Three Things Not Long Hidden, Ch. 2-A Caskett two-shot set during Boom!

[pollylynn]

Title: Three Things Not Long Hidden, Ch. 2

WC: ~2100

Rating: T

Summary: "She's alive and she's here and he has to kiss her. It's as simple as that." Second and final chapter of this two-shot sequel to "One is One" and "Two by Two."



There's a noise in the hall. Real or imagined, it galvanizes them both. He pushes further into the room. She shoves him back.

"Castle!" She hisses his name through her teeth, and there's something satisfying about the fact that it's not the perfect whisper. The fact that it's breathy and flustered and she's pressing one hand to her stomach like she's trying to keep butterflies in check.

He kisses her. He'd like to say it's a plan, because that is definitely Alexis's door opening, and it is definitely not now when it comes to explaining to his kid what, exactly, he's doing skulking around their houseguest's room in the middle of the night.

He'd like to say he knows it's the quickest way to get them both safely out of sight before they're pitched headlong into all that, but it's nothing of the kind. Her palm hits the center of his chest and the low light in the hall outlines the curve of her cheek. Her ribs rise and fall and he sees the pulse pounding in her neck.

She's alive and she's here and he has to kiss her. It's as simple as that.

It seems to be simple for her, too. No hesitation at all. She kisses him back, even though she's annoyed. Part of her is annoyed. A little cruel in the way she breaks from his mouth and her teeth catch the skin just under his jaw. In the way one hand fists in his shirt to jerk him further into the room and the other gives the knob an expert twist as she eases the door closed almost silently.

Almost.

"Dad?"

She freezes. Her eyes are wide and panicked. He wants to laugh. He's never, ever seen her look so thoroughly caught out.

"Shhhh." He places a finger to her lips. Her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches. He leans in to hover at her ear. Closer than he needs to be, really. Not nearly as close as he'd like to be when he feels her pulse pick up again. "Shhhh. She's not really awake."

"Dad!" It's louder this time. Grumpy, though.

"She sounds awake." It's another imperfect hiss, steel in it this time. Overkill. She bats his fingers away She's not just annoyed with him. She's annoyed with herself.

"Trust me." He pulls back a little to catch her eye, and there's sudden weight to the words he didn't intend. But something softens in her. She loosens the fingers still clutching his shirt. She tips her head to the side, and he sees that she does. She does trust him with things more life and death than this. He's giddy and awed with it. And a little embarrassed. A little overwhelmed, because life and death isn't that far behind them. Words are tripping out of his mouth when he really wishes they wouldn't. "It's this whole kind of zombie thing. Sound sleeper. She can make cereal without really waking up."

On cue, the thump of a slamming door sounds from the hall. Heavy, shambling footsteps retreat, and the headboard thuds against the shared wall.

"Cereal," she says. She's fighting a smile.

"And chocolate milk." He nods. He's not bothering to fight. "Not toast. We've lost a trivets over the years. And toasters."

"You're making that up." She tries to scowl, but she's grinning, too. She's lost that particular battle, and oh boy is he in trouble, because it's adorable. He's in several different kinds of trouble.

"I'm making that up," he says quickly. He owns it cheerfully. It's far from the worst admission he could make right now. "Not the cereal. Or the zombie part."

"What're you doing here, Castle?" She's self-conscious suddenly. The flirty little moment evaporates. She tugs her hands back. One flies to her hair, the other to smooth the oversized t-shirt down her hips. Like she's just remembered where she is. Where they are and why.

Why. It hits him. Another wave of memory. Smoke and the dead wall of sound inside his head.

"What were you doing?" he blurts out. It's weak as retorts go. It doesn't help that he sounds like a panicky ninth grader. He presses his lips together against the very real possibility that any minute now, he'll scuff the floor with his toe and ask if she like likes him because he really likes her and he is not ok with people trying to blow her up.

"What was I doing? In the guest room you insisted I take you up on?" She gives him a flat look.

He's half afraid his inner monologue wasn't quite as inner as he might have hoped.

"You were sneaking." He jabs a finger in her direction. He just manages to pull it back before he loses it. "You were about to sneak," he amends quickly before she can protest on a technicality.

"I was . . . " She bites her lip.

There are a hundred excuses she could make. A glass of water. A bathroom run. A lone wolf mission to take down the psycho who blew up her apartment. Naked midnight subway ride. A hundred excuses, but she looks up at him with eyes that shimmer in the dim light. She bites her lip.

"I wanted to see if you were ok." He rushes through the words. He bites his tongue and wishes . . . . oh, the hell with it . . . "I wanted to see you."

She smiles. It breaks wide all over her face and her eyes crinkle at the corners.

She's pretty. The thought skitters across his mind as the moments tugs them closer. She's beautiful. She's gorgeous and dead sexy and hot. He knows all that. But it's this pretty girl with clean-scrubbed skin and her hair curling wildly around her face that's dangerous. The one who's biting her lip against even a little white lie right now.

Their bodies drift together. Their mouths meet. It's a slow, patient, delicious burn between them. He's thinking again how different this is from how he thought it would go when she breaks the kiss, just briefly, to whisper, "I wanted to see you, too."

