So I wrote this the week before the finale aired as a way to...I don't know, prepare myself? Anyway, decided to post it as a sort of farewell piece to the show that's meant everything to me these past 8 years. Some things won't add up with what the show aired, but I decided to keep it the way I wrote it since, well, the main part didn't add up either. You'll understand. Also, it looks much better in Word...stupid fanfiction won't let me put spaces between each "Print Layout View" header. Annoying. Anyway, thought it was worth sharing regardless. Enjoy :)
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For weeks he'd been staring at that tiny line on the bottom of the document. 1 page. 0 words. A whole lot of nothing. His hands lay folded before his laptop, the cursor blinking in and out a solid beat. A metronome keeping him calm, serene. You could even say sedate. The one real thing before him he didn't mind acknowledging. The rest was….
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How do you write when your inspiration was six feet under the ground? When your reason for living, for loving, for writing was just gone. Bled out in his hands. He'd found himself repeating the same words from years before. To stay with him. That he loved her. Just stay with him. So many other things he wanted to say, but nothing mattered more than her knowing those two things. That he loved her more than anything else in his life and all he wanted was for her to stay. With him. But she hadn't. So he kept watching the cursor blink up at him. Sometimes he swayed with its beat.
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His clothes were starting to smell. He couldn't bring himself to care. He'd caught her wrapped up in his robe that morning, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Before the call came in. It didn't smell like her anymore, now more of a reminder that hot water and soap would do wonders for him right now but he couldn't. She'd worn this robe last. And one of its edges was still smeared with her lipstick where he'd rubbed it off after her first quick farewell. Remnants of her surrounded him, any movement from him could disrupt them. So he just stared at that little bar at the bottom of his screen reminding him he still hadn't written. As though he'd forgotten why.
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Sometimes the screen blurred. He told himself it was because he was so catatonic most of the time he forgot to blink. Maybe one day he'd believe it. But tears were a daily part of his life now. Less constant than in those first months, but still ever-present. He didn't regret promising her always, and he knew she'd say the same were she still here. He just thought they'd get to share their always together, one having to survive the other by mere days or hours, not years upon years. Always lasting forever didn't seem so long next to her, but amidst her absence, it was interminable. And that damn cursor just wouldn't stop blinking.
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Alcohol. Alcohol did wonders for the pain. Did you know that? Did wonders for the brain, and his writing too. But he always erased it the next morning. She wouldn't approve. And hearing her voice in his head right now was certainly not what he needed. Alcohol. Alcohol would do the trick. Pesky white page with its ban on writing would get what it deserved. And maybe he would, too. Then he wouldn't need alcohol to numb him. He'd just be with her.
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I miss you.
He found something he never knew she kept. A journal. Not necessarily hidden, he'd just…never looked in her bedside table's drawer before. And it gave him an idea. Because she'd written more than just thoughts about her day, more than her fears or doubts or secrets. She'd written to him. And suddenly that blinking cursor didn't seem so impossible anymore. Because he could write to her, too.
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You stole the words right out of me. It reminded me of the day we first met. Do you remember? You found me at a release party and I mistook you for just another fan. For all of 2.5 seconds. I never told you that it wasn't the badge that caught me off guard. I didn't even see it until you gave me your name. "Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD." No, the first thing I noticed about you was your eyes. It's fitting that they would be the last thing I see of you, too. God I miss you, Kate. I never really stopped to think about what losing you might do to me. I should have, considering our profession. Your profession. But I didn't. I think part of me had begun to think you were larger than life. You'd escaped death so many times, what was one more clash with the Big Bad? And then you were gone. And you literally stole the words right out of me. That first night and up until today. Eleven months and nineteen days you've been gone. And I couldn't write a damn thing. Not until I found your words, written for you, written to me. Your death stole them, but somehow you found a way to give them back. You left a little piece of you behind with me. I don't know what to think about it or what to say, except that I've been sleeping with your journal curled into my chest since I found it. Still sleep on your side of the bed, by the way. The stupid thing is too big without you. The world is too big without you, Kate. I'm lost in it without you by my side.
