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1% One Hundred Days of Summer / Chapter 1: 1. One: Sunday
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One Hundred Days of Summer

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บท 1: 1. One: Sunday

One Hundred Days of Summer

One

by Sandiane Carter

"You never call me Rick," he observes rather inanely the next morning.

She's curled at his side in bed, her body warm and pliant and wonderful against his, and really he's not sure he should complain considering the amount of times he got her to gasp - and moan, oh, and whimper - Castle last night. There were variations of it too - god, Castle and Castle, please were among his favorites - and seriously, he's got Kate Beckett in his bed. What more does he need?

"Or, well. Only when you're mad at me," he corrects, part of his brain wondering why he's not just shutting up.

But she smiles against his shoulder (oh, being able to feel her smile) and then she moves, propping herself on her arms and shifting until she's draped over his chest. Her mouth finds his, deliberate and lazy and hot, and he kisses her back, his head spinning a little more with each delicate swirl of her tongue. He's breathless and stunned when she lets go, whispers into his mouth, so softly. "Rick."

She trails her lips over his jaw, the hollow of his neck; he feels a flick of tongue and his whole body jerks, strains towards her, the beautiful length of her legs, the smooth plane of her stomach, the curved brush of a breast against his chest.

She laughs - she laughs - low and intimate, a lovely sound, and she splays a hand on his ribs as if to keep him in place.

"Rick," she murmurs again, and oh god, oh god, he's an idiot - he asked for it - he's never going to survive this. His mouth is open but there's no air going through; he tries desperately to get some oxygen to his lungs, and when he does manage he can't help the sound that goes with it, some humiliating mixture of a grunt and a sob.

Kate's mouth is at his stomach, exquisitely slow as it slides over his belly button, and she does that thing with her tongue again and oh god oh Kate-

"Rick," she breathes, and this time he whimpers, doesn't even care; he might just die anyway, because surely he's hyperventilating now.

She drifts lower, and lower, and her lips are alive and merciless and so warm, burning against him, and he doesn't remember shutting his eyes but the lights are dancing behind his closed lids, beautiful flames coming up and up.

He's never letting her use his given name again.

She stands in his kitchen and although it's nothing new, although she's been here before, there's something different now.

She's different. More relaxed, more...comfortable. Like she lets herself belong.

Kate turns back and smiles to him, looking so inviting, so free, and he hurries forward, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. Can it really be that simple? He kisses her because he can't help himself, just a brush of their lips, and the way she hums makes him want to take her straight back to the bedroom.

She must see it in his eyes; she chuckles and raises an eyebrow, stepping back to settle on one of the kitchen stools.

"Feed me, Castle."

He stares at her for a stunned, joyful beat, the weight of it too much, too good for his poor heart. And then he does as he's told.

It's only when he hears the key turn in the lock that he remembers his lunch plans with Alexis. Shoot. He's been watching Kate tease him with the grapes he found in his fridge, the way she pops them into her mouth, one by one, before she chews slowly with her eyes trained on his, and-

It slipped his mind.

He straightens and takes a step towards the door, hesitates. He doesn't know what Kate-

"Hey, Dad," Alexis offers cheerfully as the door closes. His daughter steps into the living-room, comes to a full stop when she sees he has company. Her eyes flicker from him to Kate and back, probably taking in the casualness of their stance. "Detective Beckett," she says, almost a question.

"Hi, Alexis."

He's so surprised by the easy tone, the lack of guardedness in Kate's voice, that he involuntarily turns back to her. Her green eyes are on his daughter, careful and calm, but so - so open. Everything bare for Alexis to see.

His heart twists, painful but oh, so good. She's in this.

Alexis must come to the same conclusion, because she doesn't say anything more, doesn't comment in any way. She simply tells him, "We still on for lunch, Dad?"

Lunch. Yes.

"Of course," he answers immediately, can't keep his eyes from straying towards Beckett. "Alexis, would you mind - would you be okay if maybe we asked Kate to-"

He's not even finished his sentence when his - his what? His detective, his girlfriend? The word makes him feel funny inside - his partner, then, is already shaking her head as she slides off the stool.

