Absence
Because writing about Beckett's situation is easier than having to think about mine.
For all intents and purposes: about a year from where Always left off, and Beckett is back on the force.
Mother's Day always snuck up on her.
Between cases and late nights and Castle, she rarely had time to think about what day of the week it is, let alone whether or not it's a holiday.
After nearly a year of being together, Castle knew to no longer tiptoe around her about those kinds of things. Kate Beckett takes things head on. There is no tiptoeing. Especially not about her mother. Not any more.
So on Saturday afternoon, when he very bluntly asked if she wanted to join him and Martha for Mother's Day brunch, she wasn't entirely surprised.
Before even thinking about what to say in response, she did a quick mental count. Yes, it was definitely May. And tomorrow definitely was the second Sunday of the month. And she definitely had not remembered that.
Her slight hesitation worried Castle. "It's …it's really okay if you don't want to. I understand."
They were curled up on her couch, and she felt his eyes roving over her face with concern.
"I don't…know."
The year had been full of firsts. Firsts not only in terms of her relationship with Castle, but also in terms of not letting her mother's case control her anymore. Letting go had made the individual days much easier—and having Castle had certainly helped in that department—but it had somehow made the important days increasingly more difficult than ever before.
Castle had found Kate slumped against the fridge on her mother's birthday, crying because she couldn't remember the recipe for her mom's favorite dish. On the anniversary of Johanna Beckett's murder, Kate couldn't even get herself out of bed.
It was all new to her: she had to re-learn to grieve. The proper way. Not in the "I need to find the truth and avenge her death" way. Kate had spent the better part of the year overcoming the mindset that her mother was murdered and accepting the mindset that her mother was gone. However minute the difference in words, the impact was anything but.
"Kate?" Castle was still staring at her.
"I think I'll pass on brunch," she said carefully. "I kind of want the morning to myself."
"Kate, I don't want to leave you alone if I'm going to come back here and find you on the kitchen floor again. It's not good for you."
No tiptoeing, no fudging the truth about what was on their minds. That was their agreement. He was much better at honoring it than she was.
"I'll come by in the afternoon," she promised. And she meant it. "I just need the morning, okay?"
Every previous Mother's Day, Kate had woken up early to visit the cemetery before church services let out and there were more people than was comfortable strolling through gravestones.
She had never wanted to see other sons or daughters—young, old, or very old—visiting the gravesites of their mothers. It would have been too much. She didn't want a reminder that there were so many others hurting, but none hurting in the way she was.
But on this particular Mother's Day, Kate slept in. It wasn't intentional, but as she brewed her morning coffee she found she was glad she hadn't made her usual crack-of-dawn visit. For a fleeting moment, she even considered not going to the cemetery at all. She had dialed the first few digits of Castle's phone number, intending to say she'd come to brunch after all, before she thought better of it.
Everything might have been different this year, but Kate still needed her routine.
As she traced the letters on the gravestone with her finger, Kate thought of all the other times she had sat in the same spot in the last thirteen years.
She'd been angry, she'd been stoic, she'd been everything; she'd never just been sad. Sad for all the future moments would never have with her mom.
It struck her, all of the sudden, that despite all the memories and all the mementoes and photos, and despite the ring on the chain around her neck, the only thing Kate had in place of her mother was a gravestone.
A gravestone wouldn't sit in the front pew and cry at her wedding; a gravestone wouldn't sit in the waiting room for the birth of her first child; a gravestone wouldn't be able to hold her hand when she needed it.
Kate might not have her mother's hand to hold, but she did at least have some other options.
When Castle opened up the door and saw her standing there, she could see the relief in his eyes. Could see that he very nearly expected to have to come to her apartment and see her crying on the floor again.
She loved him for worrying about her so much.
He wrapped her in a tight hug and whispered in her ear.
"I'm so glad you're here."
She kissed him thoroughly before extricating herself from him arms, nipping at his lower lip ever so slightly and smiling against his lips. Kate took his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly.
"So am I."
Fin.
Thoughts?