She had been so little, so lean. There hadn't been much there, so you wouldn't immediately guess her strength by just looking at her. That was one of the things he loved about his wife. It was that look in her eyes that gave her entire figure strength. It wasn't until she stared you down that you realized she was all muscle. But still, she'd been so slim and yet without her steady presence beside him, he felt like he was the wisp in the wind, a leaf just blowing on the breeze. Alexis told him he was, in fact, wasting away to nothing, but he couldn't help it. Not yet. He knew Kate wouldn't be pleased to see him like this nearly a year after her death, but he couldn't help but wonder what the point was? Everything was lost anyway, why not add him to the mix?
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I'm finally able to think about you in the past tense, now. In the beginning I would catch myself thinking of you or talking about you as though you were minutes from waltzing through the front door. It isn't so often now that I find myself jerking up at the sound of a key in the lock, hoping to hear your heels click across the wooden floor or see your shining smile as you walked into the study. It's really only when Alexis comes over now that it happens. Mother is too loud. But Alexis learned her stealth from you. I'd blame you if I weren't so proud. I don't know if I should look forward to the day when I stop looking for your ghost. I don't really want to fully let you go. I still talk about my love for you in the present tense. I realized once you left that death may have taken you, but it could never eradicate my love for you. Death couldn't even dream of touching it. And I swear, and don't roll your eyes at me (I think this is one thing you'd secretly agree to), somehow your love remains, too. I can hear your laughter in the rustle of the trees, now that I'm leaving the loft, and I feel the sweep of your hair across my skin with the breeze. You embodied life to me, Kate, and you live on in that now. But regardless of all that, I love you. Always. Even though that love threatens to stop my own heart with each painful beat. I never wanted to live without you. I had hoped that us going against LokSat together meant we'd win, not that I'd lose you. I could stand them getting away with everything so long as I had you. You were just too good to let that stand, though. God, how can you love and hate a person so much at the same time? But I do love you, Kate. Always. I'm sorry I couldn't show you all the ways.
He spent a lot of time these days thinking of all the time he'd wasted. Everything from letting her walk out when she ran after LokSat on her own to little things like staying up after her to write or research the antichrist. Or even Naked Twister…well, less Naked Twister. All time he could have spent with her. Real time. No games, no arguments, no time wasted apart. Would it have made a difference? Or just made this time now that much harder? He just couldn't help but think that having those memories, knowing he had no regrets about their life together, would help his grieving process. Instead he was left ranting in a letter she'd never get to read.
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Do you know what I miss the most? Our banter. The way we would argue and contradict each other and yet always come to the same conclusion in the end. At the same time. I miss our wavelength and the fact that we were always the only ones on it. I miss my partner and the glimmer you always got in your eye when we finished each other's sentences or exclaimed the same thing at the same time. Do you remember that time I remarked upon our "connection?" Do you remember what you said? "Conjecture." Even then you were lying. And we both knew it. That's the you I find myself missing today. The you I kept coming back for, that fearless, impossible, challenging, closet hopeless romantic woman. The you I'll always come back for. What makes you think a year without you would change that? Surprised, you say? What, that I still love you? That it hasn't flickered or died? Ah, that I haven't wavered despite my hurt and anger at what happened. Let me ask you this, then, Beckett. When have I ever let my hurt or anger get in the way of us? Just because you aren't here to have this actual conversation doesn't mean things have changed. Although, I really wish you were so I wouldn't have to start worrying about my sanity. I just miss you, Kate. Every aspect of you. All the layers of that Beckett Onion you challenged me to peel back all those years ago. Yes, you did. Don't even try to deny it.
There was so much he missed about her. One thing for every day of the year. More than just her courage or sense of justice, he missed her sincerity, her passion for the little things in life, her over-large heart, her dreams for their future. He missed her laugh, her eyes, her lips, her smile. He missed her body, the way she could move on top of him, that sexy way she could flip him and take control. He missed her strength and solidarity, the way she could be vulnerable and show her cracks without ever seeming like she was going to break. He missed the way she held him together, propped him up, her words of encouragement and affirmation. He missed the way that no one in this world had ever known him the way she did. He missed trusting her with his fears and secrets. He missed the way she leaned into him for comfort or relief. He missed her smell and the way she could use her hair like a weapon or a shield. He missed the way she could throw him off guard with just a glance and how unpredictable she could be, but in all the best ways. He got lost in all the ways he missed her.
