A/N: This is a what if insert for episode 3x22, "To Love And Die In L.A." The story takes place a few hours after "the couch scene". Plot bunnies gave me the idea, I wrote the words and Master Dia provided the brutal, ruthless editing services. Thanks, Hon. :)
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine.
The living room of the suite is bathed in soft light when he opens his bedroom door and makes his way to the large windows. For a moment he considers calling Maurice for the one brand of whiskey he craves on nights like this. Nights when sleep evades him and the line between Nikki and Kate becomes so blurred he can't trust himself to write.
Leaning on the window pane, he watches the nightlife of the unfamiliar city for a while until his gaze is drawn to his own reflection.
And the couch behind him.
He closes his eyes, but no matter how tight he squeezes them, there's no erasing the image of her smile. He knows, because he just spent two hours in bed trying. He knows, because this isn't the first night the visions of 'what ifs', haunt him.
What if he hadn't let her leave?
What if he'd confessed his feelings?
What if he'd reached across the distance between them and kissed her?
His lips part on an exhale and the tip of his tongue swiping along his lower lip, as if collecting the phantom taste of her still lingering. He can almost feel the soft press of her mouth against his, the way her body fits into his embrace, the way her arms wind around his shoulders, urgent hands trying to find purchase on his shirt.
But when he opens his eyes, there's nothing there. Just his own face staring back from the window.
Fuck.
Lifting both hands to his face, he rubs the heels over his eyes to help clear away the images, and bites back a groan. It's never been this bad before. Not after they almost froze to death in each other's arms. Not even after the fake kiss that had felt all too real. But he'd been home then - alone.
Here, there's no escape from her. The faint scent of cherries that lingers in the air, her jacket draped over one of the chairs, her heels lying by the door where she kicked them off; it's all her.
He glances at the door on his right. So close, yet unreachable.
Huffing out a laugh, he shakes his head at himself and turns away from the window. Maybe he should call for that whiskey after all, to wash away the sap if nothing else.
His journey to the room phone gets interrupted by the ringing of another one and it takes him a few steps to realize the sound isn't coming from his room.
He finds himself at her door before he's even made any conscious decision to move, head tilted to listen as the ringing ceases. Her voice wafts through the door, lacking its usual sharpness, and the idea of her in bed all soft and rumpled from sleep tempts him to knock and enter.
"Hey Josh." The hand he'd raised falls back at his side, the two syllables working better than a bucket of ice water to remind him why he's not on the other side of the door. Why he should turn and leave, go to his room and forget this night ever happened.
Yet his feet stay rooted to the spot.
He glances back towards his room, curiosity and propriety battling for dominance in his mind, until he hears his name being mentioned and all pretense of leaving is out the window.
"It's not like that, Josh. I have my own bedroom," he hears her explain, and smirks as he imagines the eye roll that always accompanies that tone.
"We've been over this a hundred times. Castle is my partner. Of course he's here with me." Her tone gets more exasperated with every sentence, but he focuses only on the first one. He knows it's wrong, but he can't stop his smug smirk from widening at the thought of the doctor being jealous of him.
The smirk falls when she speaks again.
"Josh…" She sounds exhausted, and he lifts his hand to rest against the patterned surface of the door - offering support even though she can't see him. "Please tell me you're joking. You can't seriously be making me choose between you and Castle?"
Oh. Oh no.
His head falls forward, his forehead resting against the back of his hand on the door, and he curses under his breath. This must be his punishment for not minding his own business.
"Josh, I-" The way she pauses, hesitates for just a moment, has him lifting his head to stare at the door. If only he could see her, if only he could read her expression like he's learned to do these past few years.
"I do care about you a lot." When she continues, there's a tone in her voice he can't name at first. Her voice is soft, but not with affection as it should be with those words. No, it's laced with something different - sadness.
She sounds like she's giving up.
