Disclaimer: When I wish upon a star...
What If…?
Chapter 3: Nervous As A Kitten
Kate makes her way over to the couch with the large bowl of popcorn clutched to her chest. When she gets there, she kicks off her heels, shrinking by four inches in the process. Then she rubs a hand over her lower back and arches her spine to stretch out tired muscles, before sinking down onto the soft, brown leather with a sigh of relief, nestling into the corner and trying to relax.
Castle stares after her, watching the sway of her hips as she moves, the way her heels make her back arch slightly, heightening the curve of her ass, the slight torque and twist of her jeans around her hips and thighs as she steps out of her shoes one at a time.
And when she arches her back, the sight makes his mouth go dry.
He finally gets it together enough to make sure he isn't being a completely terrible host, hurriedly lifting the two glasses of wine off the counter, and following her over to the couch.
He sets one down on the coffee table in front of her, startling at the sharp crack of glass on glass when the wine goblet lands a little too heavily because he can't take his eyes off the pale line of her throat and it's ski slope descent towards her cleavage. Definitely a black run, maybe even off-piste altogether, if he ever gets it together enough to…
'Don't even think about it, idiot,' he chides himself, managing to put down his own glass with a whole lot more grace and a whole lot less noise.
Kate ignores his clumsiness, figuring she's probably teased him enough for one night. Any more from her is just going to set him completely on edge.
He settles further along the couch, a whole cushion space away from her. So Kate moves the large bowl of popcorn to fill the void, trying to disguise the awkward cavern of space he's left between them.
And since when did more space become even more uncomfortable than less?
He re-tied his robe before he sat down, but once he shifts around to face her, slightly drawing one knee up onto the couch, she gets a little more of a view than she's sure he bargained for.
"Uh, might want to adjust things there, Writer Man," she smirks, with an arch of her brow, watching his face flame redder than she's ever seen it.
There's nothing of substance on show, not really, just a large expanse of muscled thigh. But another inch or two and the mystery of whether or not he's wearing anything under his robe will be all but solved.
"God, Kate, I'm so sorry," he exclaims, jumping to his feet, mortified, tugging the plush fabric tighter around himself. "I'm just gonna go…" he says, jerking his head towards the bedroom, "…uh, throw some clothes on. Be right back," he mumbles.
Kate covers her face with her hands, feeling kind of sorry for him. He obviously wasn't expecting her tonight, despite their prior arrangement, because he clearly wasn't dressed for having company over, and it's not like she has a great track record of coming through for him where their personal relationship is concerned. She's pushed him away or held him at arms length one too many times for him to have faith in anything she promises outside of work.
And it makes her heartsick to realize that that is the truth.
"Castle?" she calls out, when he's a few feet away, stopping him dead.
He spins back around with a look in his eyes that says he expects she's about to crush him, that he's just wrecked this tentative whatever by almost flashing...
Oh god, he just flashed Kate Beckett. Holy crap! And he cringes inside.
"Yes?" he asks weakly, waiting for the hammer blow.
Because this is not going well, or so he believes.
Kate, on the other hand, has been having a whale of a time up until now, but he has absolutely no idea how she's feeling or what's running through her mind.
"You didn't think I was going to show, did you? Tonight, I mean. You didn't think I'd come?" she states, a raw, exposed look in her eyes, sadness and disappointment both that she's done this to him: crushed his hopes so many times that his belief in her where he's concerned is almost non-existent.
He looks at her for a second, preparing to bluff like he usually would, to lie actually, and then his shoulders drop and the truth comes spilling out.
"When I called Ryan just after seven, he said it didn't look good. That…"
"Wait. Ryan? You…you called Ryan to find out if I was…to find out if I was going to come over here, or…or what? Lie to you about why I couldn't come?"
She sounds angry, but she's not. She's hurt that he didn't call her and ask her himself. They're supposed to be partners. But she knows that this is really all her own fault. She hates what she's done to them; how complicated she's made everything with her mixed signals and subtext and delaying and withholding and never feeling good enough, never feeling ready.
"Kate," he says, helplessly, coming back to settle on the edge of the couch beside her to explain, if his stupid brain will only function before his mouth decides to open tonight.