It had been the many facets of Kate Beckett that drew him in eight years ago. Those many aspects of her character that kept him glued to her, intent on figuring her out. She'd died before he got the chance. But he didn't care because love overpowered that initial curiosity. And that was what he grieved now, the loss of all those years of exploration and discovery, of diving deeper with each passing day, month, year, and finding no end to their love. He'd never get that. They'd never get that. And he couldn't help feeling that even after eight years of love and passion, they'd never made it out of the kiddy pool and into the deep end. He'd never know what wading out together would feel like, how children could have changed their lives, what life would have brought their way to strengthen them, embolden them, challenge them to go farther, to dive deeper. He left the cursor blinking in the middle of his imagined dialogue with his wife, ignoring the image of her smile falling into concern as he left the study for the kitchen. He had one bottle of Bourbon left. She'd stop him if she could. But she couldn't, and that's what kept him drinking.
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I understand your drive now. The one that refused to release you until every person responsible for your mother's death had paid for their crimes. The one that reared its ugly head when you learned that Bracken was a middle man. The one that ultimately got you killed. I understand that unquenchable thirst for vengeance, or justice, or whatever you want to call it. If it even has a name. Point is, I get it now, because I don't think that LokSat going down will ever make up for what they took. And I want you to know, Kate, that the entire operation was brought to its knees and the last trial begins today. All because you rooted them out and sacrificed your life to bring them to justice. I'm trying to find the strength to go to that final trial, to watch him burn for what he did to you, to us. I've got my suit jacket ready to go on the back of my chair, my keys in my hand, but here's the thing, Beckett. I'm not you. You were always stronger than me. It's you who should be sitting in on that trial, being called to witness, giving your testimony and presenting your evidence. Instead it's up to me to do this for you. Without you. And that's the hardest part, the part I don't know how to do. How do I do any of this without you?
It had become habit, him starting his day with his keyboard and coffee. He took it the way she used to now. He hated it, preferring his own sweet blend to hers, but he couldn't bear not making her cup alongside his every morning. So now he forewent his for hers. This new routine got him out of bed, cleared his hangover, and got him going. He missed his mornings with her, their quiet smiles and tousled hair, the frenzied exit as she took a call from the precinct. He missed the days he tailed her out before he started his PI business. God, what didn't he miss these days? So he kept her close to him in this way, with her morning coffee and short notes off to her. He kept them short so he wouldn't get caught up in her, wrapping himself in her haunting presence. She wouldn't want that for him and even if he could get lost in his memories of her, of them, he wanted to honor those memories more. He loved her too much not to. And today he wanted to do everything right. He'd even shaved.
The final LokSat trial. The evidence he and Kate had compiled over those last few months, and especially that last, fateful week, was overwhelming enough that he didn't need to testify. And even though he'd recused himself for the first trials as the minions had been dealt with, he knew he should be there for the Boss himself. Kate would be there if she could. She wouldn't have missed a single moment. And she'd want him to be there too, if only to get some vague resemblance of closure. He wasn't sure he wanted to set eyes on that man again, though. Didn't know if he could bear it. He just wanted to reach out and hold her hand and know that everything was going to be okay. But she was gone. Kate was gone and that was reason enough for him to go. It wasn't the driving there part that got him. It was having to sit there with her yawning absence beside him, a cutting reminder of what that man took from him. For hours on end. It was fighting back the urge to sneak her backup piece in with him and use it on the devil himself. It was sitting through it, watching that evil man taunt him from his seat, taking in breaths that should have been hers, beating out her stolen heartbeats. Not for long, he could almost hear her say. Come on, Castle. You want to see him hang for what he did, right? For me, for my mom, for everyone he's ever murdered. You can do this. I need you to do this. For me. For us. So he did. He stood up, shrugged on his suit jacket, swung his keys around his forefinger as he looked around to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything, and walked out the door. He'd do just about anything for her, and she knew it.
