This is my very negative take following Countdown. You have been warned. Go ahead and review, even if it means you want to flame me if you wish after reading it - just remember that I carry a scalpel and I can dismember a body (lots of practice). Not sure why I am compelled to write something so depressing, but here it is (I think I need a new job!). With "Firefly" debuting tonight on Discovery Science, I should be happy; but this has been tugging at my word processor for several days, so here. (Maybe I just want to commiserate with poor Richard Castle; he looked so helpless in that elevator after Josh turned up and Kate, that hussy, hugged the wrong man; Andrew tweeted that there IS a Master Plan, but does Rick Castle need to suffer the same amount of pain and trials as Job before the poor man can find happiness in love? Or, is he doomed to experience my own poor relationship history?)
Characters are borrowed; I don't own them (except for DVDs of Seasons I and II, and I got the 2nd Season DVD free courtesy of ABC for attending the Jimmy Kimmel taping that Nathan guested on); I don't have enough money for a lawsuit by ABC to provide any monetary benefit (I'm not that kind of doctor; I don't perform plastic surgery in Beverly Hills). Besides, Andrew W. Marlowe will lie on my behalf and state under oath that I had permission to play in the Castle sandbox for as long as it took me to write this (and, I'll hand wash his cars for the next 20 years as payback).
-JG
"Aftermath"
Castle focused all of his concentration on his sense of sight, narrowing all of his thoughts to that one sense, determined to limit his field of vision to no more than five inches directly in front of him, somehow knowing that if he looked back at her, no, back at them, he would loose whatever false dignity he was trying in vain to display. The man was broken, emanating a hurt unlike any which he had ever experienced in his nearly forty years of life. Calling on all of the DNA-based acting experience contained in his genes as provided by the generations of circus folks and charlatans in his family tree before him (what little he knew of them), he was determined not to display what he was feeling: an intense deep hurt like no other that was threatening to rip his heart from his chest as wave after wave of grief washed over him.
Even as he now stood waiting for the elevator barely able to breathe, with his back toward the couple, his mind still pictured them contained in their mutual embrace. An embrace that he knew should have been him and Kate, their arms tightly wrapped around one another, together through all eternity, for "forever" as he had so often promised her, but that wasn't to be. And as his mind forced himself to recognize that it wasn't him holding Kate protectively in his arms, Castle knew only how badly he needed to leave the 12th Precinct. Right that moment. And, as quickly as possible.
The man could feel his body physically shutting down. His hands grew heavy at his sides, his neck was tired, his stomach hurt, and his feet were becoming more and more unwilling to obey his commands. Shortly, he would be unable to walk, to hold himself upright, and Kate couldn't be allowed to witness that. No one in the precinct could be allowed to watch him self destruct. In an act of self-preservation, the only thought in his mind, the only action his brain was presently capable of commanding his body to successfully perform, was for him to distance himself from the one woman he truly loved.
The walk down the hallway to the elevator was longer than he remembered it ever having previously taken, but even with his head down, refusing eye contract with any of his coworkers, he was determined not look back at her, knowing that if he did, the tears starting to form in his eyes would be evident to all. In less than thirty seconds, his entire world, a world in which he had always been the chosen one, the golden boy, the handsome and famous celebrity writer, the center of the attention and the man who could no wrong that couldn't be dismissed, had been shattered.
His heart was screaming at him to turn his head just once, to see if he had been mistaken, that his love had realized her mistake and was now running to him, ready to beg forgiveness of her foolishness, and for him to welcome her into his arms and take her away from this life as she openly declared her love for him, but that was the one action his brain knew it couldn't allow his body to perform. What if his heart had it all wrong, for he couldn't bear to look at Detective Kate Beckett, his Kate, allowing herself to being held tightly in the arms of her boyfriend, Cardiac Surgeon Josh Davidson, the tall, handsome, leather-clad Doctor Motorcycle Boy, as he took time out from saving the world to openly declare his love for his Kate.
Castle had been beaten. Maybe by only fifteen seconds, but as soon as Castle had seen Josh in the precinct walking toward where he and Kate were talking, Rick has recognized that it was over. That he had lost.
Richard Castle's entire comfortable existence had, within seconds, come crashing down around him. He had made his decision based on what he had put himself through these past three years. These past three years with Detective Kate Beckett, in which he had started by following her around like a lost puppy begging for acceptance, and which had eventually morphed into an equal partnership with the beautiful and intelligent woman, and which, he now freely admitted to himself, were the richest years of his life. After what Kate and Rick had both experienced in the past days, he was going to bare his soul to her and confess to Kate how much he was in love with her, and that he wanted her in his life for the remainder of his life, and that he would willingly agree to whatever terms and conditions she wanted to impose on him, if only she would give him a chance to prove to her how much he truly loved her. He was ready to demonstrate what "always" actually meant; it was their code word, and he was ready to do anything she asked of him or wanted him to prove to her that he was ready to commit both his mind and body to her and to her alone. Castle knew that he didn't want to wait any longer, that they had waited enough, and that it was time that the games were set aside and they admitted their feelings for one another. And, then, out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Josh approaching.
