Summary:
Dominant Themes: Hurt, comfort, friendship. Eventual fluff, kbai.
Rating: T for the future. No smuttin' for you.
Richard Castle had never felt quite so desolate in his life.
For it was those few moments after he returned to his empty apartment from the hospital that made him know it was all over. A loud rain spattered the glassy windows in the living room of the penthouse. The writer collapsed into an armchair facing the skyline, his stomach sinking. He'd made such an awful mistake.
No seated position in the cushioned leather chair seemed to comfort Castle. He got up and paced the terra-cotta tiles, his socked feet whispering over the floor.
I'm such a goddamned idiot, he groaned in his head, hands coming up to muss his hair. Habit. Then again, something told me that if Kate didn't find out, I would.
But the justifying thoughts didn't lift the leaden weight that seemed almost-physical across his abdomen. Rick slumped over to the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He sat at the bar, swivelling his stool and letting the gritty pulp swirl around in his mouth.
She really reserves the right to know.
Then again, conceded the novelist, the lack of knowledge she'd had mere months after the murder consumed her. And now that she had it...?
I've destroyed her. Castle shook himself, the orange juice turning sickly in his throat. Her morale, her determination. I've destroyed Kate Beckett.
His mind flashed back to the small pep talk he'd given the quailing detective not hours before, when her beloved Will Sorenson was on the verge of death. With his little 'project', it had all but been nullified.
The day before they'd begun their investigation into the new identity of Jimmy "the Rat" Moran, they'd had a rather intense conversation on the status of the case pertaining to the murder of Johanna Beckett.
He'd merely asked if Kate had ever considered opening her mother's case again. The response was heart-stopping, admittedly ten times worse than what he'd initially expected of the cop. She sounded as though she were about to break, hastily explaining the emotional response. The woman, who Castle found to be extremely composed beyond belief, had had a much more different side to her character. At least, before months and months' therapy.
But he'd called his friend, a noted pathologist, in anyway. And the information was his just hours after they'd found their murderer, with Mr. Moran and Sorenson still in the hospital. Turns out, the stabbing of Beckett's mother had not been a random act of violence. It was actually a series of murders in high-ranking executives. And Johanna Beckett had been the last one in a string of nine.
Castle's memory skipped forward to seeing her and Will together in the tidy patient room. He'd felt a dull spark of jealousy again, like he'd felt after he walked in on them kissing in the kitchen that evening several weeks before. But it was offset by nerves. For himself, the writer realized he'd been uncharacteristically serious. That alone for Beckett must have driven her insane.
But then, her face.
"It's about your mother."
She'd emitted a pathetic, dry sob, her lithe frame quaking from the impact.
"Castle, I-" She choked, impossibly devoid of tears. It seemed Kate had cried them all away. "How could you? Just- just-"
Rick broke in, face straining. He wanted to hold her, let her cry until she couldn't anymore. But it was too far past that point, then. "I'll just leave, Kate. Until..." He'd almost added "Until tomorrow", but then again, there would be no tomorrow. As far as he was concerned, Beckett wouldn't be in any more of his tomorrows.
It was all his fault.
A blanket of icy agony descended upon his shoulders. No more days at the precinct, staring into those emotional hazel eyes. No more riding in the silver police cruiser, poking fun at the woman who had become his partner. No more espresso-induced laughter, or long hours at the case board.
There would no longer be any Detective Kate Beckett to shed sarcastic, amusing, brilliant light on his dim days.
Richard Castle needed to escape. He shuffled to his bedroom, shoulders rolled in to shield his chest, where his heart bled. As he laid himself out on the matress, he could feel the dark, rich, red blood seeping out of tiny cracks in his dying heart. He tried to silence his echoing mind.
I've done some stupid things in my life.
I've gotten drunk, I've slept with unfamiliar women- my fans, and I've been arrested and exposed as nothing short of a Hollywood jack ass. And yet...
None of them have been this painful to endure. I, Richard Castle, am heartbroken.
Hope you enjoyed this, or felt something for it as I did. As soon as this is up, know that I'm in the process of typing the next chapter up.
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