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You know what I never did enough? Thank you. I spent so much of our last months together fighting my resentment that I forgot it was your unrelenting spirit that captivated me in the first place. I hated the fact that after we caught Bracken and you seemed to finally let it all go, that it took one whisper for you to ramp up your pursuit once again. You wouldn't let yourself have a life, wouldn't let yourself fall into one with me so long as anything having to do with your mother's murder was still out there. I couldn't fully forgive you for that, no matter how much I wanted to. Until today. Today the world was set right and I felt it. I finally understood. Relief of that magnitude…there really is nothing like it. The weight of your loss still sits heavy around my neck, but knowing your killer, your mom's killer, heck all of LokSat is either behind bars or on death row, I finally get it Kate. So thank you. Thank you for not giving up, for not walking away, for pursuing justice at the cost of everything else. Thank you for not giving up on me, for pushing me out of my element and for challenging me from the first moment we met until the last. Thank you for refusing to relinquish even one iota of yourself, for being all of who you were. Thank you for loving me and giving me that push through the door today. I don't think I can ever really thank you for your recklessness, but I'm glad that if you had to die that day, you died accomplishing that one great thing you always wanted. And through all this devastation, I'm glad I was there for your final moments. I will always miss you, Kate. And some part of me will always expect you to come waltzing through our front door like you walked into my life that first night – as though you already belonged there, but if I never say it again, I want you to know that I don't regret my years with you. Quite the opposite. I'm beyond grateful to you for them. Maybe someday I'll learn how to fill these pages with your memory as my muse. If I can't have the real thing, maybe one day that will be enough.
And for the first time in over a year, he smiled. It was watery, and only half of his mouth worked its way upward, but it was there. Quivering, but solid. She'd called him a 9 year old on a sugar rush in their first days together, then a 12 year old pulling her pigtails. All because he was an eternal optimist who believed in the possibility of magic. He thought that part of him died with her, bleeding out of him to mingle with her blood on the cement, wheezing out as she took her final breaths. Tonight he felt a gentle flicker of that old flame. It wasn't coming back to life just yet, but perhaps it wasn't quite as dead as he thought. LokSat was gone, and while it could never bring Kate back to life, it gave her the chance to move on and him the opportunity to loosen his hold, though he knew he'd never let her go completely. He never told her, but he loved their couple name for more than just the fact that they'd worked in murder. Caskett. Because he'd take his love for her to the grave. And today, that didn't seem too heavy a weight to carry.
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There is this quote. I don't know who said it, but I read it once and it stuck with me. Did I ever share it with you? It goes, "I write only because There is a voice within me That will not be still." I think I read it back in boarding school and it was so true. The entire world could stop moving, but something within my soul could never keep quiet, and so I wrote to give that drive a voice. I'm not sure what it says about me that I chose to write about murder and other crimes. Hopefully it says more that my inner narrator was on the side of justice and that that is the reason I married a cop. I don't know. I'm not sure that it matters anymore. Because the world has stopped. You stopped. And I've found that somewhere in those moments between you going and you stopping, I stopped too. That's what I meant when I said you stole the words right out of me. You did it all the time over the eight years we were together. Even when we weren't together. I could have all the words until it came to you and then suddenly, they weren't enough. All the words in the world couldn't contain you. But when your heart stopped, and I couldn't get it to start back up again, when your blood seeped into my clothes and I thought my hands would forever be stained with your blood, that voice within me stopped, too. And it's that stillness that's been the most unsettling. I think if I could write, I could process you so much easier. No, not easier. Not faster. Maybe it's just that I think if I could write I could process you at all. After all, it was on these very types of pages that I explored your character, broke you open and explored all that was there. And these letters or journal entries or whatever you want to call them aren't quite enough. Sorry, Kate. But writing to you isn't writing for you and I don't know how to make the transition to writing for you again. I'm not even sure I want to just yet.
It was the murder of a friend, one he witnessed, that incited his passion for writing. Without realizing it, writing a story about it helped him process what he'd seen. And he'd made a living off it, made a name for himself that won him the chance to shadow a detective as research for his next set of books. A detective who would ensnare him and captivate him, enthrall him so completely that, without her, he knew nothing. He was just a shadow of himself now. Broken, a shell casing where she used to fill him up. He understood why teenagers and young adults listened to sad songs after heartbreak. They needed something to fill the gaping void their person left behind. But he preferred the silence, as deafening as it was. Because it was only in the silence that he could hear her, feel her, smell her. And he didn't want to drown her out with someone else's words, someone else's pain. He'd left the bottle behind after the LokSat trials. He didn't want to stuff his emptiness with something else. All he wanted was her and in those silent moments, he would swear that she was right there beside him.