Castle couldn't remember what weak excuse he had offered the woman to allow him to perform a somewhat graceful exit, but his Kate had turned to Josh as soon as she realized that he was standing next to her, and she had accepted, if not invited, his embrace. She had said something earlier about how she and Josh "had a chance", but the "they" statement did not include Richard Castle.
So Castle did what he had done so many times before in the past when the world wasn't performing to his exact specifications.
He turned and ran.
The elevator finally arrived and granted him entrance as the car's sole occupant. Only then did he turn his body to face the bullpen. Keeping his line of sight on nothing (but actually on everything but the couple in the hall), he willed the doors to close before he lost whatever small amount of dignity he might still be able to radiate, but the doors remained open for what appeared to Castle to be a lifetime. He knew that the facade of confidence that he had displayed to Kate was shattering and there was nothing he could do to halt it. The illusion had been shattered. When he had decided to openly declare his feelings of love to the woman he was ready to share the rest of his life with, her silent rejection of him was a cruel blow. She had not needed to say a word: indeed, he couldn't recall her making a sound. It was understood by her actions that Castle was not her choice. He should have been holding his Kate, his detective, in that embrace, not observing her with another man from across the room, unwilling or unable to say something in his own defense.
He might have actually said "good night" to Kate Beckett. A phrase that he had prided himself on never using. "Just too sad," he had previous remarked about those words, "those words provide no hopefulness for the next day, no hint of the marvelous things that could accompany the next sunrise. . ."
For the first time in his life, Richard Castle couldn't care less about the next hour, let alone the next day. If he was able to face another truth, he would tell you that he dreaded the next sunrise. He would not be with her; she would be with another man that night, and for every other night. After today, he would never be with her again.
He felt another wave of pain course through his body. It caused him to grab onto the railing in the elevator so as not to call out to her. Kate had made her choice, and it had not been him. Even his eyes refused to obey his command to close.
Rick was retreating into himself as quickly as he knew how to. He just wanted for those damn doors to close so he could let his tears fall, allow himself to scream in defeat, and fall prey to the wave after wave of hurt that was threatening to end his ability to breathe. He needed to be away from the crowd of people in the station that he considered to be his friends, those whom he had considered to be his coworkers, and who knew him as a rich and privileged playboy who was impervious to pain.
Finally, the elevator doors started to close. As he felt his control vanishing, Castle knew that he could no long continue playing pseudo policeman under the guise of "research". That excuse had been proven false for the past several months. As his actress mother would have observed, the curtain was falling on his third act, and there would be no encore, no additional bows, no further applause, and most certainly no standing ovation. The stage had just revealed itself to be bare, and the audience had gone home. Ironically, Richard Castle had run out of lines. The writer Richard Edgar Castle had been unable to form his own cohesive thoughts, and now through a lack of words, had been eliminated from contention.
Once again, Richard Castle was finding himself alone. He was without the woman he had fallen so completely in love with, the woman who he only recently had admitted to himself that he wanted to have at his side for the rest of his life. Now that the elevator doors were shutting, his brain had no need to maintain the false bravado and the smile that had taken such an effort to show to the world. As Castle retreated to his own solitary confinement, it was no longer necessary for his being to expend the energy to merely appear tired as his body reluctantly admitted defeat. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes now displayed a hollow, shattered soul.
Castle had not realized that his face had reflected his sorrow and hurt before the doors had completely closed. There had been just enough time so Kate, standing with her arms around her boyfriend yet with her head turned so that her eyes focused on Castle's retreating figure, was able to see in his eyes the bottomless hurt that he was experiencing from across the room. The hurt that she realized she was the cause of. What had he really intended to say to her?
As the elevators doors had mercifully closed on Castle, Kate Beckett watched as her partner had jerkingly shifted his position, his arms just managing to hold his body up as his fingers clutched at the elevator's hand rails, his legs crossed at the ankles, his chin down, his shoulders rounded, and the tears had been visible forming in his eyes, the man incapable of stopping them.
Castle forced his eyes closed after the doors had shut and the descent started. His brain had completed its assignment and was allowing itself to shut down, as if that would lessen the man's agony. At this moment, the only thought that Castle's usually active mind had was to put as much physical distance as possible between himself and Kate Beckett. No matter if that wasn't theoretically a possibility nor a logical course of action it was what he felt he had no choice but to do.
Upon reaching the lobby, his long legs covered the distance from the elevators to the front door of the 12th precinct in record time, and racing out to the sidewalk, he was able to immediately flag down a cab and step inside.
