Warning: Tissues might be needed. Sensitive subject included.
Author's Note: His book tour had to come sooner or later…
Summary: "I'm in love with you." And anger fills her because he shouldn't be able to love her.
"He proposed." Her smile was as wide as the Pacific Ocean, and her eyes held a childlike innocence that no one was allowed to see.
.
.
.
The crisp cold New York air was comforting and refreshing, like a cool soda on a hot, summer day, and it reminded him of everything that he had been missing in those pass months that passed as slowly as a snail moved across a dirt road. Looking around at the familiar sights was relieving, robbing him of any remaining doubts and fears. It had been too long since he had last walked down the bustling sidewalks, and despite the number of people bumping into him, he realized how much he had missed the city itself. And it reminded himself of how much he hated those book tours.
But apparently, in the economy, people had to be encouraged much more to buy his books than they did in the past. He had no clue how they had come to that conclusion though, after all, his wallet did get larger day by day. He could've walked around for hours, but he needed to see her. She was the only one whom he had yearned to talk to in those long months that he had been away. Still, it was difficult to believe that it had only been a few months, just a summer even. The months seemed like ages to him, except they never ended.
Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair, accidentally elbowing a teenager who was walking quickly beside him. He still had absolutely no clue what he could say to her. And so, he turned around from the path in which he was walking and instead, returned to his apartment. It was all he wanted to be able to see her, but he couldn't. How would he behave around her? Maybe he would talk to her another day. After all, tomorrow is another day.
.
.
.
But the days turned into weeks and the weeks loomed on. And he found himself lost in his life, going through the everyday motions, actions, and yet, never feeling a thing. Alexis had moved from his house and bought an apartment of her own, even though she still lived in New York and was attending NYU, attaining a degree in teaching. Martha was still living there, though that was hardly a comfort without Alexis to entertain her. But it was reassuring that she continued to come by every week. It still didn't fill the void that Beckett and the precinct had left in his life, neither the one that she had left after she had moved out, but it was some consolation.
Until the one day that he had finally built the courage to see her again.
.
.
.
She had cut her hair again, alternating between short and long. She was wearing her normal work wear, which caused her form to be shapeless until she moved in a certain way where a person could see a curve that usually resulted in leaving him breathless. And she had dark circles under her eyes, a tell tale sign that she had been deprived of sleep. But still, he had never seen a person so breathtaking, extraordinary, in his entire life.
And so, the words, the speech that he had been preparing for months had left him in a second, and for the longest time, which turned out only to be seconds, he was paralyzed in place. Of course, at the same time, she had to look up. Noticing him instantly, she always held this keen observance, several expressions flashed across her face, although none of them were long enough for him to identify. Then, she stood, slowly, pointedly, and walked over to him, stopping a foot from him.
Her mouth was set into a thin line, but in her eyes, there was relief. She was glad he was there. She was happy to see him. For a moment, it was as if she was going to confront him, as if they were going to have it out right there in the middle of the crowded precinct, but then she murmured, "You're late." And he knew instantly that he was forgiven. And that was it for now. Yet, the thing they really needed to talk about, the thing that was their own elephant in the room wasn't spoken of.
But maybe that was for the better.
.
.
.
One night, it was after a hard case and although they were both physically and emotionally exhausted, maybe that was why they did it, she brought it up. "I don't regret it." They were walking down an empty street on their way to their favorite restaurant. The fact that it was open 24/7 was one of the factors that led it to be their favorite. The statement had caused his blood to run cold, his muscles to tense, and his heart to stop. Swallowing heavily, she continued, stuttering, "I-I just wanted you to k-know. I don't regret it."
The unexpected, truthful admission had encouraged him to do the same. "Me either." And for once, they were them, and things were repaired fully. It was like it had never happened.
The two sentences were the only things said about what had happened, but that was all right.
.
.
.
The looks that Esposito, Ryan, Lanie, and even the Captain gave him never disappeared though. They weren't daily, instead occasionally, but they were often enough to make him suspicious and wonder what had happened to cause him. But he didn't ask because he didn't feel comfortable talking to them about it and for once Beckett, the only person he was truly comforatble with, seemed to be on top of the world and he didn't want to ruin it for her by asking her the question. It didn't seem like it would be only of her favorite memories. And that was the only thing about the looks that he was positive about. It had something to do with Beckett. They had always been extremely, unnecessarily protective of her, overly so.
.
.
.
"He proposed." Her smile was as wide as the Pacific Ocean, and her eyes held a childlike innocence that no one had ever been allowed to see before. And those two words caused his world to crash down in front of him.
.
.
.
Then one night, almost a year to the day that he had once again returned to work at the precinct, Beckett didn't show up to work. It was unusual. She hadn't been behaving like she was sick, and although her happiness hadn't been the fullest recently, she didn't mention anything being wrong or about taking a vacation. So, he was worried, but no one would give him any acceptable answers to the questions that he had been asking. Actually, no one was giving him any answers at all which led to him, almost getting into several wrecks as he sped his way, as much as he could through the heavy New York traffic, trying to get to her apartment.
Knocking on her door, he panted heavily, trying to regain his breath. After several minutes of no one responding, he was about to call in the cavalry, who he was still frustrated with for not being worried about her absence, until he heard a scuffle on the other side of the door. He anxiously awaited for her to appear in her doorway as he heard the bolt locking the door twist. With a deep, scratchy voice, like one has when they've just woken up, she wearily speaks, "Lanie, I told you, I'm fine. You don't have to-" She trailed off when she recognized him, which is when he realized that she was most definitely not all right from the bags under her eyes and her blotchy, tear-stained face.
