Nope, still don't. I'm getting sick of disclaimers. Even if I did happen to be Marlowe, I wouldn't admit it.

He lets her go after a few moments. Pushes her toward his bedroom with a promise of breakfast and dried clothes. She's still beet red and he thinks she could use a moment or two to get over the humiliation of being caught by his daughter. Maybe more than a few moments if the pained groan he hears coming from his bedroom is any indication. He could use a minute to go and speak with Alexis, as well. This wasn't exactly the way he had planned breaking the news of recent developments with his daughter. He hadn't had time to make any plans at all. Everything is new and undecided, unspoken. He and Kate need to talk. Really talk, because though he trusts in what she had said last night and again this morning, he still has so many questions. But his daughter comes first and so he makes his way up the stairs, hesitating at her door before knocking lightly.

"It's open," she calls from within.

"Hey, Pumpkin." he says, a little warily. He's fairly sure his daughter has accepted his feelings for Kate, fairly sure she will be happy for him. But still... he hasn't forgotten the hostility she had shown following last summer.

"About downstairs," he starts, walking over to her bed and sitting down next to her. His thoughts get sidetracked as he looks to their feet, his in white socks, hers bare, toes adorned in bright red nail polish. They almost reach the same spot. Once upon a time, he would sit in this same position to read her bedtime stories or to calm her after a nightmare, her legs would barely reach his thigh. He's facing his universal truth right now. His baby girl is all grown up. Will be moving out in the fall. This part of his life is ending. Suddenly he doesn't have the words. Platitude and assurances won't cut it anymore. The young woman sitting beside him is beyond that.

"Actually," he smiles, "instead of me trying to explain, why don't you just tell me what you think?"

"Does she love you?" she asks seriously.

He pulls Alexis into a sideways hug. A moment to gather his thoughts. Stall really. He thinks back to last night, to the clear and shining truth in her eyes. To her heartfelt pleas, her earnest apologies. He feels a smirk pull at his mouth when he thinks to later last night, when she'd begged him to let go. Has a moment of panic and his fists clench as he realizes he had, twice, without any protection. At least not on his part. He has an even greater moment of panic when he realizes he doesn't care, recognizes that there is a giddy little spark of hope rolling around in his gut. Kate might kill him if she was privy to these thoughts. Loving him is one thing, having his babies, entirely another. Still... he's sure. He saw it written in her eyes, felt it in her touch. Actually heard it, in her soft admissions.

"Yeah, Alexis. She does."

Alexis relaxes into him with that. Lets out a soft hum as he strokes her hair and twirls it around his fingers.

"Is she here to stay?"

He thinks to just moments earlier, when he'd made the terrible pun that will no doubt come back to haunt him. When he'd repeated it in all seriousness and she had grinned that serene little smile and nodded softly before scurrying off to the bedroom. She's glad she came too. She's not going anywhere.

"Yeah, I think she is. No. I know she is," he says, a wide smile forming at the realization.

"Then I'm glad," Alexis replies, "I have just one question?"

He releases her a little so he can look at her face. Waits and raises a brow in query, watches as a cheeky little smiles plays about his daughters lips, an all too knowing smirk and mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Why are you up here, when she is down there?"

His jaw drops, he feels it hanging slack and open. His baby girl! It's alarming to even think that she knows what he was up to when she entered. He'd always tried to keep her sheltered from his love life. But she's not his baby girl anymore, she is in all rights a grown woman about to leave the nest and make her own mark on the world. Every pearl of informed wisdom, every intended pun and knowing smirk has been firmly placed into her psyche by him. And he couldn't be prouder. He pulls her back into his side and squeezes her tight.

"Love you, Pumpkin," he murmurs into her hair.

"I know" she replies, making a show of putting in her ear-buds and cranking up the volume on her iPod. Offering him a brash smile.

He pauses, turns to look at her as he rises and leaves the bedside, still can't quite fathom how she grew up so fast.

She smiles affectionately at him. "Love you too, Daddy."

Okay, maybe there's still a little bit of his baby girl left. He squeezes her until she grumbles about the need to breathe and then leaves her to the pile of greeting cards and photographs she had been mulling over when he entered.

He grabs Kate's clothes out of the dryer on the way back downstairs and gets a cheap thrill out of smelling his laundry detergent on her clothes. Something about it just screams intimacy, familial and warm. Completely different and yet just as exciting to him as the more carnal familiarity he had the pleasure of experiencing earlier.