He acted as a man possessed. He quickly gave his Soho Broome Street address to the cabbie, and sunk into the back seat of the vehicle.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, Castle didn't look back. It would have been too much of an effort. It was easier to just face forward and keep his eyes closed through the entire cab ride. That also served to eliminated the chance that he would spot a familiar place where he and Beckett had created memories, memories that he didn't want to be reminded of or ever experience again. Just hours before, he and Kate had saved their City. To now look at what they had achieved was just too painful for the man to experience.
In less than fifteen minutes, Castle entered his loft. He paused as he opened the door.
"Hello?"
He waited for a moment; there was no response. Apparently, both his daughter and his mother were not yet home; if they had been, the noise level from the two women as directed toward him would have been intense. He realized that they were still driving back from the Hamptons, from where Castle had sent them in an attempt to protect his family from what he had simply described as "an event". He had done all he could have done to make them as safe as possible. He was willing to take a risk, especially with Kate at his side, but he had been determined to send his own family away. They had begged him to come with them and leave the City, but he had refused. As he looked at his mother, he could read her expression that she knew he wasn't in it just for the books any more.
Castle paused. Kate was no longer "family", she was no longer in the same classification, and that observation brought back the hurt. It could be several hours before his mother and daughter returned to the home that the three of them shared. And, for those hours, Castle knew that he would be alone with his thoughts, with all of his personal demons on full display.
Rick didn't bother to take off his sports jacket as he walked into the kitchen and took a glass from the cupboard and a bottle of 50 year old scotch from the liquor cabinet. He knew himself well enough to realize that he needed to have a stiff drink or two, and eventually convince himself to put on his game face before he was reunited with his girls. The alcohol might help.
It should have been "his" three girls that he surrounded himself with; now, there would only be two, not three. And he felt a tear fall from his eye as he realized that fact.
Wiping the teat away with the back of his hand, Castle walked into his office, firmly shutting but not locking the door behind him. Not that either Martha or Alexis completely respected his privacy, but at least Alexis would knock before entering his work area, since he had never previously refused her admission, even if he was writing. He may not recall the conversation later, but he made sure that she had always known that she was always welcome into his life at any time she needed him. Hell, she was his life. His mother was another story, but the closed door would perhaps allow him an extra moment or two to present a happier face to his family on their return. His family of "two".
Richard Castle thought about sending a text to his daughter. How should he word it, "City is safe, you can come home, I love you, I'm sorry I made you leave without me, but don't disturb me for the next month while I hide in my office drowning my sorrow"?
The man sat at his desk and poured himself a generous stiff drink. He downed it in three quick gulps and then poured himself a second glass. At this point, he paused as his hand automatically raised the glass to his lips. Did he really want to get drunk, knowing that it would take most of the bottle to achieve that end, or did he simply want to avoid the world for just a while longer?
As he thought about this existential choice, the man emptied the second scotch down his throat in one neat motion. He enjoyed the burning sensation as it smoothly fell down his throat. Rick realized that there was nothing positive in drinking himself into a stupor at this hour, but having his brain encased in numbing alcohol seemed more desirable than living with the hurt he was presently experiencing.
He poured a smaller third drink and then sat back in his chair, his feet on his desk. His laptop remained closed on his desk, and the radio was off, as were the lights. If no one looked too hard, he appeared to be writing and might possibly remain undisturbed for several hours.
Richard Castle had spent years being dishonest with himself. He had bought into his own publicity, that he was the carefree playboy about town, the famous writer with the golden touch, rich beyond measure, and without any cares or any responsibilities. Only in the past three years had been honest enough with himself to face the truth. With the exception of the monetary wealth, he knew that he was none of those above selections. He knew that, for perhaps only the second time in his life, that he had lost. As he brought that third drink to his lips, he knew that there would be only one thought echoing through his mind for the next several hours. Kate Beckett. And, he further knew that no amount of alcohol was capable of driving that woman from his mind.
He had risked all. He had fallen in love with her. Hell with his safety nets, with his rules of never becoming involved. He has lost his heart to Katherine Beckett. He had given his love freely, without any thought of failure. Wasn't he Richard Castle, the man who got everything he wanted? But, as he realized this day, she hadn't returned his love.
Maybe it was nothing but a lie, that phrase, "Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." What a stupid sentence. Pure trash. He would have been better off if he maintained his pattern of one night stands, the meaningless sex with strangers, the sneaking out in the middle of the night. Heck, he and Kate had never even "done the deed", merely a kiss or two and a few hugs; how sad was that, Mr. Playboy? His former way was safer; it included sex, lots of sex, and didn't end with this immeasurable hurt.
He glanced to the small framed photo on the side table. It contained a picture of a five year old Alexis Castle, wearing her sailor dress, posed on a foot path in Central Park, her long bright red hair on prominent display as it was caught in the sunlight.
