Lifeboats

"Mm." Kate hums out, arching in the silver-grey lake of the sheets until she feels the delicious catch and release of tension at her spine. Dropping back to the mattress, she rolls onto her side and watches the near cadaveric slumber of the man next to her.

Three weeks. Three weeks since he said he had to kiss her and then he did and her whole body had surged upwards into his, all glorious fervency and at the same time something so completely obvious about it. It felt both as if this was always where they were going to end up and the strangest, most new thing she's ever contended with.

She had stroked her tongue deep into his mouth and been rewarded with the brush of his fingers to bare skin, at the flare of her hips and travelling upwards. And then she'd had to wrench her mouth away from his and gasp against his cheek because she couldn't stop thinking of the crooked teeth he had when they were nine, how the whole time he was eleven his hair was this wild unruly mop atop his head that was a continuous source of his irritation and her amusement.

It was never about sex with them before. She loved him, the endless depths of his imagination and the way he always had her back. Adored him, really, but they were just kids and the one and only time he kissed her had been scant weeks before he left forever.

"This is so weird." She said three weeks ago, and it took that long for that strangeness to dissipate. For her to look at him and see Rick Castle the man rather than her childhood best friend. And, well, the roughness of stubble that chases every touch of his mouth to hers certainly hasn't been a hindrance.

There have been times in the past few weeks when she's been astride him on the couch and rocking her hips and both of them have been aware of his arousal - her own a little easier to hide but nonetheless undeniable - and they've wanted it. Even so, neither of them felt comfortable with the spectre of their childhood selves ever present. And then yesterday he took her out to dinner and met her at her front door looking utterly delicious with the hardness of his body cased in the sharp edges of his suit.

They laughed over their food and fed each other particularly divine morsels and their chairs got nearer and nearer together so by the time dessert arrived Castle was on her side of the table and his fingers were thick and completely distracting around her knee. By the time they made it back to the loft Kate's legs were refusing to cooperate entirely and he'd had to prop her up and half-carry her to his bedroom.

It probably should have been weird, but mostly it was just wonderful. He was attentive and thoughtful and completely in it with her the whole time. The two of them jumping into something risky but worthwhile, the same way they always used to.

Next to her in the sheets, Castle's eyes peel open slowly and his mouth cracks wide on a yawn, one hand untangling from the covers to scrub over his face. When he glances over to her his whole face becomes caught up in a grin and he reaches out to hook an arm around her waist and reel her in.

Obviously, she's a detective and they both know that she could escape almost without any effort whatsoever. But – and this surprises her maybe more than anything else – she doesn't want to. He's got her, he can have her. These past three weeks just being with him and spending hours making out or cooking together or wandering the city. . .Kate can't remember having been this happy since her mother was killed. If she's honest with herself, since she was thirteen and suddenly floundering without her best friend.

"Good morning." He murmurs to her, managing to contain his smile enough that he can kiss the edge of her cheekbone, the jut of her chin. "You look beautiful in the morning. You always did."

"I think you're blinded by all the amazing sex." Kate laughs at him, carding a hand through his hair and lifting an eyebrow. "I don't think you found me so attractive when we were ten and you weren't quite as. . .sated."

Castle grins again, wide and so pleased with her, and then his mouth comes against hers and his hand slides down in search of her bare skin and Kate's lips part on a gasp, his tongue a welcome intrusion. When he pulls back it's only far enough to touch his nose to hers and tone down his smile to something a little more tender. "I always thought you were beautiful. My poor, prepubescent brain didn't quite know what to do about it, but I did."

"I thought you were kind of a dork." Kate beams, enraptured by the look of mock horror plastered across his face. "Still do. But it's good, it's cute. And if I'd known you were going to turn out like this. . ."

"Oh? Like what?"

"To call you ruggedly handsome wouldn't be incorrect." Kate shrugs, tries to pass it off as inconsequential. He doesn't need his ego feeding.

That's unkind. And, actually, untrue. Obviously she's seen him in the papers, being interviewed on all the talk shows, but he's never put up the playboy façade in front of her. She likes to think it's because she knew him before all of that, she knows who he is at the core, and if he tried to sell himself as some bachelor that the women of the city pine for she'd dismantle him with any number of stories about some dorky, ridiculous thing ten year old Rick did.

"Well, I have to try to keep up with you. I can't believe how gorgeous you are. And. . .you look a lot like your mom, you know."

Maybe it's stupid to be proud that she doesn't even flinch, but it's there all the same. After her mother's death, Kate cut out most everyone from before. There's only really her father and Maddie, her high school best friend, who have seen her on both sides of that singular event that delineates Katie from Detective Beckett.

And now Rick, too. "Dad says that."

"How is your dad?"

Kate chews on her bottom lip and sits up in bed, letting the sheets pool at her waist. The proud flare of her breasts draws Castle's attention and she lifts an eyebrow, smirking at him. There's never really been anything to be ashamed about when it comes to her body, her muscles tight and skin smooth and almost unmarred.

"What's this?" Rick frowns, sitting up and pulling the cord to tilt the slats of the blinds and let the dawn light come pouring in. "Kate, you were shot?"

"Yes, I was shot. Three years ago now."

"Tell me?" He says quietly, his arm slipping around her shoulders to draw her in close to his side. The fingers of that hand dip down to trace the puckered circle of darker skin at her shoulder, his touch reverent and yes, arousing.

Kate turns her head and, finding him closer than expected, kisses the scruffy edge at his jaw. "Guy called Baylor. He was hiding fake passports in counterfeit purses. I went to the apartment of a woman who had bought one and he showed up there, shot me while I was on the phone to dispatch."

"Kate-"

"It's okay. It didn't hit anything important; I was back at work four weeks later."

