the dominant Black Pawn Publishing logo. But she'd resisted the urge to tear the box open and devour the words.
The words were a part of the man, and she'd gone too long without him so it made sense to trade Nikki and Rook's story to live in her own wonderful, generous world, lose herself in the taste and feel of the man who is no longer half-ghost and memory, but flesh and blood.
But he's now writing; muttering under his breath and utterly lost to the words that have overwhelmed him. She's used to it; even loves it. Right now she cherishes it because words are Castle's greatest gift, the thing that places his world to rights when she, Alexis and Martha cannot reach him.
The spine of the book cracks when she opens it, the glue and binding stretching for the first of many readings. It even smells new, the pages sharp and crisp, a tiny hint of parchment and ink embedded into the fabric of the paper. It makes her smile, sink down further into the overstuffed cushions on the couch; toes curling over a broad thigh that is nothing but a hard plane of muscle.
That one gesture pulls him from his world, hooded eyes bleeding way into that crooked little-boy smile that always has her heart skipping a beat. The glossy cover is lying on the coffee table, leaving only the black hard cover embossed with silver etching. Plain wrappings, but unmistakeable nonetheless.
"Go back to your writing, Castle," she chides him softly, blushing under that quizzical gaze that brings her delight. He's here to smirk at her, to make her laugh and if that isn't a miracle, Kate isn't sure what is.
"Can't," his response is quick, the notebook in his hands falling uselessly to the floor so they can take up residence on her body. Gentle touches, hesitant touches that tease her grin ever wider as she flips past the title page, the copyright, and onto the dedication.
'To KB - the stars above us, the world at our feet.'
It's beautiful, and breath taking, but there's something missing. The punch line of the joke, the context of the clue; none of it diminishes her joy at having another piece of work dedicated to her, or shadows the complete awe brimming in her eyes but there's also confusion. She doesn't understand what it means.
And, as always, he reads her, remains in sync and in step.
"I said that to Alexis, about the rooftop venue," he admits, a light blush painting his cheeks a soft pink; uncharacteristically shy for the space of a breath, "But I had put it into my vows. Some over the top line about how you are the the guiding star in my life, and also the thing that keeps me grounded. And space, there was a joke about space travel that you were going to hate…" Rick chuckles, though there's not a lot of humor to the gesture. She can see the lines tightening on his face, the defeated slope of his shoulder.
"I never told you any of that, and by the time I got back…." the sentence goes unfinished; not that she needs him to complete it. The book was ready for print; had already gone to the press by the time everything settled.
"I don't care," Kate whispers, again tossing the book aside in favor of pulling him towards her, "I love you, I love this, and I'm going to hear those vows, Richard Castle. You and I? We're getting married, and its going to be wonderful."
"That's good," he says between the press of her lips, the initial chaste burst of contact quickly burning bright and hot with the promise of more, "Because I'd really like the next book to be dedicated to Kate Castle."