Author's Note: Continuing on with a post-ep for 4x7 "Cops and Robbers." I couldn't resist the chance to finally write about one of my all-time favorite episodes.
What Is Supposed To Be
Chapter 4
She couldn't stop looking at him. It was as if she needed the constant, visible reminder that he was still here, alive and unscathed.
Even the sound of his voice or his laugh wasn't enough; she needed to see him. She found her eyes constantly darting to him, drawn as if by a magnet, time and time again. Even as she tried to focus on Martha, who was in fine form tonight and, if possible, even more vibrant and dramatic than usual as she expounded on stories from when she'd played Titania in Midsummer Night's Dream, the performance that the bank manager still remembered so vividly and had reminded her of.
She couldn't stop looking at him. All throughout the dinner with a table groaning under more food than even 10 people could eat, let alone 4, she kept getting distracted.
He was still here. He was fine. She hadn't lost him.
Her gaze tangled with his for at least the third time (in the last half hour) and his smile deepened ever so slightly. Yeah, he'd definitely noticed her staring. (Of course he had. Not even she could say she'd been able to hide it much.)
She felt herself flushing and managed to tear her eyes away from his, deliberately focusing on Martha and asking a question about her experiences from Shakespeare in the Park.
Martha's answer was predictably dramatic and involved a lot of hand-waving, one particularly energetic one nearly resulting in disaster as the wine in Martha's glass sloshed precariously close to the edge, making Alexis exclaim in warning.
Martha (also predictably) only shrugged it off and then proceeded to finish off the glass, declaring triumphantly, "There, problem solved."
She heard the rumble of Castle's laughter and swore she felt the sound fizzing through her like champagne and she couldn't help but glance at him again. He and Alexis were exchanging nearly identical smiles at Martha's antics as he raised his own glass of wine to his lips.
He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he usually did while eating and she found her gaze snared by the shift and pull of the muscles of his forearms at his movements, a quick flash of heat flaring through her at the sensory memory of the strength of his arms around her. She tore her eyes away before anyone could catch her staring—oh fine, ogling—Castle's forearms, only to find her eyes snared by the curve of his lips. Again.
She hadn't kissed him earlier in the bank. She'd wanted to, had practically thrown herself at him and hugged him hard, burying her face in the collar of his shirt, not even caring that his clothes were a little smoky and dusty, torn between the urge to cry hysterically or kiss him as if there was no tomorrow. And when she'd finally managed to draw back to smile into his eyes, she'd been about an inch away from giving in and kissing him but then she'd heard the sound of a cough and then Martha's voice, reminding her that they weren't alone, were, in fact, surrounded by other people. Kissing Castle would have to wait. (If for no other reason than the amount of passion, and tongue, she fully expected from any kiss with Castle would not be appropriate in front of an audience, especially one that included his mother.)
But ever since then, it seemed as if the ghost of that lost kiss was haunting her. (She'd been spending too much time with Castle and ghosts might be on her mind after that haunted house murder a couple weeks ago.)
She couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop her eyes from straying to his mobile mouth. Couldn't stop her mind from remembering—reliving—that moment from almost a year ago now, his fingers tangling in her hair, cupping her neck, the touch of his mouth, his tongue. The feel of his lip between her teeth. The heat and passion of his kiss that had effectively cleared her brain of just about any rational thought.
She'd almost lost him. For an endless minute or so, during which she hadn't been able to draw breath properly, she'd thought she had lost him—and all she could think was that she'd never known what it was like to be with him. Not just physically but in every way, being in a relationship with him.
She'd come so close to never knowing what it would be like to sleep beside him, in his arms. What it would be like to wake up beside him, see him sleep-flushed and groggy. What it would be like to hear him tell her he loved her when she wasn't dying. What it would be like to say those words to him, see the way his eyes would light up.
Never knowing what it would be like to be in a relationship with a man she was completely in love with and who loved her too. To have the sort of relationship her parents had had.
She'd come so close to losing him permanently, losing him forever.
She'd thought she didn't want to lose him before but until now, her fears had been centered on losing him to another woman, losing him to him giving up on her, deciding he could do better than her. She'd feared losing him but had only thought in terms of feelings, of him being alive in the world and not in love with her.
Foolishly, she hadn't thought in terms of losing him like this, losing him to… not being alive. She couldn't even think the word, everything in her flinching away.
Maybe that was why she hadn't thought it, because it was simply unthinkable. It simply could not be.
Except that wasn't true. She of all people knew that. She knew that no one's tomorrows were guaranteed. Not only because she saw the truth of it every day but also because she'd lived the brutal truth of it.
