A/N: This came to me while watching Always. What if he didn't open the door? After this chapter, we jump ahead in time.
As she listens closely she is almost positive she can hear his feet shuffling on the other side of the thick door. No doubt looking through the peephole at her.
She raps her knuckles softly on the wood again, this time leaning her weight against it to listen for movement.
"Castle. Please...please open the door..."
She softly pleads for him. Whispering, as water drips against her face from her wet hair. She presses her ear closer to the wood, running her fingers along the grain and willing him to swing the door open with all of her energy.
Silence.
Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe he abandoned his post-graduation plans after their argument and instead went out out on the town. Or caught a flight to Las Vegas and took up with another flight attendant. Maybe Meredith is back in town for Alexis and they are busy. Doing things.
She clenches her eyes shut to stop the running commentary in her head. Those are ridiculous thoughts and likely not the case at all.
She knows Castle. He's home and he's brooding over their argument, playing it over and over in his head. That's what he does.
She knocks again, louder this time. Pounding 3 solid times in a row.
"Castle. Please open the door."
She raises her voice, hearing it crack with emotion she didn't even realize was present and stares at the door handle but it doesn't move.
3 hours ago she was hanging off the side of a building, staring at her imminent death and now she's staring at this stupid door, convincing herself that unless it opens she has no future.
After burning a hole through the door with concentration, she gives up, leaning against the wall and sliding down it and onto the floor. She can't decide if the water running down her face is rain water or tears but she's too disheartened to reach up and find out.
A thin ray of light splays out from underneath the door meaning his lights are on.
He must be home.
He's home and he's ignoring her.
She contemplates kicking it down but even in her panicked state that seems crazy.
She could probably talk Ramone the doorman into giving her a spare key. He knows she's...was...a detective and she could convince him that she needs into the loft.
Before resorting to breaking into the loft, she settles on a quick text message, laying out her intentions...her promise.
"I will wait for you to open the door. Because you waited for me."
She will out-stubborn him if needed.
And if that means she has to sit against this wall, staring at the dark mahogany wood for the next week, then that's what she will do.
He stares at the text message lighting up his screen.
He immediately feels a mix of guilt and excitement. Those words. She would wait for him. Just the idea takes his breath away and sets his heart thumping loudly.
He hates himself for having such a visceral reaction to her. So quickly opening himself back up to her with a single text message.
He stares at the back of his door, picturing her standing there, fingers dancing over the cool wood as she whispers against it. Her lithe frame leaning, hair spilling over her shoulders. Those eyes. Those ridiculous brown/green eyes that cut into him every single time.
He takes a step closer, his eyes fixated on the door handle. He feels like he is in a movie, hearing both the angel and devil on his shoulders arguing over reasons to let her in and keep her out.
"Please Rick."
Her soft voice carries through the door crack and stops him in his tracks. He can see the shadow of her feet thanks to the hallway lighting.
His hands are shaking as he uses all of his willpower not to open the door.
He can't give in. He is too hurt. Too damaged by her to let her have another pass at his heart.
How many rounds could they possibly go before she destroys him permanently? One more disappointment. One more almost-moment. And he wouldn't survive it.
If he opens that door he could write the ending in his mind. Because he's already lived it a dozen times.
She will rely on him to get her out of the latest jam. No doubt something to do with her mother's case. He is absolutely positive she went running straight into the case the minute he walked out of her apartment.
She will draw him back in with her tears and emotion, something he can't resist, and then once things are back to normal, once the crisis has passed, she will put the wall back up and push him away.
Then he would, once again, sit on the outskirts, holding out hope that she will finally come around.
But she never would come around, because he laid his heart out on the table just hours ago and she still chose her mother's case
The part of him that wants to open the door is the part that foolishly imagines he will pull it open and she will fling herself at him, kissing him wildly, grabbing his body and pulling it against her, promising him that she loves him and wants him and needs him.
But that will never happen. And he knows it.
He turns away from the door, knowing if he stares at it for too long that temptation will win over.
He picks out a bottle of his strongest whiskey from the liquor cabinet and pours himself a glass, downing the first gulp quickly and refilling the dark liquid.
He settles into the couch, running his finger around the rim of the glass.
He needs the liquid courage to resist the sound of her knuckles tapping again and her voice cracking as she asks him to please open up.
If she sits out there for a month, he will just sit inside his apartment for a month and a day.
As he sips the bitter liquid he promises himself that no matter what, he will not open the door.