A/N: This is a post-Watershed fic. It's not something I'd bet my house on, so have no fear things will unfold like this because I firmly believe that they won't. It's just another option to explore in the few that we have open to us at this point. I figure we have time on our hands and so...why not?
I'd like to thank BlueOrchid96 for her help, input and support on this one, and for putting up with my half-written rambles. You are gem, as always, CB.
"Love ‒ we need it now
Let's hope for some
So, we're bleeding out"
"I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart
I belong with you, you belong with me, you're my sweetheart"
- The Lumineers, 'Ho Hey'
Plum Crazy
Your eyes are red, swollen, puffy and tight, and all you want to do is close them. Close them and maybe sleep until you can wake up in a happier place, a less messed up place, if you can ever manage such a thing. Your nose streams and your throat burns with the pain of choking back so much emotion; holding it in to prevent yourself from crashing again. You lie on your side, inconsolable, curled up like a fetus, feeling feverish and hot, tangled up in sheets that still smell of him.
You got perfect - or as close to it as anyone ever gets – earning it by working hard to take down your walls stone by grievous stone, making yourself worthy, learning to live again in the process. But then you sabotaged it, putting road blocks in the way of a future that was dangling right in front of you; ripe and ready for the taking, like a perfect piece of low hanging fruit.
Inconsolable – the word rolls around inside your head like a marble in the bottom of a row boat; hard and round, rattling and infinite – you wonder if this pain will ever end.
He proposed. Six hours and forty-seven minutes ago, Richard Castle proposed to you and you ran. You ran away like the messed up, self-defeating, complex coward that you are.
You take down criminals for a living, run towards danger instead of away, and yet you fled from this – the ultimate life commitment to the man you profess to love.
Why?
His face swims in front of your eyes again – that quiet morphing from controlled anger when he delivered his speech about needing more, through nervous tension when he dropped to one knee and said those magic words, then followed the hopeful pause as he waited for your reply, crouching on the damp grass that beautiful ring clutched between his trembling fingers, before his expression descended into shocked disbelief and finally one of betrayal when you made your wordless escape. This entire metamorphosis lasted no longer than three of four minutes, three minutes that could have changed the course of your life immeasurably and forever, all set against the backdrop of a playground you'd failed him in once before.
A repeat offender.
You came to tell him that you were turning down the job, that you had chosen home and all that that entailed instead. But before you could share your decision with him he started to speak, silencing you, his carefully chosen, unemotionally delivered words leaving you certain he was on the verge of breaking up with you.
'I've been doing a lot of thinking about us. About our relationship, what we have, where we're headed. I've decided I want more. We both deserve more'.
Now you can't figure out how could you have misinterpreted that statement so badly?
All the nights you've spent in his bed and he in yours, the slow, gentle merging of your lives? You love this man, you know this man, so how could you get this so wrong? How could you have imagined that he didn't want you anymore? Because you were considering a life without him? Is that it?
What happened to Always?
You've made a mockery of everything you two have together, of everything you've shared over the last year and all the years before that, by basically saying that your relationship had no importance in your life, had no bearing on your future, no place in your decision making, hadn't changed anything about you, that you were still a singular unit, an independent being who operated outside of your coupledom.
'It's who you are. You don't let people in. I've had to scratch and claw for every inch.'
These words make you feel so ashamed. Exactly what were you protecting, and from whom – Richard Castle, the man who loves you more than anyone ever has, who'd give you the world if only you'd let him?
You betrayed everything your relationship signified, ignoring it like an unpleasant or inconsequential memory; a passing phase. You struck out on your own to investigate a new life for yourself as if you were single, when clearly you are not, making decisions that would affect both your lives, unwilling to share until you'd reached your own conclusion. But then you behaved the same way when you allowed yourself to be charmed by Eric Vaughn and look at the trouble that got you into.
You were scared for you and for him you rationalize now, embarrassed to have kept the facts of your job offer a secret, acted so selfishly, so…singly. That's why you ran. You explored the potential of a future without him, and worse still, lied to his face about flying to another city for an interview – your phone was off, seriously? This man deserves better than you, he had a lucky escape you told yourself as you fled that park on foot leaving your car behind, blindly taking the subway several blocks away, little memory of how you got home. You try to tell yourself the same thing now – he's better off without you - before self-preservation kicks in and you begin to dissolve like an ice cube in a glass of hot water; you crack and melt and threaten to disappear altogether, great fissures opening up in the space where your heart used to be. Because you need him. You need him and you want him more than the risk of heartbreak or failure or the potential for loss. You're staring loss in the face right now; you're making it a certainty both for Castle and for yourself, all by your own hand unless you act.
