A/N: Because I somehow had to get rid of my pre-Watershed angst (although I am not saying that this method was successful). The plot sketch for this story was written, I think, even before The Human Factor aired, and for its sake (and my own sanity's), I even remained sneak peek-free this week. So, this is an unspoiled, pre-Watershed post-finale speculation, if a thing like that even exists :D in another words: Kate's emotional journey after she took the job offer. Also, it features one of my favorite motifs to use: the main character from a supporting character/OC's eyes. Please, bear with me – and with my mistakes, too, because I worked really hard, until really late to have this baby finished before the finale airs (GTM+1 time zone, baby…) So… I hope you'll enjoy it :)
Rating: T
Word Count: 4625
Disclaimer: [Insert funny text here that tells you I don't own Castle]
"What's eating you, doll?"
It takes Kate a few moments to realize she is being talked to; to realize that save herself and this old man in a janitor's get up, with the name "Reg" sewed to the front of his shirt, the office – her new workplace –, this great, stark, soulless room, with overpriced chairs and boring desks, is empty. She shakes her head, mostly just to move the stiff muscles in her neck and to get some blood flow to her brain.
"It's nothing; just paperwork," she answers without really thinking about the question. Her voice sounds lifeless even to her own ears. It's not just the fatigue that stains it, but something deeper.
One corner of the janitor's – Reg's – mouth tilts upwards. He sees right through her and he is humoring her.
"This late at night, all alone in the empty office?" he asks, abandoning his cart of cleaning equipment and moving closer to her. "I've been watching you. You are new. How long have you been here? Two weeks?"
She puts down her pen and arches her back, her spine cracking, protesting.
"Nine days."
"Nine days!" he echoes, his voice amused. "And in nine days you have managed to pile so much paperwork that you are forced to stay in until the dead of the night, when everybody else, expect unfortunate janitors, are already at home?"
A gentle, but spiritless smile appears on her face without her permission; she can't help it – this is the most refreshing, most civil conversation she has had in days.
"Not really, I just… like to work a little forward. So when something crashes, I don't have to worry about the trivial things," she explains, then picks up her pen again. A shaky breath escapes her mouth and her shoulders fall forward as she focuses on the sheets in front of her once more.
"That's all?" Reg asks. He is adamant; he won't let the topic go. She thought he'd leave her and let her do her job after this little impromptu interrogation, but, apparently, he isn't quite done with her just yet.
"And it's not like I have much to go home to right now. New girl, new in town and everything," she says, pointing at herself and letting out a forced little laugh. "Half my stuff is still in New York, the other half is still in boxes. Haven't had the time to unpack yet. My apartment is rather depressing right now." It's only a half lie – she could have made time for that, but she was simply unable to. Emptying the ragged cardboard boxes and putting their contents away would make everything so painfully final.
Reg watches her, his head tilted slightly sideways, eyes squinting. He is considering her, like he wants to read the lines between her eyebrows, the almost-not-even-there shaking of her hands, the creases on her shirt, her smeared, imperfect make up, her tired, sad eyes. This old man with his white hair and crinkled, laughing eyes, wants to figure her out. He wants to help her.
"You know, I think it's safe to say that I am the oldest furniture 'round here," he says slowly, like one would speak to dog he doesn't want to spook. "I have seen a great many things – learnt a great many things. I have seen agents and criminals and family members come and go. I have witnessed deaths and births, marriages and divorces. I have seen people break and become whole again. I have learnt more about people – how they act, how they think – here in the last few decades, than I could have learnt about them had I went to college and got a degree in psychology. I can tell when somebody is not being completely honest." He takes a couple of steps towards her, so he is only standing a foot or so from her desk. "It's not a lousy apartment or mere homesickness or the blues of the new place that gets you down so much." While talking, he grabs a chair by its back, drags it to her desk and sits down. The whole situation eerily reminds Kate of all her sessions with Dr. Burke – Reg's posture, his imperturbable calmness, his all-knowing smile, all reminding her of her old therapist. "So just spill. Good ol' Uncle Reggie is listening, doll."
Kate sighs again and sets her pen down. It's no use, anyway. She just can't concentrate. Not with this tightness in her chest that has been compressing her lungs – her heart – for days, if not for weeks. And it's not like she needs to have these forms filled out by tomorrow. Or even this week. She pushes her hair back with both hands, her fingers sliding between her locks and she closes her eyes for a moment, her lashes tickling her palms.
