39. 39 and 40: Wednesday and Thursday

Thirty-Nine

Castle holds the door open for the little old lady that lives one floor above Kate; Ms. Bradford apparently doesn't seem to be too handicapped by the lack of an elevator.

Kate waits for him on the sidewalk, a smile playing around her lips as he still holds the door. Ms. Bradford is giving him that big, deary smile; he expects her to reach up and pat his cheek at any moment.

"You doing okay in the heat, Ms Bradford?" Kate asks.

Ms Bradford steps slowly over the slightly raised threshold, going at it sideways, one foot at a time. "The heat? Oh, I just live like a bat in my cave, staying nice and cool."

"I mean with the air conditioner down yesterday and today," Kate says, sharing a smile with Castle over the lady's head. He resists the impulse to take Ms. Bradford by the elbow and propel her forward. He tried that last week and got a nasty glare for it.

"My air conditioner is just fine," Ms Bradford says, finally making it to the sidewalk. "Is yours out?"

"Oh. Yeah, guess it's not building-wide then." Kate makes a face at him; he told her to sleep at his place last night, but he guesses that face means she'll be coming over tonight. "I'm glad you still have air."

"Oh, me too. I'm sorry yours is out. That is a misery."

Castle laughs at the saying and nods. "It really is. I'm trying to convince her to spend the night with me-"

Ms Bradford gives him an arch look, one of those you young people these days, and he can practically feel Kate laughing at him as he shuts his mouth. They stand on the sidewalk watching Ms. Bradford shuffle off to the hairdresser, and then Kate slides her arm through his, despite the heat.

"I give up. Looks like I'm spending the night with you until they fix my AC."

He can't help grinning triumphantly at that.

Castle walks her to Dr. Burke's office and then hangs around the area, waiting on her as he plays his favorite game - people watching. The guy in the baseball hat is a tourist trying to look casual, cool, sophisticated. He got separated from his group. The guy in the nice slacks and dress shirt waiting at the bus stop is going for his first job interview - too polished for a guy who has to ride the bus, but also - nope. Wait. He's just returning from his job interview, that's why he doesn't look nervous. He looks supremely confident, actually, so he must have gotten the job.

Then the guy leaves the bus stop even though Castle can see the bus just down the block; the guy heads off down the sidewalk, and now he's got no idea what that guy's story might be. Huh. He's hardly ever stumped.

So yeah. Hanging out here, waiting on Kate. They're supposed to go to a one-woman show at three, and he didn't feel like puttering around the loft all day with Alexis out and his mother making those constant comments about acting like a lovebird.

Yes. Lovebird. Fine. He is spending all summer with Kate. He doesn't even care what that looks like or what it says about his level of pathetic need-

Alexis did say it wasn't pathetic. She was very reassuring about it. They enjoyed breakfast together this morning at her favorite place with the blue-checkered tablecloths, and they sat at the table talking for two hours after they'd finished and the waitress had cleared their plates.

His daughter is so old. He's not sure when it happened, really. But her level of maturity has now attained a scary wisdom that he keeps finding himself relying on. She's irreplaceable, really. What is he going to do when she's ensconced in some dorm room at Columbia?

Castle picks up coffee at the end of the hour, heads back for the building where the therapist's office is. Good timing. Kate's just pushing open the door when he hits the corner; she glances to either side and sees him, starts walking in his direction.

She takes the hot coffee with appreciative eyes, but he sees the trouble behind them.

"Want to talk about it?"

He moves off down the sidewalk, knowing she'll follow, and she does, falling in step with him easily.

After a pause, she sighs. "The sessions always help, but-"

Castle glances over at her, watches her eyes regard the summer sky. "But?"

"But they always make me. . .mixed up. They stir things up."

"I guess they're supposed to. So you can see it in the light and deal with it."

Kate flashes him a surprised look. "Yes. Exactly like that."

He grins back, reaches out to touch the corner of her mouth with his thumb, not sure why he's doing it. "I've had my share of therapy, Kate."

"You have?" She blinks and then nods. "Right. You said that once."

He waits quietly, even though it goes against his nature, and it takes another block before she starts again.

"I admitted to Dr Burke that I was having. . .attacks of paranoia."

"You are?" It's the first he's heard of it.

"Sort of. I told you, remember?"

Uh. No?

"With the zombies, running in the park."

"That was one time-"

She shakes her head slowly, looks regretful, chagrinned. Ah. Okay.

"More than one time then. How many times?"

She rubs at her forehead. "Every time."

"Every time? Kate. Stop running with the damn app."

"I tried that," she sighs. "And actually, the app is fun, and distracting too. It helps, weirdly enough, because I just blame the noises I hear and the people I'm certain are following me on the zombie game."

"Ah. But. People aren't following you, Kate."

"I - I know?"

"You're not sure about that?"

