"On this page, I write my last confession. Read it well, when I at last am sleeping." – Epilogue, Les Miserables.
She found it by accident, the crinkled edges of the paper peeking out from between the pages of Heat Wave as she wandered aimlessly past the shelves. Darkness covered the early morning loft and she'd wandered into his office in search of a book to distract her sleepless head. She almost didn't notice at first. The yellow edges of the legal paper were barely distinguishable from the creased pages of their first fictional adventure.
She thought it might be a bookmark. Keeping tabs on page 105, really Castle? You've got the real thing now. Have we lost the magic in the bedroom already? She opened the novel page 86, nothing special, just the middle of a chapter.
He never stopped mid-chapter. He always had to get through to the last thought, in reading, writing, and case work. She knew because she was the same way.
She had nearly finished closing the book when she noticed a single handwritten syllable. Kate. Whatever the mysterious paper was, it was addressed to her.
She unfolded the paper as she crossed the office. The hardwood floors still cold under her bare feet, she placed the novel on a corner of his desk and began to read.
Dear Kate,
If you're reading this, I'm dead.
She froze.
Dead.
Her stomach plummeted and her chest heaved, leaving her paralyzed. Her eyes were glued to the page. Dead? Why would he write her a letter only intended to be found after his death, and hide it in the pages of his bookshelf? With knuckles white against the yellow paper, she had no choice but to keep reading.
It was probably recent, yesterday, last week, the last case we worked. I can only hope I died protecting you against the hardened criminals of New York City, or at the very least, with you nearby. Morbid and twisted, I know, but I wanted my last thoughts to be of you, beside you.
If you're reading this, it means you've been informed of your portion of my last requests. The remainder of all Nikki Heat profits and sales, as well as the rights to the Johanna Beckett scholarship fund. But there's one thing not mentioned that I need you to have.
In the top left drawer of my desk you will find a framed picture of Alexis and me, circa 1996, rejection letters of my first novel, and a myriad of miscellaneous papers and pencils.
In the very back of the drawer there is a small, black velvet box that I need you to have.
I can only hope that if you're reading this it already belongs to you, because that means we have more time together.
I wrote this letter to you one week after I shot Tyson off the bridge that night. Even in death I'm still not convinced he's gone, unless you've put him away for good.
I started to wonder what would happen when he came back. He'd come for us, for you, all to make me suffer. I started to wonder what would happen if I lost you.
So I bought the ring.
I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, Kate. I don't. That's why I need you to have the ring. It's yours. It's everything I want to say but can't anymore. Not now, not ever. I'm a writer, but a thousand books couldn't fill what I want to say. It's too early to tell you now, we've only been together a few months, but I can't live without you.
I've been in love with you for longer than I've been able to admit, to you, to my mother, to myself. At first I thought you were enchanting – a mystery I was never going to solve. Somewhere along the line that thought left, replaced by the realization that I didn't want to solve anything. I wanted to walk beside you every day and read the mystery. I wanted to watch the layers unfold and the story pan out. I wanted to be part of that story.
And I fell in love with you. I fell head over heels in love with the mysterious, extraordinary detective that had always been more than simply an inspiration for a character. I fell in love with the woman who watches baseball like it's a thriller movie. I fell in love with the woman who reads every book twice because she wants to remember it. I fell in love with you. Only you. Always you.
The ring is yours. Sell it, give it away, keep it – just know that it speaks for all that I can no longer say.
I love you.
Rick.
The space around her grew colder as she sunk beside the desk. Her knees creaked as she drew them to her chest and Kate let out the breath she wasn't aware she was holding. Her heart in her throat made breathing difficult and painful as silent sobs shook her to the core.
The paper was beginning to crinkle and soften under the wetness of her palms, tears already smudging his scrawling message, but she couldn't let it go.
She remembered the night he must've written it. There had been a light from the office early one morning, half past two, but the familiar sounds of nimble fingers across a keyboard had been missing. Usually when he couldn't sleep he was writing. She'd assumed he'd fallen asleep mid-chapter; that he was still wrestling with Tyson and the wounds he'd left.
The first month after was rough. The loft had gotten a new security system, new curtains, even new light bulbs, as had her apartment, just in case. He was never going to accept Tyson's death, she knew that, and so she did everything in her power to dredge him from the past and get him to love the now.
Apparently he did.
He bought a ring.
She unfolded her legs and sat upright slightly. Crying on the floor of her boyfriend's office at four am was not acceptable Beckett behavior. But it was Kate. The woman who just found the last dying request of the only man she's allowed herself to love. The man who brought new life, who risks everything to protect her and wants nothing more than to just keep showing up.
She's never let herself think about losing him. She couldn't. She's the cop. She's the one who will probably leave him alone.
But she's the one with the vest. She's the one with training.
He might leave her first.
A sob racked her chest at the thought. After losing her mother and nearly her father, she was always careful to not let anyone get too close. Always made sure it was nothing emotional, building walls to protect herself.
Then Castle came along.
He crawled over the walls, dismantling them brick by brick and allowing her to crawl out on her own terms. Pushing and prodding but always careful to let her make the next step. It was always about her terms.
She loves him.
A smile crossed her tear-stained face briefly as she admitted the thought to herself.
She's in love with him.
He must know that. He must. He picks up on the subtleties like a cultured detective, always taking notes.
She held the letter to her heart, breathing in his words directly through the skin and bone. She folded the letter neatly back into place and repositioned it between the pages. She puts in back somewhere in the middle, somewhere where Rook is beaming at Nikki while she walks the precinct.
After a splash of cold water and a few tissues, Kate crosses the office once more, finding herself unavoidably drawn to the man snoring in the adjacent room. His face is slack with sleep, hair falling over his brow, his arm draped across the other half of the bed. Waiting for her. Always for her.
She crawls beside him, warmth immediately seeping into her bones and swelling in her chest and curls into him. She watches the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest for a while before settling her cheek upon the worn cotton.
There, in the silence of the bedroom, barely louder than a whisper, she says it aloud for the first time.
"I love you."
The next morning, he pretends he never heard it.
A/N: Finals are crazy, and of course fic pops into my head right when I should be entirely focused on organic chemistry.
Happy holidays everyone, hope you enjoyed this.