#3: APPLES

1x01 "Flowers for Your Grave," 4x23 "Always," 5x01 "After the Storm," and 5x05 "Probable Cause"


"The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core. Scratch a lover and find a foe!" –Dorothy Parker


She leans in close, locks eyes with him and lets her voice seethe low and dangerous, effectively letting him know that if he ever betrays her trust again, he can expect blood. "You know, for a minute there, you almost made me believe you were human."

She turns to the two cops who followed her into the New York Public Library like her own private security, one command her sole consolation for all the trouble that this jackass has caused her: "Cuff him."

"Bondage!" he says, like it's just what he's always wanted. "My safe word is apples."

She'll let him see how he likes lockup.


She's not sure how much time has actually passed since they collapsed in his bed, spent from the consummation of a romance so long in the making, but he is still touching her, like he still can't believe that she's naked beneath the thin white sheet. And she's touching him, too, already craving the inevitable encore, but he is curled over her body and all she can think is how he seems to have been doing most of the work so far.

And oh, so very, very well.

She knows he is only human, but his skillfulness and stamina are almost enough to make her forget that.

He's been all over her since he pushed her against the door and pulled her into his bed. It feels even more incredible than she imagined and she just wants him to stop, just for a second, let her catch her breath and savor his skin as much as he's enjoyed hers.

The truth is, he responded to I just want you with such abandon that leaning on the door and trying futilely to chase his lips with hers consumed an inordinate amount of her energy. But if she wants their coupling to be just as collaborative as their partnership, and she does, she's obviously going to need to do something about that now, before the encore.

She's resourceful about it. She knows, as strong as she is, that flipping them or pinning him won't be enough, nor will simply telling him to simmer down so she can attend to him the way she intends. If the vigor of the first part of their evening is any indication, he won't be able to resist resisting. He touches things. She's long accepted this. But she has resources. Well, Castle's resources. She has nothing here but wet clothes.

And it's not like police cuffs have ever kept him in line, anyway. She ties him up with his own shirt.

"Apples," she says. "Is that really your safe word, or have you just been teasing me all this time?"

She's not sure whether the shirt is a strong enough binding or Castle is only stunned into submission, but neither of them complains with the outcome.

In the morning, he tells her he liked it.

Especially that part. He loved that.

And she smiles.


He's adventurous; she'll give him that. He wants to try things that are new even to her. Especially after a little Zinfandel at her place.

He wants her to test his tolerance level for something other than alcohol.

He has both human desires and human limits, but she's beginning to think that she doesn't know the extent of either one.

She starts small, with the black metal cuffs he's brought, and lets the scenario escalate at a gradual pace, but they are both so excited and the energy between them is spiking like never before and the unanswered question of where will we draw the line is a seduction all its own. And for a moment, in the midst of it, he actually looks sort of scared, like he's playing this part down to the last detail.

"A—apples," he grits out.

It takes another moment for it to register that maybe he is scared. That he is serious. That, this time, the apples are not a joke. Of course they're not.

It's his safe word.

She stops immediately then, unbinds him, but the immediacy has already lost its power. She only knows she never wants to see him look this scared again.

He gasps a sigh of relief and laughs a nervous laugh that's buzzed with wine and drunken with adrenaline. The expression on his face is all too nearly the one that she sees whenever they escape a close call—a bullet or a bomb or the cold depths of the drink.

She stopped. But she hesitated first. She's not sure she'll forgive herself. Never again when Castle is in any sort of danger will she hesitate.

"Kate," he says, nuzzling her. "It's okay. I'm okay."

She's fighting tears and he strokes her hair and kisses her and it's all wrong, and she learns that sometimes when he's been hurt, Rick Castle hides away, and sometimes he turns around and soothes the person who hurt him.

That night they make love and it's tender and gentle and slow and she doesn't even cling to his back and hips for fear of scraping him. But then she gets the feeling that he's being so gentle for her,and it makes her dig her hands into the sheets just a little bit more.


She slides open the cell door and finds him standing there, subdued, in theory ready to be cuffed and transported but not really ready at all.

She places the cuffs on his wrists in front of him, more gently than she has ever ratcheted them into place on anyone, desperate to show him a gesture of great care and grant him the human dignity that this cell has taken from him.

When he says, "This is so much less fun than the other night at your place," she can tell he means to lighten the mood and hide behind humor.

Instead, it's a bittersweet callback to their adventurous, tender lovemaking and her greatest mistake of their bedroom experience. He's already forgiven her, but she cannot forget that she gave him reason to doubt her; betrayed his trust for the duration of a heartbeat.

She'd give anything now to have the chance to make it up to him.