Scratch and Claw

"It's who you are. You don't let people in. I've had to scratch and claw for every inch-"
-Castle, Watershed

Kate wakes alone in her bed, the cool sheet laying at her lower back like a phantom touch. She breathes in the silence for a long moment, lets the day come to her slowly. When she finally opens her eyes, she traces the unfamiliar city skyline, the clean and green compromise of nature and concrete.

It's not the same.

It's not her city.

But it sends a jolt of expectation down her spine and makes her roll over, the tilt of the room across her vision - new curtains, new television, a handful of things she's collected in the month she's lived in DC. She glances to the open bathroom door, the tile of black and white in checkerboard that reminds her of Castle's bedroom.

She closes her eyes, takes a deeper breath to push it down.

She thinks she was dreaming about it again, about being back there.

Because New York seems the dream now. DC has been a body slam of new routines, difficult information, a steep learning curve that have taken over her reality. On the job training, and she aches physically and mentally from jumping in it with both feet. A persistent ache that leaves her a little out of sync with everything else.

An out of sync that doesn't make sense, an ache she won't think about.

How she'll never be home at his loft again, never open her eyes to that silver and black checkered headboard, the so-soft sheets, the closet where she hid that first morning after. About how that was never really her home, no matter what she was telling herself.

Enough. It's a new day.

Kate sits up, dispelling whatever dreams still want to lurk this morning. She throws off the sheet-

"Hey there. You're finally up."

She jerks her eyes to Castle, sees that crisp form coming in through the doorway. She gives him a smile that's probably a little weighted down. "Up but still tired."

"I bet. What time did you get back last night?" he asks. He never says home anymore. It's always the apartment, your place. She wishes, at least, that he felt like it was theirs.

"Um, around two. There was - so much." She gives up trying to explain. Has given up trying. He doesn't ask anyway, which bothers her in a way she doesn't like to consider too long.

"No wonder you're tired," he says carefully, avoids her eyes. "That's... too late. I think. Too late to be at work."

She nods, eyes shifting to the window for a moment. "It is. Lost track of time."

"And you couldn't be the first to leave," he says, echoing an old conversation. A month-old. Not a fight; they don't fight anymore. Everything is carefully maintained.

"It'll get better," she says quickly. "I'll settle in. Know what I'm doing."

He nods back, just as quick to agree with her. "You have today off?"

She lets the grin out, lets it furl across her face and do her talking for her. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. You have plans for us? Another one of your walking tours? You find us some of the best places."

He moves from the doorway to come towards her; she realizes he's already dressed and showered, smelling like himself, like she loves, and he sits down on the bed. She leans for him, her head coming to his shoulder, their thighs brushing. His arm circles her waist and his palm presses into her lower back.

"Yeah. I have a plan for us. You up for it?"

"Make me some coffee and I'm good to go," she hums back, kissing his neck with a brush of lips.

His skin ripples and his hand pushes into her, draws her in a little closer. "Coffee it is."

His fingers trail along her spine and then his palm is cupping her cheek as he kisses her slowly, reverently. When he releases her and stands, she watches him walk out of the bedroom and can't help but think-

She shouldn't have to ask for coffee. He used to bring it to her on his own.