So...
Finally.
A few things to blame here... the site being down... my internet being down, the site being down some more, and my muse running off to somewhere tropical and refusing to invite me. I know, rude, right? Anyhow, we should be back on track now... Sorry for the delay! :)
Special thanks to MDH for her awesome BETAing! :D
Enjoy!
~MTAM
The first morning was much like every other. There was absolutely nothing that gave away what had changed. Caught a case, drank coffee, chased leads, picked on each other. It was more of an unspoken agreement anyway, nothing else.
The second morning, much of the same.
And the third.
And the fourth.
The fifth morning, there was a bit of a bounce in her step. Not to mention his. He practically floated to the break room to pour her an innocent cup of coffee. No one had to know that it was already her third cup; and that he had poured the previous two as well.
The sixth morning, there were pancakes. Banana nut pancakes. And even though they were secret in nature, they definitely were not (as Esposito had once put it) 'Thank you so much for last night' pancakes. Well. They were. But not like Esposito would have thought.
The seventh morning, there were pointed smiles, and heavy eyes. There were lunch plans, and working late, which turned into dinner plans. Lunch was Chinese. Dinner, Remy's.
The precinct buzzed around them, nearly unaware of the dynamic shift. What was there to notice, really? They fit before they realized they fit.
The pattern of the next week, and the week after followed suit, almost. Swap 'banana nut' for 'blueberry' and 'Chinese' for 'pizza', and it worked.
On the sixteenth morning, there was a definite air of exhaustion between the two. They shuffled into the precinct, only arriving a minute or two apart (which was not as crafty as they assumed it to be), and heading straight for the coffee machine. It didn't help that they were about a half an hour late, well at least Beckett was. No matter what the others were to assume, a movie marathon (turned make-out session) was to blame, no more.
On the twentieth morning, they were up before the sun, being summoned from their shared bed to a crime scene by dispatch. Too bad, too, because Kate was finally ready to give in to the heat that was beginning to settle in her abdomen every time he even brushed his skin with hers. They had both been very patient, taking it slow like they should, but the fire between them was starting to rage out of control. Unfortunately, fate (not to mention dead bodies) always had other plans.
On the twenty-fifth morning, she crept back into his loft around 4:30 am (he had given her a key a long time ago, even before they were dating, just in case). She climbed into bed with a whispered 'I'm sorry' for all the insults she had thrown at him the previous night. He had, of course, been awake, not able to sleep after the explosive fight they had waged, and welcomed her back. He whispered his apologies for his part in the war as they drifted off.
On the thirty-first morning, they were almost an hour late to the precinct, (arriving very much together this time) hair still damp and eyes darting to the other frequently. Years of pent up energy released, their tired, wild looks revealed the passionate night that had transpired... finally.
There never seemed to be a real pattern, just an erratic routine that they both seemed to enjoy. Mornings came and mornings went...
On the forty-seventh morning, she finally let those three words tumble out of her lips after a dizzying session of ravishing each other. She barely realized she said it before curling into his side and succumbing to sleep. He stayed awake half the night, reveling in the feeling of her against him, and from the grin that refused to erase itself from his face.
On the fifty-third morning, they waltzed in, hand in hand, deciding to go for shock value when finally 'coming out' to their friends. They got pointed stares, a couple jaw drops, and a smack upside the head from a certain ME.
On the sixty-fifth morning, there were flowers and a note on the counter for her, and freshly brewed coffee still steaming in the carafe. Paula apparently stole him for an early morning meeting with the Black Pawn execs, and according to the note, the flowers were from the agent, with two sentences (if you could call them that) scrawled in her flowing handwriting. 'Finally!' and 'I'll have him back soon!'
On the eighty-second morning, she actually made him breakfast, despite his protests when she slipped out of bed. She had worn him out sufficiently the night before it was easy to allow him to drop back off to sleep, and slink downstairs to get the coffee pot going.
On the ninety-ninth morning, he was utterly flabbergasted that he was able to convince her to call off work. How he managed that one, he would never know, but he had his suspicions.
On the one hundred and thirty second morning, he looked from the drawer that had turned into drawers, and the shelf that had turned into shelves, to meet her eyes, and back to her things. His eyes pondered a question, which she immediately read and responded to. "Sure, why not?" She had said, simply. He was expecting a fight. Or at least to do some persuading. And while the persuading could have been fun, he was happier with the fact that she had agreed.
On the one hundred and fortieth morning, she stopped paying her rent, and turned in her key.
On the one hundred and seventy-first morning, he flew out at three am for a book tour. Between packing and their usual banter, they managed to make up for the time they would lose by giving the kitchen counter an alternate use, and giving the shower a bigger show than it bargained for.
On the one hundred and ninety seventh morning, they flew out the door to help with the big Ryan/O'Malley wedding. Kate was flawless in the emerald green that matched that of Castle's groomsman's vest. Last minute, she was asked to fill in for a horribly sick bridesmaid. She acquiesced, and as luck would have it, she and Castle just happened to walk down the aisle together. Somehow, it didn't feel as weird as she would have thought.
On the two-hundred and eleventh morning, Kate opened her current choice of reading material (which just happened to be 'Storm Warning') to find two plane tickets stashed behind her bookmark. They were to Tampico, Mexico, and they were departing in a few days. Out of character, she squealed all the way back to the bedroom, pouncing on the still sleeping Castle, and kissing him senseless. She hated to admit it, but she could use the time off. And more importantly, with Castle in the picture, she wanted the time off to spend with him.
On the two hundred and twenty third morning, they sat, hand in hand, watching the sunrise. They had yet to sleep, after making love in the surf (now that he had whisked her off to a private island), the sand, their bedroom, and nearly every other place in the small but luxurious bungalow that was on their own little piece of heaven. He then clasped both her hands with his, and turned her towards him and away from the ball of orange. He had slowly looked into her eyes and flipped her palm over. She felt cool metal hit her skin, and when he removed his hand, a beautiful silver and diamond ring sat in her open palm. Her eyes had grown wide and her mouth was open in disbelief. He whispered, "Don't say anything yet. Take it, take the box. I just want you to know where I stand.
On the two hundred and thirtieth morning, she woke him with a kiss. She moved to pepper his lips and cheeks and then his neck with tiny, open mouthed caresses. He looked at her with a hint of sadness in his eyes, for it was time to go. Time to leave the fantasy that had been their time away, and back to reality. The unforgotten ring was on a chain about her neck, waiting for its debut.
On the two hundred and forty-second morning, he managed to encourage her to actually relax on her day off. All too often her days away from the precinct still involved her running around from place to place. Seeing as it was raining anyway, they spent almost the day's entirety in bed. Doze, make love, snuggle, banter, and repeat. They might have moved once to get coffee, but one can't be entirely sure.
On the two hundred and fifty-third morning, he asked with pleading eyes. It had been a month, and she knew he was doing his best. But still, she waved him off.
On the two hundred and seventy fifth morning, she rolled off him, exhausted, and mumbled, "Well, aren't you going to ask me properly?" before falling asleep once again.
... And on the two hundred and seventy fifth evening, she finally said "Yes."
You there. Yes, you. Go review. Just click the little button below. Go on now. Yeah. We can see you. Don't think we can't see you. We've got *connections* you know! ;)
But seriously. Reviews are the best things EVER.
Oh, and I forgot to mention before, but the trip and way Rick proposed was inspired by 'The Plan' by Googie. If you haven't read it, GO. NOW. READ IT. It's SO incredibly good! :)
LOVE!
~MTAM