For the kind-hearted woman who hugs me and forgives me even when I'm a whiny, grumpy mess.
kairos
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He jogs up to the crime scene, the cardboard carrier with two venti coffee cups clasped between his freezing fingers. The flaps of his open coat billow behind him; he forgot to button it up in his haste to get to the address she'd texted. To see her. An icy gust of wind bursts through the alley, howling around the dumpsters, snaking beneath his coat, underneath the edges of his sweater. He shivers violently. Winter came early this season, the late November storms arctic, like crystallized ice seeping into every crevice.
But then Kate turns toward him, the sound of his hurried steps enough to alert her to his presence and he forgets all about the freezing cold. She smiles at him, lips stretching wide and the corners of her eyes crinkled with it, wider than he's seen her smile lately and it's all for him. It's soft, yet dazzling just the same, the hazy grey light setting off the green brilliance in her eyes and his stomach flutters, like a million butterflies taking off for flight.
So this is what he does for her. His heart stumbles with it. This is what he can do for her.
His knees feel unsteady and he slows down, from a jog to a walk; like a normal person, he censors himself, less eager puppy but he feels alive with it, like he's cracked open an unbreakable shell and revealed the most luminous, most perfect pearl.
Every step carries him closer and yet she doesn't turn back to the crime scene. She waits for him instead, watching him with that gentle smile. He picks up her coffee from the cardboard carrier when he reaches her, holds out his offering.
Good morning, my love.
"Hey," he says instead, his voice raw with it. He soaks her in, the way the cold has stained her cheeks rosy and how the wind has tousled her curls, strands of it framing her face that he wants to touch, wants to slide behind her ears and let his fingertips linger against the velvety patch of skin just beneath her ear. Notes also how the dark smudges underneath her eyes have finally lessened, her face fresher with it, brighter.
How long had she not been able to sleep until she came to him, sought out the comfort of his arms?
"Hey." She doesn't reach for her coffee though; instead she takes another step forward, moves into him, shielding him from the view of the officers milling around the crime scene. Her gloved hands come up, hesitant at first as she reaches for his lapels, tugging his coat closed around him before she slips the top button through its buttonhole.
He thinks he stops breathing as her fingers seem to linger against his body before they trail lower, finding the next button and closing it. She buttons the third, then the last and he wishes his coat had more buttons, hundreds of tiny ones so that she'd never stop touching him but her hands slide back up, palms pressed to his chest for a drawn-out moment.
"Better?" She murmurs but it's not really a question. Her eyes meet his, at once stark and fathomless and suddenly it's about more than the coat, more than this moment.
"Yeah," he croaks, his heart in his throat. He wants to wrap his arms tightly around her, wants to tug her into his chest and fold himself around her, wants her to feel how much better it is, how it'll keep getting better if only they keep doing this but he has no free hands and they're in public so he just stares into the mysterious depths of her eyes and offers what he can.
"Better."
He sneaks the small envelope onto her desk when she isn't looking, engrossed in a search on her desktop, her body leaned forward and her nose almost touching the screen. He leaves it just where his hand usually rests, where he sometimes drums his fingertips against the tabletop in thought until she slaps her hand over his, glaring at him to knock it off.
Then Castle gets up, his offering unattended while he wanders over to the break room. He busies himself with making cappuccinos, one for her and one for himself, foaming the milk to perfection, taking much longer than usual.
When he eventually walks back over toward her desk, setting one of the coffees in front of her, the little envelope has disappeared.
She's steadfastly staring at her paperwork, that cute little frown edged onto the bridge of her nose, her pen moving precisely as she fills in the blank lines but when he lays his palm on her desk, right where the envelope had been, for one fleeting, barely-there glance her fingers brush the tips of his.
He leans back in his chair, hiding his satisfied grin behind the rim of his mug. They delve into the case, bounce theories back and forth but there's a lightness to his heart, a quickness to his steps and a perpetual smile curling his lips that nothing can erase for the rest of the day.
Because now, she has his key.
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Thank you for your sweet messages and your continued enthusiasm for this story. :)