Tucked in the middle of central New York, there was a small bar with flashing neon signs that lit up the dusky streets every few seconds. Inside this bar, there was a wooden counter surrounded by bar stools, and at one of these stools sat Detective Kate Beckett, nursing a drink and wishing she was somewhere else. Wishing she was someone else.
Although, with that thought out in the open, she doubted many of the people she knew would recognize her now. She had carefully and deliberately ensured that she looked nothing like the detective she was; little black dress that clung to her skin and showed off her legs (and she hated it), her hair touseled and wavy around her face. Because she wanted to forget, forget about her mother's case, scattered across her dining room table, forget about ending it with Demming and most definately forget about stupid Castle leaving with his stupid ex-wife.
Yes. She was forgetting about him, not sitting in a bar and mulling over her feelings. That was what she was doing.
Crunching an ice cube between her teeth, Beckett crossed then uncrossed her legs, leaning her chin into the palm of her hand, trying to fight off all thoughts of Richard Castle and all things associated with him. Which was difficult, because like it or not, she was associated with him.
You absolutely idiotic woman.
She couldn't believe how vulnerable she had made herself. Her whole life, things had come to her. Men had approached her. She'd never had to put her heart on the line for anyone. And then, she'd gone and broken up with Tom. For Castle.
Why she'd assumed he would accept her offer, well, she couldn't quite think of that. She'd rejected him; what had possibly made her assume that she was the only person he would take to the Hamptons? She hadn't really expected that he'd spend the entire summer on his own just because she'd said no.
If only Gina had showed up just ten. seconds. later. Ten seconds would have been long enough to choke out the words ("I changed my mind" "Is your offer still running?"), long enough to make him smile and her bite her lip and stare at the floor. Long enough to change their relationship.
Instead, the arrival of a blonde ex-wife and, "Have a great summer," had happened. Less than ideal.
Beckett had stared after them for longer than she would be willing to admit to anyone, watched the way his hand curled around Gina's waist and wondered, just for a heartbeat, - although this was another thing she would never admit to anyone - what it would be like if that was her. She'd squashed the thought as soon as she registered she was think of it, of course; filed it in the section of her brain filled with a few hundred other thoughts about Castle that were varying degrees of innapropriate.
And then, as she grew aware of her team's eyes on her, she had composed herself, set her jaw, and gone home. Her empty house full of ghosts.
Now, with a misted rum and coke in her lap and slightly smudged eyeliner, Kate found her fingers twitching towards her phone.
Castle. One call, and he could be - no. Stop it. He doesn't want you, remember? He has Gina.
So she takes another sip, breathes in the cloyant air and stares into the shadows, because she had a chance with Castle, the chance to say yes for once, and she ruined it.
She had a chance with Demming, a chance of a tiny piece of happily-ever-after. (Eventually, she told herself, eventually she'd stop comparing him to Castle. Eventually.)
Maybe taking chances just wasn't her thinng.