Oh My F'ing Goodness, Linchpin! What kind of a kick-ass episode was that?
I simply had to write something. And so here it is. My version of what should have gone down after the fade to black. Of course this isn't what's going to happen. But a girl can dream. Right?
Written quick and dirty, not a soul has seen it and I edited as I wrote. Any murdering of the English language is entirely my fault and I apologize. Enjoy.
"So, Old Haunt? I'll buy you a drink"
It sounds flat to her ears. Used and repetitive.
She's sick of libations after work. A drink with the boys, a pint with the pals. She wants to take him home and wrap herself in his arms. Spend the night on her sofa talking about their dreams and their hopes. The things he'd so angrily accused her of hiding from all those months ago.
But that's not what they do. Keeping it professional and steadfastly refusing to cross the line. That's what they do. Safety in numbers. Be it cops from the precinct or a dinner at home with his family. She wants to take him home, her home where there are no distractions, drink a fine glass of Merlot and form a cocoon with him in her bed. Wake up with him in the morning. Wake up to butterfly kisses and his breath at her neck, the shell of her ear.
She doesn't think she can stand another morning of waking up to the taste of salt-water and the deep and abiding regret of missed opportunities.
She wants to be more. She wants him.
If that woman had made anything clear, through all the lies and deception, it was that she is ready. As Sophia had made her catty, little spiel about tension and lost sparks, all Kate had thought was that the woman was wrong. Even before the ugly truth had come out, the deception and the lies. She didn't believe a word of it. He'd made her believe.
It was different with them. It is different with them.
"I'd like that."
His hearts not in it, she can tell. He looks like he wants to go home and lick his wounds.
"Thought you might."
She's not going to let him. Not anymore. Enough.
They make their way towards the elevator, stopping for coats and another round of questioning by the boys. He's making all the right quips and he's smiling and playing coy in all the right places. But the smile never reaches his eyes and she thinks she had better get him out of here sooner rather than later.
It's not every day your once muse, turned lover, turned...whatever, ends up being a sleeper agent for the now defunct KGB. Add to that some maybe true, but probably not, intimations concerning his father and it makes for a Richard Castle she's not particularly familiar with.
Cocky, brave, gallant. That is the Castle she knows.
"Come on, Castle," she says, excessively bright, overly cheery.
She nudges him in the shoulder and cocks her head towards the elevator.
"Let's get going. Leave these buffoons to do the paperwork."
"Hmm? Sure." he mumbles.
She shoots the boys a warning glare, daring them to continue their little tirade. They catch the look, questioning with their eyes for a second but seeming to sense the slight disorder to her partner's disposition. They accede with an overly dramatic huff for his benefit, receive a self-satisfied smirk from Castle in return and allow her to lead him towards the elevator.
He's loyal to a fault, she thinks as they walk in sync to the elevator lobby. Trusts without question once his friendship has been offered.
And maybe that's the problem. Why he's having such a hard time bouncing back from this one. This had happened before. Almost a year ago to the day with Damian Westlake. His trusting heart and kind soul had not allowed him to believe that anyone could give him less than he offered in return. He'd defended Damian, now Sophia, and that steadfast loyalty had come to bite him in the rear.
What..who else must he be questioning now?
She's needs to prove to him, she thinks as the doors slide open and she depresses the button for the lobby, that loyalty is a two way street. That they didn't deserve the faith he had put in them.
That she does.
She realizes now that she hasn't done a particularly good job of returning his fidelity lately. She realizes that while at the surface their relationship has grown, flourished, since her return from the shooting, that she's been doing a pretty fine job of shutting him out and letting him wait for her trust. Her love. She realizes belatedly that while offering him smiles and drinks after work, the secret she is keeping is nothing but another blow to his unceasing faithfulness. That she doesn't deserve the belief he is bestowing upon her.
"If you're stubborn enough to keep going, I'm stupid enough to go with you."
The phrase keeps repeating in her mind. She doesn't want him to be stupid. She doesn't want to prove him right.
She's sick of being stubborn and he damn well isn't stupid.
He is brilliant and caring. Trustworthy and honest. Protective and would never intentionally hurt her. She wonders as the small, metal box descends, as she brushes her pinky finger against his wrist and as he smiles in return, as he clenches his fists and holds back from clasping her hand; she wonders what's stopping her. Why the hell is she still waiting?
It's not the case.
Her case or her mothers. She hasn't touched it..them, in months. She'd become cognizant of the fact that she didn't even want to look into it without him at her side. She'd realized it the very first week back on the job. She'd gone home and opened up the shutters, stared at her homemade board and felt nauseous with guilt.
As his fearful face when he'd asked her to, "give it time", had blurred into her vision and stopped her in her tracks, she'd packed up the files and put them aside.
For him.
For the memory of his anguished face in the cemetery. His shattered face at her bedside and his pleading and hopeful voice when he'd asked her to step back.
It's not her feelings.
She's been clear on them for a long time. Certain since the day in the bank. When the reverberation of explosives had rocked the van, when the smell of hot metal and the grit of pulverized concrete had assaulted her senses. When smoke had burned her eyes and she had been certain in that one small moment, sure, that she was too late. Sure she had lost him and she'd felt for the briefest of points in time what he must have felt on that warm, spring day. What he'd felt as she'd fled for the woods and left him alone in the city.
It's not even her once fragile psyche.
The episodes of PTSD have become rarer. Since he'd told her "you've got this, Kate". Since Esposito had taken her into storage and placed the cool, mottled steel into her hands. Since she's kept up with her doctors appointments and begun writing in a journal before bed. She's made it weeks without a nightmare and longer without trembling hands. It's still there but she wonders now why she doesn't let him help her with that. It would be so easy to sink into his warm embrace.
She wants to be enveloped in his concern. His love. She wants to give it back.
No, she thinks as the car reaches the lobby and she tugs on his hand to pull him out toward the sidewalk. As the afternoon sun blinds her and she flashes to the cold murky waters of the river. The distant glow that had faded away as the Crown Vic had sunk deeper into the abyss. As she recalls that the only thing she had felt as the brackish water lapped at her eyelashes, as her lungs burned for breath, the only thing she had felt was regret.
That she'd never get to tell him.
She's ready. She's been ready. She's in love with him.
She's been waiting on him to make another move and it's not at all fair of her. It's time for her to do the giving.
Of her trust. Her love. The truth.
Two-way street. Partners.
"Change of plans," she smiles, leading him towards the street.
"Where are we going?" he asks, a little of the Castle she knows shining through. The curiosity drawing a small spark of light to his eyes.
"Home, Castle," she smiles, linking her arm through his and hailing a cab. Smiling openly and perhaps a little suggestively.
"We're going home."