Losing her mom had devastated her, damaged her in ways she was only now beginning to understand the full depths of, but she had, at least, managed to survive, endure. Losing Castle—she didn't think she could survive that. Not really, not ever. She would be an empty shell, emotionally crippled, just… done. Done with hope, done with happiness. Done with love.
She couldn't do this anymore. Couldn't wait. Because what if it turned out they'd waited only for tragedy?
She suddenly remembered what Dr. Burke had told her a couple weeks ago, that there was no right order to things, that it wasn't required of her to wait until she was cured.
Nobody's tomorrow was guaranteed.
And she heard Castle's voice in her head from more than a year ago. The heart wants what the heart wants.
As of this morning, she'd still known the rational, logical reasons for putting off the inevitable (she wasn't sure exactly when she'd started to believe that she and Castle were inevitable but somehow she did)—her mom's case, her ongoing issues, her shooter, her double-damned wall. But none of that mattered in light of today, the fact that she'd come so close to losing him for good.
She might still be afraid of her issues getting in the way, ruining things, but she was more afraid, was starkly terrified of the idea of anything happening to Castle before she even had a chance to show him how much she could (and did) love him, losing him before she could even try to love him the way he deserved.
Maybe it was time to listen to her heart.
Castle's voice intruded into her reverie (because she was, somehow, always attuned to his voice, every synapse in her brain reacting to the familiar tones of it). She might have missed whatever story Martha had been telling, just a vague remembrance of hearing the tones of Martha's dramatic tones in the background, but when Castle spoke, she heard. "On that note, Mother, I think it's time I cut you off. No more wine for you."
Martha paused mid-gesture to look at the couple drops of red wine that had splashed out of her now-refilled glass in the middle of a particularly theatrical gesture, the drops fortunately landing on Alexis's placemat. "Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, Richard. Celebrating life requires some messiness."
Castle raised his eyebrows at his mother. "Does it also require spilling wine on your granddaughter?"
Martha made a show of wiping the drops away with her napkin before making a dismissive gesture with the same hand. "Nonsense, Richard, the drops didn't go anywhere near Alexis."
"Still. Your gestures are getting bigger and anyway, when you start making things up completely, you've had enough."
"Says the man who makes up stories for a living," Martha retorted.
Alexis shot Castle a teasing look. "She has a point, Dad."
Castle gave Alexis a look of exaggerated betrayal. "Ét tu, Alexis? And must I remind you that it is my wine that I paid for?"
"I swear I raised him to have better manners than this, Katherine," Martha added in a pointed aside, ostensibly addressing Kate who laughed. "Well," Martha huffed, finishing her glass of wine with something like a flourish. "If that's how you're going to act, Richard, I do believe that's my cue to leave. I have a date for a long soaking bath upstairs. I trust no one will object if I don't stay to clean up since I did do the cooking."
There was, of course, only one answer to make to that, both Alexis and Kate assuring Martha in messy unison that she shouldn't worry about the clean-up.
Martha hugged Alexis and kissed Castle on the cheek before drawing Kate into a scented embrace. "Thank you for saving us, my dear," she murmured in Kate's ear.
Kate returned Martha's hug, warmth coiling in her chest at how easily Martha dispensed affection, how easily Martha appeared to forgive Kate for the ways she'd wounded Castle. "You don't need to thank me, Martha," she demurred. "I didn't do much of anything."
Martha drew back and met Kate's eyes, cupping Kate's cheek in one beringed hand. "Nonetheless. Richard never doubted that you would get us out and neither did I."
Kate managed a somewhat wobbly smile. "I'm just glad you're okay."
Martha patted Kate's cheek.
"Good night, my loves," she trilled as she swanned upstairs.
With Martha gone, the energy level in the room immediately seemed to drop and the noise level definitely did. Kate joined in helping Castle and Alexis clear the table and put the leftovers away, neither of them talking much but only making a few desultory comments.
That finished, Castle encouraged Alexis to go upstairs and finish her homework, overriding her not very forceful protest.
Alexis gave Kate a smile tinged with something like shyness. "Good night, Detective. Thanks for saving Dad and Grams."
"I was happy to do it," Kate responded. "Good night, Alexis." Kate hoped Alexis's smile was an indication that she was at least mostly back in Alexis's good graces now. She was unhappily conscious that she hadn't exactly given Alexis much reason to think well of her lately—hurting Castle the way she had was bound to make his family distrust her. She was a little surprised to realize how much it bothered her to think of Alexis's disapproval but bother her it did.
She busied herself starting to load the dishwasher as Castle accompanied Alexis to the foot of the stairs, one arm slung around her shoulders. She couldn't hear what they were saying and didn't try but she couldn't help but watch out of the corner of her eye. Since she still couldn't seem to keep her eyes from Castle for longer than a minute or so at a time. And more prosaically, she did love to see Castle in his father mode, when he was quieter, more sincere. Closer to the real man she knew he was, when his cocky façade had been stripped away.
