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A one time thing
Chapter Twelve - Pandas
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If it only takes a moment for your life to change forever, can a 'one time thing' right the wrong? An AU Caskett meeting.
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Rick stalks away from Kate's front door, takes a total of six steps before he pivots, switches from foot to foot, and then finds himself standing back where he was. The entire way over here - he'd given his statement at the precinct and then practically run out of the place - he'd gone over and over the reasons he needs to stay away. Yet here he is.
The surface mocks him; a flimsy piece of wood really. He's kicked his way through enough of them, but he can't make his way through this one. He can't even get the courage to knock.
He should go. But he stalls, starts lingering on the whys.
Why is he here? Why does he care? Why is he chasing after her when she clearly stated that she was heading home alone?
Exhaling loudly, he turns again, walks away. The more sensible part of him, the sane part, the part that is reasonable, can see how this - seeking her out, letting her into his heart, his life - is plain crazy; that part wins the internal battle.
So he leaves.
"Rick?"
Twisting, he sees Kate in the doorway, her bottom lip trapped tight between her teeth as she gnaws the flesh, her forehead furrowing, an eyebrow raised. It seems he's not the only one having issues.
"I just- I came to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine."
He snorts at that, scoffs at the stupidity of her words as she blocks the entrance to her home, because of course she is fine, of course everything is okay, it's not like today was any different from a normal day of work.
"Fantastic. Good to know." Angling away from her, he moves to leave once more, his sarcasm covering his words as thickly as the syrup did his pancakes this morning - was it really only this morning?
"Rick." She says his name again, this time with more breath than tone, a sigh that crosses the space between them until it settles heavily onto his skin and his shoulders slump under its weight.
He doesn't know how to do this. To fight. For her.
"You wanna come in?"
Nodding, he walks to her, a hand shifting of its own accord to ghost across the skin of her arm, the call that is her too powerful to pass over.
His gaze travels slowly around as he enters, absorbs all the elements of her home. The details confirm his theories, the little stories that he has created about her; the love of elephants, the knickknacks with which she decorates not only her desk at work, but also her apartment. It all tells a tale, forms a clearer picture of his partner.
This is the first time he has been inside, normally he's restricted to waiting for her in the car out the front, and it's clear to him why. This is Kate, open and exposed, all of her on display. And it's beautiful.
"So, what are you really doing here, Rick?"
Kate focuses on the closing door and not on how he is spellbound by all the details of her apartment, how he is breathing her in, learning her. It's amazing to watch when he does it at work, how he catalogues the information, but not so much when she's the victim.
Not that she's a victim. Never that.
"I…" Shrugging his shoulders, any explanation he might have dissolves and it leaves them at an impasse. She can't fill the blanks in any more easily than he can.
"Are you okay?" He attempts again, and she smiles a little at the repetitive nature of his question; she has to give him points for trying.
"I'm-"
"Fine. Yeah, I got that."
Both of his hands lift to rip through his hair, sending the strands into disarray and the symbolism has her inhaling sharply. This really is a mess.
They really are a mess.
"What do you want me to say, Castle?"
"Something. Anything. Besides 'I'm fine'."
His eyes glaze, sheen with emotion and it cuts at her skin just as easily as the knife did earlier today, slicing her open again in its own way.
"What? You want me to say it hurts? How every time I move I'm reminded of how I could have died?" Dropping her head forward in spite of the pain that flares, the ache that's wrapped itself around her throat, and, staring at her feet, she hides behind the wall of hair that falls forward as she murmurs, "How close history came to being repeated?"
Like mother, like daughter.
A hand captures the screen she's created, tucks the strands behind her right ear, before he repeats the process on the left side, exposing her face. Leaning forward, he rests his lips against her forehead.
"I don't know how to do this, Kate." He whispers the words into her skin and they enter her blood stream, travel to her heart. "It's like we're yin and yin, instead of yin and yang. And rather than helping each other we're just a panda."
Pulling back, confusion has her raising her head so she can look at him. She scans his features, searching his face for a clue because his words have left her at a loss.
"We're a panda?"
He chuckles before looping his arms back around her, his fingers splaying wide across the small of her back and as he draws her into his chest, she relaxes against the solid ground that is his body.
"I don't know what to do or say to make it okay, Kate." Silence settles, and they stay standing, statues until he continues. "And no. We're not Yin Yin, the panda. Just…"
Whatever is troubling him, he seems to let it go, and she closes her eyes because maybe she doesn't need to pursue the panda metaphor. Not while he brushes another kiss into her hair and she sinks further into his embrace, allows the sensation of not being alone to wash over-
"Oh. Crap. The bath."
The bubble of intimacy bursts as Kate jerks out of his arms and he's at a loss as to what to do next. She's scurrying into another room, and, right or wrong, he trails after her, props himself up against the doorway as she bends over the bath tub, turning off the taps.
"That was close."
Twisting to glare at him over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth contorts, and he reads her "Seriously!" expression easily. He cops it at work all the time whenever he has a theory that isn't quite in the box.
She eases herself onto the edge of the large clawed bath that sits in the middle of her bathroom, glances up and down his body once before she indicates the counter behind him.
"Do you want to make yourself useful and light some candles? The sun will be setting soon."
Smiling, he goes to work, ignites as many as he can while she putters around with the bath salts. The domestic nature of this should be causing him to break out into a sweat.
But instead it's like he's come home.
The flames flicker before him, and the notion of home brings him to a stop, unable to go onto the next one. It's not because of the fear that's racing through his veins, or his heart that is thrashing in panic. It's because there's nothing - nothing but anticipation and hope as hundreds of butterflies soar free from his soul.
