[Profuse apologies will ensue, so if you don't really care, skip this little essay]
I am SO unbelievably sorry this took sooo long to update. So much has been going on, I haven't had a spare moment. Just let me get past this yearbook deadline and I promise I will get better at this. To make up for the huge gap between posts, I added some much-needed loving in this one- all you fluffing fluffy fluffballs out there, this has your kind of stuff, me thinks.
But of course, my name is softer, and I gotta keep things real now.
So pragmatism will ensue, just saying. This fic has kind of taken a life of its own
I never meant for it to go on this long, let alone get so serious.
I think I will be moving the rating up if things keep going in this direction.
Sorry for the long note. Sorry times infinity.
Stay Awhile
Better.
She needed to make things better between them.
Things weren't bad- no.
But the scene in the break room left them both a little wounded.
How she wanted to just give in to him.
She did, she really did.
How she wanted to lean into his touch and feel his warm body against her and lips moving in unison with hers. She did.
But it wasn't that simple.
There was this system of schemas in her mind.
They set the rules
And she followed them.
This she tried to explain to him, later that very day, in the stairwell. Ever since the 'curse' case and the elevator incident, he refused to ride it, so the stairs became a popular route. They made it halfway down before she stopped and sat down on one of the stairs. Castle stopped, looked at her oddly and followed suit, not even bothering to ask.
He sat sown right next to her, much too close, his entire side in contact with hers. She leaned into it as much as those damned schemas would allow. "I'm trying," she whispered, not sure who was talking. Certainly it wasn't her. "I'm trying to let you in," she looked at him, straight in the eye. She needed him to know that.
He nodded. "I know," he told her. Baby steps. I can do baby steps."
"I...I have these rules," she began to explain, using her hands, as if they would help. "These rules that govern my actions. I don't really know how to not follow them," she admitted, after some stumbling.
"Rules are made to be broken," he told her. She shook her head.
"Not my rules," she told him, looking at him again. In response he lifted an arm, draping it around her shoulders and pulling her into him, firmly.
"Then I will just have to break them for you," he told her, matter-of-factly. She froze up, but then grinned and relaxed. Why wasn't she allowed to enjoy his touch again? With him pressed up against her entire left side it was impossible to remember. She looked up again, and his face was inches from her own. How did he get that close that fast? She asked herself. She really didn't care about the answer. The next thing she knew something possessed her back to arch and her neck to crane upwards, her mouth locking onto his. At first they just stayed like that, unmoving. Her lips attached to his. She had to move first, this she knew. It had to be her- he wouldn't continue if it wasn't. so she did.
His lips moved on hers, his hand cupping her face, gently, almost afraid she'd change her mind. She tasted so sweet- so damn good, and he couldn't get enough of it as his tongue battled with hers for the upper hand. She snaked her hand up his neck and around his head, burying her fingers in his hair, pulling him down onto her, harder. She needed more. The schema's stopped making sense and she didn't even try to fight her needs. That pang in her stomach was growing and spreading, pulled away, forcing himself to slow down. He couldn't do this. Not here, in a stairwell. Not now, after their day. She felt him pull away, and she just kind of remained, numb and unwilling to accept that the moment had ended.
It can't have ended.
Then his arm was gone. She threw open the eyes she hadn't realized she'd closed and looked at him. Just as fast, fingers were entwining with hers and he was pulling her onto her feet.
He led her out, forgetting to let go of her hand.
In all fairness, she forgot to take it back.
Worried. She was worried.
What would happen?
To her
To him
To them?
Truth is she was scared.
Scared as hell.
She wanted to give in.
She wanted to just give herself to him, |
Without doubts or hesitation or fear.
But she couldn't.
That wasn't the way she worked, and there was nothing to change that.
He knew this.
He knew about her rules, long before she told him in so many words.
No, Kate Beckett never did anything without great conviction and hours of forethought.
He knew asking her for anything else would be pointless.
Besides, he didn't want anything else.
Sure, it saddened him, her wariness.
But he knew anything less would not qualify as Beckett.
He loved her, he realized.
Every bit of her.
And that included her rational, cautious approach to things.
Big things.
Him.
He would wait forever.
He really really would.
This he realized, right after he realized he loved her.
He would wait until the apocalypse if it meant one moment with her.
With her.
Them together.
Since when did such a pedestrian phrase carry such weight?
Since the personal pronoun indicated Kate Beckett, he told himself.
These feelings-they were beyond the lust he had for Gina or the love her once felt for Meredith. Yes, he loved Meredith. Still did, on occasion. They shared a child, and no matter how crazy Meredith was, she was a part of his life, just as much as she was in Alexis's.
But what he felt for Kate- that was different.
