Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.
Summary: He wonders how she can stand so tall when weighed down by the ghosts of so many. CastleBeckett, set during S3, oneshot
Here's another oneshot for this fandom. I've been really inspired lately, so hopefully it shows here. It's not really set in a specific episode, just vague season three goodness. I really hope that y'all like this little fic of mine. I am having so much fun writing for this fandom. Thanks so much for reading!
Cracks in the Mortar
She sets her chin as she goes to work, and he can practically hear her bones creak from the pressure surrounding her.
Her mother's murder, the conspiracy behind it, the long line of deaths in relation to them. Beckett's eyes dart back and forth, a strange kind of madness overtaking her as she types the latest report on her computer. The obsessive dedication, the late nights, the hard eyes and harder words spoken between them... He thinks about all of it as he watches her type away on the keyboard, fingers flying over each letter with a precision he is far too familiar with. Her mouth is in an angry line, her shoulders stiff with tension, her feet flat on the floor and not tapping away like they usually do.
Castle wants her to be safe, needs her to be safe, but he cannot protect her if she doesn't care about her own life. She's reckless and stubborn and driven. He loves those qualities about her - loves everything about her, really - but those very characteristics will put her in her grave. Ironic, how the things he finds the most reluctantly endearing are the things that will end her, if she steps too far, if she ventures into the forest without so much as a care for what other creatures just may inhabit it.
He tries, though.
It might be in vain, but he tries to protect her. He tries to get her to stop following her mother's case. In a way, it is his own fault, for encouraging her to look into things, to try to bring justice to them, to light the darkness that has drifted along the fringes of her mind for so long.
"Beckett," he ventures, his voice cracking oddly along the syllables of her name.
She does not look up from her work, acts like she does not hear him. Castle is used to this, of course, but not in a situation so serious. He's used to her ignoring him when he's saying something particularly stupid, or when he's spouting one of his theories, or when he's complimenting her looks, but not when things are serious. He's not used to her turning a cold shoulder to him in the times when things are most important.
However, he figures he shouldn't be surprised.
For a few more moments, he watches her, his eyes memorizing the graceful bend of her neck, the way her long fingers type away on the keyboard in front of her, the way the lighting makes her eyes look softer and yet can do nothing to discard the darkness he knows hides deep away inside her subconsciousness.
She's struggling, he can tell, despite everything that she puts on to suggest otherwise. She's strong, anyone can see that, but Castle has figured out her little tells - the way she slightly bites the side of her lip, how her breaths are a little faster than normal, the way her eyes dart to him as if she is unsure if she should look at him or not.
Castle ends up making the decision for her. Without hesitation, his fingers reach for hers, interrupting her frantic typing, and squeeze.
He almost feels the air leave her lungs, almost feels the air leave the entire room.
"Castle," she breathes, and if he wasn't so close to her he might not have been able to make it out.
He doesn't say anything; his silence says enough, and she can tell this, when she looks in his eyes and sees their steadiness and their strength and knows that she has him, has always had him, right by her side, even when he might not have been there physically.
She inhales and exhales, slow and steady, and says, "Thank you."
Castle smiles - it's a faint thing, just a twitch at the corners of his lips, and says, "Anytime."
End.