To the fun, (sometimes weird), funny girl with whom I want to have all my adventures. :)
kairos
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The girl is so young. Was. Skirt and wool tights shredded and one leg at an awkward angle, she lies sprawled in the snow, eyes wide and staring unseeingly. Dark red splinters from the stab wound in her stomach, frozen thistles of coagulated blood, her red hair fanning out against the endless expanse of white and he runs, runs, reaches a row of bushes just in time.
He retches into the shrubbery, hunched over as his stomach contents pattern the innocent snow with ugly splotches, a horrid art piece on the foulness of mankind. He heaves, over and over, head spinning and his legs shaky, his skin breaking out in cold sweat.
He notices her shoes first as they step into his field of vision, and then Kate's fingers slide beneath the collar of his coat, run circles across the skin at his nape, curl into his short hair. Her touch is cool, fingertips chilled by the icy gusts of wind and she must've taken her gloves off, he thinks inanely, despite the freezing temperatures.
He tries to breathe through it, in and out while she hums soothing sounds, caresses his neck until the dry-heaving slowly subsides, leaving him empty and drained.
Kate hands him a tissue and he wipes his teary eyes, his mouth, then balls it up and buries it deep in his coat pocket. Next she holds out a piece of gum and he takes that too, pushes it in his mouth, chewing valiantly. The peppermint soothes his raw throat and slowly he rights himself, back straightening against her hand that lies between his shoulder blades.
Her other palm curled around his elbow she guides him a few feet away, out of sight from the crime scene crew. His knees are wobbly and as one they sink to the ground, backs leaning against a wide tree trunk and legs stretched out in front of them. The snow is melting beneath his butt, the freezing water seeping into the seats of his pants but he doesn't care because she's leaning against him, shoulders brushing and her hips pressed firmly into his.
Castle rests his head back against the tree, stares into the distance of the sprawling park. He's embarrassed, wants to say he's sorry but really, what is there to say? There are no words. No logic to such heinousness.
The snow is falling thinly yet steadily, tiny crystals dancing, floating, sparkling in the day's glare, settling on their pants and coats before they disappear as if they never were. It's too beautiful and his heart hurts.
Kate lays her hand on his thigh, rubbing the length of his pant leg. "You wanna head home?"
"No." He shakes his head, the bark of the tree trunk abrading the skin of his head. He wants to get whoever did this, feels like he owes it to this girl, to his own daughter too.
Her fingers feel like ice cubes even through the fabric of his jeans. He reaches for her, enfolds Kate's hand between both of his, kneading her fingers and lifting them to his mouth, blowing warmth to her skin.
The gasp is almost inaudible but he's hyper-aware of it, the staggered breath in her throat and the 'o' of her lips, her eyes wide and entranced when he turns his head, looks at her. Her nose is red from the cold, and snowflakes flitter around her, landing on her cheeks, her eyelashes, her hair.
"Come home with me. Tonight."
In the end, it's almost pathetically easy. Case closed by dinnertime, open-and-shut, pictures and notes and evidence folded in a nondescript cardboard box, lined up with the many before it in a dark, dusty room. A case of young love gone horribly wrong, and a snot-nosed young man with stringy long hair led away in cuffs, weeping about how sorry he was.
Kate finds a parking spot about two blocks away, and silently they walk toward his building, side by side. The grit strewn on the sidewalk to counteract black ice crunches beneath the soles of their shoes, provides the only soundtrack to their synched steps.
He breathes in the thick mist that clings to the night air, lets the fog infuse his lungs, so icy it's almost painful. He relishes the wet droplets of snow as they land on his face, and the reassuring rhythm of Kate's steps by his side, Kate's breathing, Kate's warm, familiar scent that mingles with the taste of snow.
Maybe he shouldn't have asked. Theirs was a silent agreement, a gift too wondrous to be asked for but he's not sorry, can't be sorry. Drowning in sorrow he'd needed her, couldn't fathom sleeping by himself, sleeping without her again and so it spilled out of him, needy and pathetic.
He thinks he might never forget the way she stared at him for a long moment, how he felt exposed, torn open; felt like she was looking right into him, reading everything written on his soul, every whim and need and deep-dark desire. Yet he felt secure in it, finding understanding in her eyes; his secrets safe with her.
He can still feel the phantom of her touch on his skin when she curved a hand over his ear, thumb stroking at the side of his face. How heat rose into his skin despite the arctic breeze that whipped around them.
How his heart skipped and skedaddled when she'd nodded, breathed "okay" in univocal promise.
Their knuckles brush, startling him out of his reverie. He thinks it's inadvertent but with their next step, they brush again, and at the next after that, her fingertips nudge between his. He glances at her from the side and she turns for him, her eyes deep and enchanting, etched wood and mossy green, a forest he loses himself in. With his stomach in flutters he opens his hand. Kate slides her palm against his, glove to glove pressed together and he can feel her warmth seep through the fabric and into the lines of his palm. He folds his hand closed around hers, squeezes her fingers and she smiles at him, shy and fluttery as her lips stretch, her lashes tremble.
He tugs and she comes, tangled against his side. They walk to his home - their hands knotted, tight and strong.
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Thank you for your continued enthusiasm for and joy in this story.