For the lovely woman sitting right here, next to me on this couch... :)
kairos
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"Pretty stupid, leaving your door open like this," she murmurs as she settles in behind him, her forehead pressed to the wide space between his shoulder blades, her warm breath seeping through his shirt, caressing his skin. Bolder this time, a little braver, the way she automatically spoons the length of her body against his back, one arm draped around his middle with her hand pressed to his sternum. Her fingers are cold but her skin is warm, the heat radiating through her sleep shirt and the leggings that encase her legs. How does a person as willowy as she give off so much warmth; doesn't she need it herself?
It's been days and he'd started wondering whether he'd dreamt it after all. They hadn't talked about it. Of course not. They don't talk. By day she is Kate Beckett, focused and indomitable, but he sees the cracks in her foundation now, the thin fissures that are grooved into the lines of her body. The weight on her shoulders that makes her wilt, sink in on herself when she believes nobody can see. But he sees. He sees her, all of her. The way she battles, fights, rises again and again, seemingly stronger than before and he's so proud of her, completely enamored. And worried.
Every once in a while he'd catch her looking at him, when she thought he didn't notice, a wistful expression etched onto her face, the meaning of which he couldn't quite figure out, and he knew it wasn't a dream.
He doesn't know why she comes, doesn't know what she needs but he doesn't care; it doesn't matter, as long as she's here, as long as she seeks him.
It's late.
He'd been asleep already but his ears had immediately tuned into the soft snick of his front door as it fell closed, his eyes flying open. He'd rolled onto his side, left enough space for her on the other side of his bed, his heart throbbing in his throat while he waited for her. Pinched his eyes closed and pretended to sleep when her quiet steps came inside his bedroom, padded closer, rounded the bed. Listened to the rustle of fabric as she slipped off her coat and scarf, letting everything drop to the floor, as she toed off her socks, as she lifted the corner of the sheet and slid underneath, curling around him.
I was waiting for you.
The answer coats his tongue but he swallows it down; too much truth, too much desperate want.
Besides, he's fairly certain she knows anyway. She's here.
"Safe building." There's a doorman, after all, and security throughout, and he doesn't have that many obnoxious fans, and his daughter… Okay, yeah, it was stupid.
She makes him stupid. Stupidly in love with her.
"I'm so tired, Castle. Just so tired." Her words are quiet, more whisper than voice, and the sadness, the quiet desperation that resonates through them tears him from his thoughts, rips right into him. He doesn't know whether she's just exhausted, or tired of this distance, or tired of fighting, doesn't know what to offer when all he wants is to carry her burden for her. To be her strength, hold her up when she needs holding, share every pain and sorrow, bring her joy, ensure that her life is safe and delightful and fun.
And it hurts, in ways nothing has ever hurt before, to stand back, to hold back, to not give her everything she deserves and then some because she's the most extraordinary person he's ever met.
But at least he can give her this.
He turns on his back, keeping her hand tightly clasped within his to fold her into his chest. She comes easier than he would've expected, simply settles on top of him, her cheek to his sternum and one leg sliding between his. She's a pliable, tiny thing in his arms, feels so light draped over him, her hip bones sharp where they dig into his side, her ribs protruding, her knee pointy. Sharp angles where there should be more padded curves and he resolves to ply her with more food, watch out for her better until she can stand more firmly on her own.
He runs his fingers down her spine, lingering in the valley of her lower back before he smoothes back up between her shoulder blades, fingertips curling at her neck, so grateful that she came, seeking solace in his arms.
She snuffles into his chest, seems to sink into him, her body getting sleep-heavy, and he imagines that he can feel the barely-there stroke of her lashes brushing his skin when her eyes close. He buries his nose in her hair, allows himself for one long moment to feast on the familiar scent that lingers in the curly tumble, warm vanilla and almond, comforting and enticing both. The coil of want is pulled taut in his midsection, every part of him filled with devastating yearning that he can practically taste on his tongue.
And it's not even sexual. He just wants her. All of her.
"Sleep, Kate," he whispers into her hair, continuing to caress the length of her back. Tries to infuse her skin with the knowledge that she's safe, that she's cared for, that he's got her now, imagines how it's spreading through her blood until it's bone-deep, a certain thing.
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Thank you all for your lovely comments, your well-wishes and enthusiasm! I treasure every word, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story.