67. 69: Friday

69

When Castle wakes, the sunlight is tangling through the blinds, trying to push its way in. It must be around nine; he's noticed over the past few weeks that when he emerges from sleep any time after ten, the sun's already gone past the window.

He rolls onto his back, presses his dry lips together, trying to gather some moisture in his mouth. He reaches out for the glass of water that he keeps on the nightstand, but he forgot to fill it last night.

Damn. He was too busy exulting because Kate went to bed with him, curled close under the sheets, and that's his punishment.

He grunts, half amused at himself, half annoyed because he really is thirsty, and now his mind is switched on and there's just no going back to sleep once that happens.

He rubs his eyes and yawns, finally turns his head to the other side of the bed. Kate is lying on her side, oriented towards him, and she's done that adorable thing where she huddles under the sheets and covers, even though their bedroom isn't exactly cold; he can only see a shock of dark hair, the golden expanse of her forehead, the dark sweep of a closed eye.

He watches her for a moment, pensive, that fierce, strong, beautiful woman he's so deeply in love with, even though she's just as maddening and challenging now as she was on the first day of their partnership.

It's his own fault he went to bed sulking and disappointed the night before, when he left her to read on the back deck; rationally, he knows that.

But he was frustrated with her, with her removed and alone self, and yeah, he was trying to punish her by going to sleep early.

Punished himself instead, really.

His problem is, he doesn't know where to stop. He's never had someone like Kate, someone who fascinates him, someone he wants to understand so completely, know everything about. Getting on Gina's or Meredith's nerves never really bothered him, because neither of them had such a pull on him - when they sent him away, he was actually glad for the time off.

It's not like that with Kate.

He doesn't - he doesn't really want time away from her. Doesn't feel like he needs it, at any rate. Which is wrong, of course it is, because there must be a part of him somewhere longing for some time on his own, and he's just - what? Too childish, too stubborn to acknowledge it?

When he gets on Kate's nerves, it hurts him.

He's ridiculous.

Rick takes a deep breath, soothed all over again by the quietness of their room, the faraway lull of the ocean, the smell of Kate asleep in their bed.

Oh.

He needs to write.

His eyes fly open with the realization, so clear and sharp, almost a throb in his chest. How long has it been since the last time he sat in front of his laptop, made himself scarce, devoting his mind to Nikki and Rook instead?

Too long. Castle slides out of bed, carefully shifting his weight so it won't wake Beckett, grabs the first t-shirt he can find, and shuffles his way into the living-room.

His laptop rests at the far end of the couch, as if it's been patiently waiting for him; Rick lifts it with grateful, joyous hands, heart pounding with inane excitement, and brings it back to the table.

He turns it on, pushing the screen open, hurries along to the kitchen to start the coffee machine. Then he goes back to the table, sinks into a chair with a happy sigh, and opens his draft for the next chapter. His fingers tingle.

Yes.

Writing.

He has no idea what time it is when he notices Kate watching him, or how long long she might have been standing there, the long line of her resting against their bedroom doorframe. He's still typing, the word processor sometimes struggling to keep up with his frenzied fingers, and he cannot stop.

"Hey," he says, sparing a quick glance to her, a quirk of his mouth.

"Hey," she answers, moving fluidly towards him. Her hand curls around his shoulder and she presses a kiss to his temple, soft and sweet.

She doesn't linger, and he's grateful for that, for the way she doesn't try to distract him, to claim his attention.

He types another paragraph, is hesitating over the spelling of exhilarating when a random thought flashes through his mind. "I made coffee," he says, then grins in satisfaction when the word processor agrees with his spelling.

Kate's laugh unfurls somewhere at his back. "I noticed," she replies, and some part of him knows she's smiling, but he forgets about it before he can ask why.

When he finally reaches a good resting place, he reluctantly tears his eyes away from the screen, tries to steel himself against the words that still want to come out. He gets to his feet, knees protesting after staying immobile for so long, but Kate is no longer there.

He heads for the bedroom, finds her zipping up her summer dress, the damp length of her hair coiled over her shoulder. The smell of her shampoo surrounds him, fresh and fruity, delicious, and his resolve wavers for a second.

"Finished your chapter?" she asks, as if she can read his mind. Her eyes meet his, bright and knowing in the semi-dark, and a surge of love pushes him towards her, his hand splaying at her jaw as his lips find hers.

