This is my first foray into the Castle fanfiction business. This is post 47 seconds, ignores the promos for next week. It's in the days following 47 seconds... it IS a "fix it" fic but it's not just about Castle and Beckett's problems. I got this idea before i saw 47 seconds, but it still works as a post-ep fic. Won't be more than 2 or 3 chapters. I hope you enjoy, please R & R!
It was late. He'd been walking around for hours at this point. That's what he'd suspect anyway, judging from how damp his coat is and the thinning of crowds on the streets. Not that the time really matters. If time matters, then so do the dozens of phone calls and text messages he's felt his phone alert him to receiving, the alerts he ignored. Doesn't she understand he needs time?
He nears the park; in the distance he can see a couple sitting on a bench, staring out at the water. They look content, peaceful and the idea seems to be a foreign concept to him. He still can't believe it. His little girl.
It's been a terrible week for him, first the bombing case, and overhearing Beckett's confession- he still can't believe that. Can't believe the one woman he thought would never hurt him or betray him the way his wives had; he'd finally put his faith and hope back in love, in a third chance. And it was ripped away so quickly.
He knows she hasn't figured it out yet; she has this adorable- no- he corrects himself, she has this annoying little crinkle between her eyes when there's something she doesn't understand going on. He knows she doesn't know, doesn't know that he has finally been let in on what goes on inside Kate Beckett's head. She doesn't know that he's aware she heard his words of love; doesn't know he knows she's a liar.
And part of him hates himself, because even thinking of her as a liar makes him want to jump to her defense- from himself, from his own thoughts. It's been four days since then and he's managed to stay busy and avoid going to the precinct. Sometimes writing is a lovely excuse to get out of things he doesn't want to do, and this way he can get himself together before he even attempts to be in Beckett's orbit again. He thought he'd be safe hiding out at home. He had no idea that his only daughter was about to blindside him this way.
He still can't believe it. Alexis. Alexis Castle. She's barely 18. He knew she was going to college, he knew Ashley and her had been serious and that she'd taken the break up badly. Was he this stupid? Was there something about him that allowed every female in his life to lie to him without concern for his feelings? And why wouldn't they want his input or help on things? He was a good father, a good friend. Right? Or was he? Was there something intrinsically wrong with him? Maybe his ex wives had something right about him.
Hell, maybe he wasn't a good judge of character; maybe he didn't know how to read people, Sophia certainly proved that. He clearly never knew her at all and he had slept with her! He had followed her around for a year! And still, she was lying to him the entire time.
And Beckett, he really wants to believe that she didn't lie to him because she didn't trust him, or because she doesn't feel the same way. All those looks and that time spent together, did "always" mean nothing? He just can't understand, and is left with these horrible assumptions, each worse than the next. He knows Beckett is nothing like Sophia; Beckett is loyal to the end and the definition of his perfect. Is that his problem? He idealized the idea of her so much that he was blind to reality of who she really is?
Maybe what's worse is that her lie has made him doubt if he knows who she really is. He, who prides himself on reading insight into people, he who has written books based on her… if he doesn't know her, does anyone? Has she shared parts of herself with others she hasn't shared with him? Is it all an act? A game?
No. He refuses to believe he doesn't know Kate Beckett. Refuses. If he doesn't know Kate Beckett then… he stops walking, looks up at the sky… then maybe he doesn't know himself. Is that what all of this is saying? It's time for some introspection?
No. Beckett isn't even the issue anymore. Somehow, someway, the romantic in him knows that if it's meant to be it will be. And if the past four days of texts and messages and calls from her, all of which he has ignored, are any indicator, then even if Kate Beckett doesn't love him in return she certainly wants him in her life. Not being in her life at all is a reality he is unwilling to contend with.
The real issue is Alexis. Alexis Castle. How could she… He can't even think about it. His own thoughts, his own mind is turning against him, refusing to give him words to verbalize his feelings.
He pauses at a street sign to wait for traffic lights to change and only then does he realize where he's walked. All the way from his loft in Soho, like a magnet within him acted as a compass to bring him as close as possible to the woman in possession of his heartbeats.
He glances up at the building, counts 5 up, 3 to the right and sees a light on. Maybe it would be creepy if he were anyone else, but he likes knowing exactly where Beckett is when she's inside her house. He likes knowing that the light he can see from the street indicates she's still up and in her living room.
His legs carry him towards her door, and he gets lucky, someone is leaving, just as he wants to enter. Unfortunately it's not just "someone"- it's Lanie Parish.
Castle pauses as he grips the door, holding it open shortly after it was swung in his direction. Lanie pauses in the doorframe, her eyes gazing at him like he's evidence to be examined.
"Dr. Parish," Castle tries to sound like his normal charming self and can hear the difference and failure in his attempt.
"Castle," Lanie responds after a second, and then pauses. She glances up at his face, taking in his expression and then looks him up and down, silently noting his rain soaked appearance, "You headin' up to see my girl?"
Castle almost laughs- wants to say no, he had no intention of going to see "her" girl- but knows anything other than the truth would be a bad idea, this week has taught him that much at least.
"Ugh, I wasn't," his writer brain is trying to find words, "I wasn't planning on it. Not tonight. But then I…" he trails off, looks back at the street and sees that a cab has pulled up, "I ended up here. I do that sometimes."
Lanie nods slowly, her expression not changing from what he can only describe as protective.
"Okay," Lanie acknowledges the cab with a wave and holds up a finger to ask them to wait, "you go see our girl Castle, you go see her and explain to her what the hell has happened with you guys this week because the Beckett I just left is thoroughly confused. And hurt. Apparently you've ignored her all week."
Castle keeps his eyes away from making contact with hers; stares at the ground, at the wall behind her, at anything but the look Kate's best friend is fixing him with.
