April 2010
Kate bit down on her lip as she stepped off the plane, her eyes darting around the space as she looked for anything familiar: Words in English directing her to baggage claim, customs, or better still, a familiar face.
Castle.
What had she done, allowing him to buy her a plane ticket - a first class plane ticket at that - and fly her to Prague for a long weekend in April?
"It'll be awesome!" he'd said, trying to convince her. "And the ticket is non-refundable. So you have to come. Or, you don't have to, but you might as well, since I got you the ticket."
"But I was going to go to the cabin," she protested, and he'd scoffed.
"We'll go to the cabin together in summer," he'd declared, as though it was already a done deal, and she'd go along with him.
She couldn't help but admire his conviction.
"What am I going to tell the boys?" she'd argued back, and he laughed.
"The truth?"
"And what's that?"
"You miss me." His voice had been smug, and she'd narrowed her eyes as she'd stared him down through the computer screen. But Skype had flickered, and whatever effect she'd hoped her glare would have was lost.
"I think you miss me," she'd countered.
He'd been silent for a second before admitting, "Guilty as charged."
She'd swallowed at the candor in his voice, averting her eyes and nodding.
And now, here she was, surprisingly refreshed after sleeping her way across the ocean. The flight attendant had needed to rouse her when they'd arrived in Heathrow for their layover, and she'd dozed on the second leg of the flight.
Kate took a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs before stepping forward, falling into stride with the crowd as it surged forward, toward Customs.
"Beckett!"
She whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice, its cadence so very welcome as she waited at baggage claim.
"Castle!" She broke into a grin as he strode toward her, his step faltering as he reached her. She, too, froze, because what now? Did they hug? They'd never really touched before, but now he was in front of her and… crap. She was at a loss.
He beamed at her, though, his smile awkward, and she exhaled, letting herself relax as she took him in. Clenched fists, a too-wide smile, his stance askew. He was nervous too. She ran the palms of her hands over her jeans, cursing the sudden nerves, until he laughed, shook his head and embraced her. She returned the hug, allowing herself to wrap her arms back around him. Her heartbeat evened itself out - still racing though - as he continued to hold her, and she inhaled, his scent filling her deep within.
"Hi," he murmured, his mouth in her hair, his voice just a whisper, and she closed her eyes, sinking into him.
She straightened at last, pulling away and biting her lip as she looked up at him. Had he always been so tall? No, she just had a penchant for high heels, but today she'd traveled in flats, an overnight flight not the place for stilettos.
"How was your flight?" he asked as she spoke at the same time.
"What time did your flight get in?"
"You first," he said, and she nodded.
"I didn't need first class," she started. "But… thank you. I slept like a baby."
He grinned. "Couldn't let you fly in cattle class," he said. "And I've been here an hour or so?" He indicated the luggage behind him.
"Well, good timing… for me," she smirked, stepping forward as her bag made its way around the carousel, and pulling it toward her.
He wiggled his eyebrows at her, eying the small case, and she shrugged, looking again at his.
"What can I say, Castle? I travel light."
He laughed, grabbing his own suitcase and pointing across the baggage claim hall. "Let's get out of here."
The cab ride from the airport had been a whir of color and sights unfamiliar, and their driver had tried out his English as he'd pointed to the castle across the river. The car had wobbled along the cobbled streets, and Beckett had been unable to repress the smile that was fighting to burst free. Even in the back of the taxi the feeling of home washed over her, and she stared, wide-eyed, at the famous dancing building, the trams that trundled by, and the awe inspiring architecture that surrounded them.
It was nothing like Kiev, but it was also nothing like New York City, and an Eastern European vibe emanated through her. Little Odessa had nothing on this.
Standing outside their hotel room though, she was nervous again. What was she doing? What were they doing?
Castle swiped the keycard, his brow furrowing as the light remained red, trying it again with a crooked smile. This time the light illuminated green as the lock clicked, and he held the door open for her, letting her precede him into the room.
The room. This was the part where it all became real, but behind her, Castle was babbling, and she blinked, forcing herself to listen.
"I didn't- I mean, I know, no, I don't know. What- well, I-"
"Spit it out, Castle," she said, her voice surprisingly steady as she took in the room.
"I got us a suite," he said, at last managing a full sentence. "I didn't want to… assume anything. So, I got us a suite. He pointed at the doors on either side of the living room. "See? One room each, unless you- so we can take it slow," he finished.
Slow. Kate nodded. "Slow is good," she said, even as her pulse sped up. Slow was good. But, god, they'd been on the phone to one another for the last four months, and fast was good too. Shit. She was at a loss, and Castle stood in the doorway still. "Are you gonna…" she nodded at him, "close that?"
