There's a long moment of silence, stretching between them, peaceful and a little tentative.
When Castle opens his mouth, her blood warms, because what if he says -
"Which side do you want?"
Oh.
"Um. The right?"
"The right from here, or the right from in the bed?" She shoots him a glare, and he shrugs sheepishly. "Just trying to be precise, Detective."
"Kate."
"What?"
Her cheeks are warm, but she makes herself say it. "I'm getting into your bed. You can call me Kate."
She climbs into bed beside him; he pulls up the covers and they're neatly tucked, side by side, snug and tidy and ridiculous. Ridiculous. She's in Richard Castle's bedroom. She doesn't know what's going on. There was a moment, putting on her pajamas, when she thought about letting him take them off her tonight - but it's not right. Her mind is still in a hundred places, and she's still a homeless cop, and she feels unsettled, like her feet aren't quite under her.
She wants to kiss him again.
Kate diverts herself from the mental refrain of we're in bed but we're not having sex but I keep thinking about having sex with him and I don't know what to do by glancing around. His room isn't exactly what she pictured - she's not even trying to tell herself she hasn't thought about his bedroom - but it's beautiful, in a rich, understated way. Deep colors, hardwood floor, framed animal prints on the walls. The lion photo is gorgeous. She catches a glimpse of an elephant across the room, its long trunk raised.
Wishful thinking, Castle?
Her face gets warm. Because now she's staring at the elephant's trunk and thinking about Castle and it's too much to take in just yet.
They don't do things in the right order. They never have. She knew him long before she met him, on a cold day in a crowded bookstore with too many faces. Nine years later, he met her, in one more noisy, shallow place with too many faces. The past came back, a square-jawed past with an FBI badge, and it should have worked but it didn't. They live together but she's still never said yes to the idea of debriefing each other.
Or has she?
She keeps coming back to the elephant trunk and the fact that she will eventually find out just how...wishful it is.
They're sitting up against his headboard like the Mike and Carol Brady, and she doesn't know what to say. She's done the smoothing the sheets thing, and there's not a lot to do to distract her from the fact that he looks as unsure as she feels right now.
"My laptop's in the office," he suggests. "I could pull up the otter documentary, if you want to keep watching it."
She slept through most of it earlier, but she remembers the narrator saying one line, one line that threaded through her sleep. These charming creatures usually mate for life. It's twining around the mental image of the persistent little otter, chasing his true love determinedly, round and round the pool, until she finally gives in and lets him catch up.
Maybe she does know what to say.
"Actually -"
She pauses, not sure if she should continue.
"What?"
"Castle. I was thinking -" He watches her expectantly, and her mouth curves up into a smile. "I was thinking maybe we could make out some more."
"I like that idea much better."
Kate can't help but laugh as he immediately turns to face her, his eyes sparkling. "Of course you - mmph."