"Beckett-" He begins, but she interrupts him.
"Castle!" her voice is not longer deep, but instead high pitched. "What are-what are you doing here?"
He answers with a question of his own, "What's wrong?"
A completely terrified expression crosses her face only to be quickly replaced with one of apprehension. She opens her mouth to answer, but then closes it, speechless. He's never seen her like this before, except that one time, because she always has a plan, a course, an answer. Except, this time, she doesn't. And that's when he connects the dots. Something must've happened to her while he was gone, and on this day, and for this, everyone blames him.
From behind her, a phone screeches in the distance, and she takes this as an excuse, quickly murmuring, "I have to go," before shutting the door in his face. Obviously it was something bad.
.
.
.
"No!" He's truly only heard her that livid once, and that was when she had broken the mirror in the interrogation room. He's apprehensive about listening in, but he cannot stop himself from pausing behind the corner and peeking in the direction that the noise came from. She's talking to Lanie, who's extraordinarily calm and collected for someone to be yelling at her like that. "He doesn't need to know, Lanie! Both of us don't have to carry around the pain. He shouldn't have to miss something that never was too!"
He doesn't know who the 'he' is, he feels like it's him, but for once, he doesn't want to know. And he doesn't want to hear anymore either, so he steps out from behind the wall and walks in their directions, pretending that nothing is wrong, that nothing they said met his ears. And instantly, once they notice, him, they pretend that nothing was going on.
From the way Beckett was talking, the hurt in her voice, he silently agrees with her.
.
.
.
Where is a pen? He anxiously searches through Beckett's desk as a delivery man taps his foot beside him. Where is one? Rifling through her drawers, he finally finds one and signs the paper. Once the man is gone, and the package is in his hands, he lets out a relieved sigh before sitting down. Shortly, he begins to open the package only to spot a small piece of paper on the ground from the corner of his eye. He sets the package down and quickly picks the paper up. Until he notices what's on the paper, he assumes it hers and quickly moves to put the paper back into her drawer.
But it can't be hers. Beckett can't have a sonogram.
The image of it never leaves his mind as it burns a hole into his pocket. At the end of the day, once their case is completed and they go out to eat to celebrate, just the two of them, he confronts her. "Are you pregnant?"
She was in the mind of drinking her Sprite after she had eaten one of the French fries that she had slipped off of his plate, after which the drink had spewed across the booth. "Um, uh," she stutters, "wh-where did that come from?"
He removes the picture from his pocket, tossing it on the table like it was shocking his hand. "Are you pregnant?" He can't look at her anymore. His eyes instead locked on the tiny piece of paper when a realization hits him. Before shoving it in his pocket earlier, he hadn't focused much on it from the fear that someone would see it.
"Were you pregnant?"
For a moment, she freezes and he could see her wracking his mind like she was trying to find a believable lie to tell him, but then she looks up at him. Their eyes meet. "Yes." He swallows, another question formulating in his mind. But she's way ahead of him as she answers, "It wasn't Josh's." It hits him like a wall of bricks. They were going to have a baby. She was pregnant with his child. Was.
"Let's not talk about this here."
.
.
.
So, they take a walk, and he wonders, but doesn't care, if she could hear his heart thundering in his chest. He could've had another child. The sibling that he though Alexis would never have was going to be born, but it never was. "What happened?" He's doesn't think in one minute that she would have had an abortion, but he doesn't lie and say that it didn't cross his mind.
"I was twelve weeks along. I had found out when I was eight. I had told the Captain immediately, being careful." She didn't say it, but it was implied greatly that she did it just because she knew, best of all, how delicate life was. "It was a car accident. I was on the way home from work one night when a drunk driver T-boned us." They had stopped walking. He was staring at her while she was staring into the stars. "I was perfectly fine outwardly despite some bruises, but I wanted to go to the hospital to make sure it was." She doesn't say baby. And he doesn't think she can.
"It seems the seat belt and the air bag had caused internal damage which," she looked at him, and he could see the tears flowing silently down her face, "caused the-the…me…"
"I know," he interrupts, can't standing to see the pain in her face. He hopes this is a dream, prays that it is just a horrible nightmare, but he doesn't wake up. He curses himself, hates himself, for not being there for her. As sobs wrack her body, he grabs her, wrapping his arms around her tightly, trying to shut the images of the little girl, a perfect combination of the two of them, out of his mind. But it doesn't leave him. And obviously, it doesn't leave her either.
.
.
.
"I love you."
Her head snaps up, her eyes meeting his instantly.
"I'm in love with you."
Anger fills her because he shouldn't be able to love her and she cannot stop the sentence from leaving her mouth.
"You weren't there."
The accusation hits him hard because he knows it's true and he hates himself for that too. But there's nothing either one of them can do to change that either. It's also the first time she voices it, and it won't leave his mind.
"I know." And he does. But he still wishes that he would give him a chance, give them a chance. But he somehow understands how she can't.
He wishes that they could try again to have the little girl that never got the chance.
.
.
.
"He proposed." Her smile was as wide as the Pacific Ocean, and her eyes held a childlike innocence that no one was allowed to see. And those two words caused his world to crash down in front of him, his hopes to flee him, and his heart to shatter into hundreds, thousands, of irreparable pieces. If only things were different. If only he had tried more. Been there. Maybe things would have been different, but maybe not.
"Congratulations."
Should I continue? And make it end more happily? Please read and review! And I'm really not sure about this, but I just felt like sharing.