"No," she says with a half-smile. "This is your private father-daughter time. Wouldn't intrude on it."

He wants to argue, wants to say he needs her - needs her always - but she's almost at the door, sliding on her shoes, and Alexis looks pleased and there's obviously nothing he can do.

He's watching with a sinking stomach, expecting Kate to just wave and be off, but she surprises him again. Instead of going straight for the door, she comes back for him, lays a hand over his heart as she leans in and brushes her lips over his cheek. Not his mouth, no, but the long breath she draws in and the time she spends lingering are clear enough.

"Call me when you have time?" she says quietly, and if he didn't know any better he'd say Kate Beckett was nervous.

"Sure," he breathes back, and then she's truly going, peeling the warmth of her body off him and striding confidently towards the door. He meets Alexis's eyes, filled with questions and concern, but he can't focus on that because he can't master the brutal panic that has sprung up in his chest.

No. It's not-

"Kate," he calls suddenly, the urge stronger than any sense of pride he might have left. She's already outside and he rushes after her, yanks the door open, calls her name as he jogs to the elevator.

He comes around the corner and there she is, waiting; she turns her clear, tender eyes to him when she hears his footsteps, and he feels like the biggest moron in the whole history of - of the universe, at least.

He pauses a few steps away from her. Runs a hand into his hair. How does he get out of this one?

"I just-" her gaze is questioning, patient, and his secrets spill out despite his efforts. "I needed to make sure it wasn't - a dream."

Sorrow, desolation flash in her eyes; the next moment she's pressed against his chest, kissing him fiercely, her palms cupping his jaw. There's something rough, almost aggressive in the scrape of her teeth, the desperate slide of her tongue - he knows what she's trying to do, but it's not working.

"Kate," he murmurs the first chance he gets, closing his fingers around her wrists to try and make her stop. She does, and after a moment she steps back, something like a blush spread over her cheeks.

"I'm sor-" she starts, but his fingertips are caressing her mouth to keep her from saying more.

"No," he says gently. "No. I love you. I'm in love with you, Kate. It might just...take a little while to sink in."

That you want me. That I have you.

Yesterday at the same time he was so sure they were over, that they were done, that he was going to be reading an obituary for Kate Beckett soon enough and there was nothing he could do to stop it...

He doesn't have anything against this turn of events, but it does seem too good to be true. Her fingers skitter along his neck, so soft, and he finds himself smiling.

"Okay," she whispers, kisses the corner of his mouth slowly. "Okay."

She gives him another one of those luminous smiles, and he feels his chest breaking open.

"See you later, then."

"I'll call you when I'm done with Alexis," he promises, and watches her step into the elevator that has been waiting patiently all this time.

The doors hum closed and he gets one last look at Beckett's face, all that love shining bright, before she disappears.

He just-

There are no words. No words.


บท 2: 2. Two: Monday

Two

by chezchuckles

She's taking it easy in the bathtub, trying not to feel the bruise in the shape of a thumb at her neck, the throbbing at the base of her spine, the tight pinch of her ribs, when she realizes she's doing such a good job of ignoring the hurt that she's drifted right off into fantasy.

What she wants him to do, the heat of the water and his mouth, the slide of soap-

Kate presses her wet hand to her cheek and sits up, heart pounding suddenly with memories of that night, their one night, and she doesn't want to be here. She wants to be there, so badly, but she's done with selfishness when it comes to him. She's done. She will do what's good for him, for once. She'll be good.

Doesn't stop her from wanting him though. Doesn't keep her from thinking about the stunned gasp into her mouth, the thud of her body against the door, the press of him over her, into her, and the way his adoration made her whole being narrow to the pinpoint existence of them.

And then waking up to him, spending all morning in bed, the sunlight pouring over them. He studied her body as he studied everything else about her, his fingers gentle on the bruised places, not asking, not even a heavy sigh, and she was so grateful to ignore it and just have him. Until lunch, and then she left. So he could be a father to Alexis.