Entering the kitchen, he sets her clothes on a bar-stool and quickly deposits the ruined pancakes in the trash. A pity, he thinks. He would have enjoyed giving her hell over a meal of chocolate-chip, warm and fluffy goodness. "Thank you for last night", indeed.

Still, breakfast can partially be saved. He sets the bacon in the oven, under a warmer, and begins hauling food out of his fridge. Strawberries and mangoes. An apple and three kinds of cheese. Some crackers and a pot of coffee. Mm, a picnic in bed sounds like a wonderful idea. He arranges everything on a tray; fruit, coffee and two mugs, the all-important bacon. He didn't miss the look of bliss on her face as she'd devoured the slice she had stolen. Before he had devoured her.

God, he's happy she likes bacon. It's ridiculous, but it's one more thing he loves about her. None of that non-fat, veggie-based, bacon-shaped, food product was allowed in the loft. Never again. There had been an incident involving Alexis worrying over a few extra pounds he had gained, a surprise breakfast and that god-awful creation. Just the thought makes him gag.

Satisfied with his offerings, he quickly gives the counter a wipe-down so Alexis won't feel compelled if she comes down and throws the dishes in the washer. As an afterthought, he plucks a calla lily from an arrangement on the counter as he picks up the tray and makes his way through the loft. Wearing a pleased smile, he makes his way to the bedroom. His bedroom. Which houses a semi-naked Kate Beckett. The woman he is going to hand feed. In his bed. Half-naked. Kate.

Best morning ever!

He quietly makes his way through the office, hoping to catch a glimpse of her unaware. The idea of having her waiting for him, in his bedroom especially, is a new and exhilarating feeling. He wants a moment to take a snap-shot with his mind. He's knows it won't be all sunshine and roses between them, but right now, this morning, it's perfect.

He pads softly toward the door joining the office to his bedroom, it's left partially ajar and he gives up a silent 'thank you' to whatever god felt the need to bless him so. All his stealthy designs would have gone out the window if he had to juggle both the tray and the door handle. He hears humming, lilting and soft, coming from beyond his obstructed view and it takes a feat of willpower not to laugh. She's still got 'Glad You Came' stuck in her head it seems.

He peeks his head around the corner and all the air leaves his lungs.

She lays prone, knees together, legs curved upward and gently swaying to the beat in her mind. Delicate pink polish adorns her toenails and he catches a glimpse with every tap of her foot. It makes him smile. Such an unexpected treat, the color is surprising and not meshing at all with her image of 'bad-ass, super cop'.

So many layers he has yet to learn.

Her nose is buried in a book, the title of which he can't make out. It doesn't matter, he couldn't have imagined a more perfect scene than what she presents in this moment. She's completely unaware, serene, the most peaceful he has ever witnessed her. And all this is occurring in his bedroom. If someone had told him this is what the future held for him twenty-four hours ago, he would have laughed at the folly of it all.

He takes a languid journey with his eyes up her body, makes sure to linger and brand the memory indelible. The mild curve of her ass, only partially covered by the shirt, having ridden up at some point after she lay down, calls to him. Creamy skin and inky shadows. The further darkening as he reaches the apex of her thighs makes his mouth go dry. He can't see anything, but the possibilities send a tightening to his groin. The outline of her torso under the maroon shirt. His maroon shirt. The one she ordered him to remove hours earlier. It thrills him. The smooth line of her neck, marred by bruising but still oh, so inviting, is exposed. Her hair falls in gentle waves down one shoulder and the expanse of skin is begging to be kissed. Bitten. His mouth waters at the thought of taking the shell of her ear lightly between his teeth, sucking the lobe gently into his mouth.

He barely dares breathing for fear of ruining the reverie. He must be dreaming. Right?

"Quit staring and get over here, Castle," she orders. She makes no other motion, just continues reading the book and softly tapping her foot.

He can imagine the smirk playing across her countenance right now. He wonders how she knew. He's sure he didn't make a sound, but he doesn't have to be told twice. Quickly, he trots over to the bed and lays the tray carefully on a side-table.

"What are you reading?" he asks, as he eases himself beside her.

"One of my favorites," she replies enigmatically, not looking at him, flipping a page.

