Scarred Heart
presents
Cracks
AN: So, basically, this is a response to Kill Shot. I felt like it. All criticism, good or bad is appreciated.
Disclaimer: Right then. If you believe I own Castle, my recommendation is simple. Find your local mental asylum through the trusty aid of Google Maps. And check yourself in.
"How are you coping, Kate?" he asks. Every time, like a broken record. Every beginning of every session. Every end, too.
"I'm here," she replies. He nods; jots something down on his notepad.
"You haven't had more panic attacks?" he asks curiously, one eyebrow slightly raised. Her fingers stop playing with the small figurine, her gaze turns to her lap. Anywhere but him.
"No," she softly replies. He nods again.
"Let's talk about something else. I want to talk about Castle," he says. Her reaction is immediate. Her gaze snaps back up, her eyes wider. A deer in headlights.
"I think we both know that the reason you haven't had any anxiety attacks is partly because of him," he says. She blinks. Speechless. Even he had to admit that was new. Kate was never speechless.
"You're right," she blurts out. "He's like my crutch."
A possessive my is all he jots down on his notepad this time. He smiles. Progress. It is certainly slow with Kate Beckett, but that doesn't mean that it is absent.
"Is that a bad thing?" he asks. Questions are answered with questions. There are no answers. Then again, this was therapy...
"I don't want to have to depend on anyone," she declared stubbornly. Her shrink nods. By God, he nods a lot.
"You didn't answer my question. Let me put it a different way. Do you feel better when you discuss what you're feeling with Castle?" he asks. She sighs. No words; just a sigh.
"Yes," she says eventually. He can barely hear her. Admissions were always hard for people like Kate. "It does help. He sits there and he smiles and I just let it out and he listens. It helps."
She smiles. It is the first time she has smiled in one of their sessions. But this was progress. The days when Kate Beckett truly progressed were few and too far between. She is stubborn by nature, that much was obvious to anybody who met her. She is particularly stubborn in her belief that she was fine on her own, and didn't need any help to confront her demons. Really, he is most impressed that Kate had let Castle in as much as she had.
"That's good. That's very good. You may think you can do this all alone Kate, but you shouldn't. Do this on your own, that is. Take the help Castle is offering, despite why you think he's offering," he says. She is silent. Her brow is furrowed, concentration evident in her eyes. The tone of the sessions had changed markedly once she told him about the lie.
"I have another suggestions," he adds. She frowns.
"I think you should tell him that you lied. You want to," he suggests. Her eyes widen and suddenly she is a deer again.
"I... I... I can't," she says, her voice broken. The words are choking in her throat with her heaving breath.
"Why?" It is simple, and yet, she finds little defence to the objection.
"I'm afraid," she whispers after a long silence. "Too afraid."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Of what?" he asks. She can't look up. Fear is powerful, and all too often, overcoming.
"That he'll leave," she whispers softly. He almost didn't hear her speak. His eyes widen slightly. Kate hadn't spoken much of the previous summer. He knows that it is a sore spot for her.
"Answer me honestly. Do you really believe he'd leave you?" he asks. Another long silence. She is playing with the figurine again. Avoiding eye contact.
"From what I know, that man has saved your life more than once. He hasn't left yet, Kate," he says gently. She turns from the window. She looks like a scared, scarred cat, ready to bolt in half a short moment.
"But what if something I've done is enough?" she replies.
"It won't be. He won't leave. Trust him not to break you, Kate. You need to," he says.
Risking our hearts is why we're alive.
"I need him," she corrects. He gives his last nod for the session. It is one of acquiescence.
There's a knocking sound. She tries to ignore it. It grows a voice box.
"Kate!" it calls. "You there?"
It takes her a moment to realise whose voice it is. Castle. Her crutch seemed to know exactly when he was needed. She pulls herself together quickly, and opens the door.
"Castle," she attempts to greet him cooly. Operative word: attempts.
"Kate," he says. Worried. Yes, that's it. He's worried. But why? "Where've you been all day?"
Oh. Yeah. She hadn't been at work. She remembers why she chose to call in a sick day. Should've known that Castle would come knocking. He always did. First, the wall. Then, the door.
"You never call in sick days, Kate," he says. There he goes again. Calling her Kate. He can't have missed her slightly bloodshot, puffy eyes. He never misses anything. Not to do with her, at least.
"Want to talk about it?" he asks. Her brows furrow in confusion. "Want to talk about whatever's wrong?"
Her brow is no longer furrowed.
"Come in, Rick," she says simply. She doesn't wait for an answer, goes straight back to her couches. He can't seem to move for a moment. Maybe it's because she called him Rick.
"Sit down, Rick," she says. There it is again. He flops down on the couch opposite her.
"How'd you know I stayed?" he asks. As if he doesn't know.
"Always," she parrots. He grins.