"I didn't want to pressure you. I…I knew you were busy, wrapped up in the case, and we hadn't even set a time for tonight, made any kind of firm arrangement, and I…"
"Castle, you have a right to expect me to be here," Kate interjects, startling him. "If…if I say I'll be here it's because I want to be, and you have every reason to expect me to show up, or come up with a good explanation if I can't make it."
"Right," he says slowly, taking in her words. Not quite sure what this seismic shift means for them, if indeed she means it like it sounds: as if they might be getting somewhere.
"I…"
Kate huffs, frustrated with herself, brushing both hands firmly down her thighs and over her knees, rocking forwards over her lap as she does so, before taking a slow breath and sitting up straight.
"I want you to…to ask more of me," she says slowly and deliberately. "To expect more. You deserve more, Castle," she adds, finally glancing up at him tentatively, before lifting her glass to her lips and taking a healthy sip of wine that turns into more of a gulp. "So much more," she adds under her breath.
He doesn't say anything, doesn't touch her, afraid that if he does it might break the spell.
"Do…do you understand?" she asks, her voice losing its fervor, its fire, softening along with the smile she offers him.
"Eh…yeah. Yes, I think so," he replies, swallowing, looking at her like a terrified rabbit, not entirely sure that he does understand.
"Good. Now, why don't you go put some clothes on," she says gently, thinking to herself, 'or I for one will not be watching any movie tonight.'
Castle rises slowly from the couch after taking a healthy swig from his own wine glass to settle his nerves.
When he leaves, half closing his bedroom door behind him, she collapses back against the leather couch, exhausted by the effort it's taking to hold herself together and stay apart from him tonight. Not to spill out everything she's thinking and feeling inside the first half hour.
Castle jogs back into the room a couple of minutes later, breathlessly saying, "Sorry about that," and running a hand self-consciously through his hair.
Kate takes a deep breath when she hears him coming, and prepares herself for whatever's coming next, trying to force her brain to sharpen up.
"So, tell me, just how proud were you today?" she asks, at exactly the same moment that Castle says, "So, how about you fill me in on the case?"
They both laugh awkwardly, grinning nervously at one another once Castle brushes past her to sit on the couch, a little closer this time.
He's wearing grey sweatpants and a black, long-sleeve Henley with several buttons undone, so that she gets glimpses of his well-defined chest when he sits. The sleeves are roughly pushed up to the elbows, exposing his forearms.
Kate takes another sip of wine, trying to ignore how sexy he looks with more clothes on, if that's even possible.
"No. Please. Ladies first," he insists, when Kate tries to make him go ahead and tell her about his day.
"Alexis' graduation? Proud dad? Or low-life drug dealers? I know which one I'd rather hear about," she reassures him, nudging his knee.
"Okay, if you insist," he nods eagerly, bouncing on the couch with excitement, hands falling either side of his hips to brace himself. "She was amazing, Kate," he confides in her, finally breaking into a grin, pride just beaming right out of him, completely unafraid to boast about his little girl to this woman.
And for the first time since she arrived at the loft tonight, he looks relaxed and happy as he enthusiastically describes Alexis' graduation ceremony.
"Her speech was perfect. Inspirational, uplifting, original, so powerful that parents were actually crying. Crying!" he stresses. "And then when she got to the end part…"
"Yes?" asks Kate, leaning towards him with genuine interest and a smile and nod of encouragement.
Castle remembers his daughter's words; about how she and her classmates are saying goodbye to all that is familiar, moving on with their lives, and how that hurts. But then he hears the last of her words: that there are some people who are so much a part of us that they will be with us no matter what. And he realizes that he was thinking about Kate as Alexis spoke. He was thinking about Kate the whole time.
'They are our solid ground, our north star, and the small clear voices in our hearts that will be with us…always.'
"Castle?" says Kate gently, reaching out to touch him.
"Hmm?" he asks, startling when her cool fingers wrap around his wrist.
"The end of her speech?" she prompts. "Or are you going to keep me in suspense?" she laughs, teasing him again.
"Uh, yeah. Sorry. The end," he repeats, not sure how much to share, since he thinks it's probably too soon to start talking about what's in his heart where Kate Beckett is concerned.
