Castle is a comfortable source of warmth beside her, joining her to stare up at the murder board, searching for answers that just aren't there yet.
"Are you okay?"
Beckett doesn't turn her head, but her lips remain in the small smile he had evoked with his mention of his mother and daughter, his musings about Kevin Bacon movies. "Yeah. It's just this one reminds me of my mom's case."
She almost regrets the admission, but she continues on, too late to rescind the words now anyway. As long as she doesn't look at him, doesn't allow herself more than the glimpse she steals through the corner of her eye to witness the expression of a heartbroken little boy suddenly emerging through his features, the man beneath the charming playboy, the man who almost makes her want him.
Like she had wanted him yesterday in the supply closet, her blood enflamed and her heart hammering hard enough to break through her chest at the press of his body up against hers. She's smothered the flame of longing since then, placed her focus solely on the case, but it returns now, gentler, a soft caress of heat through her system for the man she could want.
"I guess you could say what does it matter? The person you love is dead, but knowing why matters."
His outrage over the grammar mistakes on Ashley Cosway's dead body had been driving her nuts for the last three days, since the case began, his betting over a murder victim that the entire precinct has taken part in still incredulous (even though she had caved and ended up playing along), but it's understanding that burns in his eyes after she lets those words slip free. It surprises her, though, when he doesn't push, doesn't attempt to placate her with apologies or words of comfort.
His lips part, as if he's about to speak and she shifts forward, curious for what he has to say, but Esposito and Ryan are striding up to her desk, breaking the rare moment between them, and forcing their attentions back on the murder board. But Castle doesn't stop shooting concerned glances her way, even after he breaks their case wide open.
They part ways with Ryan and Esposito after a round of drinks at their normal post case hangout. Castle had been ecstatic to be sitting at the back of the bar in their favorite booth again, banned after looking into her mother's case, alienated from it all, and she'd found his smile to be contagious, catching on her lips every time he turned his eyes to her.
"Part of me wishes we had lost," he muses, walking with her down the street towards Tribeca.
Montgomery had given their team the rest of the evening off, all paperwork regarding the solved case postponed for tomorrow morning, and it's the first time in what has to be years that she isn't itching to return, camp out at her desk for the rest of the night. She's enjoying Castle's company too much. Way too much.
"Oh?" Beckett replies with an arch of her brow. "Hoping to sport matching hairstyles tomorrow?"
He grins at her, that twinkle in his eyes that always ignites when she jokes around with him, the pleased delight. "The shaving of my head would have been unfortunate, but I really wouldn't have minded seeing you in a dress."
Her heart stutters, skips, and she shakes her head, at him or herself, she isn't sure.
"Of course not," she chuckles, slipping her hands into the pockets of her coat.
"I still could, you know."
The smile on her lips wavers as she glances to her side, assesses the blossoming hope gleaming in his eyes, and she has no idea what he's hoping for, but it has dread coiling like a spring, tight and uncomfortable in her stomach.
"Meaning?"
Castle slows to a stop before they can reach the next crosswalk, standing off to the side with her near a string of shops and boutiques.
"We could go to dinner, celebrate like the true winners we are without the two wannabes," he chirps, a teasing grin tugging on his lips, but she can hardly move past the first half of his sentence.
"Listen, Rick," she sighs, stepping in closer and lowering her voice, prepared to let him down easy, but Castle lifts a hand between them before she can.
"I know what you're about to say and it's unnecessary," he states and she rolls her eyes.
"Oh do you?"
"Look, this doesn't have to be a date," he murmurs, but his hand drifts forward, the tips of his fingers flirting with hers. "And it has nothing to do with what happened yesterday in the supply closet-"
"Castle," she hisses, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger as her cheeks flare hot, but he merely laughs at her, soft and amused and infuriating.
"We don't ever have to speak of that again if you don't want to. I'm just innocently asking my friend to an innocent dinner to innocently celebrate our victory over Ryan and Esposito."
She should say no, needs to say no. If what happened yesterday is any indication, her self-control has become compromised and she needs time to regroup, build her discipline back up before more mistakes can be made. Because that is what their time in the supply closet had been – a massive mistake that cannot be repeated, that they will never again speak of.
"Don't look so conflicted," Castle jokes, but the corners of his mouth are no longer in an easy smile, the curve of his lips straining to stay upturned as he attempts to reassure her. "Really, Kate, you can say no. There's no obligation to-"
"Okay," she blurts, and – damn him for calling her by her first name, her resolve washed away by the single syllable in his mouth. "Did you already have a place in mind?"
Castle flounders for a moment, the surprise in his eyes at her acceptance evident, but he recovers quickly, shoots her a pleased grin that soothes some of her horror.
"I always have a place, just depends on what you're in the mood for, Detective."
This was such a bad idea, but those seem to be her specialty lately.
They have dinner at a Thai restaurant not far from her apartment, a charming little establishment that has excellent service and divine dishes, but is still casual enough for her not to feel out of place in her work clothes.
He's different outside of the precinct, something she had caught glimpses of in the past, but it's far more prominent now as he sits across from her at a tiny table, their knees bumping on occasion and his hand always just in reach of hers atop the surface, tempting her with the tap of his fingers next to his glass of water.
