Say Anything, Say It All
The knuckles on her right hand sting from knocking. Her middle finger burns where it made contact with and tore on the jagged edge of a stripped out screw.
Castle opens the door, finally, and brings fresh pain.
His eyes flick up and down checking every inch of her body. No heated appraisal of her figure, more a welfare check for unwanted holes. She waits for him, waits to hold his gaze and collect whatever information he'll share.
Castle leans on the door, and it swings toward her. Kate slams a palm on it, unwilling to give up what little ground she has, and he startles. All right, so he wasn't going to close the door in her face.
He won't look her in the eye. Castle glances up but his eyes bounce off her face, as if it is painful to look at her.
Oh, it is. Oh God. It's painful for him to look at her.
The thought makes her skin crawl, her heart too heavy in her chest.
Dark edges of his apartment blend in with the black of his shirt as he walks away from her. It swallows him, and he's gone but the door remains open. The only invitation she will have to enter.
Once inside with the door closed snug, bolt locked, chain latched, Kate can see the glow of light haunting his study. She thinks about turning on other lights. Cracking the place open and making it more difficult for either of them to hide. She doesn't. Instead, she removes her light jacket and places it on a hanger in the coat closet, her deep cobalt beside his gun-metal grey. Next she places the keys from her pocket on the entry table, fanned out next to the bowl that contains his own set.
Collateral. It will either slow her down, give her a moment to think, or make her return if she flees in haste. So collateral, or insurance, or a mulligan; the closest she has to a plan.
Kate steps out of one shoe and drops three inches and changes her mind. She can't step out of the other one. That is too far. She needs what little resource, reservoir of power she can hold onto. The height will help. Keep her back straight, chin up.
Crystal on crystal clinks and sings like a bell and reminds her of the task at hand and of the man waiting.
She watches him for a moment from the doorway as he replaces the stopper on the top of the decanter. Notes in a way she sometimes, although very rarely, forgets how the breadth of his shoulder's tug at the material of the shirt across his back. And she notes in the soft light of his desk lamp that tonight he sags. Shoulders pushed down by the weight of the world, the weight of her life. Defeat, not forfeit, heavily weighs him with weariness.
Kate doesn't ask for the bourbon, doesn't really want it, but when he pushes it in her hand, she accepts it.
"You lied to me."
Shit.
He's pulling no punches. She earned that though, she can own it.
"Yes. I did. I lied."
Honesty. That is what she vowed to herself on the way over. Her self-preserving (or maybe perhaps self-destructive) omissions are what led them here, what fueled days filled with tension and bitter fights and finally, today, space. It hurts too badly to have him cleaved from her, even if she is the one that did the cleaving. So - honesty.
"Why didn't you tell me you were going after him?"
"Castle-"
"I'm your partner. I could have helped. More than you know."
He still won't look at her. Hovers next to the drink tray by the corner of his desk, coiled there, turned away from her but ready to strike.
"You would have stopped me."
"No, I wouldn't have. But I sure as hell would have tried."
Yeah, same thing. It is easier to run headlong into this without him fighting her every step of the way. She doesn't want him holding her back for her own good, playing hero, getting himself killed.
They're not going to get anywhere like this. Kate can feel the fight building, the same fight they have already had, same as yesterday, same as a year ago. Time for something new.
"I called you this morning. You didn't come in." It's a question.
"I, um - I had something I needed to -" The lie falls thick and rough off his tongue before he stops mid-sentence. She deserves his evasion, but it feels like a turning point from which they won't return.
His breath bubbles out of him, and she still can't see his face. It sounds like tears or laughter and either way it is scares her.
"I can't," he whispers.
She isn't sure she heard that right, heard it at all.
"What?"
He has his back to her, leaned against the side of his desk, and she wonders if she really did imagine him saying something else.
Kate strides the three steps it takes to close the distance between them, feathers light fingers across his shoulder. He jerks at her touch like he was lit on fire.
Fuck, it hurts.
She would make a move to leave, flee, if the shock and added weight of her heart dropped all the way to her feet didn't render her immobile.
Castle plays it off, clears his throat and makes like he was getting up anyway.
"Would you like another drink?"
She hasn't touched the first one and from the looks of it, he hasn't touched his either. He pours a slight stream into the finger of bourbon already sitting untouched in the bottom of the tumbler, keeping up appearances.
This time he slugs half of it down in a gulp.
Finally he looks at her.
"You're hurt," he says.
God, yes. At least he can see it. It hurts. She hurts. And her partner always makes it better. Only now they're hurting each other, and it has to stop. She needs him for this, for ever. They can do this together. They have to.
"So are you," and I'm sorry. She wants to say the rest but can't. Maybe complete honesty isn't her best sport.