"Lanie," you wail plaintively, into your cell phone.
"Kate? Honey, what's wrong?" asks your friend, her voice instantly registering your fragile state.
"He proposed," you whisper, the words catching in the back of your throat.
"He—? And I'm guessing you don't think that's a good thing?"
"Lanie it was awful. He sounded so…so angry, so cold. I had to get out of there. I left my car. I didn't even give him an answer. I think I've ruined everything," you croak, fresh tears coursing down cheeks as raw and tender as a newborn's.
"Kate, slow down, sweetie. Take a breath for me. Do you love him?" she asks gently.
"Yes," you choke out shakily, clutching a pillow to your chest. "Yes, of course. But that wasn't the way a proposal was supposed to happen. So perfunctory, like some kind of ultimatum, not the least bit romantic. I think he only asked out of desperation."
"To keep you here?"
"No, he said whatever I decide…"
"And? Did you decide about the job?"
"I turned it down."
"Have you been drinking?"
"No! No, why would you think that?" you ask, angrily swiping at your tears.
"Because you sound so upset, honey. Where are you?"
"At home."
"Good. Good. Okay, then listen to me. You go into the bathroom right now and you wash your face. Then I want you to put on some clothes and go over there and you refuse to leave until that ring is on your finger. Understand?" Lanie spells out, sternly.
"But I…" you sob, wanting to do exactly as she says, but feeling that things are too far-gone.
How can he ever forgive you now? You can't even argue that he should.
"No buts, Kate. I've watched you struggle with this for years and you finally got what you wanted, what you both deserve. It's time to fight for it one last time, honey. You can do it. Now, go on," she says gently. "Do as I said and call me when it's over."
You hang up and then sit on your bed in a daze for several seconds wondering what to do. Deep down you know that you called Lanie for a reason, not because you wanted her to fix this for you, but because you knew she'd talk you into doing it for yourself; into doing the right thing.
You stand up and your joints protest. Walking to the bathroom is like wading through a strong current, the water flowing fast towards you. You turn on the faucet and splash your face for several minutes, enjoying the punishing burn of cold water on your skin. When you pat your face dry your eyelids are still swollen, plum-colored bruises like thumbprints frame your lower lids. Make-up is a waste of time and you've covered up enough of yourself lately. Time to face life in the raw, to confront both Castle and yourself with the ugly truth, if he has a hope of seeing what he'd be getting and you have a chance of finding an honest way to make this better.
You grab a worn pair of jeans, team it with a purple silk shirt you love – loose and flowing. The shirt doesn't go with the jeans or the tatty Chucks you pull on, but you don't care. You love the color – it makes you feel strong - and Castle once admired this shirt on you, so you go with it: a half-hearted attempt to remind him why he fell in love with you in the first place. Because right now, you cannot believe that it had anything to do with your character, that's for sure.
Keys, wallet, cell phone are the only things you leave your apartment with. It's dark out, the streets quiet. You hail a cab and sink back into the lumpy, over-sprung back seat, your long legs jammed up against the back of the panel that separates you from the driver's cab. You scuff the ridged, dusty plastic floor covering with the heels of your sneaker, and rub your palms down the thighs of your jeans, searching for words in the jumble that is your brain - words to explain, words to apologize, words you may need to beg; a vocabulary that seems as alien to you as a foreign language.
His building has become your building, his hallway your hallway. You touch your fingertips to the familiar front door of the loft, imagining you can feel the heartbeat of the home you've been sharing almost exclusively for several months radiating its familiar warmth through the polished wood.
His key is hanging next to yours, the small bunch digging into your thigh through the worn fabric of your jeans. You finger them, but decide maybe you forfeited your right to use it when you ran out on him today at the most pivotal moment in your shared life so far.
Shared.
So you raise your hand to knock instead, glimpses of a rainstorm - cold water on your skin, your hair plastered to your head, soaked clothes sticking to your body - flickering through your brain; vivid flashbacks that fill you with wonder for the courage you found that night. Courage you need to find once more.
Your head is bowed, eyes trained on the floor when the door finally opens.
You look up to find Martha smiling at you – the smile of a mother out to protect her only son, you imagine.
