He leans back against the cool surface, closes his eyes, and listens to the soft swooshing of her moves in the tub, the soft murmur of her voice, telling him the story how she first came across his books. She asked him to stay, stumbled over her own words trying to explain that she's scared to faint again like she almost did yesterday in the shower. And he was too, so he stayed.
"I visited from Stanford for Christmas, it was always her favorite time of the year, making a big deal out of it every year." Castle smiles, he would've liked her mom. "We cooked an amazing dinner together the night before, she was so light and at ease, even though she told me about the tough cases she just had. I asked her how she managed to deal with them. She just winked at me and told me that I was going to find out tomorrow. On the next day, I unpacked your book. In a Hail of Bullets. And she was swooning over you and your books, how they manage to bring her closure and hope even in her hardest cases. And she kept pointing out how handsome and single you are or were at the time. I guess it must've been between Meredith and Gina."
Kate stays silent for a long time and he waits, not pushing her, knowing how difficult the next part is for her. Her voice is shaking when she continues.
"I couldn't touch it after her death, just shoved it into a box in their attic and forgot about it for weeks, until I hit a very low point in my grief, I was losing my dad to the alcohol, the detectives closed the case, I was failing in college, dropped out because the worry about my dad was consuming me and moved back home. My dad just had a really rough night, we had a bad fight, and I just felt so lonely. I got up to the attic to get something and almost fell over the box with your book. Laying there on the floor, your book before me and it made me think of my mom, of the way her eyes lit up when she talked about you. I missed her so much that I just wanted to feel closer to her, and started reading. Haven't stopped since. I read all my mom possessed and bought every one you released afterwards. You even signed my book, the one my mom gave me. Made a comment about how much I must've loved it because it was so worn. And I did."
He turns his head to look at her, meets her eyes, the soft smile on her lips, the unshed tears in her eyes, looking so gorgeous. Warmth runs through his body, starts thawing his frozen heart. "What did I write?" She chuckles, grins, and dips her head, but he can still see the blush on her cheeks.
"To my number one fan, Kate, never lose hope, justice will always be served. Karma does the rest. In love, Rick. I don't know if you wrote that in all of your books but it felt like you were seeing right through me and knew, once again, exactly what to say." She meets his eyes again, looking for the truth, so he gives it to her.
"I don't. Normally, there's barely time to write more than the name and thank you, but when I have time, at my launch parties or events, I write things like 'thank you for fighting the bad guys with me'. I wish I'd remember you. But I must have seen something in you that day that sparked this line." She closes her eyes, lets one lonely tear fall and roll over her cheek to kiss the smile that's residing on her lips, again robbing him of air to breathe, striked by the pureness of her beauty, that she lets him see her so raw and vulnerable. "Thank you for telling me."
"Now it's your turn. Tell me a story, Richard Castle." And he does as he settles back against the tub once more, his finger knotted in his lap to keep them from reaching for her, he wants her to sleep, so he decides to tell her a story like he once told Alexis at bedtime. And it works, he sees her eyes starting to droop as he risks a glance shortly after beginning, finding them firmly closed the next time he looks, and he trails off, staring into the air, musing about what she told him.
"What happens next?" Her voice is barely more than a whisper, slightly slurred as if she's on the brink of falling asleep. Is she asking about the story or them? Slowly, he turns his head to look at her, she watches him from behind her lashes, her face relaxed and so beautiful it hits him. It hits him how much he longs for a future with her.
He quickly averts his eyes again, clears his throat, and continues the story, before she can see it all on his face.
"The little boy's eyes widen as he opens the door, the chilly air hitting his face, swirling around his bare feet, but he's too excited to care, overnight the winter laid a white blanket over the whole land, the sun just breaks through the clouds, causing the boy to squeeze his eyes shut. It's suddenly way too bright, the sun reflecting from the snow, and everything is glistening.
"But he tries again and again until his eyes are comfortable with the bright sun, the scenery too beautiful to not look at it. He's never seen anything like this. He's seen snow, alright. But only a few single flakes in the City or maybe for one night and it quickly turned into ugly, grey slobber. Never anything like this. Even the trees wear hats made of snow, white and heavy, their long arms pressed down to the earth.