Castle's eyes slide shut and he huffs an exhalation out his nostrils, and it's not right. It's not what she wants to see.
"No, Kate -"
"Yes, you are," she cuts him off, has to stop whatever lie or misdirection or avoidance in which they are both so skilled. "And I want to make it better, but you have to help me. I don't know how to fix this."
He swirls what's left of the amber liquid in his glass before killing it and placing the thick-bottomed crystal on his desk. Tension and hesitance imbue every movement. He's waiting on her to say something else, and it feels suspiciously all of a sudden that she is digging her own grave.
"Castle?" She should be brave but she's not saying another word until he talks to her.
"You're bleeding."
What? No. It's not that bad. They can survive this without bloodshed. But - no. This metaphor is getting out of hand, even for them. The knit of her brow must prompt him.
"Your hand. You're bleeding."
Lines of crimson cake and flake on the middle knuckle of her right hand and it suddenly stings to have the broken skin pulled so tight where she grips her glass. The stripped out screw, she forgot.
Oh. The admittance and progress rising in her chest slip away, leaves a hollow spot in her formerly filled with hope.
"Right. The door," she explains, although it's no explanation at all.
Wordlessly he disappears through his bedroom, and she has the good sense not to follow him. Light pours out from what Kate assumes is his bathroom, and she can't help peering into his room. Dark and masculine and unexpectedly pristine. She wants to step inside and get a better look but the smack of drawers closing makes her draw away and wander a safe distance back to the other side of the desk before Castle reemerges.
"Sit," he instructs her.
She takes his desk chair instead of any others in a move that feels purposeful and strangely possessive. He props on the desktop and plucks the tumbler she forgot she was still holding from her fingers and takes her hand in his.
Kate's instinct is to pull away, the words that she can do it herself already forming on her tongue, but he's too close, his light touch too good.
The hydrogen peroxide soaked cotton ball bubbles when it touches her skin but Kate doesn't feel anything, just dumbly watches as Castle swipes away the dried blood revealing the wounded triangular flap of skin. It's deeper than she thought.
Castle cants forward reaching past her to toss the used cotton ball in the wastebasket. Brushes close enough that it makes Kate's stomach flip with the thought that he might actually kiss her. It would be so very easy just to lean in an inch -
He doesn't, of course. And Kate doesn't move. Of course. He treats her with the detached gentleness of healthcare professional and nothing at all more, and she acutely misses the way in which he normally would be suggestive given this opportunity of proximity.
Kate can't help but watch him. The way he holds his mouth when he dabs the Neosporin, gentle and cool. The cast of his lashes and puckered consideration of his brow when he takes great precision to position the band-aid.
Why has she never asked him about the scar on his forehead? How desperately she wants to know now. Wants to make up for all the times everything was made about her.
"All done," he roughs out.
Castle's eyes widen the smallest amount when he meets her gaze.
Oh, well, she can only imagine what she must look like. The way she must look at him, pulled to the edge of her seat, lips parted and tongue pressed against her teeth, everything written on her clear as day.
He drops her hand and moves away from her. Always so far away lately.
Because she hurt him. Right.
Kate strangles on a laugh, and it's not due to any poetic justice or mental collapse but the Millennium Falcon encircling her finger.
Castle glares at her as if she has well and truly lost her mind and by way of explanation she holds up her band-aid clad middle finger.
"Now that is just unkind since I was nice enough to patch you up," he grumbles, but with a phantom tug of his lips that looks like the bud of a smile.
Kate sets her mouth in a pursed line, tries to school the way it wants to betray her with a wide-cracked grin, and uncurls three fingers, enveloping the inadvertently offensive digit.
"Really?" It's not a question, and she's not really surprised. Of course Castle has Star Wars band-aids.
"They work," he shrugs. Kate dips her head and arches a brow, waiting for whatever ridiculous explanation there is, tries to quell the stupid happiness beating in her heart. All because of the silly Castle theory that is about to be spun.
"Good for healing. Hydrogen peroxide. Neosporin. The Force," he states as matter of fact.
"Oh, sure," she says, so eager to play along. Let the rare normalcy flood the arid planes that have been devoid of this. "Why didn't I think of that?" She hopes for levity, however brief, to rain down and soak this scorched earth between them.
That agreement garners her a wisp of a smile that never quite makes it to his eyes.
"You pick up a few tricks after years of mending tearful boo-boos."
"Your tears or Alexis'?"
"Both." Kate can't help the little smile that sneaks out. "Sometimes it rips your heart out to see someone you love hurt." The stutter of his eyes on her makes her gut clinch. "As a parent, you know."
She knows. Not as a parent, but she is well acquainted with love and hurt.
Kate stands, suddenly feeling off balance. Like this could go either way at any moment. And it feels so close to being good again.