"Katherine, darling. Come inside. Why didn't you use your key, my dear?" she coos, her voice soothing and familiar.
You stare at her, speechless for a second that she's still prepared to let you anywhere near her dear boy, let alone welcome you in.
"I…uh…I wasn't sure I would be welcome. I thought knocking might be best," you whisper, your throat constricting painfully again when your partner's mother takes your arm, linking it with her own, and leads you inside.
"Nonsense, darling. This is your home," she reassures you kindly.
"No. No, it's not," you say, shaking your head, tears springing to your eyes at the pity and sympathy in Martha's maternal gaze. "I haven't earned that right."
And how could you not have considered this factor too – the love you are so freely and generously given by this woman – when you plotted a life without this family. The equation that is your life entails much more than just you and Castle now. How could you have acted so independently, so coldly, so selfishly, so unthinkingly?
"How is he?" you ask, when you scan the living room and kitchen and fail to see him.
"Brooding," relies Martha, dryly, placing a thin, bony hand on your back.
"I'm sorry," you tell her, shaking your head. "I don't know what I was thinking. If I could do it all again…"
"Darling, don't tell me. You'll find him in his study…staring at a wall," she adds, with some comic contempt.
You thank her, try to hold it together when she draws you into a warm hug, swallowing hard, drawing on her strength, all not yet lost at least where Martha is concerned.
"Talk to him. Explain. He loves you, Katherine, of that be in no doubt. But you need to tell him, make him understand, whatever it is that you want. It's only fair, my dear."
"I will. Don't worry," you assure her, squeezing her hand, the mild rebuke enough of a kick-start to help you put one foot in front of the other and go to him.
You knock on the doorjamb. You can see his back and the slumped curve of his shoulders through the gaps in the bookcase. He startles at the sound, his head snapping up as if he's been expecting this moment all along, and now that it's here he still finds himself unprepared.
He spins in his chair, sees that it is you, or confirms what he already knows, and then he turns slowly away again to face the window. He says nothing, just rocks slightly on the spring-backed chair, hands pressed together between his knees.
You wait. Nothing. So you take matters in hand for once. A deep breath, another couple of soundless steps, and you are inside his study; a space so familiar to you now and so replete with memories that you feel as if you could lay your hands on any given book, blindfolded, if asked.
"You offered me everything today and I deserve none of it," you begin quietly, trying to find your voice. "I lied to you, Castle. I didn't behave like a partner, let alone someone you should be asking to marry. You have two ex-wives already, I'm sure you don't need a third."
"I think that was my choice," he replies, his voice low, deep, choked-stern with emotion, just as it was on the swings.
He is a man of humor, lightness, of sunny disposition and optimistic heart. These grave negotiations between you rob him of the chance to be who he is, you realize, changing him into this serious person with a voice to match. If only you'd figured that out before this afternoon, you might have viewed his speech and declaration in a wholly different light.
"Do you think I would have asked you if I thought I would fail again?" he adds, his whole body still trained away from you.
"You would fail?"
"We…we would fail. Do you, Kate?"
He finally swivels round in his chair to look at you, and you see him blanche a little when he catches sight of your bare face – it's pallor, the red swollen eyes that reveal exactly how your afternoon was spent, and your clothes – the plum silk shirt he loves, the rest mismatched and thrown together, hinting at your haste to get here you hope.
You shrug, shake your head, toe the floor.
"Do you have any idea what those marriages cost me? Do you? And I'm not talking money, Kate. I felt like a failure…twice over, a laughing stock, and I had to do it in public, in front of my child. So, Richard Castle marries his muse and then the whole thing goes south a few months or a few years down the track. You think I haven't thought about that? The fun the tabloids would have?"
"So why even put yourself in that situation?"
"Don't you get it? After all this time? Everything we've been through together? I would lay down my life for you, Kate," he says, raising his voice, anger leaking through that you still can't see the truth as he sees it.
He pauses, gathers himself for a second, the magnesium-bright flare of hurt and frustration quickly dying away as always.
"And there have been times it's come pretty close to that over the years. But that's what unconditional love is. It's the love you have for your child…or your wife. It's what your mom probably felt for your dad and vice versa. There is little you could do to put me off marrying you, aside from cheating. I draw the line at cheating. So, take the job. Don't take the job. Fact is, I can write anywhere, we can live anywhere, and sure, you might be busy working long hours and I wouldn't get to follow you around anymore. But, you know what? You'd come home to our home, Kate, at the end of every shift and you'd sleep in our bed, and nobody, not even the Feds, works seven days a week. We'd make it work because we love each other more than those obstacles and because…how can we not?"