"His eyes sparkle with mischief, a wide grin on his lips as he jumps out in the snow, yelps at the sudden frostiness on his bare feet, but he couldn't care less. Snow, there is so much snow, more than he's ever seen in his entire life. It scrunches beneath his feet, and quickly, he bows down, takes it in his hands, it's icy but warm enough to be mouldable and forms a snowball. A wicked gleam burns in his eyes, turns to a lopsided grin as he creeps back into the house, snowball in his hands…"
"Your eyes, your grin," Kate mumbles almost inaudible behind him, making his head spin around. Her eyes are closed now, a soft smile on her face, her head rolled to the side, her chest rises and falls with soft puffs. Your eyes, your grin. What did she mean? Is she still awake? Through the clearing bubbles of her bath, he can see her hand underwater, draped over her abdomen right over the dark triangle between her legs, right where the baby grows.
His breath catches. She's gorgeous. He takes a moment to take her in, to remember this moment, this scene. How relaxed she lies in the tub, the light painting images on her delicate, milky skin, still the soft smile on her lips, small puffs rippling the surface, pushing away bubbles, one arm hangs out of the tub, near his shoulder, as if she wanted to touch him, but held back, the other one her soon growing belly. She looks happy and at peace, more than he's ever seen her.
It's a different kind of happiness, not the way she was with Will laughing in his hospital room right before he crushed her world. This one is contentment, peace, one that's harder to get than a short breath of levity.
Despite all that happens. Despite calling their night a mistake, despite the pregnancy that came with it, despite the shock she must've felt when she found out, despite him keeping her at arm's length, not wanting to talk about it, she is happy to be here, with him, with the pregnancy. Your eyes, your grin. And he knows that she had the same pictures in her mind as he did when he started to tell the story about the kids experiencing their first real snow. Pictures about their future. Even though he'd rather have a girl with her eyes, her smile, her humor, and strength.
You are not a mistake. The baby is why I am here now. But it's not the reason I am here. You are. Her voice from their talk yesterday wafts again through his mind, like it did the whole night in his sleep, gifting him with beautiful images of a future together. They mingle now with the picture of her standing in the kitchen, barefooted, only dressed in an oversized t-shirt, cooking a breakfast feast for him. He wonders if she would've done this the morning after if Paula hadn't sent that stupid text. The picture morphs with his overactive imagination, placing her in the kitchen of the loft, dressed in one of his shirts, buttons open, her belly so big it pokes out, cooking breakfast for him after they made love.
Her in his tub later with him behind her, their hands together over her swollen belly, waiting for the baby to move.
Could he really have all of this? All the images his mind painted of a future together after their night? He props his chin on his arm, keeps on watching her. He's never felt so strongly about someone ever before. Never desired something so much. If only there wouldn't be his bruised heart, whispering in his ears that she already betrayed him, that she would get sick of him far too soon, that he'd never be enough for a woman like her, that for the baby it would be better to try to be friends instead of give in to his feelings and ruin their relationship… He creases his forehead as her smile deepens, turns to mischief, then the hand that held his baby comes up, splashing water in his face.
"Staring is creepy, Castle." She chides, laughter in her voice. But all he can see is the vibrant green with the swirls of gold dancing in her eyes, sparkling with joy, the deep crease of her smile around her mouth. It's making his heart stumble, and beat so loud and fast, he's sure she can hear it. He shakes his head, dries it on his sweater before he can do something stupid. He wants to make a joke, but his mind is empty - blissfully so.
"Come on, the water is cooling, you're tired, you should go to bed." He pulls the plug, ignoring her protest, turns around to give her privacy, looking for the bathrobe and a towel, hands it to her without looking at her. He can hear her faint, almost disappointed sigh, but all she says is a mumbled, honest thank you, as her fingers wrap around his hand, putting pressure on it as she climbs out of the tub. The weight on his arm shifts and becomes heavy, her breathing labored, the change in her instantly catching up with him and he turns around to wrap his arm around her, modesty be damned.
"You okay?" His lips are on her temple, breathing her in, her hair smells like cherries, she rests her forehead on his chest, taking some deep breaths, her legs shaking.
"Dizzy." Her fingers curl in the thick fabric of his sweater as if she is holding onto him, he wraps his arm tighter around her waist, almost lifting her up, drawing a soft chuckle from her, that bubbles through his veins.