She spent last night alone, and she didn't want to, but his daughter - and that's important - but she's not doing this again. She's not going to spend another day half-hating Alexis for keeping them apart, and half-hating herself for not figuring this out sooner.

She dries off slowly, carefully avoiding the marks of her fight with that sniper - with death incarnate - winces as she hangs the towel back on the bar. The night before she didn't seem to notice. The night before-

When she checks her phone this morning: She still needs me.

And even though it shoots heat straight through her to read that, even though she wants to say, That makes two of us, she texts him back: Don't leave her.

And then because she doesn't want him to doubt her, not any longer: Last night was miserable without you. So come when you can.

And then because she knows how his mind works: Yes, like that too.

She's done everything she can think to do last night and this morning and all she has left is pacing the floor.

Yesterday when she got home, the place silent and drab, she closed the shutters, but it blocked out the light and it felt disingenuous, like maybe she doesn't know what she wants - but she does know. So she opened them again and stopped looking, just dismantled the evidence of her obsession piece by piece. It wasn't even hard; it came down easily. She never once hesitated.

Everything went into a box and then in her closet. Maybe she should show him? Maybe this should be something he does with her, a catharsis, the two of them getting rid of it. Cleaning it out of her life. Their life.

Their life.

Her heart pounds again, palms damp, and she needs him here. Really, how long does it take to coddle an eighteen year old?

That's unkind. She remembers how that felt - that things will never be the same again, that it will never go back to being good, that the life you knew with your family is finished and-

Well, it turned out to be true for Kate. She went away to college, came back at Christmas only to have her mother murdered the next month. And so Alexis is right to feel needy - things happen and it might not ever be the same again.

And fiercely, desperately, Kate wants that to be true. Real. Because Kate wants to be part of it, inside of it, with him, and that means it will change for Alexis, that there won't be just her father, and that's scary, for them both, for all three of them no doubt, but it's what has to happen. Because she is not letting go.

But first, Kate needs to be careful. Selfless. She's not going to take anything from them, not anymore. She also can't recreate herself around another person. She can't make Castle into the substitute for her job, her obsession. This is what she's been afraid of all this time, and it doesn't feel like that's what she's doing, but she has to be so careful. For him. For Alexis too.

Which is why Kate spent last night alone. Because Alexis needs him more.

She's packed a bag because she doesn't want to stay here, (all their terrible fights started here, at her place) and maybe it's superstitious (even though she's not) and maybe it's shying away from the hard parts, but she doesn't want to be here any longer, at ground zero for everything wrong.

Kate makes a circle through the living room, back towards the kitchen, stops at the door and stares at it, willing it-

When the knock does come, she startles so hard that she bites her tongue. Her hands shake as she reaches for the lock, twists the knob, and it's him, him, finally-

"Castle."

Then she's at him, not even letting him in the door, her mouth on his hot and hard and desperate because maybe he's too good for her, maybe she's not made it clear enough, maybe a night apart changes things, maybe this is more fragile than she knows.

His arms come around her tightly, lift her off her feet; she gasps into his mouth and stiffens, hides the reaction by drawing a leg up-

"Kate?"

Not enough. Didn't hide it well enough.

"You've got - there's a bruise on your neck too. Your back I saw but now. And your arms - you couldn't reach up in the shower. What happened?"

So now the questions. Now comes reality.

She tilts back from him, heart pounding, need colliding with cold fear, deja vu washing over her sickeningly at that question, but they figured it out, he listened and she talked for once, and they can do this too.

"Got in a fight with the sniper. Got choked," she admits, wincing at the look in his eyes. His fingers feather along her neck, but he can't seem to stay away; his mouth comes back to hers, soft and reverent, his tongue touching the edge of her lips and sliding inside.

Oh that's good.

Everything is good. His body cradles hers, nudging her back until she trips over the bag in the entryway, has to clutch his arms to keep from falling.

She laughs and catches his smile, sees him glance down and figure out what they've stumbled over.

"You think you're coming home with me?" he smirks, that smile getting wider, easier.

She nods, lips spreading, body leaning back in towards his. But maybe Alexis-?

He nudges her nose with his. "You don't want to - hang out here?"