"You were shot." He grunts, apparently too big a deal for him to move past it right now. And that's okay too, she didn't exactly bounce back all that fast herself. Sure, physically she was raring to go, but she has to admit that the mental toll it took on her took a lot longer to heal.

"Yes. I was shot. But I'm fine. You asked about my dad?"

Castle comes in to kiss her, harder than she's expecting, and it feels as if he's trying to pour some of his own life into her, warm and good where it settles low down in her stomach. "Yes, I did."

"He didn't deal well with losing Mom. He, uh. . .took solace in the bottle. I was essentially an orphan for five years. But he's been sober for eight now. Do you remember the cabin?"

"Oh yeah, I loved it up there. Your family still has it?" His smile creases the corners of his eyes and Kate pushes her thumb to the fissures of delight, sealing it up to keep it safe for both of them.

Tracing the planes of his face, Kate's thumb comes to settle against his mouth and he presses a kiss to the pad of it, catches her flesh between his teeth. "We still have it. He spends a lot of time there, hunting and walking and fishing."

"That sounds nice. I'm glad you didn't lose him too."

"Yeah." Kate shrugs, sliding a hand down underneath the sheets to find him and squeeze softly. "Hey Castle, I don't wanna talk anymore."

He yelps and rolls her over, settling the weight of his body in the cradle of her thighs and dipping down to take from her mouth. "Okay. No more talking."

She kisses him partly because she wants to, but mostly just to shut him up.

The guilt gnaws at him for most of the afternoon.

When they finally managed to peel themselves out of bed and shower, start to get ready for the day before the sun dipped down into the crevices of the city, Kate asked him if he'd come back to her apartment with her. He's never been before; it's her private sacrosanct space. So to be invited, to be asked to join her feels pretty damn amazing.

He probably said yes a few too many times if the look on her face was any indication, but he can't seem to help it. She's amazing, and of course he's known that since he was very young but every time she opens her mouth or moves or looks at him he learns it all over again like something brand new.

So yes, she's amazing, and every moment he doesn't tell her about his cancer it becomes more and more likely that he'll lose her entirely when she does find out. Because she will find out, there's no question of that. She's a damn homicide detective, from what he learned when he googled her after the wedding she's a fantastic one, incredibly good at her job.

Even if he doesn't tell her, which is more likely than he cares to admit, she'll know before long. This morning after they showered and he went to shave she mentioned the bare patches on either side of his neck where his stubble doesn't grow through and remarked upon how weird genetics can be.

It didn't cross her mind that it could be the points at which the radiation enters and leaves his body, and for that he's grateful. Because now he's sitting next to her at her kitchen island and poring over a stack of photographs that detail all the years he missed.

"Aww, you were adorable. I don't get to see you in action?" He huffs at her and nuzzles her cheek, careful to keep the photograph of Kate lacing up her ice skates secure between two fingers. They skated together some when they were young; she wasn't great at it but still better than him.

Kate shakes her head and takes the photograph from him, slipping it to the bottom of the stack. "Trust me Castle, it was not pretty."

He wants to say something stupid, something like you're always pretty but the air isn't as thick as it was this morning with both of them bare in his bed. This, now, is a catharsis. A way for Kate to say that it's alright he missed so much, he's back now. An offering of forgiveness, he hopes, but still not an opportunity for him to spill his guts onto the hardwood.

"Hey Kate?"

"Mm?"

"I'm really glad I have you back."

Her mouth parts and she stares at him, her whole face completely still for one tremulous instance before she grins at him, wide and beautiful and then she slides right off of the stool and comes to stand between his knees, draping her arms over his shoulders. "Me too. You wanna go make up for some more lost time?"

"Of course. But I also wanna hear more stories. Was your high school experience as hellish as mine?" He lifts an eyebrow and leans in to her kiss, his palms at the heat of her waist as if to try and contain her. Not that he's ever had a hope in hell of that.

Kate smirks, something so delectably sinful in the stretch of her mouth that he knows even before she speaks that he's a goner. "How about for every item of clothing we take off, we share a story from our teenage years."

He gets to have stories and naked Kate? "Oh, yes. Great idea. Let's do that."

It feels perhaps more different than it should, lying here in her bed rather than his. Everything else is the same, the liquid length of her body draped over his and the feeling of utter contentment that crawls through his bloodstream. But this is her inner sanctum.

One of the stories he got out of her (she was only in her underwear at the time and he's proud he can even remember it) was of the last time someone shared her bed. Some robbery detective called Demming who, she said, was too much like me.

More reassuring than she probably intended it to be, that admission. Castle is nothing like Kate, not really. Not the person she is now anyway. They went in two very different directions, but he can only consider it a positive thing. He's enough of a contradiction to her that they'll work. Even here on their first real day together he knows it.

"We are really good at that." He laughs, tracing his fingertips over the ladder of her vertebrae.

That's an understatement, really. It's phenomenal, how they are together. And he doesn't just mean in bed either. Everything with Kate is just better, more.

She doesn't reply for a while and he thinks maybe she's falling asleep on him; the slow lift and collapse back down of her chest certainly an indication of that. Mm, and every time she moves against him he can feel-

Yeah, well. . .he won't wake her. But then he feels the work of her jaw and the parting of her mouth and he doesn't have to wake her at all, she's with him. "We are. Do you think we could be good at all the rest of it too?"

"I think we already are." He says into the stillness of her apartment, delighting in the grin he feels spread out against his sternum. And it's true, it is, but he's lying to her.

He's lying to her for the most selfish, horrible reasons and when she finds out he doesn't doubt that she'll turn her back and walk away. After all, he's the only one who's said I love you.

A/N: Let's try to move on from the fact that it's been six months since I've updated this and rejoice because I am BACK. And how good it is, too.