What can she lose?
It only takes a moment to answer this question.
She has nothing else to lose.
She starts talking.
"Before I came here, I was a mere cop. A homicide detective. I liked it. Not always, but the last few years… as morbid it is, the last few years were fun.
"I hadn't always wanted to become a cop; it wasn't the original plan. I went to Stanford; I studied pre-law. I had plans, big plans. Huge, almost impossible, but at least improbable plans, but I wanted them, and I was ready to work for them. I had it in me what I needed to fulfill these plans. But then my mother was murdered."
She pauses and swallows. Her throat is dry. Her eyes, too.
"Her murderer was never caught, and it killed me inside. Now…" she hesitates for a moment, but then continues. Somehow she knows she can trust this man. "Now I know who it is, but I can't do anything about it. But this… this not knowing, not knowing for years, the hurting… It changed me. I abandoned my plans, and applied for the academy. I became a cop. A good cop. I am the youngest female ever made detective at the NYPD, did you know that? I had the highest case solving rate. I was good at what I was doing, but… But I guess I had outgrown this role. At least it felt like it.
"I wanted more – I don't really know, not even now, what I wanted more of, but when this offer came, I took it, because it seemed to be more. Something bigger. Something worth doing. A position where I can help people." But who's gonna help you? A quiet voice, one that strangely reminds her of Castle's, whispers into her ear. "I took it, and left everything behind, my old life, my home, my friends, my family…"
Reg is simply watching her, his elbow on her desk, his head in his palm, strangely reminding her of Rodin's The Thinker. His gaze is open as he regards her, slowly nodding, quietly humming, signaling that he is listening.
"But you are starting to regret your decision," he observes.
"I think I regretted it the moment I signed my contract."
"Then why did you do it?"
The question is out of the blue and expected at the same. This is the question she has been trying to answer herself for weeks now. Really, why did she do it? Out of stubbornness, out of dissatisfaction? Out of fear? When did she come to the decision that it would be her best option? And why did she think that?
"But there's still more to it, isn't there?" Reg says suddenly, stopping her train of thought. "If it was mere homesickness, or regret over a simple bad job-related decision, it could be easily remedied – you wouldn't be sitting here, looking like a lost puppy." He leans back and rolls his shoulders. "I know they always say that cherchez la femme – look for the woman –, but if you ask me, it works the other way around just as well. If there always is a woman, then there always is a man, too. That's what hurting you, right? A man. And he's broken your heart."
Kate lets her head fall forward, her hair, like a curtain, hiding her face. Her eyes focus on her fingers.
"He didn't. If anything, I broke his."
Silence follows her words. Her soul is heavy. He is waiting. He doesn't say a word, just waits for her to continue, watching her with thoughtful eyes.
She lets out a shaky sigh.
"He's a great a man, the man I left in New York. He didn't deserve what I did to him." With trembling hands she wipes away the stubborn tears from her eyes. She hasn't even realized she has started crying. "Honest, generous, patient, loving, loyal… No matter what I did, what I a colossal idiot I was, he was always there with me. When I was fooling myself with other men, even when I always drove him away… He stayed. I had this – this emotional wall, and I just couldn't connect, but then he was there for me, and took down this wall, brick by brick… And we almost died, so many times, so many ways… And he didn't have to stay – he should have left, really –, but he still did, he never wavered… Even, only a couple of weeks ago, I was… I was standing on this bomb, and there was a timer, I couldn't move, and I– I already accepted that this was the end for me, but he still stayed. We had this miniscule chance of defusing the bomb, but he still tried, he risked his own life for me, and he tried, and he succeeded, and… And then what do I do? I take the first good-looking job offer I come across. I leave him, the first chance I get. No, not just leave – I ran. I had promised myself I would never do that, not to him, and still…"
She trails off, furiously trying to wipe her tears away, unable to finish her sentence. What else could she say?
"So you made a bad decision, left, and hurt this man," Reg says finally after a few moments, summarizing what he's just heard. "This, I know. But why, doll?"
She starts searching for a tissue, just to buy herself time before she has to answer. Before she could find one Reg reaches into his pocket and offers her one.