"Alexis seems pretty unscathed. No maiming or scars," she pushes as much warmth as she can into the words. Takes a step closer and prays for momentum.
"My point."
"Looks like Martha wasn't as skilled in the ways of a Jedi as you."
Castle's forehead twitches in question and emphasizes her point.
She could tell him what she means. Instead, Kate chooses, can't stop herself really, to run her index finger down the channel above his left eye. The skin feels different there, knotted. She trails along until she finds perfectly soft, unblemished skin on his temple.
She should move her hand.
"Beckett."
It sounds like a warning but the thumb dragging up the inside of her forearm feels like something much different. The hot pad of his thumb presses into the vein of her wrist where it hangs by his mouth, and she can feel her pulse jumping out against him.
If only he would look at her instead of just past her. She has to make him see. She's trying to mend this. If only he would wrap his arms around her and squeeze this brutal space out of them. But if he won't maybe she will. She has to. She can't take the alternative anymore.
The slide of her fingers through the hair behind his ear is stopped as he pulls her away.
"Please, don't."
He deposits her hand by her side. Grasps her upper arms firmly, staying her, insuring that she doesn't follow, before letting go.
He's across the room, drink poured, stopper replaced, before Kate can force the words out around the white-hot pain blooming in her chest.
"Why the hell do you keep pushing me away?"
"I don't want to play anymore, Beckett. This stopped being funny about five near-death experiences ago. I'm done."
Things are getting jumbled, all the pieces sliding out of place. Facts and understandings and always slipping through her fingers, lacing with panic. She has to get a hold on it before it is all gone.
"Was that all this was really about, Castle? Just a little fun and now it's too real so you're gone?"
"You know it's not."
"So, what then? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied to you about going after my shooter. But are you really going to stop being my partner over this?"
"No. Tried that. Didn't work. You're stuck with me as your partner."
He's talking circles around her. She doesn't even know what they're arguing about anymore.
"Help me out here. What are you done with?"
"This," he waves a finger between them. "This has to stop."
No. This is them moving forward. Surely he understands that. When did they start reading off different pages?
"Why?"
"Because," he pushes an unsteady hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. "You know how I feel, and I know you don't feel the same. And this, you here, touching and looking at me like that, is starting to feel like you're messing with me. I know you don't mean it that way, and I don't want to hold this against you, Kate. I want to be able to still be your friend. I'm calling uncle."
"No." It's all wrong. Everything is all wrong. Messing with him? God, what does he think is happening here?
"You clearly don't know how I feel," she says. Sure she never said the words. But she thought he knew. He must know. Hasn't she been showing him every day? Even the recent weeks when he has been pushing her away with both hands? He's the one pulling away. He's the one that doesn't want her anymore.
"Stop. Stop lying. You don't have to keep pretending we're something we're not," he says.
"Lying? I'm not lying to you right now and, yeah, I shouldn't have gone out on my own. It was stupid. Why are you making that about us?"
"That's not what I'm talking about, Beckett. And there is no us! Stop pretending like there's ever going to be an us!" Half his drink sloshes over the rim and soaks the rug as he gestures wildly. The other half he throws back and slams the glass down.
"Then what is it?" Kate can't breathe. She's shouting and she doesn't mean to and she can't breathe.
"You don't love me! I get it!"
"I do!"
"Not that way," he groans.
"God damn it! Stop putting words in my mouth!"
"Fine. Use your words, Kate." It falls bitter off his tongue, and she wants to make him eat his words, see how he likes the taste.
"Where do you want me to start, Castle?" She crosses her arms across her chest, holding on to her anger, holding herself together.
"Do you want me to tell you how it's never really a good day until I see you? How my jaw hurts from holding back all the times I try not to smile like an idiot when you're around because I know that everyone will see it all over me? That I have wanted you for years? Because I have. I've let my feelings for you destroy two good relationships. And I can't even regret it because they weren't you." She's shaking, breaking into pieces.
Castle stands stock still; nostrils flared, saw set. She tries not to think about the risk. Doesn't want to believe that in his dark cast eyes is still written rejection.
"How about that I'm jealous? I can't stomach the thought of you with another woman. I don't want anyone to touch you but me. And I'm terrified. I'm terrified we're going to mess this up. That it's already too messed up. The thought of losing you scares the shit out of me. Are those enough words for you? Do you want me to tell you I love you?"
He advances on her like an animal. Broad hands pull her arms away from her chest.
"Beckett," he growls, deep and shuddering, before sliding a hot mouth over hers.
His kiss is punishing, breaking her open, his hands too brusque, mouth violent. It presses everything out of her. It tastes like a test. He's pushing her to her limits. Taunting her to stop him. Calling her bluff. Only she's not bluffing, and she can prove it.