"Where were you all day?" Simple questions normally have simple answers, right?
"I was visiting my therapist," she replies. Psychological is implied. He knows she isn't talking about the guy with the amazing band. The kind that isn't on iTunes.
"Which explains why you've been crying," he says, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Guess what the operative word is.
"It does actually," she replies. "When you say always, do you really mean it?"
Wait, what? His wide eyes are comical.
"Yeah... I do," he says after a short, tense silence. There isn't a knife to cut it with, but the pen is mightier than the sword anyway. She doesn't respond, but the corners of her lips tilt upward to form the smallest smile. "What's wrong, Kate?"
She glances down. She glances up. Her eyes avoid his. They even think that they're successful. Five seconds later, he's staring into her eyes. She feels like her soul is an open book on the table, just waiting for him to read it.
"I lied," she says. Simply. Softly. He blinks. Confusion. Rapid thought. She can read him, too.
"About what?" he asks warily. Curiosity tinges the edge of his voice. Curiosity killed the cat. Hopefully, Castle was stronger.
"My amnesia," she replies. She's surprised she isn't monosyllabic. She doesn't think she can manage more than two-word sentences, though.
She sees it all pass along his face. Hurt. Pain. Confusion. Realisation. Love. Wait a moment. Love?
"Why aren't you pissed off at me?" she asks. He isn't. He isn't even tense. No gripping at the chair. No making to stand and leave.
"You know why. I'm not sure I should say it again right now," he replies simply. "And I don't think you're done, Kate."
"What don't you want to say again? That you love me?" she snaps. She can't stand how calm he is.
"The last time I did, you hid for three months," he replies.
"I'm not running now, Rick," she murmurs. He smiles. First name again. She smiles too. As best a smile as she can manage. "I'm done running, Rick. I'm confronting."
"Kate. You know how I feel. I've laid all my cards on the table already," he says.
"I know," she whispers. Ghostly whisper. Stupid mouth. Won't say what it should.
"Come on, Kate. This obviously had something to do with your meeting today. Talk to me," he encourages softly. Reassuringly. His voice is so relaxing.
"You know I've been having panic attacks," she'd turned up at his house in the middle of the night, crying, "and my shrink told me that I need to confront what I'm feeling."
He's sitting there, not moving. He wants to move, to rest a hand on her knee, to rub circles into the small of her back. Different actions, same meaning.
"I'm... I'm not sure how to say this," she says.
"Like a band-aid," he replies. His head is slightly tilted.
"I need you, Rick. The last couple of weeks have taught me that. You keep me from falling apart," she says. He has to actively stop himself from falling off his seat in shock. She ploughs on.
"Somehow, someway, you got inside my wall. You repair the cracks. You keep me standing. And I like having you there. You're the only one I can talk to about all of this. You're the only one I want to talk about it all with," she says. He can't speak. He's afraid she'll stop. He needs her too.
"It was hard to come to terms with it. I was broken. Damaged. But you love me," Kate says. The look on his face, the horror, makes her wince. Instantly, it is concern. He glides over, sits beside her.
"You aren't damaged, Kate. And even if you were, I'd still love you. That won't change," he says. She is holding back floodworks. So is he. He can't see her in pain. Can't bear it.
"I want to give this a shot," she says, looking up at him. There's a shy smile. He loves it. He leans in. The kiss is short. Sweet. They are both too tired for passion. Her hand is in his hair. His are holding her.
"God... I love you, Kate," he whispers into her lips. Their foreheads are locked. Their lips aren't more than an inch apart. And then they aren't. Again. This time there's more passion. Rick's declaration saw to that.
"You might have to wait a bit before I can say that back," Kate warns, once their passion has subsided. It wasn't really the love in his eyes that blew her away. It was the sincerity standing right beside it.
"I can wait, Kate. However long you need..." he leaves it hanging. She isn't sure she can end this sentence.
"You really mean always, don't you?" she asks softly. He sighs quietly.
"You're worth it to me, Kate. If I have to wait for a while for you to be really, truly, forever and ever and ever mine, I'll wait a while. Always is a promise, and I'm a man of my word," Rick says. She blinks. Her chest is too tight to breathe heavily, her throat too jumbled to speak and her eyes to blinded by the forming tears for her to do much else but blink.
"I am yours, Rick. You just have to give me a week or two to catch up to the whole declarations of undying love stage," she replies. Smiling is too weak a word, beaming to strange, to describe how he looks at this moment.
"Come here, Kate."
AN:
Right, so, this is my response to Kill Shot. Hope you liked it.
There's a little nod in this story to another author's Kill Shot post-ep. If you catch it, mention it in a review. If the author, who obviously remains nameless catches it, then I'm glad that you're reading this.
To love and life.
Scarred Heart
(formerly twitchy-raven)