25. TwentyFive: Wednesday

Twenty-Five

"Still not done?" she asks as she steps into her living-room, cold sweat pooling at her lower back, her breath a little fast still, but almost back to normal.

Castle is spread on her couch, holding The Time Traveler's Wife, and she's honestly surprised that he's not finished it already. She's always pictured him as a fast reader - although it's true that they've been together a lot, and obviously it doesn't leave him with much time to read. Hmm. Her bad.

She undoes her ponytail as she waits for his answer, grimaces when wet hair brushes against her neck. Ugh, she needs clean clothes. And a shower.

He finally looks up at her, completely distracted, and he seems rather unhappy. "Huh?"

Kate smirks, and takes off her t-shirt, knowing that should capture his attention. Mm, also, the air is so much cooler in her apartment, because she's shut the blinds. It feels heavenly on her bare skin.

Castle stares at her sports bra, arousal flickering in his eyes, but to her surprise it's short-lived, too quickly replaced with grief.

Grief?

"Castle. What's wrong?" she says, voice soft as she moves towards him, squats down in front of the couch so their faces are level.

"Nothing." He shakes his head, eyelids fluttering, and wow, wow. He - is he trying not to cry?

He closes the book sharply and puts it away, setting it on the coffee table with a brisk hand. "It's all your fault," he says, turning back to her. She sees with a sigh of relief that his eyes are dry, clearer now. "Your fault for making me read this stupid book."

Oh. Oh. Really?

She bites her lip, acutely aware that if she smiled now, he would probably feel insulted. Hurt. And besides, The Time Traveler's Wife got to her too.

"Where are you at?" she asks softly.

Castle looks away, his face so thoroughly depressed that she cannot help reaching out, running her fingers over his neck. Shit, okay, maybe if she'd known-

"I'm - where," he sighs, blue eyes searching for hers. "His feet."

Oh. Yes. He doesn't need to say more. Kate pushes herself up, slides on the couch next to him, trying to ignore the discomfort of her sweaty thighs against the soft, beige leather.

"Come here," she says, carefully maneuvering him into her arms. He sinks into her embrace gratefully, his lips resting at her ear; his hands hover at her back like he doesn't dare touch her.

He knows she doesn't like to be touched when she's all sweaty and gross. Sweet man.

"Kate," he breathes mournfully.

Oh, come on. Enough now.

"It's just a book, Castle," she points out, because she feels someone ought to. A very good book, but-

"A very good book," he says somewhat defensively, and she wants to laugh. Great minds, right?

She kisses his cheek softly, lets him feel her smile. "You gonna get over it any time soon?"

He lets out a long exhale, warm breath that caresses her bare skin down to her belly button, ripples over her body. Oh.

"Maybe," he says, thinking. Or pretending to. "Maybe it would help if you let me shower with you," he finishes in that very innocent voice of his.

She does let the laugh out this time, is surprised at how breathless she sounds. "Oh, yeah?"

She moves back a little and yep, there it is, that sly, boyish look in his eyes. At least he no longer looks like someone just died.

"Well," he says with more of that mock thoughtfulness, "seeing as you're the one who made me read the book anyway..."

"Quit while you're ahead, Castle," she advises with a smile. "I don't do well with blackmail."

He parts his lips, closes them, nods eagerly.

Shower it is, then.

"Oof," he hears her breathe out when they're finally dressed again, standing in her bathroom with the last of the steam quickly dissipating around them.

Castle finishes rubbing his hair dry, turns his eyes to her as he hangs the towel. She's leaning against the wall right next to the door, her head thrown back, her eyes closed.

Boneless. That's how he would describe the way she looks right now, if he were writing this scene.

He's not going to pretend he doesn't like it; instead he moves to her side, careful to give her space, and he brushes his lips to the exposed, gorgeous line of her jaw.

"Tired?"

"Hm, yeah," she sighs, her voice a little rough, sleep-filled. "Wow. I don't know, it kinda...hit me just now."

She sags into him, her temple finding his shoulder, and he puts an arm around her waist, holds her close. He can't help that twinge of excitement and pleasure in his chest, the childish joy that he always feels when she lets herself need him.

It's... She's beautiful.

"Wanna take a nap?" he asks, and when she groans he suddenly realizes how that sounded. "Not - not that kind of nap, Kate. A real nap. Only sleep involved."

Her lips curl into a smile at his shoulder, but then she's lifting her head off him, hazy eyes meeting his. "Not a big fan of naps," she says. "I never manage to fall asleep. And when I do, I wake up even more tired than I was."

"Do you think you can get any more tired than you are now?"

