So, here Ia m, with another small story for Castle, I think the third one. It's nothing in particualr, justa drabble, but yet I hope I did them kind of justice. ..
Discalimer: I don't own them.
She looked at the couple, leaving in the elevator, the police officer turned super-hero, with a soul ripped in two for the loss of her father, and the writer, creator of a comic book who followed the "adventures" of his muse, a man willing to sacrifice everything for that woman.
Castle joined her, so close his hands were almost touching but not yet, and looked at the same scene she was, a smug smile on his lips, quite proud of having yet again proved one of his theories right, and yes, amused by the scene as well, a sense of proudness, of closeness to the not so unlikely couple, ready to leave soon. For what seas, they couldn't know yet, and probably neither the cop turned avenger and journalist turned comic book creator did.
"Look at them, a writer and his muse, just like us…" he grinned, and she laughed, something that had been foreign for so long before they met, but that after had turned into an everyday occurrence, even when he was being basically a pain and the thorn of her existence.
And then, it happened. they kissed, the writer and muse kissed, right when the doors of the elevator were closing, but not him and Beckett, another writer and another cop/muse.
The breath died in his throat, and he gulped. It was exactly like them, but yet different. Something formed in his heart, an ache, because that writer was in love with that muse, that cop, and he was a writer in love with his muse, a cop and a hero just like that other woman.
Only, the other woman knew the writer loved her. and she loved him back.
Beckett didn't remember a whispered confession of love, words filling the atmosphere as blood was leaving her body, soaking wet his clothes, her limbs weightless in his arms. And he wasn't sure she loved him, he didn't know it.
Beckett slightly turned to look at him, and her laughter filled the bullpen, engulfing Rick's whole being with a sense of familiarity and closure and happiness her had rarely felt in his life, and never with a woman who wasn't his own daughter.
Home, family, his safe harbor, all inside that laughter, all inside Detective Beckett, his muse.
She looked at him for another instant, and then, shaking her head, she patted him on the shoulder and came back to work . she bite her lips, and couldn't help to rethink over and over again the words of wisdom shared with the younger agent, about the past, moving on and letting it go.
The hole in her heart, the one that was making her unable to fully love, fully commit to another one, was getting smaller and smaller with each passing day, with each moment passed around Castle.
One day, she knew, the hole would be gone. And he'd know that she had knew all the time, that she had heard a whispered confession of love, words filling the atmosphere as blood was leaving her body, soaking wet his clothes, her limbs weightless in his arms.
Painful, but extraordinary, because it enlightened her, was an epiphany, because being in his arms was coming home. He was home.