"I-," he tries but is cut off.
"Nuh-uh writer boy," Lanie's tone makes no apologies, "if you are going up there to see how much more you can confuse or hurt her, then I am not letting you in this door."
Castle sighs, looks up and finally makes eye contact with Lanie. He's surprised to note the hope in her eyes, like maybe she knows something he doesn't. "Has Kate talked to you?" She's already shaking her head, like he should've known not to ask, and he adds "I promise Lanie I'm not here to hurt her. I just," suddenly the ground is easier to look at again, "I really need to talk to her. Something happened with Alexis and Kate's always so," he can't even get the words out.
He needs Lanie to realize this isn't about his relationship with Beckett. He needs her to know he's seeking Beckett's counsel, and then he realizes that's what he's doing. He wants her help, because she's his partner, because she's helped him before with teenage girl woes. He really needs her, and maybe the fact that she doesn't need him matters less; maybe her lies matter less if she can just help him with this thing.
"Okay Castle," Lanie relents, seeing the despair on Castle's face and believing it could only come from something as major as his daughter- or Beckett, but that clearly isn't what is first and foremost on his mind, the man looks distraught and confused.
Castle looks up at her words, manages a nod as he passes by her in the doorway, but doesn't look back to see her stare after him as he reaches the elevator. Doesn't see her look to the sky, send up a silent prayer, and hop into her cab.
Castle is fixed on what's in front of him, and suddenly that's Beckett's door. It's strange how a door can be intimidating. An inanimate object wielding so much power; he knows he's procrastinating. That he should knock now, before she goes to bed, before she… before he figures out how to finish that thought. He stands, dares himself to do it and then he raises his fist and knocks, just as the light beneath the door goes out.
He exhales; he was too late. She was going to go to bed and ignore the knock.
But then the light comes back on and he hears movement inside, hears the deadbolt sliding open, and hears the voice he's missed for four days say, "I swear Lanie if you forgot your keys or something again…" but the voice stops and he looks up to see Kate Beckett standing there in yoga pants and a loose fitting blue shirt, her hair in a loose braid and a look of absolute surprise on her face that does nothing to hide the confusion underneath.
He says nothing; he knows he must look a mess in the unforgiving lighting of her building's hallway. He notices that she doesn't immediately move aside to invite him in; what had he done to hurt her this week again?
"Castle," she says quietly, calmly, as though trying to wrap her brain around the fact that the person avoiding her for four days has shown up on her doorstep late at night and soaked from the rain outside.
He finally manages to look up from the ground and meet her eyes, expecting to see anger, maybe even the feeling of betrayal reflect back at him; instead he sees relief and- dare he say it- love? Something more? He let's the hope in her eyes give him confidence enough to breath his next words, "Hi," he pauses, then realizes where he is, how late it must be, and how inappropriate it is for him to be there, and looks down. "I'm sorry. I know it's late. I know…" he cuts himself off, making eye contact with her again and says, "I'm sorry. I really need someone to talk to. I'm…" he shifts uncomfortably on his feet and when he moves his eyes to glance at the floor he notices her hand reached out towards him.
He stares at the hand, as though questioning its intentions, before he looks up to make eye contact with Kate. She steps closer to him, still extending her hand, "Come in Castle, you never need a reason to show up at my door."
The implication behind her statement is almost lost on him when he feels the warmth of her hand in his, pulling him forward, and hears the click of the door, followed by a louder noise indicating she dead bolted them inside her apartment.
"I," he breaths, taking note of the two wine glasses on her counter and recently blown out candles, incredibly thankful he ran into Lanie in the lobby so he knows it was she who was here, "I don't?" and then she's moving in front of him, grasping both of his hands in hers and he can feel her willing him to meet her eyes.
When he does he's shocked to see the swirl and depth of emotion she's reflecting, like she's taken off a mask and is letting him see what she feels beneath.
"Rick," she pauses and breaths, knowing that use of his first name must've caught his attention, "if you show up at my door, I will let you in."
He seems to realize this was hard for to verbalize and chooses not to read into it, to not force her into making any other declarations. Instead he lets her lead him by both hands towards her couch.
She pauses in front of her couch and turns her full attention onto him. Before he realizes what she's doing, the buttons on his wet coat are undone and Beckett's easing it off his shoulders.
"Sit down Castle, I'll go hang this up," she nods to the couch as she moves away from him, back towards the door where she hangs his coat up and seems to keep her hands on it a second more than needed, as though she's gathering her strength. When she turns back to him he almost blushes because it is so obvious he'd been watching her every move. The small smile on her face comforts him, reassures him, and makes him feel less embarrassed for staring at her.
She sits down on the couch next to him, folding a leg underneath herself and turning towards him, elbow up on the back out of the couch and her hand in her hair. He suddenly recalls the hotel room in LA and recognizes how they're mimicking their positions from that night.
"What's going on Castle?" Beckett's question comes softly, calmly, and it's in a warm tone, nothing like her interrogation technique.
He takes a second to gather himself, puts his hands in his lap and stares at the painting on her wall for a second; all that purple, all that confusion, of course it fits so well in her living room. He's thankful that Beckett doesn't appear to be impatient despite the hour, he hears her exhale and then he feels her hand on his knee. He knows it's intended as comfort and as mad as he wants to be at her, he can't take it as anything else; he's desperate for some comfort right now, in this moment.
"Kate," he pauses and he hates the crack in his voice as he struggles to get out the words, "is there something wrong with me? Is there a reason why every woman in my life lies to me and treats me like they can't trust me? That even my own daughter," his voice cuts out entirely and he can't bare to look into Beckett's eyes, so he settles for looking at the hand she has resting on his left knee.