She brushes an open-mouthed kiss against his jaw, slides her hands around his back. "Hanging out isn't what I had in mind."

He lets out a laugh, fingers at her hipbones and digging a little too hard, but she won't complain so long as he doesn't stop. His mouth comes back to hers, slowing them down, and she curls her hand at his neck, liking the way he lavishes her with his touch.

"Your bed is bigger," she says finally, lifting her eyes to his.

He grins. "I haven't even seen your bed."

"We can fix that," she says immediately, forgetting entirely that she wanted to get out of here, and laces their fingers together so he knows what happens next.

She doesn't even have to tug this time; he leads the way, eager to check out her bed.

She shivers but lets him touch, watching him for signs of sorrow, for a reason to cut him off. But he's not sad, just thoughtful, and his palm is warm and light at her back as he traces the contours of the ugly bruise spread at the base of her spine.

"It hurt?" he says finally.

"Yeah."

"Still?"

She nods into the pillow, but reaches back and catches his hand, brings it to her mouth. "Not enough to stop."

He does smile at that, and crowds closer, drawing her up into him. She curls at his body and then kisses the soft underside of his jaw, the warm and musk-scented skin at his neck. She could stay here forever.

"Kate," he says quietly, and he does it again, puts her off, his hands gentle on her cheeks and this time his eyes apologetic. Like he doesn't want to, but he thinks he should. "Kate, why are you here?"

Her heart breaks, and she bows her head into his chest, clutching at him, struggling to breathe past the shame of what she's done to him. "I want to be. I want to be with you, do you not trust me-"

"No, Kate, no. Not - not that. I know that." His hands stroke up and down her back, his mouth at her temple, her cheek, searching for her lips. A long and hot kiss that burns most of it away.

"What then? What are you asking me?"

"I meant. It's Monday, the middle of the day and I'm flattered, but when you left, I guess, I assumed - I thought you'd be going in today. I thought I missed out on staying in bed with you all day Sunday."

Oh. Oh, she hasn't - there's so much that's happened and everything in her head and what exactly did she tell him the other night? Nothing really.

He rushes into her silence. "I'm sorry. I know you said that you - you wanted - but the guy got away? And are you really not - are you choosing me over-"

He stops, looking stunned all over again, and she can't help but feel it rush through her like pride and power and how good this is-

"You. I just want you."

He stares at her. "But."

"I quit, Castle. I quit my job. I'm not going in today, or tomorrow. Or next month."

"Kate," he hisses, his hands cupping her cheeks. "You know I didn't - that's not what I meant. Just for you to - just this case. This one case. Not all of it-"

"Castle," she murmurs gently, prying his fingers off of her face so she can soothe the ragged edge of his voice with another press of her mouth to his, soft, so soft it hurts. "Castle, I'm done. I'm done with it."

"Done with . . .with your job?"

"I don't need it anymore. It served its purpose."

He's just staring at her, confused, and she knows she's got to make him understand. Because he's been instrumental in this.

"The badge kept me from drowning. It propped me up. Until I didn't need it any longer. I outgrew it, Castle. Partly because of you, but mostly because of me."

"You put in the work," he whispers, echoing her statement a week ago.

She nods back, lifts her fingers to trace the edge of his mouth. "I used to think that I wasn't anything apart from my mother's case. Her murder. But that's changed these last few years, and I wasn't - I didn't know how to let go of the one thing that had always saved me."

"Kate," he sighs, his lips brushing her fingers.

"Castle, I know what I am, who I am without it. This is who I am. And I want to be this person with you."

He nudges her hand aside and strokes the lines of her face, something strong in his eyes, something that looks like faith - the assurance of things hoped for.

"So does that mean we can spend all day in bed together?" he murmurs, a spark of charm in his smile again.

"Hmm."

"And tomorrow too? And the next day, and the next. . .I got money enough for this to go on indefinitely."

She laughs and gets close enough to kiss him again, lips to his shoulder, trailing along his collarbone, her tongue touching the hard-swallowing part of his neck. "I could be persuaded."

"Let me persuade you then."


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