Tears stream down your cheeks and you brush them aside, soaking the back of your hand, watching as dark stains bloom on the front your plum colored shirt when the few you're too slow to catch get away from you, splashing onto the deep purple silk and spreading like wildfire. He's still so sure of you, of what he wants, to the point of putting himself last again, disrupting his life to follow you, and it throws you so hard to see it.
"I needed space to think, time to figure this out for myself, to work out what I wanted," you explain, though you know it's a poor excuse and you come off sounding selfish all over again. "That's why I didn't tell you about it sooner. But it was all about the job, Castle, I swear. I know I acted as if I wasn't in a committed relationship and that was wrong. But, honestly, I wasn't sure where I stood, where this was going. I'm not used to having to consider anyone else when it comes to making decisions about my life, Castle, and, frankly, I had no idea where your head was at either."
"Then talk to me, Kate. Ask me," he implores, desperation that you take this point on board raising his voice again.
"I did ask you and you brushed it off. I know I have issues with sharing and communicating and letting people in, but I am trying to be better. But you have issues with commitment too. We danced around one another for four years before getting together. I didn't know whether or not we were just in love with the dance. Whether what we had was real enough to last. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry? Kate, do you think that broken kneecaps and…and sick teenage daughters, scheming ex-wives, warring parents, dirty laundry and grocery lists is being in love with the dance? Do you? Because that, all of those mundane, humdrum and unpleasant things, they are the soundtrack to our life. Not hearts and flowers and romantic gestures. It's the grit in the oyster that grows the pearl."
"Poetic," you say, dryly, scuffing the floor with your sneaker.
"But true. We've done the dance. I found the head that fits my shoulder. We've seen a lot of ugly, Kate, shared a lot of pain. I know you, all of you, the good and the bad, and I think that you know me too. So, if you decide to go to DC without me…"
"I'm not going to DC," you cut in.
"What?" he balks, sitting up straighter.
"That was what I wanted to tell you. That's why I needed to see you today, to tell you that I already turned down the job. My life is here. Everything I want is here. You, my job at the Precinct, the guys, my family. It's all here, Castle."
"So…so, wait. Back up a second. If you were coming to tell me you were staying, why did you run when I asked you to marry me?"
"Why? Because you sounded so angry. I thought that you wanted to break up with me. And then all of sudden you're down on one knee and all I could think was 'no, no, no. Please not like this.'"
"Not like what, Kate?"
"Cold and, like I said, angry. Your proposal seemed expedient, Castle. Perfunctory. In fact, it was probably the most unromantic proposal in the history of proposals," you half-laugh, half-sob.
"You wanted romance?" he asks, as if he's unable to believe what he's hearing. "Sorry, I must have missed that memo. Oh, I know, maybe you took it with you when you flew to DC without telling me to interview for a job. In fact, to audition for a whole new life that didn't include me in it. Forgive me if I forgot to bring flowers when you were breaking my heart," he throws out, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm.
His words are like a slap in the face, but you know why he's hurting and for the most part it is your fault.
"I know I deserve that. But just remember you flew to Paris on the back of a lie not so long ago. I gave you a free pass since you needed to find Alexis and I know you wanted to protect me from getting involved in anything illegal. But you still lied to me too. That's not to say I'm making excuses for what I've done, or that two wrongs make a right. Castle, I know how much I've hurt you. And I know that all I have to offer you are excuses. But I do love you."
"Then why? Explain to me how you could forget about us so easily. How you could brush everything that we have together aside for the sake of a job, Kate?"
"But I didn't. Don't you see?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You turned it down. So…what? I should just be grateful that things ended up in my favor? Are they even in my favor, because I have no clue what's going on here, Kate. I have no idea what you're doing here."
"I'm trying to explain, to apologize, to…"
"Than do it!" he exclaims, angrily. "Make me understand. Tell me what I need to do to get you to open up to me, to stop you running once and for all."
"This isn't your fault, Castle. This is all on me."
"You know what? I hate this. I…I'm tired of this. Of who's to blame and where we may or may not be going. I just need a little clarity in my life for once. So, when you've figured it out…why don't you come tell me what the hell we're doing. Because I have no clue."
He gets up out of the chair and takes the long way around the desk, as far away from you as possible, heading for the bedroom.
