may flowers
Chapter Five
Kate yawns, stretching in her bed as the morning sun caresses her cheeks. She cracks her eyes open slightly, watching the way the early orange light slates against the colour of her comforter, makes shadows play on the walls. The shadows remind her of her recent nightmare - the ones that curled phantom hands around her shoulders, whispered in a language she didn't understand against the shell of her ear. Sighing, she drags her hand across her heavy eyelids, attempting to banish the images from her mind. Dwelling on the nightmares only makes them worse. They're there, and she knows to expect them every night. She'd just rather have the day to think clearly, at least.
The shower head spurts with water suddenly when she steps in a few minutes later. The sudden noise startles her and she jerks back into the shower door, yelping when she knocks a shampoo bottle over and it lands on her feet. Stupid - God, she's so stupid.
Burying her face in her hands, Kate lowers herself to the shower floor on trembling knees. The spray turns too hot, harsh and abrasive against her skin, and peeking through the gaps between her fingers she watches and watches until her skin grows red. Almost like the blood staining her uniform after she'd been shot. Her father had sent for it to be meticulously dry cleaned, and her Aunt Theresa had sewn the hole ripped open by the bullet. But the mental damage was real, and ached, and although, when she left her father's cabin weeks too early, she'd told him she'd be fine, the first thing she had done was throw the uniform in the trash.
Kate hides her face in her knees then, blood singing as her skin burns. The tears are hot and real and fast and she can't stop them, so she lets her shoulders heave, and she claws against the shower floor when she forgets to breathe, and she closes her eyes and thinks of happier things every time a low, pained sob rips itself from her mouth.
She's glad the water is loud, and that the neighbours won't hear.
Most importantly, she's just glad she's alone.
She's watching the daylight sliver across her ceiling when there's a knock on the door. Kate frowns to herself, checking her watch to find it's only midday. Time's passing slowly today, it seems.
There's a louder knock at the door and she groans, dragging herself up from the couch. She hasn't invited anyone over, and she's pretty sure she wasn't meant to meet up with her dad for lunch. Unless she forgot.
Opening the door, her jaw drops when she finds Castle standing in her hallway, smiling happily, holding a basket that looks ridiculously too much like a picnic one.
"Castle?" She says, eyes fixating on the basket. "What're you doing here?"
"Well, I do believe that you agreed to a second date today," he tells her, holding up the basket. "I figured it's too cold outside for a picnic, but we could have one inside."
Her face floods with heat instantly, looking from the basket and back to his eyes. Genuine. There's no hint of the darkness, that haunted cerulean, that had been there yesterday, as he'd surveyed the glass scattered across her floor. He simply looks… happy. To see her. To spend time with her. The man bought a basket, a picnic, for Christ's sake. He's ridiculous.
She opens her mouth to protest, to say she hadn't thought he'd want to see her so quickly, not after yesterday. But he shakes the basket in his hands and she finds herself laughing, rolling her eyes and letting him in and honestly it's just ridiculous how smitten she is with this man after so little time knowing him.
"You're gonna have to move your coffee table," he tells her, setting the basket on her couch.
"Oh I am, am I?" She murmurs, smiling.
Castle sheds his jacket, wearing a v-neck jumper beneath that stretches across the width of his chest, and then he rolls up his sleeves to the elbow, revealing the play of muscles in his forearms. She looks away, at her coffee table, breathing through the sudden heat that flares through her stomach, sharp and loud. Damn it.
"For the blanket. We have to set out the picnic blanket, Kate," he says, as though it should be obvious.
"Or we could eat on the couch, like normal people," she deadpans.
Castle huffs, like a child, so she laughs, moving and helping him lift the coffee table. It's heavy, and she's wary of there being glass on the floor she'd missed while cleaning up last night, but eventually they place it directly in front of the couch, leaving space for the picnic blanket Castle hastens to lay out. It's stereotypical - red, and checkered, and she can't help but smother a smile when she sees it. And he's seems so content, to just spend time with her, on her apartment floor with all of the sandwiches and snacks he's packed - and it occurs to her that she's never known anyone like him.
Kate sits down on the blanket, legs crossed, and listens to him as he rattles off all of the food he brought with him, teasing her about the surprise he has saved for last. And this is one of those moments, she thinks, one of those moments that she wants to live in again and again.
She wants nothing more than this forever.
"I even brought plates," Castle sings, setting a paper plate in front of her (Disney) before pulling out the containers.
She arches an eyebrow. "Are you calling me a princess, Castle?"
His eyebrows furrow briefly, and then she gestures to the plate. He almost looks sheepish. It's cute.
"Leftover from Alexis's last birthday party," he answers, setting a container of grapes on the blanket. "But technically, you do have your own castle."
"I do?" She asks softly, looking down at the tuna salad sandwich she slides onto her plate.
He's quiet for a moment.
"Yeah, Kate," he admits. "You do."
That brings another smile to her lips. It's something he makes her do more than anyone else. Smile.
They don't linger on the moment, instead she watches in content silence as he unloads the rest of the food he brought with him. Tiny sandwiches, fruit, mini pizzas, cheese and crackers, meat skewers, chips. The list goes on, and she can't see how much food she's seeing. He even pulls out a bottle of wine, along with two glasses.
