She's always been independent. When she was a child, she insisted on cutting her own food, braiding her own hair, and tucking herself into bed. As she entered grade school, Kate never accepted help on her homework, persistently working through the hard problems on her own. Then, in high school, when Johnny Whats-His-Face broke her heart by choosing Suzy Big-Boobs, she didn't let anyone see her cry.
Kate Beckett always prided herself on the fact that she didn't need other people; that she could do perfectly well on her own. She believed it proved her strength, intelligence, created her own personal invincibility that could not be penetrated without her permission.
Before her mother died, the careful independence that she had crafted all around her was much like the four walls of a room. Her walls were firm and sturdy, but like most rooms, they were interrupted by the occasional window to see out of and a door to let people in. However, after that tragic day when she was nineteen, Kate Beckett concreted her independence.
Instead of the nice, drywall covering the walls, there was steel; smooth, grey, cold, lacking of texture and life. All of the windows were covered, but nothing by drapes or even wooden boards; they were bricked up, incapable of letting any light in. And the door? Well, the door might as well disappear all together. There were locks; the impenetrable kind that refused to be picked, hacked or altered. As far as keys went, there was only one and it resided in the same place as the key that locked away the person behind her mother's murder.
Inside all of the bravado of her fortress, Kate Beckett stood, trying to be tall - trying to be everything that she once believed in.
Independence used to be something to strive for, but now it was a giant, without which to stand on Kate would feel small and inconsequential. Living without the help of others had once been an ability - a talent that she wished to possess - but now it was something she couldn't push pass.
She couldn't function any other way.
The irony of the situation was blinding in its clarity. The device she had created so she would not have to rely on anyone or anything, was now her crutch; the thing she leant on when things got tough. She knew that she had passed up independence and strength one insurmountably inane day sitting on the records room floor, a flashlight in one hand, her mother's case files in another.
Kate Beckett had reached a new level of singularity.
One characterized by a lonely emptiness that refused to be repressed, only pushed past in the guise of strength. The quiet evenings alone, cuddled in with chinese and an old movie, and the inner voice that told her, "chin up, be strong, you can do this," were no longer choices that she could make to prove to herself that she could stand alone, but they were necessities to accompany her when she had pushed everyone away.
The quiet evenings were punctuated by nights filled with violent sobs and hours of loss sleep. The encouraging voice in her head had turned into nothing but a weak whisper that kept her from hitting rock bottom.
When Kate met Rick Castle, the years of her own special brand of singular hell had made her tough. The hard lines of her exterior almost tangible when you saw her.
But ever since he had inserted himself in her life, it was like her expertly structured room, equipped with the strongest defenses, was under attack. Not by a rain of bullets, or explosives, or anything that you would expect to cause structural damage, but instead by small etchings like those of a prisoner trying to escape his cell with a plastic spoon from the mess hall.
He started with the window, which was covered carefully with a layer of gray brick. Every joke he told, every wise-crack he made, every twirk of his eyebrow that he sent her way seemed to chip away at the porous blocks. Until one day when the wall of brick was no longer solid, but was riddled with holes the size of a fist; holes large enough to see out of and for Kate to catch a view at all the magic occurring outside of her four little walls. It brought a little bit extra to each of her days to catch a glimpse of the lightness - the carelessness - that he seemed to exude.
Next, he began work on the door. The locks that kept him out weren't a challenge for him. That first gun fight oh-so-many moons ago, where he had distracted the shooter with some party tricked he'd learned, coincided with the tell-tale 'click' of dead-bolt cylinders allowing access.
When he pulled her from the wreckage of her burning apartment, it was there again - 'click'.
The night Kate ran into the abandoned motel room where 3XK had tied Castle to a chair - 'click'.
"Partner then" - 'click'. A soft moan drawn from her lips - 'click'. "Always" - 'click'. Warm arms in the coolness of a freezer - 'click'. A signed Temptation Lane photo - 'click'.
"I love you." - 'click'.
Before she knew it, all the locks were disarmed and Castle stood on the otherside of the door, begging for entrance but never forcing it upon her.
Sometimes she wishes he would just open the door already and come in, but she knows as well as him that if he violated her space in such a way, she would push him right back out that door just because she could.
And so he stood, and knocked, and begged, and did everything to make her come open the door but she stood frozen on the other side refusing to budge. Scared that if he did come in, he wouldn't like it there, or worse, he would cause the whole of her room to implode leaving her with nothing.
She just prayed he would never get tired of standing around waiting. But she knew that it was happening before her very eyes.
His knocks were weak, almost non-existent as to not disturb her. His calls to her lacked the charm they once had but were now clouded by a lack of hope, and an angst that was hard to ignore. His careless light that shown through the holes in her window, was dimmer now; it lacked the color and brilliance it once had.
She wanted to tell him that she was making the baby steps. That the metal interior of her walls was now a warm wood and that she had replaced the brick with broken glass; imperfect yet brighter than before. She had slowly made her way towards the door and now stood with her hand resting on the handle but lacking the courage to turn in fully. But she had stayed silent for so long she had lost her voice and didn't know how to speak about the events happening inside of her walls.
After all, she couldn't let the walls fall, let her independence (if it could be called that) fade, because it was the only thing she had left to stand on.
Little did she realize, that an implosion of her walls wouldn't leave her with nothing, but with him and everything his world had to offer.
This is an idea I came up with while brainstorming for a college essay I'm supposed to be writing right now. One of my first fanfics.
Hope you liked it. Reviews are like chocolate, they make everything sweeter :)