Special thanks to Katherine & Alex for the beta. Expanded version of a Tumblr ficlet; it deserved space here, too.
Castle belongs to ABC & AWM
He waited until he heard his daughter's bedroom door shut for the night. Standing from his favorite chair, he turned off the lights as he went.
Time for bed.
Making use of the bathroom, he paused in his routine, his attention wandering.
One week.
His beautiful, vivacious wife had been gone for a whole week, her beloved body punctured viciously with a knife and left for trash in an alley way.
The funeral was yesterday, and it had been hell. Johanna's family had never been his favorite people to spend time with, and it wasn't until everyone had finally gone, he'd turned to his daughter and said "Let's get the hell out of here, Katie." Surprisingly, their spontaneous trip had been both a comfort and a joy, even in the face of overwhelming sorrow.
That had been yesterday.
Today was spent cleaning up, organizing and freezing leftovers, and accepting casserole after casserole as neighbors and acquaintances gossiped about the tragedy.
Katie had been his rock, dealing with it all when he just couldn't any more. There were only so many condolences one could accept through gritted teeth and plastered-on smiles.
It was all so empty. Casseroles wouldn't bring Jo back.
He glanced up at his haggard face in the mirror. He hadn't shaved since before the funeral, the stubble so out of place on his face. Johanna had always liked him cleanshaven; she said it made him look distinguished.
He dropped his eyes at the thought, only to catch sight of his wife's toothbrush nestled in the holder next to his, the same place it had lived for twenty-three years.
He picked it up, examining it closely for a moment as a black rage descended upon him out of nowhere, consuming him entirely in its yawning depths.
It wasn't fair.
She wasn't meant to be gone.
She was his wife, dammit!
The toothbrush snapped between his fingers and he hurled the broken plastic against the tiles on the far wall.
Regret followed. He scooped up the broken pieces and clutched them to his heart, tears unexpectedly pouring down his face. How could he have broken one of her possessions? Even something as mundane as her toothbrush was all he had left.
It was a while before his quiet sobbing subsided.
Damn, he could use a drink right now.
There wasn't anything in the house – he and Katie had disposed of the bottle of red Johanna had been saving for their 25th wedding anniversary after they got home last night – and while he felt bad about going out without his daughter, she was too young to go with him to a bar.
She'd understand, though.
The thought of another night in an empty bed with nothing but memories of his wife's touch was enough to convince him.
He knocked on his daughter's door on his way down the hallway. "Katie? I'm just popping out for a bit."
"Okay," she replied, voice muffled. She was probably already in bed, reading. He'd noticed her spending most of her down time this week with one of those ridiculous mystery novels Johanna used to love.
Donning his coat, he headed out the door, making sure to lock it carefully on the way out. Losing his wife to senseless violence was bad enough; there was no way he was going to let anything happen to his daughter if he could possibly help it.
Walking five blocks to the nearest establishment through the crisp winter air was like a balm to the soul. Granted, the sidewalks were slushy beneath his feet and a cab blared its horn at an intersection, but it was such a relief to be out of the house and away from the constant reminder of his grief.
It had been years since he'd done this.
Even longer since he'd done this alone.
The bar was one he had walked past a thousand times, but never entered. Aside from a raucous group of college students near the back, teasing each other over the farthest pool table, the place was fairly quiet. A re-run of a ball game from last season played in the corner, and the music was muted – some soulful classic rock that made him feel like he was in exactly the right place. This was just what he needed.
Seating himself on a stool at the quiet end of the bar, he caught the barkeep's attention.
"Whiskey," he ordered. "And leave the bottle."