the gasp and stutter of a heart 8/?
Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 8/?
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: Sorry for the delay in getting this up. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Summary: It’s like she believes the world has lost some of it’s magic, but that’s crazy because awe is exactly what she inspired in him. That first day, yeah, and every one since.
the gasp and stutter of a heart 8/?
--
There’s something about the way she says it, something about the way she sounds that slices just that little bit. It’s like she believes the world has lost some of it’s magic, but that’s crazy because awe is exactly what she inspired in him. That first day, yeah, and every one since.
Magic is exactly what he feels and he decides that he needs to tell her, she needs to know.
“You know what I thought when I first met you?”
She shakes her head but the sad little smile morphs until there’s a smirk dancing across her face. “I might have an idea.”
“Other than that,” he says, eyes dipping to trace the curve in her lips.
“What did you think?” she asks, and she’s forcing a teasing note into her voice but he can hear the trace of melancholy too, the touch of need, and it makes him think that maybe he should continue, maybe it could be the right thing to do.
“A mystery I’ll never solve,” he tells her, and it’s the truth, even now, maybe especially now. “Even now, I’m still amazed. At the depths of your strength.”
The depths of her strength and the colour of her heart, and it’s true, but it’s more than that, more than a replay of the thoughts that danced through his mind when he met her. It’s how he feels, how he loves her, and the way she looks at him, the nakedness in her eyes, tells him that the moment is too deep, too heavy, and so he adds, “And your hotness.”
Kate rewards him with a laugh, upturned lips that press against the side of his neck, delicious and warm and nearly a kiss and he can forget, for a moment, that they’re chasing ghosts.
Her mentor, her friend, the first man she loved, maybe, gets himself killed in an alley, and Kate can’t let it go, can’t let it be and so Rick follows her, carries her, clear across the country. It’s a little bit like she’s letting him love her, a little bit like she’s letting herself need him, and so of course he does, because she’ll love him too, but she won’t marry him - not yet - and so he’ll give whatever she’ll take, take whatever she’ll give, in the mean time.
He needed an excuse to visit the movie set, he’d told her, but no, he’d just needed to not let her do it alone.
Kate leans into him completely then, forehead against the line of his neck, nose finding the hollow at the base of his throat and it’s an emotion he doesn’t remember feeling before this, a desperate kind of excitement, when her swollen belly is pressed against his hip.
“It’s getting late,” he says, because it is and if they were in bed, at least, he knows it’ll be less painful for her back, but she shakes her head.
“I’m good, Castle,” she says. And she’s not, but she is, will be, for a little bit longer, at least.
And so he lets himself just hold her, just exist with her in that breath, and finds he wants to suspend the moment as long as he can because it’s nice, having her in the cocoon of his arms. It’s nice forgetting that there’s a great big world banging down their door.
The words are spoken against the top of her head, a quiet proclamation into her hair. “I love you.”
He feels her shift against him, tensing and unfurling and melting against him and then a breath against the side of his neck and, “I love you too.”
And his heart skips in its beat because it never gets old, never loses it’s magic. It just is. Just is something extraordinary, each time.
“Lets go to bed,” she says eventually, and he nods. She leads the way, one hand wrapped around his, fingers threading together as she tugs him through the somewhat tacky hotel room towards the master room.
He lets her lead, always does, and then they’re standing at the foot of the King sized bed and he doesn’t think they’ll need that much space, not with the way he wants her close. Not with how he can’t let her go.
And so he follows her to her side of the bed, climbs in after her, revels in her laugh.
“Scoot over,” he asks, and she does, makes space for him in the too-big bed and he falls asleep with her beside him, wrapped up in him, and it’s kind of like magic, except that it’s not.
It’s normal. It’s what normal people do.
--
When he wakes it’s to find the rest of the bed empty.
The sheets are cold when he reaches across to touch them and it’s unusual to find them that way, recently at least, because she’s gotten better at the staying with him. At the sharing with him. She’s gotten better at the being together part of it all.
A quick flick of his eyes around the room reveals a crack of light creeping through the bottom of the door and when he drags himself out of bed he finds her on the couch.
“Kate?”
Her head snaps up and she hesitates, the indecision clear on her face, and she doesn’t know if she should hide from him, he thinks, but then she smiles, tentative, and holds out her hand.
“What are you doing up?” he asks as he spots the package in front of her. The plain brown paper is crumpled, creases so well worn it’s obvious the box has been unwrapped and re-wrapped multiple times.
Kate doesn’t answer, she just tucks into his side when he settles next to her.
He tilts his head back against the cushions, lets his eyes close. “Bit early to carry that with us, don’t you think?”
“You didn’t buy this, did you?”
“Of course I did.” He cracks open an eye to look at the small, white garment still clutched in her hand.
“Not recently,” she counters.
“No,” he admits, “not recently.” There’s no hiding the fact that it’s too soft, that it’s worn from washing, and he knows the feel of it, knows the smell of it off by heart. And then he asks, “Is that okay?” Because he’s not sure if it is. “We can get something else if you prefer, something new.”
“No,” she finally says, a shadow of emotion creeping into her voice. “This is more than okay.”
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he gave her the gift. He knows it’s not exactly what someone would expect from Richard Castle and it’s not extravagant or expensive, the recycled suit he brought his daughter home in, but he thought… well, he’s not sure what he thought, really, except -
History.
- There was history woven into the fabric.
“Alexis doesn’t mind?” She asks and he hears the question behind the one she asked.
“No,” he answers. “It was her idea.”
And it was. His daughter was happy. Excited. And Kate… Kate cared.
And it’s almost like his world is complete. His daughter, his partner, their child. Safe, happy, even halfway across the country. If the world stopped spinning, if it slowed down, if he could just live in this moment forever, he’d be more than happy.