It was not the flame that sparked on occasion, but the kind that burned slowly and eternally in the depths of his chest. It was not wildfire, blazing fast and out quickly. It was more of a slow, burning house, engulfing his heart slowly and powerfully, showing no mercy in its claim. It didn't matter that it was tearing him up and leaving some poor family homeless. Or in this analogy, his heart, lonesome. It burned and burned, and no water would put it out.
All this occurred to him as they walked down the streets of Manhattan. They were busy and bustling with evening traffic- teenagers up way past their curfew, workaholics just turning in, and young lovers walking around hand in hand. And then there was them- two co-workers- two friends, really, walking. Languidly, aimlessly, fingers laced together as if it were a normal occurrence. Looking perfectly at ease as they were pushed around and bumped into strangers, not to mention each other.
Ten minutes walking Kate realized where he was leading her. Her heart fluttered a little in a way that made her want to smack herself before she settled her emotions down and rationalized herself into a farce of anger. His apartment was a block away, and they were headed right for it. She chose to say nothing, but snuck a look at him. He was smiling minutely to himself, looking ahead, his hand holding hers definitely, tightly. She could pull away if she wanted. She knew the second she tried he would drop it without hesitation. Maybe that was why she didn't. Another smile snuck past and broke from censorship, lighting up her face to her brilliant green eyes.
The next thing she knew they were at his building. In his elevator. Walking down the hall. At his door. He whipped out his key and opened it, holding it open and indicating for her to walk in. He dropped her hand, reluctantly and she obliged, stepping carefully across the threshold and the hardwood floor of the foyer. She sat on the couch just as warily as Castle disappeared into the kitchen, reemerging with two glasses of wine. He sat on the couch beside her, not too close, but close enough for his knee to brush hers as he faced her.
"Thanks," she said, smiling gratefully as she sipped the crimson liquid. He followed suit, eying her carefully. She was worried, he could tell. About his intentions, no doubt. But she was mostly nervous, and he found it just adorable.
"Relax," he told her, warmly. "Take your shoes off, stay awhile," he tried not to sound so hopeful. She looked skeptical. "Alexis is over a friends, and only the lord knows where mother is," he told her, wondering if that was her worry. She looked at him, slowly slipping off her shoes, using one to ease off the other. After another moment: "Do you want to talk or should I break out my Golden Girls box set?" This earned a full-fledged smile.
She knew what he meant by talk, but she wanted to ask anyways. "Talk about what?"
"About your day, the weather, your favorite color," he said, lightheartedly. "About anything you want."
"I thought you would know all those things, Mr. Novelist," she poked, playfully, receiving another small smile on his face.
"Well your day was hell, the weather is gorgeous and your favorite color is purple," he said, without missing a beat. "Now that we have those formalities out of the way, I can always think of more thought provoking questions if you'd like."
She knew what he meant by that, too. She wanted to smile and ask him to fire away, but like all the other things she wanted to say to him, it died on her lips, muffled by the schemas that seemed to be running her life. She chickened out. Coward, she told herself. "Well what do you keep me around for if you know if all, then?" she said instead.
"Well, detective, as much as I enjoy the sound of my own sultry voice, "She rolled her eyes, more out of habit than anything. "Your company is far to pleasurable to pass up."
"Pass up?" an eyebrow lifted, even though inside she was touched. "You practically dragged me here."
"Yes, well I didn't have to break out the duct tape and rope, so I think it's safe to say that this is conceptual," he shot right back. They both shared a laugh. "The Golden Girls it is," he said, not having to be told. He stood, reaching into the depths of the DVD drawer.
"You are such a girl!" she told him. she was getting more comfortable, pulling her knees to her chest, her socked feet resting on the black leather of the sofa, her arms around them, holding them close. "I'm more of a Cheers! girl," she admitted. he grinned a boyish grin that could only belong to him.
"I like that," he told her, pulling out a handful of boxes. "Are you a Diane person or a Rebecca person?"
"Diane, all the way," his eyebrow shot up.
"You surprise me, detective, but I have to agree," he told her, retrieving the second season. "This one is the best, in my opinion," he told her. she nodded her agreement. He popped it into the player and settled beside her, maintaining his friendly but respectable distance. He wasn't about to push his luck. Instead it was her who leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He was warm.
She hadn't the slightest what possessed her to scoot closer, but she did. He froze at first in pure surprise, but relaxed when it seemed that no physical assualt would follow the sudden displpay of affection. Then as the theme song started and the familiar credits rolled, he lifted his arm, securing it around her so she would be more comfortable. She smiled, glad the folds of his navy button up were hiding it. Her long arms snaked around his waist in response. She was enjoying this closeness. Just as Coach was entering the bar on the screen, she felt his fingers teasing at her hair slightly, massaging her scalp lightly with his nails. It felt heavenly. She was enjoying this far too much.