The old you – the Kate who ran today – considers giving up, leaving, going 'home' to lick her wounds and give it up as a bad job. But the new you – the Kate who called Lanie tonight, who reached out when she knew she needed help, who came here prepared to apologize and beg if necessary – she runs her hands through her hair, scrubs them down over her face and then follows her partner into the bedroom.
Castle is sitting on his side of the bed, his head bowed over his knees, one hand resting on the back of his neck, staring down at the rug.
You push the fear in your chest aside – that fear of rejection, of over-stepping boundaries, figuring that if he wanted you to be his wife, no matter the poor timing, then you're entitled to be here – and you seat yourself at the bottom of the bed, smoothing down the corner of the comforter, remembering how you made the bed together just a few mornings ago before you left for work. Then you kick off your sneakers and curl your legs up beneath you, rubbing you arm when a shiver wracks your body.
"Do you remember that summer, a couple of years into our partnership, when you asked me to go with you to the Hamptons?" you ask, clasping your hands in you lap.
Castle doesn't move, doesn't react or reply, just keeps staring dully at the floor.
"Well, I decided to say yes, you should know. And then right at the moment I was about to tell you, Gina showed up. I felt so…so stupid and cheated. I'd finally worked up the courage to make a move, and… God, I was angry with you too. You asked me to go with you and then there she was. This stand-in. Your backup plan. I never heard from you that entire summer."
"Kate, I had no idea," he replies, clearly floored by your confession. "I…I don't even know what to say to that. You—you were really going to come with me?"
You nod, biting your lip.
"I thought maybe we had something. That maybe we were ready to explore it a little away from work. Find out if we could be more than…more than what we were back then."
"So…" he shakes his head, crashing through the months and years that followed, the missteps you both made, the opportunities wasted, the subtext and miscommunication that was layered over almost every conversation you had from that day forward. "Why did it take us so long—I mean, two more years, Kate? How did that happen? It's like we went backwards."
"I didn't know if I could trust you or me for that matter. I felt let down and I wondered if maybe I misread the signs, maybe you weren't the guy I hoped you were."
"Let down, how exactly?"
"You asked me to go with you and then you showed up with her," you point out again, your own voice rising now with that dash of humiliation you still feel when you remember Roy and the boys watching you standing there alone as Castle and his second ex-wife sailed off into the sunset together, right after you broke up with Demming in order to be with him.
"You kept knocking me back, Kate," he reminds you gently. "Every time I asked. And as I recall, I was pretty persistent."
"You were," you concede, with a wry smile. "Finally wore me down too. I just… Look, I didn't want to be another notch on your bedpost, Castle. And when you showed up with Gina I began to wonder if you just wanted to make sure you went out there with a woman on your arm, any woman, didn't matter which one. That's all."
"I wish I'd known. I wish you'd said something sooner. I choose you first, if that's of any consolation."
"First pick, huh?" you nod, and then shake your head. "Probably would have ended up killing each other anyway. I mean you broke up with Gina not long after you got back, right. Maybe it would have been the same for us."
"I didn't call, I know. That was a mistake. I saw that as soon as I came back to the precinct to work with you again, how hurt you were. But I didn't feel I had any right to. Anything to offer that you would have been receptive to, and there was the small matter of Demming. Neither of us was exactly free."
"I broke up with him so I could go to the Hamptons with you," you confess, looking up to see Castle's reaction.
"God, I feel like such an idiot," he says, rubbing his hands down over his face.
"Don't. I was too slow. Story of our relationship pretty much - poor timing, missed opportunities, bad communication."
"But that was three years ago, Kate. We were different people then," he reminds you, wondering why this story, why now.
"My point is: we keep repeating the same mistakes, Castle. So often, it's a swing and a miss with us. That I can sleep in your bed and live with your family, and yet not ask you where our future is headed… There's something fundamentally wrong with that."
An uneasy silence settles on the bedroom until Castle clears his throat.
"You did ask me, Kate. I heard you. I just chose not to answer."
"What?" you ask, looking up in surprise at this confession. "You were lecturing me about talking to you just a moment ago. And you chose to ignore me when I went out on a limb to ask you where we were going? That's hardly fair."
"I told you cheating is a deal-breaker for me. That thing with Eric Vaughn shook me up more than I let on; how quickly you forgot about us."
"But, I didn't…" you protest.