Maybe that was why he couldn't write. Because then he'd have to say goodbye. When he crafted that story as a kid, it had been his way of dealing with what happened, his way of putting it behind him. He couldn't do that with Kate. Writing about her had always been his way of diving deeper into her heart, of opening her up, meeting new parts of her over and over. How could he write about her now, when all it could be was a final farewell? How do you say goodbye to someone you never intended to let go?
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I'm thinking about getting a dog. Only, I can't for the life of me remember what your favorite breed was. Probably because you're more of a cat person. Or you were. Before you died. Maybe I'll get a cat. One of those perpetually sad ones to fit my perpetually sad mood. They make those, now. Did you know? Their ears are turned down and it makes them look like they're about to cry all the time. Or maybe I'll get one of those munchkin cats. Or maybe no cat at all. I don't relish the idea of cat litter. Or the fur balls. Maybe I'll just give the cat to your dad. He's doing alright, by the way. No setbacks, no relapses. So don't worry. We're getting breakfast like you two used to do once a month now. I see so much of you in him. I can't decide if that hurts or if it helps. Maybe a little of both. He's got a special kind of sadness in his eyes now, you know. The same man took both his wife and daughter. But he's proud of you. Beyond proud. He tells me that all the time. He's proud that of the two of them, you turned out like her, that you didn't stop at Bracken, that you took down the whole damn thing almost singlehanded. I'm proud of you, too. When he says it like that, I can't help but be. I don't think I told you that enough, either, that I'm proud of you. For so many reasons and in so many ways. Alright, well, I guess that settles it. I'll get both of us a cat. We deserve it. Maybe I'll name it Houghton. Or Rook. I'd go for Nookie, but I'm already cringing, bracing myself for the punch I know you'd throw my way. It needs to be something, though, to help carry you, your name, on. It is your cat, after all. Totally unfair, since I'll be the one stuck taking care of it. Maybe I'll give Rook to your dad and keep Houghton for myself. That's all I ever intended to do anyway. Keep you for me.
His smile faded. It did that a lot these days. He supposed it was progress that a smile appeared there at all, but he never fought its disappearance. Sometimes it didn't feel right that he should grin or laugh or joke. He knew it worried his mother and daughter. They'd never seen him so serious for so long. 14. 14 months and 8 days without her. And the furthest he'd gotten to filling her empty space was getting a dog. Cat. Thing. Whatever. Some furry little thing to keep him distracted from the grief that still encapsulated him, dragged him to his knees, wrought desperate sobs from his chest and hammered his fists to the ground. He'd hoped that the tide would ebb as the months dragged out, but instead it seemed to swell and gain momentum. And he had no idea what to do. So he talked to her, tried to make light conversation as though it could, in turn, buoy him. He was tired of telling her how much he missed her, tired of feeling the weight of his grief drag him down. No amount of begging could bring her back. He knew. He'd tried. So instead he thought to just…pretend. Pretend like she was right there and he hadn't lost her and he could tell her that he was thinking about getting a cat. Maybe that was equally unhealthy, but he couldn't think of what else to do. He knew she wasn't there, but what was the harm in imagining she was so he could begin to go about the rest of his life? Sighing, he flipped over to the internet on his laptop and wrote down the address to the rescue foundation. He had a couple of cats to adopt.
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I should have gotten the dog. Did you know kittens can climb? Dig their little claws into you and scurry up your leg, your couch, your bed, their freaking crate wall climb? Because they do. A lot. And it's cute until it's 2 AM and Houghton's climbed up her crate wall and is crying into my face. Yeah, I'm not sure what genius convinced me to put her cage in our bedroom, but I did. It's like having children all over again. 2 AM, Beckett. And I was finally sleeping through the night, too.
