A/N: 8x03 Ep Insert/AUish sorta.
Cathey, Lindsey, and Ally…I'd like to say this is for you, but because of each of you this wouldn't HAVE EVEN HAPPENED so, I'm kinda torn here between a thank you and damn you. Damn you, enablers.
And I say that with all the love in the world, HAHAHA.
Ps, this is not what I expected it to be, considering our conversation. You've been forewarned LOL.
She doesn't wanna leave him again.
From the safety of the break room, she watches him fiddle with his bow-tie, pushing up his glasses as his chin digs into his chest, hands struggling to loop the fabric into the right bow again.
You should've told him how sexy he looks.
Fingers running over her lips, the arm bearing them rests atop the other arm wrapped across her stomach, with her entire body angled against the doorway for support. She's limp as she observes him, head shaking as she internalizes a chuckle that only sounds through her nose.
She's missed her dork.
It's only been a week.
How can I keep this up?
It's been a week, and the only thing she can think about is the jail cell – her arms around him again, fitted into the slope of his shoulders, hands laced at the back of his neck.
He's right there.
Just go home.
God, she doesn't wanna leave him. But in thinking it, in hearing those words, she knows she's made the decision.
She's gonna go.
If there's any time to slip out she has to do it now, fast, but her feet are cemented to the floor, the gravity of her husband's presence keeping her from moving even an inch. It's never been so wonderful just to be this close to him. Just to look at him.
But if she lets him see her…he won't let go.
You have to move.
Move, Kate. Do something.
And it's that choice, that temptation to stay or duty to walk, that stabs something inside of her, the rush of tears bleeding out, trailing down before she can even try to flick them off her cheek.
Whirling around to escape the desire, she runs into Ryan, a near collision before he grips onto her arms to steady her. She wobbles for a minute, almost ready to topple over.
"Whoa hey–" he says quickly in response to her haste. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I just–" she begins, turning back briefly to see Castle again. "I'm heading out."
"Without…Castle," he half asks. Sucking in a breath, her lips thin, rolling inward as her lids flutter and brows furrow. The answer is obvious, but even so, she can't say it. "Beckett what're you doin?"
"It's…it's complicated, Kevin, I'm sorry."
"Why are you directing the apology to me?" he says. It's innocent, but the implication cuts her like her flesh wound has been gashed open again. You should be saying sorry to him.
"I'll explain, one day. Soon, okay?" she assures, shrugging her shoulders to remove his hold on her. "I just–I can't do this right now."
Starting to walk past him she catches his head hang, the tension in his jaw and the narrow of those bright eyes directed towards the floor. In fear he might say more she increases the length of her stride, but in reaching the other doorway he calls for her.
She's never heard him say her name so earnestly.
Her hand slides up the door frame to support herself as the ground underfoot seems to give way. Oh…No. She's weak. She's just too weak for this.
"You know, if Jenny needed space, I would give it to her. I would. But I'd also like to know why. I think it'd hurt less that way."
"Ryan, it's not–"
"I know it's not my place," he says facing her, hands lifted in apology. "But me and Javi…we're worried about you. We care for you, for both of you. You guys are…family. We just don't wanna see something great just die out without a fight, you know?"
He's always been so kind, Kevin Ryan. Tirelessly. But his kindness kills her more tonight than every instance before this, now understanding, or realizing rather, the motivation behind all of his and Espo's why's.
This is affecting them too.
"We're gonna work this out," she says, concealing a gulp with some struggle. She nods to reassure herself. We will.
"Will we?"
The rumble of his words, the silhouette of him, the blue in his eyes reaching out for her, all of it stuns awake the nerves that have numbed since her leave as she gawks at the opposite door. Castle's reigned her into such an unavoidable gaze.
It's been too long.
"So that's my cue," Ryan says cutely before strutting out. Even this can't break their look on each other.
It's been too fucking long.