"I've already told you – I wanted more. My job back there–"
Before she could finish the sentence Reg raises his hand, silencing her.
"You love this man, it's clear. Really love him. He is your once-in-a-lifetime, epic love. The kind schoolgirls with rose-tinted glasses dream about. And that, sweetheart, is not something you give up for a job, no matter what a great opportunity it is, or at least you think it to be." Reaching over the table, he places his hand on top of hers. "Let me tell you a story, alright, doll?"
Kate nods, relieved that she gets a break from speaking. She doesn't trust her own voice anymore.
"When I was young, even younger than you are now, I had great plans, too. I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted to do, but… But you hear those stories of men who started as shoe shiners, had a big idea and became millionaires – now, I wanted that for myself. I had no real ideas, but I was a hard-working lad. Took any job I could find, sometimes working at two or three places at the same time, piling money cent by cent.
"I didn't really paid attention to anything else. I told myself that once I was on the right tracks, I would start living, I'd get a girl, a dog, house with a picket fence, the whole nine yards. That was the plan. But plans, dearie, has a tendency of failing.
"I met this girl – never saw such a beauty before. Blonde curls, big, blue eyes, and a smile so wide sometimes I thought her face would crack in the middle," he explains, gesturing with such an enthusiasm, mimicking the hair and the smile that even through her tears Kate can't help but laugh,. "I was smitten, from the moment I laid my eyes on her. And the miraculous thing is that she seemed to fancy me, too.
"We started dating, but I kept pursuing this impossible dream I had. I am ashamed to say it, but I often neglected her – I was only lucky because she had the patience of a saint. The months and then the years went by, and she stayed with me, even when I was unbearable. Even when I was unwilling to make the next step. I wanted to become something before I took any commitments.
"But even saints get enough one day," he continues, leaning back in his borrowed chair. "One day this heavenly creature comes to me, sits me down, and tells me, with the most determination and force any five-foot-two, ninety-pound woman can muster, that she is done with waiting; she gives me an ultimatum: no more putting things away. She doesn't want the riches, she wants me. So I either put a ring on her finger or she leaves me."
Kate, who has been listening in silence until now, her tears drying, ask,
"And what did you do?"
Reg shrugs, like it's nothing, like it's not even worth asking.
"What could I have done? I married her, of course. Barely a month later. I never became a millionaire, as you can see, but forty-two years, four kids and seven grandkids later, I still think it was the best decision of my life. I would do it again, without missing a beat. Heart before career, I always say."
Kate smiles a tiny, sad smile.
"It is a lovely story," she says, her eyelids lowering, her gaze, once again, fixed on her hands, on her bare fingers. "I just wish… Just wish I had an ending like this written for me, too."
When she raises her head, Reg is watching her, his eyes full of warmth, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.
"Who says you don't have one, doll?"
Kate takes a deep breath, her chest shaking while the air fills her lungs.
"I told you. I messed up, big time, and now I am paying the price of my mistakes – I have lost him."
Reg snorts.
"Even if just the half is true of what you have told me about this man of yours, I wouldn't say that anything is lost. I am a man in love myself – I know how my kind thinks. We huff and puff and raise our voices and say ugly things and act all horrible but if you push our buttons right, we won't be able to resist you." He speaks with such a confidence that Kate wants to believe him.
"Okay, so, what do I do now?" she asks, ready to take whatever advice he has for her. Ready to do anything to try to make her wrongs right. To get Castle back. Because she wants, oh, how much he wants him, right here, right now, she wants be engulfed in his arms, she wants to inhale his scent, she wants to be able to tell him how she loves him one more time and mean it. She wants him, and nothing and nobody else, and she is ashamed of herself that it took her this long to figure this out.
Reg smiles at her. He reaches over, takes her half-filed forms, lifts them up and, bumping the edge of the stack to the desktop a couple of times, he shakes the papers neatly together, then he hands them back to her, as if to say that her shift ends here for today.
"First of all: go home. Have a good night's sleep. Nothing is less attractive than a woman with dark circles under her eyes, while she almost falls asleep. Then come back in the morning. But don't even sit down behind this desk, but go there," he jabs his thumb towards her current boss' dark office, "and, first thing after you arrive, hand in your resignation." He, again, reaches out, and pats her hand. "Look, I have no doubts that you are brilliant, great at this job – you wouldn't be here otherwise –, but this is not where you are supposed to be." He leans a little bit closer, looks deep into her eyes, and continues: "And when the nasty part is done, don't care about anything or anybody, but jump on the first plane that goes to New York, and don't even look back until you are in your man's arms again."
Something very familiar to hope flutters in her chest.
"You think–"
"I know," he cuts in. "Some things are just meant to happen."
For the first time today – no, for the first time in weeks – a real, genuine smile appears on her face. She stands up – a tad faster than her stiff muscles would like –, and starts packing with a fervor, tossing her things into her bag haphazardly, without even paying attention to it, and Reg just watches, with that kind of smug, amused expression, that tells her how content he is with himself, with how he has just managed to turn her mood and most likely her future around.
Once she is done – bag zipped, her jacket on, her desk lamp turned off, ready to go –, just before she would storm out of the office (it's late, and now she has so much to do, she has to book a ticket to New York, have some kind of written resignation prepared, pack a bag…), she steps to Reg, who is still sitting in the confiscated chair, stops next to him, and, after a moment of hesitation, she leans in and pecks him on the cheek.
"Thank you," she says and then she is already halfway to the door, but before she could leave the room, Reg calls after her one more time.
"Hey, doll!" She stops and turns around, her hand on the doorframe. Reg's eyes twinkle, the wrinkles around them appear deeper as he smiles. "Don't you dare to forget to send me an invitation to the wedding, understood?"
Kate almost laughs out loud.
"Understood."
It's almost two o'clock in the afternoon the next day when she arrives at Castle's door. She is tired – she hardly slept, she just couldn't, she kept tossing and turning, her soul shimmering with happiness, then in the next moment shaking with fear, until she finally dozed off around three in the morning –, but her heart is galloping, her blood is rushing through her veins, and her hands are trembling.
She is not sure she can do this.
It's been more than two weeks since she last saw him, and these two weeks now feel like a whole lifetime. She sure has changed and learned as much as others do in a decade during this such a short period of time.
She wonders if she – they – can still make it work.
She takes a deep breath and then slowly exhales. Now or never.
She raises her hand the rings the doorbell, its electronic sound echoing in her ears.
She still has her keys – her still shiny-new, silver keys, he so casually handed her one morning, right before she stayed over when her apartment was fumigated, so she could let herself in any time she wanted –, but she has misplaced them somewhere, and simply opening this door now would feel imposing. No; now, she wants to be let in – into his house and into his life.
Moments tick by, one by one, and she starts to worry that no-one's at home, that she has come in vain, that it ends here and now, that she won't be able to talk with him, to apologize, to make things right –
But then the lock clicks and the door opens.
She swears her heart skips a beat.
It's not Castle standing on the other side, but Martha, vibrant as ever, in tight pants and bright, silk blouse, hair, make up, everything in place, as always. When she sees Kate – her shoulder falling forward, hair a mess, overnight bag in hand, expression almost shy, faintly smelling of airport –, she doesn't look surprised. She smiles a slow, mother smile, then carefully draws the younger woman into her embrace, her hand with the blood red nails resting on the top of Kate's head, caressing the tangled curls.
"Oh, Katherine, darling," she says in a low voice, pushing Kate away a little, so she can look into her eyes, and capturing her face with both hands. "Took you long enough." Martha tells her, like she knew she was coming, like she should have arrived ages ago, and presses a kiss to her hairline, no doubt leaving a smudge of lipstick behind, then slowly extracts the bag from Kate's hands and turns the younger woman towards the office. "He's in there. Go, talk to him. It's time you two sort this out."
Kate slowly nods, then, with tentative steps, she walks to the door of his office. It's closed, but she can see him through the gap between the shelf and the books – he is sitting behind his desk, laptop open in front of him, but his hands are nowhere near the keyboard, his eyes staring blankly at whatever is on the screen. He is wearing a faded black shirt, his hair is a mess, like it hasn't seen a comb in days, there are circles under his eyes and stubble on his jaw and chin and the lines on his face seem deeper than they were two weeks ago, but still…
Her breath sticks in her throat.