"Please…just let me finish. When you came to me a year ago, the night of Alexis' graduation, and you told me that the case didn't matter anymore, that catching Maddox didn't matter, you just wanted me—all my dreams came true that night. All of them."
You feel tears prick your eyes again that this can mean so much to him and you treated it so carelessly, so recklessly.
"What is wrong with me?" you blurt, startling Castle mid-thought.
"Wrong with you? What do you mean?" he frowns, glancing over at you.
"What you just said. That I could mean so much, that us being together could mean so much to you, and I just, almost, threw it away…over a job! Rick, what is wrong with me?" you choke, pressing your hand over your mouth to stifle a sob.
"You're you, Kate. Complex, private, independent, hard to reach sometimes. But I've gotten used to that. My point is, all my dreams came true, but I had no idea that my nightmare was just beginning."
"Nightmare? What nightmare?"
"Being with you was wonderful, has been wonderful, better than I could ever have imagined. How you opened up, changed, how…how loving you were with me, fun and playful. You amazed me constantly. That's why watching you run today took me by surprise. But this past year I felt like I was walking this tightrope. One false move and it was all going to be over. So, I let things stall and drift because I was too afraid to push for more, too afraid you'd run if I asked for more. I tried to let you lead, set the pace, when I see now that you wanted me to let you know where I wanted us to go all along. By letting you lead I may have looked like I was happy with the way things were, content with the status quo. I let fear get the better of me, and for that I'm sorry."
"See…this! This is what I mean," you exclaim, throwing out a hand in Castle's direction.
"What?"
"You're the one apologizing again. I acted like a selfish ass, telling you this was 'my life', that the decision about a job that would have changed both our lives immeasurably had nothing to do with you? What about your mom and Alexis? Hmm? Don't they deserve some part in this too? Some consideration. I practically live here after all. This goes way beyond private and closed off, Castle. Even I want more for you that this: than what I've given you lately. And you should too," you say, getting up off the bed to pace.
"You are who you are, Kate. But then so am I. You can't tell me I don't have flaws, because I know I do. I can be annoying, careless, immature, selfish, and some days all before breakfast. But you love someone enough and those flaws don't matter. You love them in spite of their flaws."
"You loved Meredith and Gina in spite of their flaws, and that didn't exactly work out for you, did it?"
"Look, I've said this before. But, at the risk of sounding trite, I am going to repeat it again. They weren't you, Kate," he tells you, softly, his head turned to watch you map the bedroom floor. "Meredith and Gina? They aren't you. Not in a million lifetimes could they compare."
You stop pacing to turn and look at him.
"Don't," you choke, shaking your head. "Please, Castle, don't."
"Don't what?" he asks, finally getting up from the bed himself to come closer.
"Don't be nice to me," you say, holding your hands up as if to ward off his kind words.
"Why?" he asks, suddenly standing right in front you, his voice lowered to that intimate timbre that plucks at your heartstrings and raises goosebumps all over your skin, a hint of amusement woven through his tone.
"Because I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you," you insist.
"But maybe…just maybe we deserve each other," he suggests, taking your hand, first one and then the other, until you're standing toe-to-toe.
"What? To stop us from ruining anyone else's life?" you laugh, ducking your head as another tear runs down your face, feeling shaken up and out of control.
You look at one another for a second or two after that, a dead calm settling over the room while a wild pounding strikes up in your heart.
"I really am sorry," you whisper, giving in when Castle lets go of your hands to draw you into a hug.
You both breathe out in relief, shaky, clinging on tightly to one another.
"I believe you," he whispers, into your hair, rubbing your back, squeezing you tightly again as if he can't get enough of holding you.
"Let me make it up to you?" you ask, leaning back a little to look at him.
"Well, there's still the small matter of the question I asked you earlier today. You could give me an answer to that."
"Rick," you shake your head softly.
"What?" he asks gently, skirting your cheekbone with his thumb.
"I'm not going anywhere. We're still going to be partners. But the big stuff…" you shake your head again, smoothing one hand down his chest, the fingers of your other hand hooked into his belt at the back of his pants. "We have work to do before we're ready for that."
"Then move in with me. Let's take that step at least, hmm? Make it official."
"Move in?" you ask, a hopeful smile appearing on your face.
"You think you can cope with that? Full time craziness around here?"
"Can there be ground rules?" you ask, teasingly.
"Ground rules?" he nods thoughtfully, starting to grin.
"The Baywatch underwear," you shake your head, wrinkling your nose in displeasure, eyes dancing like flames.
