It's everything you wanted, it's everything you don't
It's one door swinging open and one door swinging closed
Some prayers find an answer
Some prayers never know
We're holding on and letting go
Yeah, we're letting go
Holding On and Letting Go
He had done it again.
She doesn't know why she's surprised. She saw his face in the hospital, that carefully veiled devastation as she pushed him out of her life. And if it were the other way around. If it were him on the other end of those crosshairs...yeah.
Still, he went behind her back. And that...hurt.
They'd been together for almost a month. It was seamless, easy. Perfect.
They hadn't told anyone yet, but they weren't exactly hiding it either.
He told her he was waiting until he had something concrete. But he didn't. Nothing was coming, so he told her. Like a band-aid. And it was painful. She couldn't push down the ache that had settled in her chest. And she was trying. She was really trying to not care. To pretend that her mother's case still didn't rip her in two.
So, she ran away, barely giving him a chance to explain. She didn't want to hear it. It seemed she didn't have any other response to her mother's case. Even after all the therapy. All the fixing. All the waiting, she still ran.
Pressing her fingers into the skin between her breasts, pulled tight by scar tissue, she checked her phone. Twenty-eight missed calls, forty-three text messages.
Shit.
She should call him. But, she can't make herself push the button. Her thumbs hovers uselessly over his name.
She's surprised he hasn't shown up at the precinct. They were in the middle of a case. A case he was intrigued by. For the majority of yesterday she couldn't get him to stop spouting one ridiculous theory after another. She hid her amusement poorly, behind her coffee cup.
All she wanted to do last night was slip into bed with him and de-stress. Instead, she found herself wandering the ice slicked sidewalks of New York City for hours, before she wound up in front of the board.
He loved her. She was sure of that. The way he looked at her, there was no doubt. The look on he face when he told her, tried to make her see, that he couldn't lose her. Not again.
Yeah, she's an idiot.
Esposito and Ryan brushed past her, escorting a man into interrogation.
Good. That meant they found the man writing the story about their victim. This case was one dead end after another. Their high profile victim was found in the park, strangled. He was clean of any prints or fibers. No one in his life could shed any light on why this might have happened.
Finally, early this morning, tech pulled a deleted email about the date an interview with him would be published. She had sent Ryan and Espo to find and pick up the journalist who wrote it. At least something was going right today.
She took a steadying breath, clearing her mind. She need to focus on the case. So, before heading into the observation room to find out what the boys knew, she sent Castle a text. Short and simple.
I'm sorry. I love you.
...
The man sitting on the other side of the glass was older than she expected. His hair was grayed, but thick. Shoulders broad and stiff. He sat, square jawed, hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. His eyes blue and clear, patient.
"What do we know about this guy, Ryan?" She asked, unable to tear her eyes from the older man. Something about him was so familiar...
"Meet Alexander Bishop, investigative journalist," Ryan said, glancing up from the file in his hands, throwing a thumb in the man's direction. "He's like an older Jameson Rook, right?"
Kate choked on her sip of coffee and was now coughing, trying to get air into her lungs.
Oh, God.
"Beckett?"
She quickly looked out into the bullpen before remembering Castle wasn't there today. Thank God.
Still, shit.
"Who?" She asked again, just to be sure. Maybe she heard Ryan wrong. It might have just been the man's startling resemblance to her partner that made her think...She shook her hand, trying to dislodge the thought.
"Um, Alexander Bishop. He writes freelance for a couple high brow magazines. He was working on a piece about our vic for..." he flipped through his notes, until he found what he was looking for. "...Vanity Fair," he finished with a nod, clearly impressed. "Not bad. You know him?" He glanced at Espo. "Beckett?"
She doesn't hear him though. Her eyes were glued to the man in the next room. The man who, now that she's really looking, reminded her so much of Castle.
"Beckett," Esposito tried, a little louder than his partner.
"What?" She asked, startled from her thoughts. Namely, how she was going to tell Castle about this. She was now suddenly grateful for their fight, for the timing of it all. Castle had made the decision a month ago not to contact his father. This seemed like a cruel twist of fate, brining back the man who had abandoned him and his mother all those years ago.