His hands alight everywhere. Her jaw to tilt her mouth to his. Her hair to feel it fall through his fingers. Her shoulder blades to gather her close. Hers are an anchor, firm at his hips, fixing the two of them to this spot.

They kiss like this is a doorstep. Like there's a streetlight that doesn't quite reach them and it's past curfew. Like any minute, high above, someone might throw open a sashed window and call out for Katie. They kiss like they're saying their first goodnight.

"You're shivering." He murmurs into the kiss like it's a profound discovery. It is. She shivers for him. It's . . . amazing.

"Cold," she says. That's a little white lie. She grins into it. She stamps it with her lips to the corner of his mouth. With the drag of her softer cheek along his. "You keep it too cold in here, Castle."

"Could get in bed," he notes reasonably. "Warm in bed."

She pulls away. She glares, but it's too late. Her eyes flick to the bed and he sees. He presses.

He walks her backward. One step. Two. Three. "I'll be a gentleman."

She laughs at that. A sharp, sweet sound of delight she pours right into his mouth.

"Joanie and Chachi, then." He says it quickly. Regrets it instantly when she pulls further back still to fix him with a quizzical look. "One foot on the floor? Happy Days?"

"You realize I was like . . . four when that show went off the air?"

"I'm not really worried about your cultural illiteracy right now." He kisses her lazily. He drags his nails up her spine and takes advantage when she arches into him. He crowds her back another few steps. "Or checking for ID."

"Castle."

She's pleading a little, but hanging on, too. Her fingers are hooked around his hip. Fluttering at the underside of his ribs. The edge of the bed hits the back of her knees. She's already falling and tugging him along with her. It's clumsy. They knock knees and their feet tangle. The heel of her hand lands hard on his hip and jerks against it, tumbling into her. They wind up face to face and breathless.

"You have to go." She kisses him. Lingering, tiny things while her fingers dance across his skin. "Castle, you have to go."

"You're usually more convincing than this," he murmurs as he shifts to draw her calf further between his own. "Not sure you mean it, Beckett."

"I do." She groans into his mouth. "Castle."

He pulls back, just a little. Uncertainty creeps in from nowhere. "Because . . . " He brushes the hair back from her forehead. Panics and drops his gaze to her shoulder. To the pillow plumped up absurdly behind her. "Because this . . . here . . . is weird, right?"

Her fingers stall at his collar. She does a double take. "Yes, Castle." She tugs at his hair. She makes him look at her. "Because your kid is next door and it's a little weird."

"Ok." He's smiling again. Kissing her. His mood rebounds just like that and the up and down of all this is probably another reason he should go. Another reason for not now. "I should go."

"You should go," she echoes as her mouth slides away from his and her tongue peeks out to tease his ear lobe. "You should definitely go."

But he doesn't go. They're losing time. Winding around each other, fully clothed and above the covers and there's something fizzing and languorous and entirely too seductive about the innocence of it all, even though he really should go.

She reminds him. He reminds her in broken of snatches of sentences. Longer and longer intervals between them as their kisses slow. As her breath deepens and he realizes that she's falling asleep. That he's falling asleep, and it should be embarrassing, but it isn't. It isn't.

"Kate." He lands a sloppy kiss in the neighborhood of her ear. "Kate. I'm gonna go."

Her eyes flick open. She frowns. "Go?"

"Yeah." He manages to get it out. He hates himself, but he manages. "You're falling asleep on me here."

"Long day." She sighs. Her eyelids flutter closed again. One cracks open. "Days. God, Castle, has it been days?"

"Days. It's been days." He laughs softly. He kisses her forehead and weakens. "You could come with me. My room."

"Castle." She buries her face against him. Her mouth opens against his neck in a yawn. It's a protest. It's case in point for why he really should go, but it's not exactly helping.

He dips his head. Chases her mouth. He kisses her and means it. "You could come with me. We could be very, very quiet."

"Maybe you can." The words creep out on a whimper. She freezes. She pushes back and sweeps her hair behind her ear, trying for nonchalant. "I didn't say that."

"You definitely said that, Beckett." He straightens his arms. He holds her as far from him as he can without actually letting go. "And I . . . um . . . I should go. Right now. Because I kind of can't forget you just said that."

"Shut up." She blushes hard. Tries to twist away. "I hate you."

He holds on tight. He won't let her get away. He can't. "I . . ."

His breath steals away somewhere. It's the only thing-the only thing in that instant-that keeps the words from spilling right out. Not now. Not now. His head is screaming with it. She goes from writhing to still and this is a mess.

"I really don't hate you." Those are the words that come, and he's grateful it's no worse. He kisses her once more. He wills his legs to move, and somehow it happens. Somehow his feet are on the floor, and he's tugging the covers down. He's tapping at her hip and nudging her legs to pull them back up over her body. "I really don't, Kate."

She's gone quiet. Strangely meek as she lets him settle her, and he's worried. Not sorry, but worried.

He's turning to go, but she reaches up with quick fingers and tugs one sleeve, then the other. She sits halfway up and kisses him, hard and brief. There's enough panic in it that he can taste it, but she holds on a moment longer. Long enough to whisper two words before she lets him go.

"Me neither."