"You're leaving," he concludes. "Tomorrow, then?"
It takes her a few seconds to direct her lungs to breathe so the words can properly release from her mouth. His tone of hope strangles them, though. Once they're out, it's just an old song. She's vomiting the only thing she knows, the only thing she can really give him. "I just need time," she says, seemingly for the umpteenth time, knowing that even with this repetition he'll never learn…But she has to try to teach him.
"This case is the first I've actually been with you in six days, Kate."
"I know. I told you, I'm trying to fix some things."
"And you need me out of your life to do that?"
Oh…Castle.
This conversation can't keep happening.
"That's…I'm sorry. I love you. I have to go."
Without a second look she severs their gaze and power walks down the hall, headed for the staircase, but she can hear his steps echoing after hers.
Stop, baby, please stop.
She hears the same pleading in his determination to chase after her.
"Beckett!"
His voice sinks into her chest, weighing over her heart that even breathing can't remedy. A gunshot, a stab, anything…she'd gladly take anything other than this.
Than walking away from her life.
Down the stairs each step pounds violently. At first she's got a lead on him, but a moment passes in silence before louder thuds resound, her head turning to see him leaping onto the landings from a few steps above them, reckless with no regard of how he will land, how he could fall.
His only concern seeming to be that he must stop her, no matter what that takes.
"Castle don't–" she warns, wary about the leg he'd banged up those couple years ago. He'd just been a show-off then. Now, now he's just desperate. Desperate to hold onto her.
She wants to punish herself for it.
Her scolding stops her on the last landing, giving him the opportunity to catch up and square off with her right there after a last leap. Panting, he draws close, leaving little space between them – inches, maybe. A heat builds between both bodies as she backs into the wall, unwilling to lift her sight to him.
They're dangerously close.
"What did I do?" he says, as her lids shut in response. Head turning away, his fingers reach for her to pull her back, gentle in cupping her jaw to steady it and align their faces together. "Sweetheart, what am I doing wrong?"
"It's not you. I told you that," she assures under her breath. Strength continues to drain like she's lost blood, and her knees buckle in a threat, cautioning her that she may fall into him, into the waiting embrace of her husband she's longed for in the last week.
"I lied. Before."
Her eyes rip open, finally linking them with his as he lets go of her face. In the release she relaxes, briefly, but his hand sweeps from her forehead to the back of her neck, slowly again and again, like he does when he puts her to sleep. It lulls her to move her head to rest on the wall, and she starts to lose it.
I swear I want to go home with you.
"What are you talking about?" she manages, straining to swallow the familiar sobs returning to her throat.
"You don't need me," he says, tears falling out of him now too. "You don't need me, but I do, I need you, Kate. And whatever I did, if I pushed you away, if this is about last year when I–"
"No," she says, her voice somehow breaking the word into two, miserable syllables. "No, baby, okay?" Mustering up her only strength left, she plants her hands on his neck to cradle him, and it's fire. Every digit burns along his skin, but she can't let go.
"Just tell me what this is, let me help you," he persists through his grief. "Let's work this out, let's figure it out together like we always do. Turner and Hooch, right?" He tries for a grin, and she returns one, but her lips tremble, despair prevailing.
"This is me. This is something I should've done a long time ago, before we got together. I'm trying to keep you safe, just trust me, okay?"
"Safe from what?" he snarls.
A faint smile spreads her lips, contrasting the stream of tears trailing over them. "From me."
Her hands slide off to fall at her sides as frustration seems to overtake him. She doesn't know what to expect, just about to leave, until he speaks up.
"You're my wife," he says, taking yet another step forward she hadn't even realized still separated them. "No one can nor should keep me safe from you."
The weight of him now pins her, his hands rising to the base of her neck while teasing parts of her that they graze along the journey. There can't be any space left, surely, but when he has his grip, he completes the curves of her in one final step to seal their bodies. The smell of him, the softness of his touch, she fights it but there's nowhere to escape. There's an insane build in her.