Enter big sigh here. Alright, yes, fine, you're right. I'm secretly loving this. Because she's the most adorable kitten (yes I kept the cuter one for myself, although, admittedly, I gave the more subdued one to your dad, so props for me) and she does exactly what I need her to – she distracts me. I wish it wasn't at 2 in the morning, but I'll take what I can get. I wish you could meet her. I can just imagine your quiet cooing over her, the way her tail twitches in her sleep and how she kneads the air when she's happy. I never imagined such a big sound could come out of such a tiny body when she purrs. It gets me every time. Probably because she spends many of her naps nestled on my shoulder, so the purring is especially loud in my right ear. Honestly, I don't mind it a bit. I feel less alone with her here. And kittens are like, babies, right? Eventually they sleep through the night?
I haven't told you this yet, but I know I should. I stopped by the precinct last week to see how everyone is getting along. First time since you…Anyway. Ryan and Espo had just come back in from breaking a tough case. They said they'd only cracked it because they started thinking like you and me. Can you guess which one took you? It made me laugh though. Espo always was your guy more than mine. Funny, they always joked that "mom and dad are fighting" when we bickered. Now it's like they've really grown up. Ryan taking after me, reaching for far-fetched answers before the facts arrive (don't worry, his theories apparently are not as bad as mine were), and Esposito dragging him back down to reality. But it works for them. Like it worked for us. It was really good to see the boys, Beckett. Hard to walk through those elevator doors into the Cage without you, but good all the same. Their new captain has nothing on you, by the way. Though I suppose I may be slightly biased on that fact.
Alexis came over for dinner the other night, too. She and Haley are still running the PI business, I think in hopes that one day I'll get back to it. I just haven't felt the drive, you know? I only started it as a way for us to still work together once I got kicked out of the precinct. And with you gone, well, I guess I haven't had a drive to do much of anything, really. But Alexis seems to be doing well. I really appreciate how Haley ./l;okjjhhgbtvfrcdexswaq ah, sorry. Houghton discovered the warmth of my keyboard. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that you don't have to worry about Alexis. Haley is taking good care of her, like she always has. Alexis misses you, though. You're why she pursued this line of work, too, you know. You're why we did a lot of things. I'm just proud that she's kept on in honor of you. Maybe one day I'll be strong enough to do it, too.
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You know, I was thinking the other day about how much you'd hate to see me this way. I mean, you really would. I think you'd be gentle about it…at first…encouraging me to just go for a walk each day, to get outside and take a breath of fresh air. Or maybe take your bike and go on that cross-country trip like we'd been planning. Anything to get me out of this chair and hanging on to this last connection I have with you. I can't help but think I'd reply that at least I get dressed each day now. And I do get out. Maybe not every day, but I have those mornings with your dad, and Mother pulls me out at least once a week to a show or an old movie, and Alexis makes sure she takes me grocery shopping and asks me to come into the office from time to time. Even the boys have begun to stop by, after I saw them at the precinct a couple months ago. We've decided to do a weekly game night when Ryan doesn't have to watch the kids. My life is certainly less full with you in it, but I want you to know, I'm starting to listen to your gentle proddings. I still miss you like hell, but I'm working on it. I suppose a year and a half of despondent grieving is enough, now I can move on to active grieving. Don't roll your eyes at me, Kate. I'm doing the best I can.
And hey, look, I've managed a whole 5 pages of writing to you over these last 7 months. That's better than the 0 pages over the first 11 months you were gone. I know that it's not a story, but it is writing. That's got to count for something, right?
He lay back in his desk chair, letting it tilt forward and back with his movement. Kate used to say she knew he was deep in thought over something when he did it, even more so once he steepled his fingers. He didn't do that now, only stared at the two numbers on the page. 7 and 11. 18 months she'd been gone. A year and a half of pain and tears and wondering what could ever repair the rip in his heart. 18 months without her eye rolls, secret half smiles, brilliant, bright eyes. Oh he could spend hours counting the many things that left with her last heart beat. Only now, it wasn't despair that filled him as he thought of her, of the void she left behind. No, it was a quieter sadness, a fond sadness. A sad smile. A year and a half, he realized, that's the time it took him to see that perhaps she was right in that letter she left him. Perhaps he could continue with his life. Perhaps it wasn't as impossible to carry their always alone throughout his years as he thought. Perhaps he could do this after all.