Her mouth is moist and cool and she hums into his kiss, lifts on tiptoe to wrap an arm around his neck, body pressed against his. God, she feels amazing.

They part, linger, her breath warm and tender at his neck, and he remembers her question.

"Finished, more or less, yeah. But - there's more. I have more to write."

He doesn't want to apologize - he's not apologizing - he just needs for her to understand, and he really shouldn't be so nervous about it when lately all she's wanted is her own private, alone time.

"Okay," she says simply, her lips skimming his collarbone. He shivers, tries to focus.

"I uh - I booked something for today - a tour in the jungle, not long, an hour or so. Nature Trail. There's a guide explaining the trees and plants and animals, and it seemed fun, but I'm not sure when I'll be done here."

She turns her face, rests her cheek against his shoulder. Her skin's so soft.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so. If you want to go on your own? Pick-up point is at the beach, and I think you walk from there. Tour's at 3."

She says nothing, but he knows she's considering it, so he lets her have her time, content with the familiar weight of her canting into him.

"Maybe I will," she says finally, and she lifts her eyes to him, arches an eyebrow. "Have you already paid for it?"

He wants to smile at the suspicion in her tone, but she wouldn't like that. "No, Kate, I haven't. I think it's free, actually. And you're supposed to tip at the end."

"Oh." She relaxes against him, and he can't help but wonder if that will always be a cause for disagreement between them. Money. Such a stupid thing to fight about.

"I'm gonna go out, get lunch," she tells him, but she doesn't move. He doesn't either. "You want something?" she asks.

"Hmm." He thinks about it, surprised to discover some hunger there. Oh wow, he hasn't eaten anything at all, has he? "Yeah, sure," he answers. "If you don't mind coming back here to eat, I mean-"

"I offered, Castle." He hears the eye-roll in her voice, the effort she makes to contain it. "Do you know what you want?"

"Uh. Anything, really. Whatever you're having's fine."

She presses her lips together for the briefest second and he remembers too late that she doesn't like that, him modeling his choices after hers. She thinks he should make his own. Oh, well. If she's not going to say anything about it, he won't either.

"Okay. Be back in half an hour," she says, and she steps back to grab her purse, brushes her hand to his bicep on her way out.

He stands there for a moment more, missing the soft warmth of her body, irritated by the lack of a successful resolution to these unshaped conflicts they've been having.

But maybe it's a good thing. After all, irritation fuels his writing a lot better than happiness does.

He's lounging in a chair next to the pool, listening to his ipod, when Kate comes back from the Nature Trail. He feels a lot better; he's gotten it all out, written three chapters in a row that he has yet to check for typos - but they're good.

They feel right. He's pleased.

Rick pauses his song when Kate comes near, sits down on the edge of the pool, letting her legs slide into the water. She looks relaxed, and happy, her face a mirror for his own feelings; there's something so comforting about that.

"Was it good?" he asks, almost surprised by the sound of his own voice, a little rough after all that silence. He shifts in the chair, sits up so he can see her better, but he doesn't come any closer.

Kate turns her face to him and smiles slowly, gathers a knee to her chest. "Yeah. It was."

He thinks she's not going to say more, and it's fine by him, really, if she wants to keep this to herself, her own private, secret garden. He understands.

But it turns out she's only taking her time. "The guide was fun," she adds. "And the whole path - it was beautiful, Castle. So many flowers and plants I had no idea even existed. I liked that."

"The flowers, you mean?" He didn't think she was such a flower person.

"No, not - not the flowers exactly, but more the fact that...I like being reminded that there's still so much for us to discover. That the world is so much larger, so much richer than we realize. That it's impossible for any one person to know everything in it."

Oh, jeez. Kate. She's beautiful.

He nods his understanding, brusquely reminded of how much he loves her, how she's always more. More than he expects, more than the sum of the annoying little quirks he's been noticing, more than her murdered mother's case.

So much more. More than it's possible for him to know, even if he's given a lifetime to try.

He says nothing, but her eyes say it back, soft and tender in the late afternoon's golden light; and they stay like this, not touching, but closer than they've been all day, their hearts reconciled by the whispering breeze, the murmur of water around Kate's calf.