All it takes is one touch.
His lips, reverent, ease into hers, and the taste of his love fills her up. It's tender, lasting a mere few seconds before he pulls away.
And that's when she loses it.
She rips off his glasses, both lenses now steamed, before chucking it to the side, as two of her fingers on her free hand tuck under his bow-tie to curl over it and yank him back where he belongs. Both exchange heavy breaths between messy kisses as the rest of their bodies break into frenzy. He's holding her down, but she still writhes beneath him, screaming inside that their clothes still separate them from closeness they deserve to have.
As she pulls him in still hooked to the tie, her other fingers wrap around his neck while his roam her body, not a second wasted as he shows her just how much fervor still lives in his love. Every touch reminds, reminds her of some instance where they loved like this, making the reunion achingly beautiful, and in turn, destroying a part of her in knowing how it will end.
How it has to end.
When her lips are free from his, she seeks the opportunity to quench the flame before it can burn any further, but the devotion in the kisses he brands down her neck nearly silences her. It's a house on fire. It's even familiar, somehow.
It's…
It's like the very first time.
It's like slamming into that door all over again.
"Rick–" she strains, half whimpering, half protesting, groping for the will to leave as he gropes for the places that both know will certainly ground her here.
"Anything you say can and will be held against you," he teases, trying to ease her. He sounds like he would any other time together, but it's a fleeting mist of amusement when she smirks.
This is painful and joyful, everything in between. God she's missed him.
She wants to love him the way she always does. More, if that's possible.
It's difficult to convince her it's not with every kiss she continues to steal away.
Her core works instinctively, bucking up to meet him in spite of better judgment as her ankle hooks around his leg in reflex. She's losing control fast – the tie loosening more and more, dying as her only advantage over him – losing her leverage to this old rhythm of how they belong together, how they love, now amplified by absence. She's relieved, almost, because she's still debating when to just push him away and run.
That's been done already, no.
She can't do that to him a second time.
Her heart breaks for the love she promised she would never lose.
For the life that gave her the blessing of today, and assured her the great promise of tomorrow.
Things she'd forgotten how to believe in.
When he lifts her up, her back smearing up the wall, her fingers claw at his neck and scratch over his scalp as she sits on his waist, heels dug into his thighs either out of pleasure or pain.
Both, perhaps.
The friction, the power of him, the music of his voice in the way he hums for her, it shoves her to the edge. She slams her face into his shoulder to silence herself, afraid that the world will hear just how much she's missed her husband.
After a week without him, she's sure she can finish just being with him like this.
"I love you," he mumbles against her flesh.
Before that would spur her on. Now, it inflicts more pain. Her sighs choke out of her on every grind but she cries too, wanting to go back, wanting to change everything that's happened in the last week. Regret takes her to the moment she had typed that damned name, that asshole that ruined her, that altered everything she used to be before she lost her mother.
Everything she could be now.
But she remembers the sins that she's done.
She remembers the demon latching onto her soul.
Don't drag him down with you.
And so she weeps.
Each tear falls silently, but he stops them once he's aware of it; her face presses into one side of his head, the shake of her body against his in trying to muffle her psalms of hurt, unbearable. So he sets her down, reluctant still to let go. Time suspends for what seems like minutes in this embrace, before he pulls away to see the damage done.
"Please don't do this," he says, finding her hands to lock with his. "Come home."
"I love you," she says, squeezing his hand and lifting it up to kiss. "I love you. And that's why I have to go."
"Kate–"
"Thank you for reminding me."
Tearing away from his grip, she runs off, not daring to look back even when a loud bang thuds against the wall.
She winces, startled, but she knows she should've expected it. Her hand flies up to close her mouth, silencing her sobs and trapping the breath of him between her lips.
She's sleeping in these clothes tonight.
Thank you.
Thank you for reminding me why this has to be done.