Why was he doing this?
Why was she letting him?
And why the hell did she like it so much?
The head massage was followed by a joke from the old man on the TV and the low rumble that was laughter from the body she rest on. He teased gently at a lock of her hair, and a small gasp escaped her. he removed his hand instantly.
"I'm sorry," he told her, quietly. It nearly hurt her how concerned he sounded. It was touching, but he misunderstood. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," she managed, feebly. It wasn't a pain kind of gasp. This he was quick to realize.
"Oh," he said, just as breathlessly. She looked up at him, and again wondered how it was his face got so close to hers. She sweared given their current comfortable position it couldn't be humanly possible. However unnatural, there he was, his lips near and warm and inviting. It was then she forgot about the rulebook altogether and crashed her lips into his, taking him by surprise once again. His lips met hers in a passionate frenzy, moving with increasing urgency matched only in softness. The simple action chemically reacted with the simmering spark in her chest, like kerosene would to a fire, feeding the flame and spreading itno a rapid and uncontrolled rampage. It seared through her, heading South, fast, causing her back to arch a little.
If she had ever wanted him, it was now more than ever. she grabbed his neck and held him down to her, teasing at his lips with her tongue, begging for entrance. He granted without hesitation and let her explore the cavernous depths before fighting her for dominance. Things were getting hot, he realized, as she readjusted herself so she was sitting up properly, her nimble fingers pulling impatiently at the hem of his shirt.
They were getting hot too fast.
He put both hands on either of her shoulders, easing her off of him, space increasing between them. She looked confused, then disappointed.
"What's wrong?" she asked, trying, and failing, to keep the dissapointment out of her voice.
"We're not ready for this," he told her, sighing and re buttoning the top buttons of his shirt. He hadn't even realized she had gotten to them.
"what do you mean? 'We're not ready?'" she asked, sinkning down into the couch, relaxing and sighing, frustratedly.
"I mean you're not ready for this and I'm not ready to take advantage of you," he explained, running a hand through his hair. "Or have sex on my couch with Nicholas Colasanto on the television," he added for good measure.
"Take advantage of me? I've hardly had a half a glass of wine," she raised an eyebrow.
"You know that's not what I meant," he told her.
"Well are you going to ask me to leave?" she asked, more sadness showing then she cared for.
"Of course not," he assured her, hurt she even thought that. "Nicholas Colasanto isn't going to be on the screen all night," she smacked his lightly on the chest but smiled despite herself, relieved for the comical comment. "C'mere," he patted the spot on his chest where she was laying moments before. She smiled, obliging, resting her head against him again, arms re-circling his waist. She was comfortable here. It was like this couch was specifically deigned for the two of them. again his hand was tracing light patterns on her back, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the moment. Then she felt his lips on the top of her head. "I don't want any regrets, Kate," he told her, his voice lowered to a whisper.
He inhaled the cherry orchard that seemed to be growing somewhere among the Carmel brown strands. God she smelled good. Her arms tightened around him a little. "Me neither," he heard her muffled reply. If he took her now, in her emotional state, he would lose her forever, of that he was sure. It would be an awkward morning and a regretful day followed by immediate regression of the relationship he had come to cherish, and he wouldn't risk that for anything in the world. The only sound that was heard emanated from the television, aside from laughter.
"I really hate how Diane and Sam obviously are perfect for each other, but neither of them seem to notice," she commented, sometime after the silence grew almost too heavy to carry.
"No, I think they know," Castle prophesied. "I think they hate each other too much to realize they love each other." She looked up at him, oddly. "Just trust me. Its possible."
"Do you hate me?" she asked, almost concerned.
"Of course not!" he replied, appalled. "I could never hate you!" she settled back into the warm patch she had left on his shoulder. "Do you hate me?" he asked, taking the bait.
She was silent for a second, pretending to debate her answer. "Yes," she replied. "A little bit sometimes." she grinned mischievously at his fallen face. She reached a hand up to cup it, her thumb brushing his cheek lightly.
"We were having a moment, you know," he told her, scowling only slightly. her smile broadened and she nodded, wordlessly. "Moments don't happen all the time. Who knows when we'll get another moment?"
"Oh, Ricky. There is plenty of time for moments,"
"I will hold you to that, you know," he told her, the double meaning unintended, but it worked either way.
Soooooo? I really hope it was worth the wait!
Please please please leave a review!
And I will try my very hardest to be better at updating from here on out.
First thanks to Em- for your craziness and your mental images and the help :)
And of course to my reviewers- you're the ones that keep me writing :)
Reviews, criticism and praise alike, make me so unbelievably happy.
There's only one way to improve writing- and thats to critique it.
So press the button and make my day?
Even if it's to yell at me for my long update time.
Love, sof