"No," she sighs.

"Kate," he sighs back, reaching down to slide his hand in hers.

"Yeah."

She's silent again for another few blocks; he can feel her tug ever so slightly on his hand as she steps around a subway grate or fire hydrant. The foot traffic pushes them off into the street and they weave their way around parked cars, parking meters, and mailboxes, up and down on the curb as they go.

Finally he steers them back onto the sidewalk, into the flow of pedestrians even though it seems to agitate her - the crowd, the closeness.

"Burke suggested that I have survivor's guilt," she says quietly.

He takes a moment to look intently at her, see how she's handling that. "You think he's right?"

"I think it explains a lot."

"Symptoms?"

"Anxiety, depression, social withdrawal, sleep disturbance, nightmares, physical complaints, and emotional outbursts."

"And guilt, I guess," he says unhelpfully. "And well, you know two of those are my fault. Possibly three."

"Two are-" She jerks on his hand, making him turn to look at her. But he's grinning and she narrows her eyes. "How are two your fault, Castle?"

"Sleep disturbance and social withdrawal? Totally on me. Also, physical complaints? It's hard to keep my hands off you."

Kate looks like she's trying to smother her smile, but it smirks up anyway. She nudges his hip. "Burke said that survivor's guilt is umbrellaed under PTSD."

"Ah, makes sense."

"So this is maybe a step down from full-blown PTSD, maybe?" She sounds hopeful; he knows she's frustrated by the inability to just fix it. He is too, honestly. He wishes, still wishes, having lots of sex and loving someone with everything in your soul would actually erase all her problems.

But it doesn't. And really, no, it shouldn't. He's not her crutch.

"Kate?"

"Yeah," she sighs.

"For what it's worth. I'm glad you survived."

She laughs, a huff of a breath really, but she does laugh. "Well, thanks, Castle. Me too."

"Really?"

He hears her breath stutter, and then she presses against his side, forcing his steps to falter, stop. Castle glances over at her, and down - she's wearing flat shoes again, flipflops of all things, and he likes the way she fits into him like this.

"Really," she says quietly. "Really. Not even you could come up with a word that expresses how much."

Forty

"Mmm," she sighs as she sprawls over his chest, his heart beating too hard, rocking her with the force of it.

Castle draws his hand up her bare back, humming himself as she shudders around him, and then rolls her off. She laughs at him, her eyes closed, but keeps her legs tangled with his. He likes that, likes the way her fingers feather at his skin, as if she can't help herself.

"Vidi, Vici, Veni," she laughs, her voice light and dancing in the darkness of his room.

"What?" he mutters back, drawing a hand down between them, nudging her hip, brushing at her skin, touching. "You came, you saw, you conquered?"

"Well yes. But you weren't listening carefully. I switched the order, Writer B-"

He flattens her underneath him, growling as she laughs back at him, but then he realizes exactly what she did say and he laughs as well, his mouth at hers as he chuckles.

"You saw, you conquered - you came?"

She vibrates with laughter under him, her hands coming up to claim his face, draw his mouth to hers again. As if he needs her help getting there.

"I think I did," she says finally. "More than once."

Okay, so he knows she's working him over, he knows that. She's good at getting a rise out of him - um, in every way - but it still works. Even knowing that she's doing it, doesn't mean he can stop the way it makes him feel.

Proud. Stupid male pride. Still. I did that.

"I think you need to switch up that order again," he says finally, truthfully. "More like, Vici, Vidi, Veni."

"Um, that's. . .I conquered, I saw, I came?"

"Yeah. You conquered long before you ever saw me-"

She suddenly squeezes her arms and legs around him, so tight it cuts off his breath, his words, but he wasn't feeling morose or anything. It was just - funny. It takes him a moment to get his elbows back under him, but she's still holding on.

"I conquered," she murmurs against his jaw, brushes her lips back and forth. She seems to enjoy the abrasion of his unshaved cheeks, and she presses her head hard into his, squeezing again. "Didn't mean to, Castle. I'm not looking to be your overlord here."

He laughs at that, tugs back to look at her. She's trying for a smile, almost succeeding. But the moment she sees his, feels him laughing over her, it seems to get easier. Her lips spread and the smile blooms.

"Looks like I'm the overlord right now," he brags, pushing his hips into her.

It's the last move he makes. She gets a flash of competition in her eyes and then she's got him on his back, stunned and aroused, and she's moving her hips in such a wicked, oh Beckett-

"I like Victor Hugo's version better," she says, in between nipping at his ear, scraping her teeth at his jaw.

"Victor - Victor Hugo?" It doesn't escape him, no matter how hot her body feels pressed against him, that Victor also means Conqueror. And that it is so damn hot that she reads.

"Vini, Vidi, Vixi."

"What - what does vixi mean?"

"I lived."