"Rick?"
His eyes flutter closed for a moment at the way his name falls from her lips, and moving away from the last candle, he approaches silently, enclosing her within his arms. The way she fits under his chin as she snuggles in, her fingers gripping the t-shirt he'd been left to wear after the takedown - this is why there is no need to run.
Why he finds himself standing still for the first time in so many years.
"I'm fine."
Huffing at his response, she knocks her forehead gently into his chest and he attempts to hold the laughter in, now he's done exactly what she did. Yin and yin indeed.
Kate releases his shirt, pulls back until there is a foot of space between them, and, tilting his head, he eyes her curiously. The empty sensation of his arms has him reaching forward to touch her, but before he can get there, she's already captured his hands.
Lifting them together, she brings his fingers to the top of her blouse, where the first button holds the fabric together. Cotton that is stained a dark crimson from her blood and it spurs him into action.
His fingers travel rapidly down the row of buttons, releasing her from the ruined shirt, exposing the skin of her chest. The dried blood surrounding the butterfly bandages remains painted across her neck, and he draws the material off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor behind her, before discarding her bra as well.
Looking around her bathroom, he reaches for a washcloth and runs it under the faucet. He has to clean the skin around her wound, remove the traces of blood before she steps into the bath, and as he turns, he catches sight of book resting on the table next to the tub.
His book.
"Have you been reading my books?"
Looking across to Rick as he leans against the bath's rim, his hands wringing out the washcloth he's pulled from her shelf, Kate attempts to catch up to his unexpected question. What books?
He pulls himself up, one hand clutching the now wet material, while his other points to the table that sits beside the bath. It's where she places her glass of wine, her phone so music can fill the silence, and whatever book she's reading.
Oh.
There are so many ways to deflect his question, avoid the truth that lies behind it, but as her eyes connect with his, the raw emotion brimming to the surface has her rethinking her choices. Of all the things Rick deserves, her honesty is one of them, especially when it comes to this.
"It was my mom's."
Moving back over to her, he brings the damp cloth to her neck, gently holds it to her skin, and she focuses on the wall behind him, searching for what to say.
"She'd gotten 'Deadly Storm' for Christmas, had managed to get through half of it before…"
His finger brushes across her bottom lip and her mouth closes. She'd already spoken of what happened next, and she smiles, just a little in gratitude, for not having to repeat it again.
"I finished it for her. And it changed my life. The passion, the desire for justice, it gave me hope when her murder remained unsolved."
It gave her the notion to become a detective, to find those things for herself, and even after she had let go of her own battle for closure, even after she had put his book into storage all those years ago, she still fights for those ideals - for others.
Moving over to the sink, he rinses the cloth, cleans her blood from it, and with his back to her, she hears him ask quietly, "Is that how you knew? When we first met, that I was Richard Castle."
"No. To be honest, when Montgomery introduced you as Rick Castle, I thought the name Castle sounded familiar. But it wasn't until after you'd tried to strangle Johnson, after we fought and you kicked me out of your hotel room, that it clicked."
He shifts back to her, returns to dab at her skin, and she finishes her story.
"Not because of what you did, but because that night I went through her things and found her book…"
And the rest is history. She'd shown up at his door and they'd shared their secrets in the dark.
"Can I ask-" Her fingers seize the thin fabric that he wears, his own shirt probably long gone given the amount of her blood that was on it, and she tugs it up, encourages him to take it off.
"Can I ask why you stopped? After- I can understand why you became a cop. But is that why you no longer write?"
Tossing the washcloth into the basin, he then reaches for the hem of his undershirt, takes it from her fingers and pulling it over his head, he lets it drop with hers on the floor.
"I had no words."
Her heart pounds against her ribs, the naked emotion in his tone hits hard against her chest, and she lists into him, before stretching on her toes to brush her lips across his as if she could somehow breathe them back into him.
Drawing away, his eyes drop as his fingers work to free the button of her pants, and she mimics his actions. The intensity between them blazes suddenly, the desperation to have skin on skin stealing all their attention until they are free, and, indicating for him to climb into the bath first, she settles against his front.
The water laps gently and a sense of calm cocoons them, taking the frantic hunger back down to a peaceful level and she allows her head to lean back on his shoulder, the pull of her bandages barely registering.
His ability to wipe her mind clear of anything but him, the sensation of his skin against her own, his fingers fitting between hers, his lips kissing the line of her neck, is all she can feel.
"I had no words, and people are quick to forget who you are once you step out of the limelight. And I was fortunate, I guess. I had royalties to live off, good investments that keep me going. Even Black Pawn was understanding of the situation. Left the door open if…"
Twisting around, she dots kisses across the arch of his cheekbone as she gathers the strength to ask.
"Do you ever think you'll try it again? Writing?"
His lips find hers, his tongue seeking entrance and she opens, grants him access, takes as much as she gives.
Grazing his nose along hers as they eventually drift apart, he settles his forehead against hers and her eyes close under the weight of his stare.
"I never thought so. But lately I can hear the words whispering, an idea forming, and…"
She pushes forward as his explanation tapers off, pushes all the hope she has for him, for them, against his mouth; kisses into him all that she cannot say.
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Thank you all for adding so much sunshine to my weekend xoxo
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Thank you to Jo (don't read this in front of me you'll make me nervous ;-) and Jamie (Wish you were here) for all your hard work on this story xoxo
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Thank you for reading xoxo