Author Note: This fic is a one shot. It is part of a personal challenge I posed to my friend Mira-Jade. I explained that I need to work on my exposition as dialogue is something of which I have a firm grasp. I proposed that we each write a 300-500 word piece harkening back to the finale of Season 2. I wanted to explore, again, Beckett's thoughts as Castle exited the precinct with Gina in tow. I didn't need to be dark, but I want to touch on Beckett's vulnerability and the sense of shock and loss she felt at the turn of events. I hope you enjoy this vignette.
Sucker Punch
Detective Kate Beckett had been punched in the gut before. She knew what it felt like to lose her wind and fall to her knees, because that's what the body demanded when attacked in such a manner. She had even been slapped in the face; felt the stinging pain and the rise of heat.
This was worse.
Like a knife wound; visceral and exposed. Was there any doubt that the she was exposed? She may not have entered they fray, but she still got cut. To make matters worse, she was standing in the middle of the hall like sad piece of art on display for her colleagues.
Shock. Yes, that's the only way to describe how she was feeling. Shock. Castle was leaving… with Gina? What was she doing here? Where did she come from? She was like a chipper ghoul who appeared out of thin air to whisk him away.
He went with her; willingly and…happily? He had been more like a hyper child, hopped up on caffeine and nervous energy. He couldn't wait to leave. He couldn't wait to get away. That was strange considering what Esposito said about Castle's feelings. But Espo knew. He knew that Castle didn't want to be around if she was with another man.
Demming had been denial…and colossally unfair. He was nice. He was safe. He was attractive. He was not what her heart truly desired.
A small part of her was relieved that Castle had gone. It had taken a lot of nerve for her take the step, to actually take him aside and tell him how she felt. The fact that she hadn't pulled the trigger, so to speak, was like a band aid on a bullet wound.
She couldn't face the guys and wasn't ready to have it out with Lanie. Placing both hands casually in her pockets she turned and walked toward the rest room.
If Castle came back and followed her in, she didn't know if she would pull her gun or pull him close. Pull him close. Hold him. It was a foreign concept; touching him, for any reason, other than a passing brush or an elbow to the ribs. But something deep inside wanted it; wanted to be held. Not so much holding him, but being held; having a rock to lean on. Was Richard Castle a rock? Had he shown any kind of real intestinal fortitude?
She shook her head. Did it matter? He was kind and smart and funny. He was reliable and loyal. He was a…lover; in every sense of the word. She had seen him as father. She had seen him as a son. She had seen him as a friend. She had seen, was now seeing, potential for more.
She sat on folding chair bathed in the florescent light of a city restroom. He dropped her head into her hands and pulled her hair back behind her ears. She had no idea what to think. But she felt lost.
WHY?
Why was the rich, playboy, man child that important to her? Did he have that much hold on her heart; on her ability to be happy?
She needed to talk to him and she needed to talk to him now. It just wouldn't do to have this hanging over her head all summer; much less another gut wrenching moment.