"Wanna lay down again?" She only shakes her head, holding on tighter, breathing in deeply again, eliciting a grin on his lips, his heart beating faster, she can probably hear it, feel it.
"Why, Katherine Beckett, I'd never pegged you for one to take advantage of the help of a gentleman." She chuckles quietly again, but she grips harder, her knuckles turning white, she's starting to lean more with her weight on him and his grin disappears. "Kate, you should lie down, you're gonna pass out."
"No," she shakes her head fiercly, but her legs give in and Castle slowly lowers her onto the floor, despite her weak protest, softly untucks her hands from his sweater and lifts her legs to his shoulder again, softly massaging the bottom of her left foot. His heart stops as he sees the wet spots on his shirt, looks up to her face only to see her wet cheeks.
"Kate," he breathes, but she just drapes her arm over her face, hides from him. She doesn't want his pity, but it's not pity he feels right now, it's longing. He longs to wrap her in his arms, kiss her tears away, longs for it to be easy between them, not so broken and walking on eggshells. She lies naked before him in more ways than one. And all he can think about is what he wants to do with her – not only sexual, but of course that too, he's a man after all, but the way he wants to hold her, wants to kiss her, wants to kiss the soft skin on her stomach, whisper beautiful things and promises into her skin, willing for the embryo to hear them, wants days like this their reality without the heaviness. He just wants to help the circulation of his pregnant wife, ease her dizziness caused by his baby.
His wife … Did he really just think this? But yeah, when he looks at her, he wants her to belong to him, wants his ring on her finger. He wants all of that and yet it's as if he's running against a wall inside of him, with no idea how high or how long it is, with no idea how to cross it or tear it down. Seeing her kiss another guy right before his eyes after the night they had, the highest high he's ever been on only to come crashing down in light speed and burn alive. It felt like Meredith all over again but ten times worse because he never loved Meredith. The feeling of abandonment burning bright within him, the flames eating anything that would endanger them.
So he just keeps massaging her feet, because that's the only thing his fragile heart can deal with right now.
A few minutes later, she withdraws her legs from his shoulders, slowly rolls to her side, away from him, before she continues to rise at a crawl, still wobbly on her feet, scaring him that she might fall any second and he jumps to his feet, extending his hand but she shies away from it.
"You're right. I'm tired, I should probably lay down and get some sleep." She slips into the bathrobe without looking at him, mumbles a night even though it's the brightest day outside, and disappears from the bathroom. And his heart aches watching her leave so crestfallen.
With a loud sigh, he busies himself, not willing to fall back into his endless thinking, tidies up the bathroom, hangs the towels to try, even rinses the bathtub, before he goes into his own room, crawling onto his bed, flopping against the headrest and pulling his laptop to him, to do the most therapeutic thing he can do now: writing.
He writes a scene for Nikki and Rook. She hasn't talked to him since their tequila-induced night together, blocked his calls, confused by the intensity of her feelings – only to find out that she got pregnant that night and Rook telling Nikki all the things he can't tell Kate.
As he leans back his head against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment to think, he can hear it. Her sobs on the other side of the wall – and it feels so metaphorical it's almost meta –, crying herself to sleep. His heart breaks over and over again, as he just sits there and listens, unable to move, to do something, feels trapped in his head. He knows how to overcome this wall, though. Knows that he just has to stand up, walk over to his door, go through that door, walk along the hallway to her door, open her door and go through it, walk to her bed – and he's on the other side of his wall and her wall as well. They are on the same side. Could it be as easy as this?
His feet find the way on their own, stumbling over the rug in the hallway, but reaching her door unharmed and opening it without knocking, without giving her the opportunity to shut him out.
"Castle! Go away!" she says, her voice sounding deadly, but he can hear the quiver in it, the desperation, the loneliness. He closes the door behind him, walks up to her bed, and crawls in behind her.
"I promised you that I'll be there for you and the baby." He winces at his own words, how lame they sound, how platitudinous. And it only makes her cry harder, leaving him helpless right next to her and yet miles away.
"You are here, physically. But emotionally … it feels like you locked yourself away from me." He sighs heavily at her words, letting his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes. He's surprised and not surprised, that she can feel it. Of course, she can.
"I know," he whispers, rubs his heel over his eyes. Unable to do something about it, again.