(episode insert for 2x18, 'Boom')
# 17 Ineffable
Somehow she's not even surprised by the lone figure seated in the easy chair by the side of her bed, silently watching over her in the dark.
She expected to be rattled by nightmares, jarred awake with her heart racing, flames licking behind her eyelids and the taste of scorched flesh on her tongue.
Instead she's drifting into awareness, slow and tentative, her breathing calm, limbs heavy in the sheets. Maybe it's the sinfully comfortable mattress, the pillows and comforter soft like cotton clouds, or the sheer exhaustion and shock of the past few days catching up with her but she was out the moment her head hit the pillow, fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
It can't be much later than four a.m. and the bedroom still lies subsumed by darkness. Thin slivers of silvery light sneak through the closed shutters, providing the only illumination and it takes her a few moments to make out more details. The way he's leaning forward in the chair, elbows dug into his knees, chin resting on his steepled fingertips. The way his eyes lie on her and yet she instinctually knows he's focused inward, drifting, thinking, maybe writing; she's certain it hasn't registered that she's awake. The thick window panes muffle all outside sounds, make his breathing seem loud in the inky-black silence but it's calm, a lulling rhythm that matches the sluggish thrum of her heart.
"Watching me while I sleep, Castle?" Her words seem to fracture the quiet, low and rough with sleep. He startles and she can sense his body tensing, focusing on her, his eyes stark.
"That's a whole new level of creepy..." She hums, doesn't really mean it. No exasperation in her voice; she doesn't have the energy for it when the truth is, she feels calmed by his presence- safe.
"Yeah, uhm, sorry I..." He stumbles over his words, drops his head self-consciously, runs his fingers through his hair. It must not be the first time tonight either because the strands are disheveled, sticking up in all directions.
"You okay?" She sits up slowly, tucking the comforter around her chest to ward off the chill that creeps over her still-warm skin, sweaty beneath her t-shirt. His quiet is disconcerting, throws up all sorts of flags.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He grins but it's half-hearted, and it aches her in unexpected ways.
She swings her legs off the bed, leaves the blanket behind as she rises, drawn forward by the forlorn man sitting before her. It takes a mere two steps until she stands in front of him, her legs bracketed by his knees on either side but his head remains low and her insides tighten with trepidation.
"Hey. Castle, look at me." His eyes lift to hers, so much sorrow swirling in their depths that it steels her breath. This is the man behind the façade, the playful, devil-may-care attitude dropped to reveal the true depths of his heart, the unspoken, unacknowledged dread that had taken hold. And she gets it. He thought he watched the lights go out, believed he was too late, nothing to do but watch the flames engulf her right in front of him. This kind of terror lingers, doesn't just go away. Guilt gnaws at her for the mere fact that he chose her as his muse and that - if she's truly honest with herself - she's no longer willing to give him up.
Gently, with her fingers shaking, she brushes the ridge of his jaw, his stubble sharp against the whorls of her fingertips.
"I'm here, Castle," she whispers, lets her fingers travel into his hair, scrape his scalp in soothing circles, dip to the back of his neck. "I'm fine." His skin feels softer than she would've imagined, so warm to the touch. "You saved me."
He buries his face into her stomach with a choked sob, his hands gripping her waist, fingers spanning wide over her ribs, digging into her flesh. She sways a little, a startled breath tumbling from her mouth at the sudden pressure to her abdomen but his hold is tight, keeping her in place.
"Shhh, it's okay, shhh" she murmurs inanely, her hands curled into his hair. He trembles, his breathing a shaky, heavy thing. Damp warmth seeps through the fabric of her shirt, blooms across her skin. He's clinging to her, mouth and nose and forehead nuzzled to her, breathing her in. Heat races through her veins, flushes her cheeks, centers low within her, surprising in its ferociousness.
She squashes it down- not now Kate, not the time- clamps her arms around his neck and the breadth of his shoulders as she cradles him to her. With her body bowed over him she absorbs the tremors that wreck his solid, so strong frame.
"I'm fine, it's alright, I'm fine…" The words seem futile but she says them anyway, over and over, her cheek pressed to the top of his head and her heart hiccupping in her chest. He ran into a burning building to save her, literally right into the line of fire, with no regard for himself, just for her and she feels ill-equipped to handle it, has no words to express the overwhelming surge of tangled, bewildering emotions. But she can give him this, the comfort of her arms around him, the steady beat of her heart and the rise and fall of her chest pressed against him with every breath that she takes.
She can't tell how long they stand entwined like this as the darkness swallows any meaning of time, the cadence of his breathing soothing her senses. At last his grip around her loosens, just slightly, space crawling between his face and her stomach. She misses his warmth instantly.
She adjusts, her arms slackening around him as she straightens her posture, her knees unlocking painfully. His face lifts to her, his eyes tracking her every movement and her heart starts racing. They're so dark, endlessly deep and she feels like she's drowning in him, in the profound yearning he's no longer hiding behind layers of teasing and innuendo, the unmitigated desire that sets her on fire from the inside out. His fingers climb the ladder of her spine, thumbs circling at the curve of her ribs. She shivers, her eyelids fluttering as her knees go weak.
"Kate." He sighs her name, want warring with the haunting sadness in his voice and she curves her hand to his face, fingers playing at the ridge of his cheekbone, the tender patch of skin below his ear. His eyelids lower, his lips falling open on a breathy exhale and she lowers her face, fits her mouth to his.
It's slow at first, a little shy as her lips brush his, the tip of her tongue snaking out to explore the shape of his mouth, to savor the layers of his flavor, tasting mint and man and the lingering traces of tears. She has to swallow down the lump that forms in her throat- they're okay, they're fine, they're here- draws his bottom lip between hers, tugging on the soft flesh just so and he comes alive beneath her. A raw groan rushes through him as he opens for her, meeting her, seeking and giving, drawing from her like he is a parched man and she his water. She moans, can't help it, the blood roaring through her veins and pounding in her ears, her lips, her fingertips.
His fingers nudge at the back of her knees and she lets her legs buckle, smoothly glides into his lap like this isn't the first time they do this. Her thighs bracket his hips and then it's slow and profound, the angle just perfect for their lips to caress, for his tongue to curl around hers, to feel his moans against her lips and the frame of his warmth, for his broad palms to brace her back, her neck, holding her safe, holding her close.