Whatever Castle said to Alexis, it earned him a beaming smile, brighter than any she'd displayed thus far this evening, as the girl threw her arms around his neck. "I know. Thanks, Dad. I love you."
Kate forcefully kept her eyes averted since she really had no business to be watching this private father-daughter moment but it didn't keep her from hearing Castle's easy, affectionate response, "Love you too, pumpkin. Sleep well."
Her eyes returned to Castle, again, inevitably, only to meet his as he turned away from the stairs. He looked, she realized, now that his mother and Alexis were out of the way, more tired than he'd let on, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly. He'd been his usual smiling and joking self for the entire evening, having apparently shrugged off the events of the day like so much water slipping off a duck's back. She'd thought it was simply his generally sanguine temperament but now, she realized it had largely been an act, meant to reassure his mother and his daughter.
But he wasn't pretending anymore, not with her. He was letting her see.
Oh. She was suddenly filled with a sort of poignant joy mingled in with something like an odd form of envy along with guilt and respect, that he was able to lower his guard with her while she wasn't quite able to do the same with him. Not yet, not to the same extent.
She really needed to do so much better.
She realized she must have been staring at him (again) when he quirked his brows at her in something approaching his usual teasing.
"Is Alexis okay?" she asked instead, seeking a neutral topic. "She had a stressful day." The girl had been unusually subdued, at least from what Kate knew of her.
Castle's expression softened as it always did at the mention of Alexis. "She broke up with Ashley. It's been coming for a little while, I think, but it's still hard. But she'll be okay in time."
Kate nodded. "And she has you or Martha to talk to if she needs it. I'm sure you've both been through it enough to know what to say."
Castle made a face at her. "I beg you, Beckett, never refer to my mother's romantic history again in my presence."
"Excuse me," she said with mock solemnity. "I didn't mean to offend your delicate sensibilities."
"Delicate, ha," he pretended to grouse. "I am not delicate."
She gave in to her smirk as he joined her at the island and in unspoken accord, he started washing the actually delicate glassware and then passing them to her to dry. It was a surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) domestic little scene but what struck Kate was how easy it was, how comfortable. Aside from the week she'd stayed here after her old apartment had blown up last year, she hadn't spent that much time at the loft and yet somehow, it felt natural to be here, sharing kitchen space with Castle, working with him even in such a mundane task.
Maybe, she thought, it wouldn't be as awkward or hard as she'd thought to overcome her lingering fears. Maybe what she'd been doing all along was swimming against the current, as it were, and making things so much harder for herself.
They finished the dishes and she dried the last of the glasses while he washed his hands, reaching for another dishcloth to dry them with, and her gaze was snared, again, by the muscles of his forearms, his hands.
He made a small wave towards the couch in the front room. "You want to watch some T—" he began in a studiedly casual tone.
She cut him off with her mouth. She dropped the dishcloth she'd been using blindly onto the counter, stepped into him, caught his face between her hands and kissed him.
He stiffened at first in surprise, giving a small gasp that was swallowed by her mouth, but then his hands went to her waist and he kissed her back, his tongue slicking against hers.
Her head spun, her mind blanking. Mm, yes, this was what she remembered…
It took effort but she finally managed to end the kiss (reluctantly), although she couldn't bring herself to actually move, stayed where she was, caught against him, their noses brushing, their somewhat labored breaths mingling.
"I… uh… wasn't expecting that," he managed after a moment.
"I've been wanting to do that since… a few hours ago," she admitted.
A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "And I've wanted you to do that since, oh, about two years and seven months ago."
Two years—wait. A soft laugh spluttered out of her. "Since we met? You think I should have just succumbed when you were using lame pick-up lines to get me into bed?"
He huffed. "Excuse me. I have never used a lame pick-up line on you, Beckett."
"Sure," she drawled sarcastically. "You told me I had gorgeous eyes in the middle of an interrogation about a series of murders."
"That was not a pick-up line. That was the simple truth," he informed her with mock saintliness. His tone shifted, softened into sincerity. "You do have beautiful eyes. Even now, after spending so much time with you, I still haven't managed to describe them in a way that will do justice to them."
His phrasing set off sparks of memory in her mind and she remembered what he'd said to her in that hotel room in LA. Another time when she'd been so tempted to kiss him she'd almost forgotten how to breathe. A time when he'd—oh, it suddenly occurred to her that he had already loved her then. It had been in his eyes, in his expression, if she'd only been able and willing to see it, acknowledge his feelings for what they were.