He laughs and your heart eases in your chest, a warmth spreading throughout your body.
"Consider them gone. In fact, I will go down to the basement and put them in the furnace right now if you want. Just tell me you'll stay? We can figure the rest out later."
"I love you so much, you know that?" you whisper, earnestly, cupping his face in your hands.
"So, you'll stay?" he asks, fingers lacing tightly in the small of your back.
You nod, pressing your lips together to hold everything in that's threatening to bubble out.
When you get ready for bed, you go over to the dresser to put your dad's watch in the little glass bowl that's gradually become yours. In it you find your mom's engagement ring suspended on it's customary chain, but strung next to your mom's ring is the beautiful diamond engagement ring Castle proposed to you with earlier today.
You lift it up, hold it to the light, the chain and your mom's ring nestled in the palm of your hand. The cool metal warms in your fingertips, the array of diamonds scintillating in the muted bedroom light. You hear Castle come back into the room behind you, having just spent a few quiet moments chatting to Martha.
"What is this doing here?" you ask, turning to face him.
He comes over to stand in front of you, rocking back on his heels. Then he takes the two rings and the chain from your hand to look at them, curling all three in the palm of his large hand.
"I hung your engagement ring on here today, next to your mom's, when I got back from the playground. I hope you don't mind. I thought maybe you could wear it like that for now, and then, when you feel the time is right, when you're ready, you can start to wear it properly."
"You did this before we even talked?" you ask, amazed at his faith that things would somehow work out.
He nods, brushes your hair away from your face, sending curls tumbling over your shoulder.
"I want you to be my wife, Kate. Here or in Timbuktu, I don't care. And that takes as long as it takes. But, I'm not giving up on us."
"You won't have to. I'm here, Castle, and I'm in this," you assure him. "Give me a little time to get used to the idea, to feel…worthy of what you're offering me."
"Is that a promise?" he asks, a hopeful light in his eyes.
"That is definitely a promise," you reply confidently, leaning in to kiss him.
You spent only four more nights at your old apartment after that. Four nights scattered over a couple of weekends while you boxed up your old life, and never alone, always with Castle next to you, his teasing a constant soundtrack to your packing. 'Assisting' he called it, though at times it seemed more like hindering.
His gleeful cries of 'Wow! You kept this, Beckett?' threw you into a tailspin every damn time, wondering what the heck he'd found at the back of a closet or in an old storage box this time.
You served notice on your lease, and then you got the movers in, splitting the furniture you wanted to keep between the SoHo loft and the Hamptons house. Castle's basement storage locker became home to boxes full of childhood memories and every teenage trinket and memento you couldn't bear to part with.
He teased, you pushed back, and stories tumbled from your lips with easy fluidity; a gush of memories flooding back to you with every item you handled, wrapped and packed, matched by stories from your other half, as you mindfully strived to share as much of your personal histories with each other as possible.
Building, learning, sharing.
Three months later...
You head out deathly early to a grubby crime scene one dark, humid, August morning, the steamy sidewalks stinking like garbage left out in the sun too long even at 5am.
Castle catches up with you a while later, just as the body of a young, female – no wallet, no I.D. – is being loaded into the back of the M.E.'s van.
"Hey, sorry I overslept," he apologizes, a little breathless, holding two much-needed cups of coffee, his hair still damp from the shower.
"Castle, you should have stayed in bed. You look tired and this one is pretty cut and dried," you tell him, watching the wheels of the gurney collapse and fold away when it hits the back of the van and the black body bag slides inside.
"Tweeker," you explain, nodding towards the van. "Probably O.D.'d. A pro too by the looks of it, judging by her clothes. Skin is bad, sunken face and eyes, rotten teeth, definitely a habitual meth user. No signs of foul play other than she was probably robbed after she died in the alley, either by a john, her pimp or some random opportunist. We'll know more when Lanie gets to work on her. How'd the writing go last night?" you ask, thanking him when you take the cup of coffee he hands you. "I didn't hear you come to bed. Must have been late."
"What is that?" he asks, his eyes widening when you wrap your hands around the takeout cup and the second finger on your left hand catches the plummy purple light of early dawn.
You smile, and it gets wider with every passing second as you look down at your own hand, admiring the ring on your finger, today finally feeling like that day. It wasn't a coup de foudre, the decision crept up on you with a gentle stealth; the feeling that you had finally made sufficient progress, opened up enough, committed enough to your relationship that you felt worthy. Because it wasn't about being ready anymore. You were more than ready.
