Where Your Heart Is
"Dad?"
Castle looks up from his desk. His still recognises his daughter, even with blurry vision.
"You slept here, didn't you?" Alexis asks. He hears the accusation, the tone isn't one he can miss. He's heard it so much in this month. "And is that scotch bottle empty?"
Which scotch bottle? He glances to his right, following his daughter's gaze. There is a scotch bottle on his table, and it is indeed empty. Huh. When did that happen?
He tries to speak but all he manages is a raspy croak thing. Not the most pleasant of sounds. He thinks his daughter scowls, but it's more disappointment than anger. He can't find just the right word for it, this look on her face. It's anger and sadness and pity and disappointment and a few other unpleasant things rolled into one, and he can't find a word to describe it.
"What's that, the fifth time in two weeks?" she asks. Castle thinks back, tries to remember the last two weeks. He is trying. And that's what's worrying him. He sees a haze, himself a daze. He remembers writing something. What?
He hits the space bar on his still-open laptop. Up comes the document. He scans the document. His daughter stands there, looking vaguely annoyed. It's about a someone who digs tunnels. Worst plot he's ever written in his life, he admits to himself. Tunnel collapses. Lots of inner monologue. Now he remembers. Beckett.
"What happened, Dad?" Alexis asks. She's by his side now.
"I didn't tell you?" he croaks. She nods. Huh. How did that happen?
"You just came back from the precinct one day, annoyed as hell. You wrote, drank, ate and showered and that was about all," she says. Ah. That explains the disappointment. It's reflected in his eyes now.
"Fight," he croaks. She doesn't need much more explanation.
"A fight with Beckett. Of course," she says. He thinks he hears annoyance when she says her name.
"Of course?" he asks. She nods, as if the obvious answer is eluding him.
"Only a fight with Beckett could leave you like this," she says. "I mean, you drank half the scotch, Dad."
Castle glances aimlessly at the cabinet. He keeps all his liquor in his office. Not the wine or beer; that had another place. The heavier stuff he takes when something really isn't going well. Not quite half the scotch is gone, but it isn't far off. Huh. How did that happen?
"I'm gonna give you some advice Dad," she says. His eyes wander back to her, and he looks his daughter over. She isn't a little girl anymore. Since when did she give him advice?
Oh. Yeah. All the time.
"Drinking isn't going to do anything. You gotta go looking," she says. When did she learn to be so cryptic?
"What?" he can say things now. At least, it's better than croaking.
"Go find your heart. I think you left it with her," she says. And then she walks out, leaving him alone with a half empty bottle of scotch and a lot of silence.
kbrc
There's an incessant knocking on her door. She's been refusing to answer for five minutes, and the battle of wills is tense, even if it is through a wall and a door. It can only be him, she thinks. She sets down her wine, closes her book. It's his, so she hides it. Kate would never admit it, but the fight had shaken her a helluva lot.
They'd screamed at each other, of course. They had never had a fight in which they didn't. But their fights had always made sense. And Castle hadn't made any. He'd called her extraordinary and a coward in the same sentence, and when she thinks about it, she had been equally as difficult to understand.
So, she does the only thing she can do. Once she's hidden his book, she goes and opens the door, and standing there, making a puddle on the floor of her hallway, is Richard Castle.
"You're wet," she says. He smiles. It's soft, and maybe a little wry.
"I walked," he replies. There hadn't been a question, but it is still a reply. They ask with their eyes.
"Why are you here, Rick?"
There's a pause. He's looking for the words, she realizes. Must be important. If a writer like him can't come up with the words on the fly, it must be important.
"My daughter told me to find my heart, so I came here," he says. Her lips part and her eyes widen, and she stumbles backwards. Not a large stumble, more of a little stagger. He's never that blunt. That bold.
"Castle…"
She wants to warn him not to go there, to leave her alone and let her recover and give her space and wait. She does. So she doesn't. She has no idea why. She has no idea about a lot of whys these days.
"Don't worry, Kate. I'm not here to take it back. Not sure I could, really. But my daughter's right, as usual. We need to talk," he says. Her mind has to replay the words so she can find the meaning in them, and when she does, she takes another of those little staggers.
"Talk?" she asks. Numb. Her voice isn't working with her brain, here, he thinks. "Come on."
And then they're climbing the service stairs, going to the roof. It's not raining anymore, but Castle can't help the shiver. It is a spring night, so it isn't too cold, and the rain was warm, but he can't help but shiver as they stand next to each other, elbows and shoulders touching, looking over the edge at the city in front of them.
The lights are blazing, all over. The street lights and the cars, and the other buildings in the area and the skyscrapers and massive names of massive companies. It is a neon city, and they are watching it together.
"What's going on Rick?" she asks. He's surprised. She doesn't say his first name. Not in the precinct, and not in private. "You having a crisis of feeling?"
"I was having a crisis of feeling last week. This week I'm having a crisis of love," he replies. It's like a correction, this little change, the playing with words. But he knows it's no correction, nor is it a little change. And so does she. Her eyes don't live the lights.
"I was wondering if you'd say it again," she says. Again?
"You know," he says. He remembers her lie, then, and his hands tighten on the stone.
"I've always remembered. I told myself to lie so I could have space, but what I wanted was to run away from it all," she says. Castle runs a hand through his hair. Not the arm touching hers. He isn't giving that up.
"Oh Kate, if you'd told me to forget it then, I would've," he replies. He means it too.
"You'd do that? Stop loving me, if I asked?" she asks. He sighs.
"Only because you asked," he replies. It's clear then, to her. Why he'd do what he'd do.
"And now?" she asks. Castle turns to her, but she doesn't turn to him. He is looking into her hair, and he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. Light and soft.
"Now, I don't think I could," he replies. She turns to him, biting her bottom lip and looking more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her. It's in her eyes. Written all over her face. He wants to hold her, to comfort her, even if he doesn't understand why she needs comforting.
She sees something like that in his eyes too. This sadness. Bad word. Emptiness.
"Just tell me, Kate. The truth," he says. She doesn't ask what about. The rain begins with a few heavy drops, one every moment. All of a sudden it's pouring down like a madman, warm water drenching them both and washing the dust off the streets. It's loose in her, too. She feels it. Emotions like rain.
She kisses him. In front of a neon city, and the warm spring rain, and it's the truth.
AN:
So, the idea for this story, and it's title, came to me while I was working on another fic for the HP fandom, and I couldn't resist turning into something Castle. It's relatively simple, compared to some other stuff of mine, and I like it quite a lot, which is why I started working on it in the middle of the night and finished it really early in the morning.
Tell me what you think. Review. Have fun!
To all the people who know my username for whatever reason, should I keep the new one, or switch back to the old one?