--
TBC...
Previous Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: Sorry for the delay in getting this up. As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Summary: It’s like she believes the world has lost some of it’s magic, but that’s crazy because awe is exactly what she inspired in him. That first day, yeah, and every one since.
the gasp and stutter of a heart 8/?
--
There’s something about the way she says it, something about the way she sounds that slices just that little bit. It’s like she believes the world has lost some of it’s magic, but that’s crazy because awe is exactly what she inspired in him. That first day, yeah, and every one since.
Magic is exactly what he feels and he decides that he needs to tell her, she needs to know.
“You know what I thought when I first met you?”
She shakes her head but the sad little smile morphs until there’s a smirk dancing across her face. “I might have an idea.”
“Other than that,” he says, eyes dipping to trace the curve in her lips.
“What did you think?” she asks, and she’s forcing a teasing note into her voice but he can hear the trace of melancholy too, the touch of need, and it makes him think that maybe he should continue, maybe it could be the right thing to do.
“A mystery I’ll never solve,” he tells her, and it’s the truth, even now, maybe especially now. “Even now, I’m still amazed. At the depths of your strength.”
The depths of her strength and the colour of her heart, and it’s true, but it’s more than that, more than a replay of the thoughts that danced through his mind when he met her. It’s how he feels, how he loves her, and the way she looks at him, the nakedness in her eyes, tells him that the moment is too deep, too heavy, and so he adds, “And your hotness.”
Kate rewards him with a laugh, upturned lips that press against the side of his neck, delicious and warm and nearly a kiss and he can forget, for a moment, that they’re chasing ghosts.
Her mentor, her friend, the first man she loved, maybe, gets himself killed in an alley, and Kate can’t let it go, can’t let it be and so Rick follows her, carries her, clear across the country. It’s a little bit like she’s letting him love her, a little bit like she’s letting herself need him, and so of course he does, because she’ll love him too, but she won’t marry him - not yet - and so he’ll give whatever she’ll take, take whatever she’ll give, in the mean time.
He needed an excuse to visit the movie set, he’d told her, but no, he’d just needed to not let her do it alone.
Kate leans into him completely then, forehead against the line of his neck, nose finding the hollow at the base of his throat and it’s an emotion he doesn’t remember feeling before this, a desperate kind of excitement, when her swollen belly is pressed against his hip.
“It’s getting late,” he says, because it is and if they were in bed, at least, he knows it’ll be less painful for her back, but she shakes her head.
“I’m good, Castle,” she says. And she’s not, but she is, will be, for a little bit longer, at least.
And so he lets himself just hold her, just exist with her in that breath, and finds he wants to suspend the moment as long as he can because it’s nice, having her in the cocoon of his arms. It’s nice forgetting that there’s a great big world banging down their door.
The words are spoken against the top of her head, a quiet proclamation into her hair. “I love you.”
He feels her shift against him, tensing and unfurling and melting against him and then a breath against the side of his neck and, “I love you too.”
And his heart skips in its beat because it never gets old, never loses it’s magic. It just is. Just is something extraordinary, each time.
“Lets go to bed,” she says eventually, and he nods. She leads the way, one hand wrapped around his, fingers threading together as she tugs him through the somewhat tacky hotel room towards the master room.
He lets her lead, always does, and then they’re standing at the foot of the King sized bed and he doesn’t think they’ll need that much space, not with the way he wants her close. Not with how he can’t let her go.
And so he follows her to her side of the bed, climbs in after her, revels in her laugh.
“Scoot over,” he asks, and she does, makes space for him in the too-big bed and he falls asleep with her beside him, wrapped up in him, and it’s kind of like magic, except that it’s not.
It’s normal. It’s what normal people do.
--
When he wakes it’s to find the rest of the bed empty.
The sheets are cold when he reaches across to touch them and it’s unusual to find them that way, recently at least, because she’s gotten better at the staying with him. At the sharing with him. She’s gotten better at the being together part of it all.
A quick flick of his eyes around the room reveals a crack of light creeping through the bottom of the door and when he drags himself out of bed he finds her on the couch.
“Kate?”
Her head snaps up and she hesitates, the indecision clear on her face, and she doesn’t know if she should hide from him, he thinks, but then she smiles, tentative, and holds out her hand.
“What are you doing up?” he asks as he spots the package in front of her. The plain brown paper is crumpled, creases so well worn it’s obvious the box has been unwrapped and re-wrapped multiple times.
Kate doesn’t answer, she just tucks into his side when he settles next to her.
He tilts his head back against the cushions, lets his eyes close. “Bit early to carry that with us, don’t you think?”
“You didn’t buy this, did you?”
“Of course I did.” He cracks open an eye to look at the small, white garment still clutched in her hand.
“Not recently,” she counters.
“No,” he admits, “not recently.” There’s no hiding the fact that it’s too soft, that it’s worn from washing, and he knows the feel of it, knows the smell of it off by heart. And then he asks, “Is that okay?” Because he’s not sure if it is. “We can get something else if you prefer, something new.”
“No,” she finally says, a shadow of emotion creeping into her voice. “This is more than okay.”
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he gave her the gift. He knows it’s not exactly what someone would expect from Richard Castle and it’s not extravagant or expensive, the recycled suit he brought his daughter home in, but he thought… well, he’s not sure what he thought, really, except -
History.
- There was history woven into the fabric.
“Alexis doesn’t mind?” She asks and he hears the question behind the one she asked.
“No,” he answers. “It was her idea.”
And it was. His daughter was happy. Excited. And Kate… Kate cared.
And it’s almost like his world is complete. His daughter, his partner, their child. Safe, happy, even halfway across the country. If the world stopped spinning, if it slowed down, if he could just live in this moment forever, he’d be more than happy.
--
TBC...
Previous Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven