The Condensed Version
A Castle Fan Fiction
As we've seen in TooSoon, I'd already given some thought
to Castle tea parties before 7:03.
This is a tribute to the actual episode, but it's hardly child's play.
•
Rick was pretty sure he was having a hallucination.
What he wasn't sure of... where the reality ended and the hallucination began.
Sitting on the floor. Check. Warm, bright light. Check. Alexis in a tea party tutu. Check.
Such a beautiful little person. Round apple cheeks, bright blue eyes, that sweet smile. Was she four years old in this dream? Five?
"Are you going to wear your wings, Mr. Castle?"
"I'm so sorry, Miss Castle. I forgot to bring them along."
She was using her very best manners. "It's all right. This is an informal party, after all."
He nodded.
"Would you like to borrow a tiara?"
"That would be so kind of you, Miss Castle," he smiled. He leaned his head forward and closed his eyes. He could feel the warmth atop his head, like a crown alighting. He suddenly realized he had a monster headache, and his mouth was so damn dry.
"Alexis," he whispered. "I just want to come home."
"This is what you get for rocking the boat," she pouted.
•
He opened his eyes, then closed them against the bright flash of sunlight on calm ocean water. Judging by the sun's high angle, it was somewhere around noon, he guessed. The water was blue, the sky was blue, the dinghy was blue, his eyes were blue, his pants were blue, and he was blue, blue, blue.
"I really blew it," he thought. There seemed no sign of rain, and he'd had no fresh water in four days. Getting away in the boat had seemed like a reasonably good idea at the time. It had been sort of satisfying to see... who? Someone. On the dock. Shooting at him, only hitting the boat, and not below the water line.
He vaguely remembered a man's voice, screaming at him. "You'll regret this. We're not done yet, Castle!"
Regret what? Getting away from someone with a gun? Done with what? He felt the graze where a bullet had marked his belly, below the ribs. Had they shot to kill then? Were they shooting to kill when they aimed for the boat instead of his head? He rubbed his temple with exposure-roughened fingers. The back of his hand had been busted open: so he'd punched someone. He thought, "Seems like I'd remember that."
The sweet little voice popped up. "Who were they?" Alexis was messing around with her tea set – the one she'd painted herself at that Paint-Your-Own-Pottery boutique. She looked about eight this time. Just at the end of the Tea Party Phase. He'd had no idea how much he was going to miss it.
"I don't remember," he puzzled. "Who were who?"
She peered into his empty cup, surprised. "Are you done with your tea?" she asked.
"No," he rasped, holding his cup out eagerly. "I haven't had any yet."
She took her little teapot and tilted it. He stared at the spout. Not a drop. Not a damn drop. Fuck.
"Manners," he thought. "Language." He tried to swallow but his throat just seemed to rattle against itself. "Is there any tea?"
Alexis held the empty cup out to him. "You have to use your imagination," she said. "It's condensed."
"Condensed water?"
"Just add water, to make a complete cup of water."
"Uh, Alexis, I don't think it works that way."
She pouted. "If you're not going to play by the rules, then maybe you should try a different game." Standing, she shook out her wings. They had metamorphosed somehow, and they spread, growing larger and larger, filling the sky, white and pink and sparkling. She sort of drew into herself, then sprang away out of the boat, and then she was all wings, pink, and purple, and clouds blotting the sun. He smelled summer rain.
•
Everything ached. Movement was excruciating, and he'd neglected to cover his face before he'd passed out, and it burned like hell. He was nauseous, and when he heaved over the side, nothing came up. The dark-gray water looked up at him, mocking. He saw a splash, something dark moving through the water. "Please do not let that be a shark. Please." Something bumped the bottom of the boat, and then it rocked as if... he got chills, and whether they were fever or fear, he didn't know.
Kate's voice came from behind him.
"You can't drink that, you know."
He whirled, hopeful, and she was there in the boat, pale as a ghost- No. Some kind of sea creature. She sat on the bench, looking at him mournfully, her wet hair slick and black as a seal's, clinging to her skull and slender neck. Unable to stand in the boat, he clambered over to her. "Kate. Kate." He put his arms out to her, but seemed to go right through her, and he fell over the bench, banging his ribs against the hardwood, cursing. He should have known it wasn't her. He straightened, gasping and bruised, holding his side, then sat on the bench, and when he next heard her voice, she was sitting next to him.
She said, "You were already dehydrated when you got on the goddamn boat, Castle."
He nodded.
"So how many days have you been out here?"
"I dunno. Five?"
"And a human being can survive without water for how long?"
"Six."
"So you're dying."
"I don't want to."
"Then come home," she said. "Come home before we both die of thirst."
"I'm trying," he said. "I'm out of gas and I don't know where I am."
"Derrick Storm would know what to do," she said behind him.
He whirled again, and there she was at the bow, this time standing, unperturbed by the boat's wild rocking, the only steady thing in a moving world. The light in her eyes!
"North star," he mumbled.
"Can't see it now, but it's right where you left it," she smiled. Her skin was like wet silver, iridesced with hints of with green and blue and pink. Her dress seemed an extension of that skin, a dress whose skirt seeped from hip to hull, like the webbing between an octopus' tentacles. Her eyes were smudged with shadow, her lips stained purple-black. He realized she was standing in a puddle.
"You've taken on water," she observed.
"It's the wrong kind. I can't drink salt water."
She touched the metal railing of the boat with a delicate finger.
"Why rail against the storm when you can bless the rain?" she murmured.
"Water, water everywhere..."
"You're not paying attention, Castle. Atmospheric condensation."
He chuckled, but only in his head. "Much a-dew out of nothing."
She giggled. "You are an ass."
"So I am often told."
She ran a finger along the railing, and then popped it into her mouth. "Sweet."
He said, "Do that again."
"What, put my finger in my mouth? Wouldn't you rather put..."
"No, the water off the railing." He ran his finger on the smooth chrome. There was a little salt to be sure, but most of the water clinging to the chrome rail was rain. He used his hand like a squeegee, collecting every drop and rivulet and puddle he could find, and just that, a few ounces at most, enough to wet his lips and tongue, was joy beyond measure. His brain still wasn't working right, because now Kate was flying above him like an angel with ragged, gray, wet wings that splattered water he was unable to catch, but at least she was naked and soaking wet, so she looked great.
She finally dipped low and smirked down at him. He said, "Can I just touch you?"
She shook her head. "You need to come home, Lover." Then she looked around the boat. "Where's your towel?"
"I... what?"
"Douglas Adams. Towel. Get up and look around before you just stick that way." She beat her wings once, hard, and the boat pitched. She rocketed away into the roiling, wet darkness.
He found things around the boat: a mylar candy wrapper, the ziplock plastic bag for various maritime gewgaws. He laid them out and weighted them with other items against the wind, and they collected a few drops of rain at a time. He thought of Douglas Adams and laughed, "Wish I had a towel," and sucked on the rain-soaked sleeve of his shirt for water and vitamin B12.
It wasn't enough, it would not be enough to keep him alive, but it was enough for now, and that's all that mattered. He bailed the boat as much as possible, then set the bucket out as well.
He told the bucket, "You have one job. Get me a drink."
A large wave smacked the side of the boat. It tipped and spun. He slipped, and fell, and hit his head. The hallucinations turned to dreams. It was gonna hurt when he woke up.
But dying? Out of the question. He was expected for tea.