At home here

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Based in a world where there was no Caskett doorway scene at the end of Always.

Instead, that night ended with friendship and John Woo movies.

Would Meredith's visit during Alexis' illness push Castle and Beckett together or break them apart for good?

Winter Ficathon 13/14. Prompt one. 15,000 words by the end of January

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Happy birthday Louise, may the year bring all that you desire xoxo

Thank you for being you and for the prompt/concept of this story ;-)

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She awoke with a start. The bed beside her was cold, the room still dark save for the soft glow of the street light filtering in through the window as it reflected off of the steadily falling snow.

Kate's fingers ghost across her sheets, searching for a memory, a vision that haunts her dreams.

Too many nights she has found herself in this position; yearning for his touch, his skin pressed against her own; wanting him.

Her head thumps into the pillow as she falls back, the long length of her dark hair a sharp contrast to the crisp white of her sheets. They're not her favorite, reminding her of days spent in the ICU, but she's reluctant to throw them away for that reason alone. Somehow it would be a sign of weakness, even if she was the only one who knew.

Thinking of her time in the hospital becomes tangled with thoughts of him; two pieces of her life that will be forever knotted together.

There are so many what-ifs that surround them. So many times where just one choice could have created a vastly different world. If she could have only been a little braver, if she could have only said what was in her heart.

Turning onto her side, Kate slides her fingers beneath the pink sweatshirt that she'd pulled on before retiring for the night. Tracing the ridges of her scar, the small circle of puckered skin, she wonders what would have happened if she had stayed in the city that summer.

Or maybe if she had approached him after the bank heist, after the bomb had exploded; she had, after all, raced in there prepared to confess her sins if it meant that he was still alive to hear them. Yet in the time that it took for them to be interrupted she had lost her nerve, and her chance.

Still there may have been a possibility for more when she showed up at the loft, ringlets of wet hair clinging to her skin, the realization that she wanted him, just him. What could they be now, if instead of exchanging apologies on the couch, they had taken that last step, kicked over that last brick that was keeping them apart?

Kate moves against the chilled sheets, her hand reaching to throw a pillow over her head and she groans in frustration over the late hour. Over her thoughts.

She had really hoped that by now, with the New Year just a few days in, that they would be something more; that their partnership would have become a relationship. Something real, honest, rather than feelings denied, with secrets and half-truths of the past.

She had hoped that they would have confronted the "I love you" head on instead of choosing to take the safer road.

That night, with a John Woo movie playing in the background, they had decided that they needed to make peace with the lies they had both told, before they could think of taking the next step.

Yet nothing has come next.

If 2012 isn't to be their year, she can only hope that 2013 is; that they'll move on to new milestones, rather than continuing the constant treading of water that they do each day.

Each day is the same and it's slowly becoming stale; they are slowly drifting apart rather than coming together as one.

Flinging back the comforter, her thoughts swirl faster, a continuous loop steadily building, the pressure rising, pushing against the skin between her eyebrows. There's a need to move, to create some space between her and the empty bed that mocks her.

Shivering in the cool air, she stands and inhales deeply, lets the icy air prickle her skin. Shuffling past her robe, the cold edge dampening the fire that her latest dream has evoked, she makes her way into the kitchen.

Opening the fridge door, the low light casts shadows across the surfaces of her apartment and it catches her attention. It causes her to stare vaguely, hypnotized by play of light and dark. Finally shutting the door, she takes away the source and the room is thrown into a heavy abyss; becomes as dark as her mood.

It's that time of year, she knows that; knows that even the smallest changes are irritating her. Yesterday she'd gotten notice of evacuation from her building's super, stating that the pest controllers were due and she would be required to move out for a couple of days. It has her more agitated than is actually necessary. It's hardly the end of the world, could actually have a small silver lining somewhere.

But for now it's being ignored; she will deal with it tomorrow.

He watches her, the way the pen is thrown against the desk, the papers slammed into a folder, the keyboard struck sharply as if it has affronted her somehow, and he quickly recaps the last couple of weeks to try and work it out.

Christmas had passed quietly; he knew she had covered somebody else's shift, had worked all night in spite his offer to play host. The New Year had disappeared without much pomp and ceremony, and now January has begun he can't help but wonder if the approach of January Ninth is having an effect.

She's never mentioned it before, gone through the anniversary without a word to him. But he assumes there are lots of things that he's not privy to.

His fingers drum the edge of his armrest, a constant flowing motion, while his head tilts slightly to the left. He attempts to see her thoughts by studying her body language; she is an open book, sometimes, and when he reads her well, it's a glorious fluttering of pages. Unfortunately, lines wrinkle across her forehead, her eyebrows trying to meet in the middle, and she is gnawing her thumb. This all suggests something messy is happening in her life, and he just can't let it go.

"Did you know that when stress chemicals move through your bloodstream for a prolonged duration, they have a toxic effect on your glands and organs, making them weak and less efficient?"

Her thumb leaves her mouth, brushing past the full lips he fantasizes trapping between his own... How his teeth would scrape across the tender flesh until she moaned, loud and carefree.

He's forced to shift in his seat, uncomfortable at where his mind drifted, and he studies how her hands grip the phone now; a slight trace of moisture clinging to the curve of her thumb as it scrolls through the message she just received. Whatever the news is, it's only adding to her stress, the device dumped without care onto her desk, and he tries again.

"Did you know that headaches, weakness, trembling, and back pain are common among people who have a habit of worrying constantly? Also, worriers often become insomniacs."

He at least gets a snort of annoyance this time around and it's a small acknowledgment of his words, but he's willing to take it.

Her arms lift, crossing above her head as she arches back slightly in her chair, her eyes wearily resting on him, as he finally succeeds in getting a response.

"That's not the reason I can't sleep. And anyhow, what makes you think I'm worrying?"

He dramatically raises both eyebrows, his mouth forming a large O on purpose, while giving her his best skeptical stare.

"Seriously, everything about you at the moment screams it."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously!"

She brushes a hand over her face in reply, hiding herself away from his prying eyes, but he waits. For the last month, the last year, he has been waiting; locked in a holding pattern that has become their new norm, and he doesn't know how to get them out of it. How to start writing their story again without rehashing over past actions, past mistakes.

He wants to start a new chapter that has them moving forward, has them letting go of what's happened so that they can be more, he just needs to get his foot in the door somehow.

"My apartment's being fumigated and I have to stay somewhere else for a few days, but everything I can afford is booked out for the holidays."

Her words are muffled through her hands, but he hears all he needs to.

"Well, then you'll stay with us again."

"Castle, I can't impose on you. Alexis is home for the Christmas break, and I'm sure Martha has big plans."

"Beckett, you, of all people are not imposing. You've stayed with us before without a problem. And anyhow, Alexis is due to fly out to Paris with Meredith and Mother has big plans every other day, so that's hardly an excuse."

This could be it, the opening he has been waiting for. To get her under his roof, show her all that she could be missing. Twenty-four-seven; a foreshadowing of the way their lives could be together.

"Castle-"

"No. You need a room, and I have a spare. End of discussion, Beckett."

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This will be about ten chapters long

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Thank you to Jo for the beta and the beautiful cover art that adorns this and my twitter profile ;-) and to Trish for the edit xoxo

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Thoughts are appreciated