He is beautiful. She doesn't know if it's only her, or he is this beautiful to everybody else, but she doesn't even care. Her mind is too filled with this vision of him. She just unable to comprehend how could she left him, how could she get on with her life without him, survive without him for so long – because this fleetingly short period of time she spent in D.C. now feels like an eternity.
He still doesn't recognize her presence. The seconds tick by, and he is just sitting there, and she is just standing here.
Finally, she places her hand on the doorknob and pushes the door open.
The click of the lock and the soft creaking of the hinges get his attention. He raises his head, and for a fracture of a moment she can see in his eyes that he is ready to send away anybody who came here to bother him, but then he sees her, and his eyes widen just slightly, his pupils dilate, like he can't believe his own eyes. He stands up, one hand still on the desktop, his feet not moving from the rug. Kate stand still, too, one step inside the room, one hand still on the doorknob.
Neither of them says a word, they only stand there, drinking each other in, like they can't believe their own eyes, with a painful distance stretching between them.
"Kate…" he breaths finally, her name tumbling from his lips like a prayer.
She looks into his eyes, and it's like looking at the sky just after a storm.
"I quit."
Something snaps then. He moves; in three long strides he is right in front of her, and before she could process what's happening, she is already in his arms, his broad, warm chest pressed against hers, her arms around his neck, her face nuzzled against the crook of his neck, and his grip on her is so strong that she can hardly breath, but it's alright, it's more than alright, finally something feels right, finally she's home, and she never wants this moment to end.
"You are here. You came back," he murmurs into her hair, and she nods, tears flowing from her eyes.
"I am, I did… I don't even know why I left. I am sorry…"
"It's okay, it doesn't matter now. I was an idiot, too. But you are here now, you are here…" He holds her even tighter, softly swaying from side to side.
They stay like this for a long, undisturbed, standing in the doorway of his office, lost in each other, unable to get enough. His lips finally find her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, and then her mouth, kissing her again and again, devouring her, unwilling to let go. She doesn't even understand how she could have survived without it – without him – for this long.
"And what now?" He asks when his lips tire, his forehead against hers, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Are you really back for good?"
She softly shakes her head.
"No, I have to fly back tomorrow," she explains, "I have to serve out my resignation period. But it's just two weeks. And then…"
"And then?" he echoes.
"And then," she sighs, pulling slightly away, running her finger over the front of his shirt. "The problem is I don't really have any place to stay. Of course I could stay with Lanie or my dad for a time being, but –"
"But that only would be a temporal solution," he says a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Yes. And it would feels being a burden for them."
"So… What do you suggest?"
"Well," she starts teasingly, completely comfortable in his presence once more, "I thought maybe I could stay with you here, for a while?"
"And how long do you think that 'a while' would be?"
She tilts her head, as if she has to think about it.
"I don't know… Thirty, forty years, maybe? Of course, only if I am not imposing?"
He doesn't answer her with words, leans in and kisses her again, his lips caressing hers tenderly.
"That would be perfect," he says once he breaks the kiss.
All the tension, the heartache suddenly gone, Kate finally feels like she's come home. She doesn't fool herself: she knows they still have many questions to answer, things to work through – questions of commitment, of trust, of future plans –, but now what they have is enough. Now, she is happy. She can ponder and worry another day. Now, she just wants to relish in the moment.
And they will work it out; they are on the right path, she knows. For once, she is not afraid of the future.
"You must be hungry. Have you eaten at all?" He says after some time, when her stomach, that traitor, rumbles. She shakes her head no; up until ten minutes ago her insides were in a knot. She wouldn't have been able to swallow a thing. "Why am I not surprised?" He pecks her lips again. "I'll feed you. Give me a few minutes, and I'll whip something amazing up for you." He exclaims, suddenly joyous and giddy, true Castle-esque, the overall mood of the situation completely changed in a heartbeat. He starts leading her back towards the kitchen, but then suddenly he stops. "Wait a minute. Just go ahead, I'll be right behind you, I'll just quickly take care of something first."
She turns around confused, but he is already almost by his desk, reaching for his phone.
"What?" she asks, more amused than worried.
But he just shrugs, like it's really nothing, and smiles as he reaches for the phone.
"I'll just call my real estate agent and let him know that he can stop looking for apartments in D.C."