Sleepless in Manhattan : Chapter 1
Rick Castle was having a not-so-great summer so far. It had been a month since the love of his life was shot. A bullet to the heart of the keeper of his heart - Kate Beckett. Like something he would write. But this wasn't fiction. It was fact. The cold, hard truth of an event that shook his world as he knew it.
Kate had survived the shooting. She survived her heart being ripped by a bullet only to then, metaphorically, rip his heart to shreds. She had asked for space and time. He wasn't sure if that was what she needed. Heck, if it was up to him, he'd shower her with tender, loving care. But the decision wasn't his. It was hers. Her life. Not his own personal jungle gym.
And so he had agreed, unwittingly, to have his heart wrung out, stamped on and passed through a shredder. He started out counting the hours. Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and today - today marked the one month anniversary of the shooting.
One would think he had learned by now; facing rejection from her since the first time he met her. Rejection time and over. Having it rubbed in his face in the form of square-jawed Feeb-dweeb Sorenson, then Demming the Schlemming, and then Dr. Josh Davidson. Perfect cardiothoracic surgeon, saviour of the unfortunate, and flaunter of great hair - Davidson.
One would think he had learned by now. But the thing is, his bruised, battered, and broken heart also recognised that today marked the anniversary of her survival. And his confession. He hoped against hope and believed in magic. In miracles. In life and love and - in Kate. He believed in Kate. Even as he wondered if she believed in him.
Alexis Castle frowned as she passed her father's office. She knew what was going on. Even if she didn't quite understand why. Her father had been moping ever since Kate had been shot. That was understandable, of course. He'd only been in love with her since forever and a half. And now she had been shot. It was traumatizing for everybody, but especially him. Especially him - her partner who waited, and waited, and waited to hear from Kate.
Alexis knew her father was one for grand gestures. Were it anybody else, he'd have taken to sky writing, followed her till she caved in, bothered her until she saw his way. But this wasn't just anybody else. This was Kate. Therein lay the problem. The woman was extraordinary. The hurt, therefore, was extraordinarily stronger.
She watched him lose a little more of himself every day. Each passing day that he didn't hear from her was another yet day she rejected him. Each passing night as even sleep rejected him. His frown lines getting deeper, his eyes becoming duller, his magic withering away in the ever looming shadow of a tragedy. But today it was worse. She wasn't stupid. A quick mental calculation told her it had been a month since the incident. It upset her to see him this way. He looked tired, worn, sad. Sad? He looked absolutely gutted.
A month since the shooting. A month since she saw one of her role-models almost die. A month since her father started losing himself. A month, she decided, was enough. It was too much. She had to do something. Something besides trying to make her father see past his love induced singular vision and the dangers it led him to - he'd argued with gusto and she understood. Or maybe she didn't understand, but he looked more alive, more himself when he defended his love. She wouldn't begrudge him that. She didn't want that part of him destroyed. That was what made him special. Something besides trying to convince him to get professional help - his expression was a mixture of indignation, hurt, and bewilderment was enough to abandon those attempts.
She had to do something. And so she did.
Alexis picked up the phone and dialled a number she had heard probably a billion times in the last few months. She snuck into the kitchen, almost whispering like it was a great secret, hoping with all her heart, that it would help.
Kate was in pain. Everything hurt. It hurt more when she moved. It hurt when she tried to laugh, or cry, or breathe. She couldn't even grieve in peace, dammit. She knew she had to get better. Get back to work and send those sons-of-bitches to hell. Or behind bars. Whichever she could manage within the limits of the law that she had sworn to uphold.
She was having a terrible summer. Summers had generally been bad ever since Castle became a part of her life. But as bad summers go, this one took the cake.
Roy Montgomery, her mentor who had taken the mantle of father figure, had been killed. That, after she found out about his involvement in her mother's murder. He had helped her become a great detective. He had looked out for her, patted her on the back, reprimanded her, pushed her forward, held her back. He was her precinct father. His way of atonement for his sins ultimately led to his death. It made Kate's head spin to wonder whether it was all a ploy. Whether it was just guilt that made him help her through the injustice, or a fondness for her that made him look after her the way he did. Look at her the way her father would. To question the sanctity of their relationship had cut her deep. She had forgiven him. Yet she had lost him.
Then there was the fight she had with her partner, her 'friend' before the hangar. Her partner who was immature and a rule breaker and a jackass. Rick Castle, who could be good and kind and loyal. Her partner who proved his loyalty for the upteenth time when he showed up even after she thought they were over. Her partner who loved her.
She missed him. As if the damage from the bullet didn't hurt enough, her heart hurt from missing him. From wanting him near her. From wanting to be home, near him. His loft, or hers. The precinct. Her home. Her Castle.
But she couldn't let him - let any of them - see her like this. This broken shell of her former self. Couldn't let him live with the danger that came by being someone important to her. Couldn't let him love her. She couldn't laugh at her stupidity. Couldn't cry out of self pity. Couldn't take a deep breath to help cleanse her soul of his soul. Couldn't. Couldn't. Couldn't.
So she ambled to the couch in her father's cabin. She could do that much, at least, after a month. Her tubes and drains were gone. Her stitches removed, and wound healed - if a little unsightly. Kate could function on her own. She'd sent her father packing as soon as she became independent - with the promise to keep him updated and his threat that he would return clingier if she didn't.
Slowly sliding onto the couch, she angled her whole body towards the little table that lay beside it. Her hand rested on her chest, as it always did these days. As if to keep her chest from opening up and her heart from tumbling out. She was glad she did. The gasp she couldn't hold back didn't even make her flinch in pain. When she turned on the radio, she was glad that her hand kept her heart from leaping out. Because what she heard seemed to have jolted her poor, static, healing muscle.
"You can call me Rick," sighed the deep, sad sounding voice.
Castle.
Author's note: Hello again!
First off, rebuilding is on indefinite hiatus, but *not* abandoned. I'm blocked for it, and that's a terrible feeling. Sorry!
Second, this has been nagging me since forever, and I'd avoided writing or posting it for so long because I felt guilty about not posting rebuilding. But maybe this'll help get my mojo back. This is loosely based on Sleepless in Seattle, which I'm sure you're figured out. I hope you like it.
Third; my deepest gratitude goes out to fembot, who most importantly makes me *want* to continue writing.
Fourth: Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Castle in any way other than being a loyal (more or less broke) fan.
*whispers* Fifth: My Alexis remains nice.