"I wish you could've been there," he says instead, sounding almost dreamy for a second. "Mother was weeping, of course. Loudly," he adds for levity, rolling his eyes with exaggeration, while trying to shake off the feeling he had in the hall at Marlowe Prep: that he almost lost Kate through his own stupidity, that it really doesn't matter if she lied to him as long as she's here now, asking him to push her for more.
Kate laughs at the thought of Martha's dramatics. She loves listening to him talk about his family, seeing how dedicated he is to them, what a good man he is at heart. She berates herself for all the wasted time spent thinking he was beneath her somehow. First that he wasn't right for her and then that she wasn't good enough for him.
"You must have been so proud," she says, stuffing these emotions down inside, drinking more of her wine, pretty sure Alexis would not have been delighted to have her along, but that maybe sometime in the future the girl will come round.
"So, your turn," he says," poking her thigh, suddenly a lot closer to her than they were a few minutes ago.
Kate captures his finger before he can move away, holding on for a couple of seconds before letting him go, not quite understanding what possessed her to do that.
Castle looks down at his own hand, and then up at her face.
"Impressive reflexes, detective," he says, smiling appreciatively, while Kate's heart pounds.
"You have no idea," she replies, holding his gaze, playing with fire.
"No. No. You're right. I didn't then, and I guess I still don't," he laughs ruefully, running his hand through his hair again, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.
Kate looks down at her lap, embarrassed, because she feels as if she wants him to know, to have every idea of how good they could be together. But she just doesn't know how. They might as well be playing a game of tag in the playground, for all the maturity and elegance she feels she's employing to handle the situation tonight.
"So, Drake? What'd you find on him?" asks Castle, clearing his throat, and letting her off the hook in the process. Always letting her off the hook.
"Uh, Drake? Yeah. So, we…uh…we got a breakthrough from forensics," she tells him, twisting her hair into a ponytail and then draping it over one shoulder. "CSU pulled some DNA off the cocaine wrapper that was found at the scene. Turned out we already had the guy in holding."
"Are you serious?" asks Castle, all relieved enthusiasm, smiling encouragingly at her.
"Yes. Yes, I am serious," says Kate levelly, looking right at him, not talking about their suspect anymore. Simply staring at the man that she needs in her life, that she suspects will be her future, even if he doesn't know it yet.
When she doesn't offer anything further, Castle prompts her again, because he can feel the tension starting to come off her in waves, and though he wants this so badly, he doesn't want to ruin what they seem to be building here by pushing things or have her regret anything she says or does tonight.
"I have to use the bathroom," Kate says suddenly, excusing herself, after dropping her eyes to his mouth, and then having to force herself to look away.
When she gets inside the guest bathroom, she falls back against the door, closing her eyes and shaking her head.
"Kate, get it together," she hisses quietly, into the all-embracing silence.
Why in hell are they both so nervous tonight, so tentative with each other? She knows that he loves her, because he told her so. But then, he doesn't think she heard him, so…yeah, there is that.
And she knows that he finds her attractive. He's been staring for the past four years for god's sake, and he hated Demming, Josh, even poor Colin Hunt. And as to the ridiculous question of whether she finds him attractive?
Kate groans, and heads over to the vanity to rinse her wrists under a stream of cold water, and then she soaks a wash cloth under the faucet and pats the cool, damp cotton either side of her neck.
This is torture. She has to do something before she combusts.
When she re-emerges from the bathroom, Castle is lounging along the whole length of the couch, feet up, head on the armrest, playing with the TV remote, and all she can do is stop and stare. His body is spread out so invitingly in front of her, and she's never felt so needful of him before; this heady rush of excitement and nerves that is making her feel hot and nauseous, light-headed and achy.
She rolls her shoulders back, digs her nails into the palms of her hands, and then takes a deep breath, before padding quietly over towards him.
"Making yourself comfortable, I see," she teases, and he immediately scrambles to sit up.
She stops him from moving any further with a hand to his shoulder.
"No. Relax, Castle. Please? Don't move. You look so comfortable. And I'm pretty sure there's room for both of us," she says, smiling down at him. "If you scooch your butt over."
A/N: Still over-whelmed by the response to this story. I'm so grateful for everyone's reviews. Glad you're happy with the pace. Only one day to go for the lucky ones. Two for the rest of us. Liv