Ryan and Esposito were looking at her, eyes laced with brotherly concern. She pressed the heel of her free hand into her eye.
"He's Castle's dad," she said on a sigh, combing her fingers through her hair.
...
Castle might have been sitting outside the precinct for a few hours. He drove a car, parked it down the block and waited. He was going to run out of gas before he heard back from her. He'd been trying to figure out how he was going to tell her about his investigation since Christmas. It was at the back of his mind every single minute they were together this past month.
He hurt her. He knew that. It was all over her face. She was in pain, and it was because of him. He hated himself for doing that to her. But she had to understand, he couldn't watch her get shot again. Or watch her flatline in the back of an ambulance. Just the thought had bile rising in his throat, threatening to choke him.
His fell back against the headrest, eyes sliding shut. Waiting. You think he'd be used to it by now. Waiting for her.
He must have dozed off, which is unsurprising since he didn't sleep at all last night. He was woken by the vibration of his phone against the dash. A text message. From her.
He almost sobbed in relief when he read it. The tightness in his chest easing almost instantly. He threw open the car door, scrambling to get to her. He just needed to see her. Touch her.
He stopped short of the precinct doors, deciding he shouldn't go up empty handed. Coffee. Coffee always helped.
Ten minutes later he was back at the twelfth, a tray of cups in one hand a pastry bag in the other. The elevator seemed to move slower than usual. He tapped his foot impatiently, unable to be still. It was going to be OK. She still loved him.
Her desk was empty. A few things had been added to the board. They'd probably gotten at least one new lead since yesterday. Her coat was hanging on the back of her chair, so she was here somewhere.
His eyes scanned the room. The door of the interrogation room was closed, but the observation room was open. He could see her back was to him and that she was deep in conversation with Ryan and Esposito. They were taking turns glancing through the glass to whoever they were holding on the other side.
Which meant he hadn't missed anything yet. Good.
...
She was telling her boys to conduct the interview without her, when she saw Esposito's eyes widen. She heard and felt the coffee that Castle had been carrying hit the floor. She spun on her heal. His face was paled, eyes locked on Bishop through the one-way mirror. His hands were shaking.
Kate glanced at the boys, telling them with a look to do as she asked. They pushed past Castle, each clapping a comforting hand on his shoulder. Once they were safely on the other side, Kate reached around Rick, shutting the door.
"Hey," she said softly, reaching a hand out to his arm, squeezing lightly. He flinched at the contact, then turned his eyes to her.
"Kate," his voice cracked, "Why is he here?"
Her heart twisted painfully in her chest. He was back to that broken man who showed up at her door on Christmas Eve, just four short weeks ago. She tugged on his arm, forcing him to turn and face her. His eyes slid to hers, softening slightly.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his waist. She felt him hesitate before hugging her back. He sighed, burying his face in her hair, breathing her in.
"No, I'm sorry Kate. I should've told you right away..." She pulled away to reach his mouth, silencing him with a soft kiss and a shake of her head.
"We're good. We'll talk about that later. After we deal with him," she said, trying on a barely there grin. His lips twitched. "He doesn't even have to know you're here, Castle."
He sighed and turned back toward the interrogation, pulling Kate against his side, dropping a kiss to her temple.
Ryan and Espo were grilling the older man about his research and interview methods, asking what he knew about the victims recent activities and for an alibi.
"I'll gladly turn over all my notes, everything I have, but I didn't see him that day. I was writing," Bishop said, running a hand over his face looking borderline amused. He looked around the room and then back to the detectives sitting across from him. "Hey...this is the twelfth precinct right?"
Espo glanced at Ryan and then nodded.
"Yeah, why?" Ryan asked, leaning across the table.
"Isn't this where Richard Castle does his 'research'?" He asked, an eye brow cocked, playful grin across his mouth. Ryan and Esposito sat stone faced, refusing to answer.
Castle swore under his breath and let his head fall with a thud against the glass.
"I'll take that as a yes," Bishop said, still smiling.
He couldn't move. The cool glass and Kate's warmth against his side were the only things grounding him.
"I don't want to do this, Kate."