"Right. Right."
He shuffled in, the door clicking closed, and she bit down on her lip. There was so much she just hadn't thought through. Maybe she should have gone to the cabin. Maybe a weekend upstate would have been perfect. Maybe it was one thing to talk every day, but in person-
"Breathe," she heard, and she caught his eye to see his eyes narrowed as he watched her. "Beckett, I'm- I didn't mean anything by it. Let's just… freshen up, then… we could go explore?"
"Okay." She forced herself to exhale. "Good idea."
Awkward. That was the only word for it. Without a case between them, an ocean between them, the buffer was missing, and Castle didn't know what to do. What he wanted to do was to share a room. What he wanted was to kiss Kate. What he wanted was to lay her down on the bed, and-
He shook his head, stopping his fantasies in their tracks. It wouldn't do to get too caught up in the idea of a naked Kate Beckett writhing beneath his ministrations when she was actually, really and truly naked in the bathroom right now.
He swallowed, scanning the room in an attempt to find something - anything - to distract himself, when he saw it.
Thank god.
"I figured we could use a coffee before we go explore the town," he said, holding the cup out to her as she emerged from her bedroom. She took it, their fingers brushing, and he watched closely as she tilted it to her mouth, her lips upturned as she swallowed.
Her small smile only grew as she took another mouthful, exhaling in something like relief and he grinned, relaxing at last.
This side of the Atlantic, or that, he still had the ability to make her smile by bringing her coffee and letting the caffeine flood her veins.
"Did you make yourself one?" she asked, her mouth still quirked happily, and he nodded, lifting his own cup in answer. She downed the rest of hers, indicating to the door with a tilt of her head. "What are we waiting for?"
The hotel was in a wonderful location, and as they left its sanctuary the crowd of tourists threatened to sweep them up; chirps of too many languages jumbled around them, and Beckett grinned, her ears perking up at the sound of Spanish - Spanish Spanish, not the New York variety Espo spoke - and then Russian, as well as a nearby American twang, easy to ignore as she focused on the other sounds around her.
German, perhaps, or was that Dutch?
She smiled, beaming up at Castle and, without letting herself over think it, she grasped his hand, unwilling to be separated from him in the crowd.
"Come on," she urged. "That's the Charles Bridge. Let's go."
He nodded, letting her lead them across the cobbled street and onto the bridge, joining the swell of people who lingered on the bridge, fighting to get closer to the artists peddling their wares. "Look," he said, pointing. "That's the lucky statue."
He was the one tugging on her hand now, and she followed him across, letting the swell of the crowd wash them toward it. "Saint John," she said softly. "If you touch the cross you can make a wish."
"Let's do it," he enthused, and she chuckled.
"You, wanting to touch things… you haven't changed," she teased, and he grinned at her, unable to deny her comment.
He opened his mouth but whatever he was going to say was swept away by the whoop of a tourist behind them, and he laughed instead. "It's a little early to be that drunk, right?" he asked, and she chuckled.
"It's Prague," she pointed out. "Land of inexpensive beer."
Castle's face lit up. "True. I know I can never go past a glass of Hefeweizen but when in the city of beer…"
"I think it's the city of a hundred spires," she interjected, and he grinned.
"Touché. But my research indicates we can get a pint for less than a pound, so-"
"A pint? A pound? Listen to you there, with your English words."
He shrugged. "Either way, I want to try some Czech Pilsner, and I-" They were jolted from behind, and he frowned. "And I want to find someplace a little less crowded."
Kate nodded, not exactly disagreeing; for a New Yorker this many people shouldn't be overwhelming, but it was nevertheless a little much. "Come on," she said, pointing to the statue and reaching up to place her hand across the worn bronze of the cross.
"What did you wish for?" Castle asked before she'd even dropped her arm.
"Ha! If I tell you that it won't come true," she said, her cheeks warming as she spoke. What could she say? That the hand-holding was not even close to enough? But god - she rolled her eyes at herself - just months ago she and Castle had been at each other's throats and now she wanted-
She'd wanted him then, too.
The silent admission burned in her veins as she let the wave of honesty wash through her. She'd wanted him since the evening she'd first brought him in for questioning; his antagonistic flirtation setting something alight in her, waking her just as she fought against it, focusing again and again on the childish side, the annoying side, the man-child side.
The flirtatious writer. The shameless playboy. The reckless investigator.
She'd pushed back, pulling on blinkers as she'd steadfastly ignored the other facets of his personality.
The loving father. The faithful friend. The intoxicating man.
She swallowed; she'd been silent so long, and she forced a smile onto her face.
"Come on, Castle. Make your wish, and then we can go see the Prague Castle."