Kate pushes into him, pushing him back with the force of her mouth, thankful for the advantage of the heels she's still wearing. She licks away the groan that escapes when she bites his lip. Gets lost in the feel of him against her, in the way he's pulling the life-force out of her one tug of her lip and nip of his teeth at a time.
He is still holding her tightly by the arms, and it won't do. She wiggles free and rests her forearms on his shoulders; palms and wide-spread fingers pull against his skull, yanks him down hard enough to make him stagger and slump. Both their knee's bent far enough to easily hook her thigh over his. She eases her grip and he stands straighter, hips higher, and oh yes, perfect, right there.
He swallows her sigh, follows it with a sound of his own. A moan or a curse one and it vibrates through her chest all the way down to her bones.
Suddenly it's too much. Too good, too fast and she can't catch her breath.
Castle lets her go. Not far. Enough space to become coherent again. Kate gathers her bearings, navigates the waters. What was there before the arousal jumping through her blood and the wild thud of her heart? Tries to remember what she even admitted that brought them here.
The look in his eyes is guarded, still. Hesitant.
Oh. She forgot, didn't she? Meant to say the actual words in proper order without a question mark.
Kate runs her fingers across his face. Making sure she has his attention. That she means it.
"I do. I love you."
Kate swears she can see the weariness slough off him. He's lighter, taller. Filled up and overflowing. He runs his hands over her sides, again and again, mindless and soothing.
"Say it again, Kate."
"You first," she murmurs.
His hands still. "I already have. You know that."
No wonder. . . Oh Rick. That's why all of this. Because she lied. Because she made him think she didn't want him.
He sees her get it, make the connection, and is nice enough not to call her out. She's never been more grateful.
"Are we going to be okay?" she asks.
"Say it again. Please."
Kate tilts his face up with the fingers still drawn across his cheeks. Needs him to see that she has never been more serious in her life.
"I love you. Am in love with you. And have no plan of stopping any time soon." After not knowing how she would ever be able to say these words to him, now she wonders how she was ever able to keep them in this long. They're pressing out of her, straining, and she has to say it again. "I love you."
Lid's slide shut over pewter eyes, and Castle shakes out a harsh breath, a breath he's been holding for nearly a year.
"Yeah, we're going to be okay." He pushes the hair out of his way, drops a kiss on her neck quick and warm, enough to send frissons of pleasure racing across her skin. "Better than okay."
She lets him place a trail of kisses along as much skin as he can find, can't think of the reason why just a moment ago she was going to pull him away. His tongue swipes across her collarbone, and Kate has to tighten her hold on him to keep steady. Love and need hit her hard, and she can think of nothing but his mouth on her skin. But there's something hanging just outside her consciousness, scratching at her, and she needs to make it go away.
"Castle," she chokes out, meant as a pause but acts only as breathy encouragement. He slides a hand down her back to the curve at the top of her backside, tugging her closer, exhales through his nose and tickles her skin.
Mm, yes. That's nice. But no. She remembers now. She needs this. Words first then – oh, his teeth scrape her earlobe. That's more than nice.
Right.
Words.
Somehow she succeeds this time in pulling him away. She'd laugh at the blurred, dreamy-aroused look in his eyes if it wasn't such an unexpected turn-on.
Kate closes her eyes. She'll never get her vocal cords to work with him looking at her like he could sustain on nothing but her for the rest of his life.
"Say it, Castle."
"God, you're hot."
She can't help the rush of a laugh. His lips ghost her cheekbone.
"I love you, Kate."
Her eyes open to his own - serious, dauntless, loving. It pierces her down deep, touching every dark, dusty corner of her being, light suffusing it all.
Enough. It's almost too much, but more than enough. The slide of her arms around his neck is the only prompting he needs before caving around her.
It's already so different. Slow, meticulous, he takes his time dipping deep within her; teasing touches over everywhere he can reach driving her crazy, building her up. Kate turns them, gracelessly sidesteps in what she believes is the general direction of his desk, needing something to ease the wobble in her knees.
Only that's not the desk she hits but the door jam.
Castle slows, and she takes that moment to come back down, before stopping all together. He plays fingers across her cheek and takes both hands to brush the hair away from her face, studying her.
She takes her own time noticing the way his eyes catch the glow of the lamp and shine blue-grey and brilliant. How light casts shadows in the crinkle of his eyes. Kate can't help but reach out to touch the evidence of past smiles she had a part in putting there. Tries not to think about the equally deep lines of worry that were also part her contribution.
There is still so much to sort out. A million questions she's almost afraid to ask. But there will be time for that later. This first.
They're not waiting on anything anymore, simply taking stock of the moment before walking through that door.
They are definitely going to be better than okay.