No Turning Back
A quick little snapshot that popped into my head after watching Knockdown. I've seen a lot of good episode tags, but there was one line that jumped out at me in a way that I couldn't help but play with.
Spoilers for "Knockdown"
Disclaimer: None of the characters you recognize belong to me. If they did my life would be far different.
It was a quiet Sunday. The kind where they hadn't talked yet and it was half past nine. Neither one enjoyed sleeping in and she was already back from her run when he had all of his things shoved into his overnight bag. He sat on the edge of the unmade bed to tie his shoes and his eyes fell on the copy of "Storm's Last Stand" on her night stand.
It was one of the few books that survived her apartment fire. She seemed rather protective of it and he'd never handled it out of fear of the book falling apart and respect for her wishes. In addition to the massive water damage, the book's spine was singed and the dust jacket gone entirely. He gently opened the cover and could barely make out an inscription. It was the typical that you'd get at any book signing. The author's name on the the title plate had a large slash through it and was replaced with a signature underneath. It was largely bled away by the same water that had warped the pages. Underneath, in much clearer, fresher script was an addendum. You are still extraordinary.
At a different point in his life he would have been jealous of such a thing. But he couldn't find it in himself this time. His hand was still holding the cover open when she walked into the bedroom to ask him if he was free the following weekend. She never completed the question. She looked at him and his bag, but didn't ask. Her expression was enough. He closed the book gently, then stood to face her.
He hadn't rehearsed what he was going to say, but they both knew something like it was coming.
Sure, it was nice to have someone always available to turn to. Someone who was always there when you needed company after a stressful night on duty. Someone who could share a conversation about his bike. Someone to share a meal with. Hell, it was really nice to get laid on a regular basis.
But even for him the 3 am calls were too much after a while. So were the nights where she didn't come home at all while working on a case; the way she rarely made time for him even when she wasn't on a case. It didn't take long for him to realize she wasn't making room in her life for him.
That she didn't need him.
The moment he realized it was over was when he got the offer. He got the offer and it never occurred to him to ask her about it before saying yes. It was then that he knew that he didn't have room in his life for her, either.
He simply told her he had to go now if he was going to make his flight. He wasn't sure what he expected her reaction to be when she asked where he was going. He told her with no fanfare—he was going to Mozambique . Helping victims of landmines. Helping people so they could adapt to using prosthetics and live productive lives. It was an offer that could make his career. He'd be gone a year.
He didn't ask her if she'd be here when he got back. She didn't offer.
"So that's it, huh?" she asked.
"Yeah," Josh said.
Kate Beckett pursed her lips, nodded, and walked him to the door.
He walked out of her life without looking back.
AN: To those waiting for an update to my Bones/Castle crossover Against the Darkness, I'm really sorry about that on going on an unexpected hiatus. I recently had a medical problem that resulted from some bad wiring in my brain. While I was adjusting to the medication to get things back somewhat close to normal (medication which severely affected my memory for quite a while) I cleaned up my house and misplaced the notes I had for that story. I had it pretty well complete on paper, but very little was on my computer. Any time you think it's bad when your hard drive crashes, believe me—it's not nearly as bad as when your wetware fries. I'll update that one as soon as I can.
AN2: I had to do a quick repost because of a GLARING typo. Did I mention my brain is messed up? If it's not messing up my memory it's screwing with my language abilities... or, as I said to a coworker this week after messing up several times while trying to form a sentence. "I'm sorry. I'm having trouble finding words right now."