They discuss the case, share quiet laughs about how ridiculous it had been, competing over homicides with the boys, and eventually shift into soft conversation about his mother and daughter once more, Alexis's boy troubles and Martha's uncertain Broadway career. It continues to surprise her how real he can be, the exact opposite of the man in magazines and articles in Page Six, the adoring father and son, the kind man who could draw genuine smiles to her lips that she had given up on trying to control hardly halfway through dinner.
She can't remember the last time someone had possessed that ability with such ease.
"Well, Detective Beckett," Castle announces once he's paid the bill without her approval (It's the least I can do when dinner was my idea to begin with, Beckett, calm down) and they're on their way out of the restaurant. "I guess this is where we part ways."
Kate bites on her lip as they return to the same predicament they had left the bar in only two hours earlier, drifting down the sidewalk in the general direction of her apartment, unwanted hesitation swirling through her stomach.
"Unless you want to walk with me, come up for coffee at my place?" she suggests, does her best to maintain a neutral expression through the pound of her heart, watching from the corner of her eye as Castle attempts to do the same.
"I - of course, I'd love that," he responds, the smile on his lips grateful, feeding the frenzy of unwelcome butterflies through her abdomen.
And since when does Castle give her butterflies?
Being inside Kate Beckett's apartment has a swarm of butterflies sweeping through his system, soft caresses of fluttering wings with razored edges dancing along his chest. He has no idea what her plan is here, what she must be thinking inviting him up to her place, but he's content to assess the cozy interior of her home, examine the rows of novels on her bookshelves while she puts on a fresh pot of coffee in her kitchen. To be grateful he's been allowed into her space.
"Stop looking for your books, Castle," she calls from the kitchen that reminds him of a greenhouse, the shine of the city bleeding in through the overhead windows, trickling in to dapple along the pale line of her throat.
She's beautiful like this. At home in her apartment, still dressed in her slacks and button down from work, but with her feet bare and her coat put away, with a teasing grin spreading across her lips. Easy, unworried, comfortable. With him.
He really wishes he could kiss her again. Not like he had in the supply closet, not hard and fast and hot (well, he wants to kiss her like that again too at some point); he wants to walk into her kitchen and corner her against the cabinets, cradle her face in his hands and sip from her mouth, memorize the satin sensation of her lips moving against his, feel her body arch and undulate into his embrace like she had yesterday-
"Castle?"
"Hmm?" He tears his eyes up from the study of her jaw, the sharp angle of bone he still remembers fitting against his lips, redirecting his gaze to her furrowed brow.
"Everything okay?" Beckett inquires, approaching him with two steaming cups of coffee and he quickly constructs a smile for her, accepts the blue mug from her grasp, purposely brushing the tip of his index finger along the slender bone of hers.
"Of course, never better," he assures her, motioning for her to lead the way to the couch, watching her sink into the corner of the furniture with a hum of appreciation that he echoes once he sits down on the opposite end. Still close enough to reach out, touch her if he wanted to, if she let him. "This is a sinfully comfortable couch."
"Glad my furniture meets your standards, Castle," she chuckles, taking a slow sip of her coffee.
"Surpasses them, actually," he remarks, winking back at her before mimicking her, sipping his coffee with his lips curled around the rim of the mug. "I like it here."
Kate is eyeing him from above her coffee cup, assessing him with inquisitive eyes that burn a mixture of gold and brown, a gleaming shade of amber that elicits frissons of familiar heat within the pit of his stomach. His mind wanders back to the supply closet, it never needs much help to end up there, to recall the taste of her skin on his tongue, her mouth, her body so sinuous and alive beneath his hands, rising into him, wanting it just as badly-
"Castle," she snaps and he startles so harshly, coffee sloshes over the edge of his cup, spills onto the thigh of his pants, and Beckett sighs, shakes her head. "Do you even realize how obvious you are about it?"
"About what?" he mutters, dabbing at the blotch of hot liquid that's now staining his slacks.
"Since we made out yesterday, you're always thinking about it and you're far from subtle."
Castle gasps, comically, using the always reliable route of humor to ease into this conversation, refrain from letting it become serious, spooking her. " I thought we weren't speaking of that again."
"Privacy of my apartment," she shrugs, one of her eyebrows curving with the line of her lips. "And we're not talking about it. I was just making a point."
"Point made, Beckett," he huffs, setting his cup down on the small table housing a lamp at his side. "And you can't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind."
"Mm, maybe once or twice," she muses, toying with him, he knows, but he willingly takes the bait.
"Once or twice?" he echoes incredulously. "Liar."
"Am not," she tosses back, playful and childish and Castle takes advantage of this version of Beckett, the one who teases with him, who discusses a forbidden makeout in a closet with a grin flirting along her lips.
"So you're telling me," he begins, scooting closer to her, watching the blank expression of her face hold, the fingers cradling her mug tightening ever so slightly. It isn't noticeable, but he can sense the combination of nerves and anticipation swirling through her as he draws closer. "That you haven't really thought much about all the places I touched yesterday?"
Kate meets his eyes without wavering. "Nope."
"Even the places I touched with my mouth?" Her throat ripples at that, a swallow cascading down the column, and oh yeah, he has her. "Should I refresh your memory, Beckett?"
She doesn't stop him when he liberates her coffee cup from her fingers, releasing the mug without a fight, her empty hands already rising to curl at his ears when he leans in, his chest pressing against her bent knees as he tentatively seals his mouth over hers for the second time in two days.