"Beckett, what is that?" he repeats, reaching out to grasp your wrist and draw your hand towards him so he can finally see for himself what the ring he picked out for you months ago looks like on your finger.
"It's a yes," you grin, eyes suddenly glittering with tears when Castle throws his coffee cup into a Dumpster and scoops you up, spinning you round as you squeal to be put back down.
Several beat cops securing the scene and a couple of CSU techs crawling on their hands and knees in the dirt, accompanied by Lanie, Esposito and Ryan, all stop what they're doing to stare at both of you.
"She said yes," grins Castle, kissing you hard on the mouth.
A round of applause breaks out in the alley, until you shush everyone, gently reminding them why you're all here.
"You're really saying yes?" he whispers again, drawing you over to a wall for a second or two of privacy.
You nod, tears and smiles and hands clenched so tightly no one is breaking you two apart.
"If you're still asking? I'm saying yes, Castle."
"Want me to get down on one knee and do it all again, Katherine, because I will. You know I will," he grins, excitedly.
But you hold him firmly, shaking your head.
"I'm pretty sure dirty alleyway with dead hooker at one end wouldn't trump your first proposal in the romance stakes," you laugh, kissing him again. "But I'm ready to be your wife, if you'll have me."
"If I'll have you?" he grins, cheekily, planting his hands on your waist and snuggling up to you. "Oh, I intend to have you alright," he leers, kissing your neck.
"Castle!" you hiss, a feeble reprimand, slapping his hands away.
"Too much?"
"For here, yes."
"Ah, so you're not saying no."
"When have I ever said no to you for long?" you ask, a helpless smile on your face.
"There was this one time…"
"Shut up," you laugh, tugging on his lapels.
"Is that any way to speak to your husband-to-be?"
"Just establishing some ground rules," you smirk.
"Hey, I already burned my Baywatch underwear for you. You're not going after my Superman boxer shorts, are you?" he pouts, comically.
"Oh, they'll be coming off. But only so that Clark Kent can come out to play with Lois Lane," you tease, kissing his jaw and then nibbling on his earlobe.
You hear a throat being cleared nearby and look up to find Ryan hovering on the other side of the Dumpster looking slightly queasy.
"What is it, Ryan?" you ask, letting Castle go and taking a step back, realizing with some mortification where you are and why.
"Just wanted to say congratulations, boss. You too, Castle," he says, shaking Castle's hand. "Oh, and we found the victim's cell phone behind some cardboard boxes at the far end of the alley. Seems she has a daughter, judging by the photos that are on there. April, seven years old. Esposito's getting in touch with Child Protective Services to find out if she's known to them already. Also, we got and name and address. So, if you're ready to go…?"
"Okay. Good work. We'll be right there," you assure him, taking just a second to gather yourselves.
"Well, it looks like they're playing our song again," you tell your fiancé, marveling once more at how often gritty real life manages to intervene at your most private moments.
You walk a few steps and when he doesn't join you, you look back to find Castle grinning down at the dirty ground as if it's actually paved with gold and he cannot believe his luck.
"You comin', Castle?" you smile, jerking your head in the direction of your car and hanging back to wait for him.
His head snaps up, his eyes widening, and he nods, finally jogging to catch up with you.
"So, I was thinking. Maybe we could pick a theme for the wedding," he says, out of the blue, matching you stride for stride as you head towards the car.
"A theme?" you laugh uneasily, glancing up at him, noting the excitement that's adding extra bounce to his step today. "What kind of theme?"
Castle shrugs, his eyes dancing, as you unlock the car and you both climb inside.
"I jotted down a few ideas," he explains, hurriedly pulling a notebook from his coat pocket.
If this is the crazy, bring it on, you think, putting the car in drive and pulling out into early morning traffic with the biggest smile on your face.
Plum, noun: a deep purple color, which is a close representation of the average color of the plum fruit. Plum is an equal mix of the tertiary colors russet and slate. The first recorded use of plum as a color name in English was in 1805. In business, the color plum represents a business deal that is profitable —a plum contract. A plum job is a job that one is assigned to that has a high salary or the job may be secure with good pay but not much work to do. Plum is a feminine color, a romantic color and a royal color. Plum Crazy is a particular purple bodywork color for the Dodge Challenger car.
A/N: Okay folks, we've reached the end. Love to hear your thoughts. Thanks again for reading. Liv