"Really, Castle? Wine in the middle of the day?"
"Pretend we're French."
She lets him pour her a glass anyway, accepting it with a soft thanks and hoping that will count for a lot more than it seems. She really is grateful he's here. She may not be ready for a relationship, but… she thinks she could want to be. With him.
"Did you make all of this?" She asks, popping a grape into her mouth.
He nods. "Oh, yeah. It turns out that I have a lot of free time on my hands when my daughter isn't around."
"Alexis doesn't really seem like the type of child that needs a lot of attention."
"Oh, she's not. It's me who needs hers."
She rolls her eyes. Why is she not surprised?
"Plus, I figured that, you know, what with your job, you don't really have a lot of time to cook," he shrugs, as though it's not big deal, "so there'll be some leftover snacks for when you get home late. But it's not a permanent solution."
Oh. Kate feels a blush rise to her cheeks, gnawing on her lower lip. Nobody's ever - thought about her like that before. He's so compassionate, she thinks. He passes it off as nothing, picking up a second cheese sandwich, eating nonchalantly as she stares at him with nothing less than wonder.
He's beautiful.
"Thank you, Rick," she murmurs.
Castle says nothing, and she doesn't push.
Sitting with him like this is easy. They talk freely, of his ridiculous antics while researching for his books, of some of her more stranger cases that intrigue him, as well as ridiculous childhood memories, or his own experiences while raising his daughter on his own. Alexis is a good child, she's sure, but some of the stories he tells her make her howl with laughter, clutching her stomach. And the glow, the pure warmth he has when he speaks about his daughter is magnificent. She would gladly sit and watch him like this forever.
"You know, you said you had a surprise," she says nonchalantly as they place the containers of leftovers to the side.
"Ooh yes! Dessert."
Castle rifles through the basket, finding whatever it was he was looking for almost instantly. He hesitates, looking over at her cautiously. She raises her eyebrows.
"What, Castle?" She asks impatiently.
"Close your eyes," he instructs. Her eyebrows shoot up higher. "It's a surprise, Kate."
Swallowing nervously, Kate closes her eyes, realising that she trusts him. She really does. She knows that he won't do anything too stupid. It doesn't sounds stupid, either. There's the pop sound of a container being opened, a slight rustling, and then he murmurs for her to open her mouth. He must be leaning in close to her. His breath ghosts across her lips. They part automatically.
The first thing she tastes is chocolate, then, after biting down, something sweet and sharp at the same time. Strawberry. He's feeding her chocolate strawberries.
Kate hums, opening her eyes to find him close. She makes sure her eyes are locked on his when she leans in and takes another bite of the strawberry until he's only left holding the stem. His eyes fall to her lips, and he seems to hesitate; her heart thunders in her chest. Furious. Nervous.
The man made her chocolate strawberries.
Closing her eyes, she erases the gaps between them and presses her lips to his.
Instantly her body reacts to him, blood rushing through her veins and what starts off as soft and cautious suddenly becomes energetic. She pushes up on her knees, curling until her chest presses against his and his hands fall to her waist, hers cupping his cheeks as their lips work in tandem. Oh God. She's kissing Richard Castle. She's making out with Richard Castle.
Her tongue slips out, slides hotly with his and one of his hands moves away from her waist, sliding across the material of her t-shirt before slipping underneath, finding her bare skin. It's hot and warm and she moans, hands fleshing out all of the solid, broad lines of him. He's tearing her apart with just a kiss.
Kate pulls away, panting heavily, and when she remembers to open her eyes he's already watching her, uncertain and afraid.
She leans in again, kisses him thoroughly and knots her hands in his hair. He groans, arms anchoring around her until they're pressed entirely together, her breasts crushed between them, knees knocking together even as hers ache from the hard floor. But oh, she couldn't stop if she wanted to. And they should stop. Should talk. But she wants nothing more than the feeling of alive for just one more moment.
"Kate," he pants against her lips and she moans again, hands fisting in his hair.
Their lips part with a loud smack that she thinks should be embarrassing, but instead she rests her head against his shoulder, trying to catch her breath. His hands slip from beneath her t-shirt and cradle between her shoulder blades, his own breath shallow against her ear.
"That was amazing," he whispers, gently kissing beneath her ear.
She shudders.
"Yeah," she agrees.
Eventually she remembers to pull away, looking up at him. His hair mussed, lips swollen from her kisses. She bites her own. He looks thoroughly ravished.
"This - I still - " She struggles with the words, can't make the right ones come out.
"You want to go slow. I know," he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I get it."
She smiles, soft and slow. "I don't think I deserve you, Richard Castle."
He laughs, shaking his head and kissing her one last time. Still takes her breath away.
"You are extraordinary, Kate Beckett."
Without giving her time to argue, he lifts from his knees, standing and observing the mess around them. In her haste to kiss him she'd knocked the container of chocolate strawberries over, sending them flying in different directions across her living room floor.
"I guess we have quite a mess to clear up, huh?"
Biting her lip, Kate swiftly moves over to the kitchen, grabbing her dustpan and brush. She holds them up before him.
"How about I watch you clear it up instead?"
TBC