A reluctant, throaty laugh tumbles off her lips; some liveliness returns to her eyes. "Good point," she admits. "But no, Castle. I'll be fine. I just need to shake it off."

"Want some food?" he suggests, fingers brushing her hip.

She closes her eyes, shivers, and just that - just the fact that she lets him see that - it fills him with so much goddamn gratitude. "Food," she repeats, as if tasting the word itself. "Yeah, actually. Food sounds very good." Her eyes open again, fix on him, relaxed and twinkling. "You offering to make me food, Castle?"

"I might be," he smiles, leans in for a quick press of his lips to hers. "I am. And you, Kate Beckett, get to sink down into that couch of yours and watch me."

"Ohh," she says, that carefully modulated amusement in her voice that makes him want to kiss her again. "Lucky me. That sounds hot."

He grins, decides that it's okay to wiggle his eyebrows at her. For old times' sake.

"You have no idea."

"You are pretty cute in my apron," she says, smirking at him over the kitchen island. Yeah, cute isn't quite it, but something.

"I was going for hot."

"Um, not quite," she laughs, taking the plate from him. "But thanks for trying."

He shoots her a look and turns around to put the pan back on the stovetop, flips the heat off, unties the apron. She grabs forks from the drawer, cradles her plate as she heads for the table. "I got us forks."

"You have any white wine?"

"Um, yeah, in the fridge - bottle already open." Been a few weeks sitting there, but it should be okay.

She sets her plate down, forks, comes back for his plate already dished up on the island. She glances at him, absorbing the way his arms move as he pours the wine, the breadth of his shoulders, the familiarity. It's still disconcerting to have him here, if she's honest with herself, but she likes it.

It's strange but it's good. He fits well.

She's just setting his plate down when he reaches past her to place their glasses on the table, dropping a kiss to her cheek as he does. His hands slide along her hips as he moves to his place, again with that odd comfortableness that she likes, but which still surprises her.

When she sits down, he's giving her a look, and his eyes are remote, like he's seeing her but not seeing her at the same time.

"Castle?"

He swallows his mouthful and his fork trails along his plate as he watches her. "When I first met you, I thought you were so young."

She laughs at that; should she be insulted? "And I'm not young now?"

"No," he sighs, then panic flashes across his face and he chokes. "I'm not - that's not - I meant-"

"Don't worry. Between the two of us, I'm not the one over forty, am I?"

His eyes narrow, but he's back with her now, seeing her. "That was mean."

She grins at the smile she can see flirting on his face; he's trying so hard not to let it show. "You started it."

"What I meant was," he starts slowly. "You were like a kid. No, wait. Not a kid. You were just young, Kate. You had this whole tragedy around you, that you'd survived, but you were still just starting out."

"I'd only been a detective for a few years."

"You were good. You are good." He sighs and tilts his head, stubbing his fork into his chicken.

"What about you?" she says softly, wondering where this is going, why it's come up now.

"I thought I was young. I had no idea."

"You were young," she defends, and then she realizes it sounds like she means he's not young anymore and well-

He lifts an eyebrow at her and their eyes meet over the table. Okay, yeah, she understands what he means now.

"I was playing at it, playing at life I mean. I wish I'd met you when I was in my twenties."

She grins. "I'd have been twelve or so-"

"Okay, all right," he interrupts, putting his hand up to stop her. "So that's gross. Thank you for that mental image. I just meant-"

"I got it," she laughs, nudging his leg with her bare foot, sliding her toes along his calf.

He huffs. "What about when you were twenty? I wish I'd been there then. That would've-"

"I wouldn't have been any good for you," she says, shaking her head at him. "I was messed up. We're good now, so why are you so sad about this? What about fate and the universe, Castle?"

He's staring back at her with such wistful yearning. "I just - I wish I hadn't wasted so much time. I wish we had more time."

She chews thoughtfully on her lip for a moment, watching him, trying to figure out what to say to that. It's the damn book, isn't it? Time travel. Henry getting the chance to see Clare at all the points of her life, their truly lifelong romance. And they've had - what? - four years, with most of those spent on different sides of the table.

"What do you think this walking tour of the city is about, Castle?" She rubs her toes down his shin, getting his attention. "We're catching up on all that time."

His mouth lifts in the corners, a faint smile. "Yeah?"

"And it wasn't a waste. What did I tell you earlier?"

His face blanks. "You've told me a lot of things."

She grins, reaches across the table to hook her fingers around his, tugging. "Gotta put in the work, Castle. That takes time."

He laces their fingers together, his smile more sure, definite. "Then it's time well spent."