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I've never been good at saying goodbye, but you knew that. I spent the last moments of your life begging you to stay instead of holding you close and telling you it was okay and that I loved you. I think I need to try that now, though. It's been two years, Kate. 720 days of missing you, of writing to you, of trying to find life while keeping you with me at the same time. And I know I can't keep doing that. Because you asked me not to. Do you remember what you said in that final letter? The one I saw in the diary hidden in your nightstand. The one you wrote to me a few months before you died. You said these words to me:
Dear Castle,
I don't regret a single moment we spent together. These past few weeks as we've gotten closer to cracking LokSat, I keep finding myself looking back on all the moments we've shared. The good, the bad, the ugly sobbing and happy crying. I think about our first case, how you teased and taunted me, how I taunted right back before sauntering away. I think about how you slowly, but surely, so gently yet deliberately coaxed me into opening up before you. How you relentlessly pulled back so many of my layers. How it was in those moments we found ourselves falling quietly for each other at the same time. I think of the first time you promised me 'always,' how I knew then and there what you meant. Our own private "as you wish." Sometimes I wish I had been ready earlier to dive into it with you, but then our story wouldn't be what it is, and Rick, I love our story. I love that you're my One and Done. That I'm your muse. That you never gave up on me and caught me when I finally decided to let myself fall. That you were never my sidekick but always my partner, my friend, my delight, and finally my lover, my husband, my always. I'd never give up a single moment of being yours. Even through all of our miscommunication and ships passing in the night moments, I wouldn't trade a thing. My one regret is not bringing you in on LokSat sooner. But I want to thank you for forgiving me and welcoming me home anyway. And you are, you know. My home. Always have been. Always will be. I love you, Richard Castle. I really do.
Look, I want you to know that if things go wrong in this final showdown that's coming, I don't regret it. If this is how I go out, I'll miss the life we should have had, but I'd choose this if I can't grow old with you. This is my choice. If I can't have you, and I have to go out, then this is how I want to do it. And maybe it won't go down like that. I hope it doesn't. I don't want it to, but if you find this journal and that's what happened, then know that I went with peace and with you always in my sight. It's all I ever wanted, to have the last thing I ever see be you. You and all the possible futures we could have had. With the kids and the yard in the country, or packing out the loft with their scurrying feet. It doesn't matter because it'd be us. And that's worth everything. So that's what I'd see as my lights dim. You and us and everything in between. And what a beautiful thing to see.
So I don't regret it and I don't want you to either. You taught me the importance of mourning, so I want you to take your time, but Castle, don't stay there. Keep writing. Keep living. Keep hoping and believing in magic and ninjas and dreams. Just keep being you. Because I love all of you and I don't want even a part of it to die with me. So cry for me, and then tuck me into your heart and take me on grand adventures. Keep me with you as you learn to live without me. I hope you never have to, but if you do, do that for me. Live. Don't just exist or go about a routine. But live, enjoy, laugh, and love. Don't stop being you just because I'm gone. I love you too much to let you waste away because I'm not there. And besides, who knows. You may be right and a part of me may find a way to stay with you. If I can, I will. That's my final promise to you. Not just till death do us part. But even after, Castle. Even then.
I love you. Always.
Kate
So that's it. If you're with me...no. I have to believe you are. Always the believer between the two of us, me. So that's what I'll continue to be. So here I am, tucking you away and into my heart. It's a bit musty and broken down in there, but it's still yours. Always will be. So fill it up and consume it, Kate. Because I'm going to make good on your promise. I'm going to take you with me wherever I go now. No more leaving you on a blank page in my laptop. Your ghost beside me, your memory within me, where I go you'll go. And maybe I'll always be alone, but I won't mind if even a part of you remains with me still. Because I love you beyond death and I believe you when you say you do too. So I'll start writing again and dreaming again and maybe one or two laughs a day to start. But life, Kate. It doesn't seem so bad anymore, to try to do. I wish I could do it with you, but I'll take what I can get. Always, Kate. Always and forever. May the journey never end.
Until tomorrow,
Rick