And she had… yes, fine, she had loved him then too. The knowledge had been buried under a mountain of denial and stubbornness and doubt and fear—but the feeling had been there all along.
And now, finally, she accepted that Royce really had been right. She never wanted to have to look back and think, if only.
She kissed him, poured all her love and her apology and her wanting into his mouth.
His arms tightened around her, one of his hands somehow finding its way beneath the hem of her shirt to caress the skin of her lower back, the heat of his touch on her bare skin sending heat streaking through her veins, making her moan. Oh god, if just this relatively innocent touch affected her so strongly, what would it be like to have him touch her more intimately…
He was the one who tore his mouth away from hers on a gasp. "Wait, wait, we can't. We're… waiting, aren't we? I'm not—I can wait. I don't want to push."
Oh, this man… He was so good, was trying so hard to give her what he thought she wanted, even as she could feel the tension thrumming through his body, hinting at just how much he was holding back.
She kissed him again, softly this time, just a brush of her lips against his. "I don't want to wait anymore," she breathed against his lips.
He let out a ragged breath. "Kate, you're sure? There's no rush. You don't have to… skip ahead to the end of the story. I can wait until you're ready."
One of her thumbs moved to brush the skin at the corner of his mouth in an undeniable caress. "Castle, I realized today that I don't want to wait any longer for this, for us. I don't want to miss our chance." She paused, a small smile curving her lips. "I think today was a sign from the universe that we shouldn't wait."
His lips curved faintly in an echo of hers. "You don't believe in signs from the universe."
"But you do. And I think… I'm starting to be open to the possibility of it, of magic." For his sake, because of him, she could believe that they would make it, could handle anything.
She saw the spark of memory kindle in his eyes. "I knew I'd get you to admit it eventually."
"Eventually." She sobered. "I don't think it'll be easy. I'm still in therapy. I'm not… fixed yet. But I want to try, want to… be with you… And maybe, if you're okay with it, you can help me turn the pages until I catch up, because I'm getting closer?"
It was his turn to kiss her, taking the initiative for the first time, a relatively brief kiss that still left her in no doubt as to his agreement, before he drew back to rest his forehead against hers. "Yes, Kate, yes. You don't have to be anything different or more than what you are already are; you're enough, more than enough, just as you are. We can take it slow, just wade for a while before diving into it."
"Okay, that sounds good," she managed to say just before she covered his mouth with hers again and this time, oh this time, he wasn't holding back any more as he kissed her back. He was confident, passionate, taking possession of her mouth with his lips and his tongue.
He shifted, turning them until she felt the counter at her back, neatly trapping her body between it and his body, allowing him to exert a little more pressure, his lower body pressed firmly against hers.
She gasped and arched against him, delighting in the feel of his strength, the growing hardness in his pants. Oh, oh god…
His lips skated along the line of her jaw and then down her neck, finding a spot that made her moan, a spot she hadn't even known was so sensitive. He nudged the collar of her shirt aside to give him greater access to her neck, the soft skin above her collarbone, pressing his lips to her pulse point.
"Cas—sle," she managed to gasp, his name punctuated by something like a whimper, as his lips continued their devastating assault on her neck, his hands sweeping up her sides and stopping just when his thumbs were stroking the undersides of her breasts but not going any further.
"Hmm?" he mumbled against her skin.
"We're—ooh—bed. Now," she panted, giving up on trying to form complete sentences.
He jerked, his head abruptly lifting to stare at her. "Kate. Are you sure?"
She deliberately shifted, arching to press her lower body even more firmly against the hardness of his until he groaned. "Take me to bed, Castle."
His answer was a brief, hard kiss before he stepped away from the counter and took one of her hands in his. And then he did what she'd asked—ordered—and took her to bed. Finally.
He took his time in exploring every inch of her body, pausing to press his lips to the scar between her breasts with so much aching tenderness she felt her throat get tight. He loved her, all of her, and how could she mind about her scars when he so clearly didn't?
His lips moved on to press a few more intimate kisses to her breasts, as his hands strayed as well. He pressed his hand to the scar on her side and then he was sliding down so he could trace his lips along it too, making her gasp, a dizzying rush of lust temporarily winning out over the love, and then his lips slid lower and lower still…
Later, much later, she drifted to sleep, sated and happy and conscious of the warm bulk of Castle slumped beside her, surrounding her, comforting her. Strong and loving and hers and everything she'd been wanting and waiting for.
~To be continued…~
A/N 2: It turns out I underestimated my verbosity so this fic will have 6 chapters and not 5. Also, fair warning that I'm going to be travelling next week and so will not be able to post. Apologies in advance for the longer than usual wait until the next chapter.
Thank you all, as always, for reading and reviewing, especially the guest reviewers whom I can't thank directly.