"Anything I'd like?" he asks craning his neck. She angles the book away so the writing is blurred and he can't sneak a peek.

"Mm, probably. It was on your shelves after all."

He chuckles, "Most of them are sent to me for a review. Maybe one shelf of them I bought on my own, because I actually wanted to read them."

She briefly shakes her head at him before her gaze returns to the book.

"Wanna know a secret?"

She turns her head to him and raises a brow in question, her lips quirking in amusement. Of course she does, she's a detective.

"I've only read maybe half of them... tops."

"So how do you give your review?"

"Read the dust jacket and pray for accuracy?"

"Castle, that is awful!" she says, lightly smacking him in the bicep.

"Yup. Want me to do that one?" he smirks.

"Oh no, I have a better idea. Let me try."

She slides the book under the covers, still not willing to let him see what she has picked. He assumes it will be embarrassing. Maybe it's a girly romance or a fantasy adventure, he thinks. Something cheesy.

She makes a great show of hemming and hawing before she starts. Bites her lip and taps a finger against her chin. Coy Kate is adorable and just asking for trouble. He plucks the lily from the tray and begins running it down her legs. He tickles her calf with the soft, white petals, drags the stem up her thigh and prods her side with it.

"On with it, woman."

She grins, all sexy and drawn-out, takes a breath and begins.

"A slow starter, that races to the finish line. Perhaps overly ambitious, this young new author shows great promise. Blending the scholarly life with the world of religion, this book manages to pull you in not only to the action, but also to the gripping family drama."

God, it sounds kind of familiar. Really familiar actually. The name is on the tip of his tongue but he just can't quite spit it out. He lets it swirl around in his mind for a few minutes while she waits with a shit-eating grin on her face. Finally, he gives up.

"Alright, lay it on me. I won't judge your tastes." he smirks. "I have no idea what book this is. I'm sure it's one of the many pieces of drivel I get sent. I can't be expected to remember them all you know."

Her eyes widen and then a great chortle of laughter escapes her lips.

"What, exactly, is so funny Miss Beckett?" he inquires, punctuating each word with a prod of the lily. It looks a little worse for wear and he tosses it on the floor. He's delighted by this sudden burst of hilarity in her. Her so rarely sees her simply having fun. That it's at his expense doesn't bother him. He has years of practice taking it, between his daughter and his mother, he's a veritable expert.

But she can't reply, she's too busy trying, and failing, to catch her breath. Tears of joy stream down her face and she is flushed a lovely shade of pink.

"Oh... god, Castle... I can't..." and another ripple of laughter bubbles out of her mouth.

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. He has to know. He makes a swipe for the pillow but her hands bolt up and hold it down.

"Nuh-uh" she snorts, her head falling to the pillow in exhaustion from the sudden bout of goofiness.

"Oh... god..." she mutters, "too... fucking funny."

Such language from such a pretty mouth. 'Fine', he thinks. Time to play dirty.

He jumps up, grabs a strawberry from the tray and straddles her before she has a chance to react. He bites half the strawberry off, revels in the sweet, cool liquid sliding down his throat. With the other half, he trails it around her ear, down her neck.

"Castle, what the hell!" she gasps. But his body holds her down and his mouth, following the path of the sticky juice, calms her jerking movements, sends a breathy moan sailing past her lips.

Suddenly, the books' title holds no interest. Her neck does though. And her shoulders. He slides the shirt up, spies the dip at small of her back. Yes, that could use some attention. His fingers dance up her spine and trace the outlines of her ribs. He thinks she could use a little fattening up. He reaches over to the fruit platter and plucks up a slice of mango, offers it to her with a touch to her mouth. She gratefully takes it from him with her lips. Her tongue darts out to catch his fingers and he can't smother the grunt that escapes. She takes extra time to suckle and bite the pad of his index finger before he removes it from her mouth. Much more of that and he won't make it to the main event.

"This has to go," he hushes into her ear, repeating her remark from last night, reaching in front of her to unbutton and remove the shirt. He drags his nails along the side of her breasts as she raises her arms to let the shirt slide free. As the expanse of her back is exposed he again sees the bruising and momentarily is brought up short by the realization of how close they had come. She almost died and he wasn't there; it's going to take him a long time to reconcile that with his conscience.

He neglects what he is doing for a second and she moans his name.

