Castle glances pensively to the pelting of rain against his apartment window, the flicker of lightning and accompanying rumble of thunder. Storms were once calming for him, a nice soundtrack to write to, but that had been years ago. He hadn't touched his moleskin notebook, opened a word document, since his world had been turned upside down. Rarely does he even think of his short-lived writing career anymore, not when his work at the Twelfth precinct has consumed every ounce of his time and energy for the last decade.
Well, that is, until he had met his latest trainee. She did a fair job of stealing his free time, his attention, and even made his mind swirl with ideas, fingers twitching with inspiration that was always overpowered, swept clean from his head by the heat of her mouth and the seal of her skin over his.
Kate had told him she was coming over earlier, teasing him with dirty promises and heated glances all day, but they had parted ways in the precinct for the day nearly four hours ago and he has yet to hear from her again. She had told him when this entire mess had begun over a month ago that she wasn't looking for a boyfriend, but that didn't stop him from worrying like one.
Castle's concern evaporates before the fifth hour of radio silence can approach, the knock on his apartment door cutting through his thoughts of worst case scenarios, and he works to keep a normal stride on his way to the front door.
The storm raging outside has drenched her, but he can still distinguish the tears staining her cheeks from the raindrops on her skin.
"What happened?" he questions, drawing her inside with a hand on her shoulder and taking the sopping weight of her leather jacket from her arms. No uniform, jeans and a tasteful button up blouse now soaked through, which tells him she went somewhere after work. He had assumed as much, but obviously, wherever she had gone had caused her grief. "Talk to me, Beckett."
"I don't want to talk," she rasps, turning to him once her arms are free from the confines of her jacket and placing her hands to his chest, shoving him back into the door, effectively slamming it closed.
"Kate-"
"I'm here because I need to not talk," she growls, pressing forward and trapping his thigh between both of hers, sinking down and moaning at the friction, the noise so desperate and sorrowful. "Don't make me talk, Rick."
Oh, he'll make her talk. He always does. But he'll wait, wait until the tension has drained from her body and she's left soft and pliable against him. He'll give her what she wants, like always, and demand the same from her later on. They've always been good at compromise since they began sharing bodies and beds.
Castle bands his arms around her, hauls her up higher on his thigh and flexes the muscles beneath her, glides his hands underneath her soaked top, around to the front of her jeans, while she rocks against him.
He kisses her when she tilts her chin up, her mouth open and wanting, and he thinks that's one of the most beautiful things about this intricate arrangement they're entangled in - how closed off she is for everyone else, everywhere else, but how open she is for him.
Her moan spills into his mouth when his fingers slip beneath the waistband of her panties, dipping into the scalding wet heat of her, his thumb massaging her clit while his fingers ease into her. Kate muffles her sob against his neck, her arms coming around him like a vice, and he speeds up the thrust and curl of his fingers, working her to her orgasm hard and fast, playing her body with well-practiced skill.
She falls apart in his arms, slumping forward against his chest, and panting harshly as she floats back down from the crest of her pleasure. But her mouth is open at his neck moments later, her tongue laving at the sensitive spot beneath his jaw that she's memorized, and he can't help drawing her in tighter against him.
"What happened?" he repeats, earning a growl of frustration he knows well against his jawline, an irritated nip of her teeth.
"Why does it matter?"
"Because something happened," Castle murmurs, lifting a hand to her cheek to brush his thumb along the path of her dried tears.
"No," she sighs, relenting with her head to his shoulder. "Nothing happened, I just - I went to visit my dad. It was a mistake."
Shit. He knew about Jim Beckett, had met the man actually, when they'd had to arrest him for public intoxication a little less than a month ago. It was the first and only time she had sought him out after work without warning, showing up at his doorstep with desperation bleeding through her eyes, spilling down her face with the tears that split his heart in half. Kate Beckett did not cry.
It was the first time he had taken his time with her, carrying her to his bed and laying her down with care, tending to her body with the request that had fallen from her lips the second he had opened the door echoing in his mind.
Make me feel something. Something good, Castle.
He had given her everything, held her as she fell asleep, and woke only a few hours to find the other side of his bed empty and cold.
"Worse?"
Kate nods, knotting her fingers in his shirt. "Today's her birthday."
"Kate," he whispers in horror, but her head shakes vigorously against him.
"No, don't - don't. I don't want to think about it. I've done such a good job of not thinking about it, of not falling apart today, Castle. Please-"
He hoists her up into his arms, but instead of walking her to his bedroom and laying her out across his mattress, he holds here there in the foyer of his modest apartment, cradles her there, and kisses the corner of her eye. She begins to cry again, silent tears that trek down her cheeks and onto his throat, but she doesn't make him put her down.
"It was my daughter."
Kate's eyes flutter open in the moonlit darkness to meet his, question and a flicker of concern filling her gaze as she rolls towards him in the bed. He had carried her to his bedroom after the slow seconds of vulnerability had slipped by and her tears had dried on his neck. They'd fallen asleep not long after he had pushed inside her, moved ardent and unhurried within her until they were both desperate and breathless.
"You had a daughter?" she inquires softly, the sheet slipping from her torso to pool at her waist.
"For a little while," Castle whispers, directing his gaze to the ceiling to cease from looking at her, from seeing the care she pretends not to possess. She'll be a good cop, comforting families of victims; most lack the necessary empathy, but she overflows with it because she knows just as well as he does what it's like to lose the one you love most.
"She was with my ex-wife for the weekend," he continues at the offer of her silence. "Meredith wasn't a bad mother, but Alexis had never been a priority for her. They were on a plane to Paris because Meredith insisted they should go there for lunch. Alexis was still young, scared of flying, but she wanted to please her mom..." He sighs, hates the thought of his baby girl so scared and alone, still hates it enough that his entire chest clenches like a fist at the memory of it. "They were almost there, but before they could land, there was an altercation with Meredith and a flight attendant. There was a gun. It went off."
"Castle," she breathes, the whisper of his name doused in sorrow. She already knew how his story ended and he was glad, thankful he didn't have to finish it.
"That's why I became a cop." He shrugs, his shoulders shoving into his pillow, rattling his bruised heart against the cage of his ribs. "I knew your story. I thought it was only fair you knew mine."
"You didn't have to tell me," she murmurs, her body inching closer to his, the heat of her skin warming his side.
After spending all of this time with her, he knows for a fact that Kate Beckett does not comfort with touch. Not anyone but him, apparently. With him, she curls in close, encompasses him in her warmth, her compassion, and he is reminded how lucky he is to be allowed a piece of this woman's broken heart.
Castle returns her embrace, smearing a kiss to her temple and stroking the pointed wing of a shoulder blade. "I wanted to."
Beckett steals the hand from her shoulder, knots their fingers and rests the tangled digits atop his chest.
"Good." She snuggles - something he never thought she would be approving of - into his side, the curves and planes of her body sinking into his, covering him in reassurances he never knew he wanted from her. "I want you to tell me things."
"You do?" he murmurs, tentatively raising his hand to her head, combing his fingers through the snarls of her still drying hair. Cuddling in bed, twining limbs and caressing her scalp with his fingers, has always been too intimate for them, too personal for two people who work together during the day and fuck by night, but she doesn't swat his hand away, doesn't shift to the opposite end of the mattress for her clothes or ask him to do the same.
She lies with him sated and content and oh... oh, this is bad. This is making him want things, things with her that he has no business wishing for.
Especially not with his trainee.
"Yeah, Castle," she sighs, already drifting, her breath skittering out against his throat.
She has never slept over before, neither has he when they've done this at her place, but like hell will he ever tell her to go. Not when he wants more than anything for her to stay.