Castle looked at the photo. His little girl was no longer so little, and she was about to apply to colleges. He had been in fear of her leaving him for the last few years, and now he was running out of borrowed time. Where had she talked about attending? Yale was in New Haven, only a few hours away by car. Harvard was a little more than two hours further away by car, but he could always fly up to Boston, so he could consider that school to be the same travel time. He didn't want her across the U.S. at Stanford, and he doubted she would want to major in surfing at any school in California, not to mention the fact that they were too close to Meredith, her less than stable mother. Clearly, NYU would be the best choice in so far as Castle was concerned, and maybe his Alexis would agree to remain at home for a semester or two while she started her college experience.
His thoughts clouded. He wasn't sure if it was due to too much scotch or not enough. Alexis had mentioned Oxford on more than once occasion. He had visibly panicked at the thought of her leaving him to attend school in England. England was not a convenient drive, could not be reached by Amtrack, and entailed passports and planes. However, considering the events of the past hour, Castle found himself being more and more attracted to that choice. It could be a new start for the both of them, for both Alexis and himself. He could relocate to London. There was nothing now to stop him from doing so. It may not be easy, but it could be done. Didn't he already have a passport? Heck, he could write anywhere as long as he could conduct his research and had access to a computer. His mother could stay in his loft in New York, or accompany them across the pond and perhaps try for a new acting career on London's West End. That would allow Alexis a degree of independence, but still allow Castle to keep his little girl near him.
Castle kept thinking about the possibilities. He never liked to call attention to the wealth he had accumulated from his writing, but he had more than enough money to never need to work again for the rest of his life. He even doubted that his daughter would be able to spend it all in her entire lifetime (okay, his mother was a different story; she would definitely make a big dent in it, but there was enough for Alexis' children, his grandchildren, to live their lives as they chose). He could buy a bachelor apartment in London, or a larger flat to share with his mother, much as they lived now, and then purchase a smaller flat in Oxford for his daughter. It was all they would need for the next four years.
Castle felt another tug at his heart. That would four years without Beckett. Four years without Montgomery, without Esposito, without Ryan, without Lanie. Would they miss him? Would they even realize that he was gone? Castle knew that, out of the entire group, he was only concerned with Beckett, and that he already knew the answer. No, she had made her decision earlier that day. Richard Castle had already been replaced. And by a man who didn't know about her home murder board, about how she lost her mother, and probably didn't know about her love for strawberry milkshakes from Remy's, their favorite burger place just down the street from the 12th. Would she perform magic tricks for him, the way she materialized flowers for him? Hell, did he even know about her mother's ring, or the story behind why she wore her father's watch, the same watch that Castle had repaired for her after the explosion of her apartment?
Maybe the whole relationship had been a lie. Maybe he wasn't even up to being considered as her "plucky sidekick".
Castle felt another tear fall from his eyes. Hadn't she told him that she wanted him by her side when she solved her mother's murder? Now, that would never happen. Some "always".
Castle did a quick computation of the time change between New York and London. It was shortly before 5 PM in England. He turned on his laptop and logged in. There had to be some information on admittance procedures for Oxford on the web. Also, through his years of success in the field of writing and publishing, he knew several renown British writers. One or two of them should be able to give Alexis glowing recommendations to accompany her application to guaranty admission into Oxford. Heck, didn't Rowling owe him a favor? Maybe this was time to call in several of those markers.
The first drink, if not the second, had now reached both his stomach and his brain. Castle had found his latest cause. It would force him to concentrate all of his thoughts on his daughter, and not on his former partner.
He paused as he realized that this was his first admission that he and Beckett were past tense and not present nor future tense. He was acknowledging that it was, indeed, over.
He felt ready to starting to focus himself on concentrating his thoughts to give his daughter what she wanted. Also, it would allow his mother to make her own decision as whether to stay in New York City or accompany him to their new life where they would have to learn to drive on the opposite side of the street and become addicted to tea. After all, change is good, right? Isn't that what they say? "Always", change is good, right?
Most of all, it would put thousands of miles between this man and Katherine Beckett. And, maybe, that was what he needed most of all.
Richard Castle started typing information into Google. There was now perhaps no need for a fourth glass of scotch. Besides, the man knew that it wasn't capable of helping him to forget about Kate Beckett. His Kate. His lost love.
He would need to contact his agent and his publisher as soon as he finished his web surfing. He had no doubt that one of them would know of an event or of a party in the literary world where he could go that evening, either for publicity or, better yet, for both publicity and for sex. At this moment, he didn't much care.
He poured one more small drink and sipped at it as he looked through the replies listed to his inquiry. The scotch was starting to mask his pain. If he kept drinking, he might be able to make it through the next twelve hours without loosing his mind.