It's enough to at least momentarily make him forget. Everything except for his name on her lips and the frustrated little growl she produces. He concentrates on making more of those breathy pants. He nibbles his way down the ridge of her spine, biting and soothing with his tongue over and over until he reaches the dip at her tailbone. He rests his hands on either side and laves his tongue over the curve of her ass and down her thigh, repeats the action in reverse upon her other. When he reaches her center he is assaulted by the heady and humid aroma of her arousal.

'Mm, good enough to eat,' he thinks. And so he does.

He uses his hands and his mouth. Soft, slow and involved. Kissing, sucking, worshiping. Her hips raise to meet him with every stroke of his tongue and graze of his teeth. He grips her hips and holds her in place as she struggles against her growing desire.

"Cast..." she moans, "Need you... in me."

"But I'm not done with breakfast," he smiles into her, letting his voice vibrate against her sex.

He hums a little and she shudders. He does it again and her thighs clench. One more time and she is set off. Soft expletives and his name repeatedly fill the air. God is mentioned. A lot. He slides back up her body as she comes down and wraps her in a hug from behind. His erection nudges at the space between her legs, it's just a small rotation of her hips and he is buried. All the oxygen escapes his lungs at the sudden wetness and exquisite warmth. He stills, lets his breathing regulate as she settles onto him, him into her.

"Kate," he whispers. "Look."

Sunlight pours through the large windows, pools on the bed and across their bodies. Slats of light reflect off the dark wood flooring, bounce off the reflective surface on the wall behind the headboard, crate intricate patterns and soft contours. Encompassing them in a soft orange glow. It feels warm and safe like this. Quiet and intimate. He witnesses their reflection in the glass of the frame covering the painting opposite them. Their eyes lock and she entwines her fingers with his. Wraps his arm securely around her waist.

"I'm right here," she breaths, and he begins to move.

They rock back and forth against each other, slow undulations and gentle words. He slides his tongue erotically behind her ear and she takes his thumb into her mouth. They take their time, prolonging the moment. Drawing out the ecstasy. Savoring each other and the sensations they are creating together. He feels like he's drowning in her.

Slowly, it builds. Quietly and unexpected. Urgency and the need for release. He pumps and she grinds. She pulls back and he crashes into her. It's agony. It's rapture. And then it's over, in muted endearments and cottony breaths. Just as quietly as it begun.

She turns her head back then to kiss him. It's wet and sloppy, neither of them having the energy to make much of an effect for finesse. Tongues scraping corners of mouths and lips being pulled and tugged. He slips out of her, as her body arches, and he tugs on her waist so she is facing him. As her head rolls, the pillow slips. He groans, as what he had forgotten about, is revealed.

His very own book stares him in the face.

"Hell Hath No Fury? Really?"

She chuckles and kisses his nose.

'Well, no wonder it sounded familiar', he thinks. This is slightly embarrassing. Mortifying really. It's not his best work. Possibly his worst. His assumption that it was a piece of trash isn't too far off. He is beyond curious to know why it is one of her favorites. That's what she had said. "One of my favorites".

"Disregarding the humiliation of not recognizing one of my own works, do you care to tell me why it's one of your favorites? I'm beginning to question your taste in fiction."

She takes the book with one hand and hugs it against her chest, cradles it between their cooling bodies. She cups his face with her other hand and strokes her thumb along his jawline.

"You saved me, Rick. Before we even met, you had already saved me a hundred times over. I didn't need a knight in shining armor. All I ever needed was your words... it's all I need now."

Oh.

Oh, she has given him a precious gift with that admission. It feels like forgiveness. It eases the guilt that had been nagging him every time he discovered a new bruise or felt the snag of a mangled fingernail. The gut-clenching sickness of not being there as her life hung in the balance. His words. It's all she needs. He has said many words to her, but three specific ones recently. On a bright spring day almost a year ago and in the heat of an argument just days ago. She had disregarded him at the time. It had cut deep, wounded him significantly. But he forgives her, too. Of course he does.

"Always," he promises.

A/N: So how you like them apples?

As always thanks to Nicole for pointing out my flaws. I had a Castle moment and forgot entirely what I had previously written. But I didn't write "towards" once! It's progress. But it still pains me to write "toward". And to Avi, for promising to hunt me down and do damage if I faded to black before the sexy-times.