"No, I guess not." Again there's a pause and his breath gets caught in his chest, trapped by the hope that's causing his heart to expand, as he waits for her to continue. There have been too many missed moments because of miscommunication, too many misread innuendos and looks. He needs to hear the words.
"Fine, if that's how you want to put it, then yeah, I'm choosing him."
He's unable to follow the conversation after that, all other sounds drowned by the sentence playing in his head on repeat, and he's caught by surprise when he hears her finish the call.
His fingers curl against the door, either getting ready to knock or claw through the barrier separating them, but he stops himself from making a move.
Just because she chose him over Josh, doesn't necessarily mean she wants anything more than what they have now - whatever it is. And even if she does, maybe two minutes after she's broken up with her boyfriend isn't the best time to have a conversation about their future.
He's proven to himself over these past couple of years that he can be patient when it comes to her. He can wait for few more days.
"You can come in, you know," she calls before he can turn to leave and he glances over his shoulder.
If he just moved quickly but quietly, he could-
"I can see your shadow, Castle. Quit stalling." Her voice interrupts his escape plan, making him cringe. Working with the best detective in the city might be good for his writing, but it has its disadvantages.
Squaring his shoulders, he presses down on the handle and pushes into her room, stopping right inside. He lets his eyes sweep around the room in the dim light of her bedside lamp, taking in the flowers on the bedside table, the painting on the wall, her bag lying open by the bed, focusing on everything but her. Finally his gaze lands on his feet and he digs his bare toes into the carpet, as he waits for the tongue-lashing that he deserves.
Only it never comes.
As the silence stretches on, a few seconds turning into a few dozen, he chances a look.
The reality of her leaning against the headboard, surrounded by the pillows and the heavy comforter, is exactly as enticing as he'd envisioned. It would be a dream to wake up with her wild curls tickling his chest and her hazel eyes sparkling at him.
Those eyes are now hidden from him, her face downcast, her attention on the phone she's still cradling in her hands. The twin creases between her brows bring out a matching set on his skin, and searches for something to say to erase her sadness.
"I didn't mean to- I heard the phone ring and I just... I thought it was about the case." He winces as the words come tumbling out. They're not the ones he wanted to say to make her feel better, nor an apology for his eavesdropping, but she simply dismisses them with a wave of a hand.
"I'm sorry about Josh," he begins again, softer, when her silence continues. He might have not been the biggest fan of the guy, but for the most part it was because the doctor was able to do something he wished he could do: make Kate happy. He's sorry she lost that.
"Yeah, well…" she says, one shoulder lifting in a shrug, but leaves the sentence hanging.
"Are you okay?" He asks, grimacing again. He's a writer, for God's sake. Words are supposed to be his forte. Yet for some reason he can't get the right ones out tonight. Luckily Kate doesn't seem to notice, or care.
"I'm fine," she shrugs again. "I think we've both known for a while now that it wasn't working." She reaches across to her nightstand and places the phone down.
"Oh, I thought-" he cuts himself off. It's none of his business. He's invaded her privacy enough for one night.
"You mean after the freezer? When he came back from Haiti?" she picks up the topic anyway, and he nods when she finally lifts her eyes to him.
"It was great for about a week, but then he got restless. I guess he's just one of those people who need to be out there, you know, saving the world. And who am I to force him to stay? What kind of relationship would that be?" she scoffs lightly, her lips curving up in a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
She isn't expecting an answer, but he can't stay silent. He can't-
"Kate." Her name rushes out on a breath, revealing too much in that one syllable.
"You shouldn't have to force him to stay," he says, taking the few steps to reach her bedside, needing to be closer to her as if the proximity would make her understand."If Josh, or anyone, thinks his job is more important than you…" he trails off, shaking his head.
"It's okay, Castle," she assures, though he cannot fathom how it could be. "It's not like he was my first priority either," she continues and he's reminded of their talk a few weeks ago.
He parts his lips, ready to convince her that he's the one she's been looking for. He's the one who could be there for her, the one willing to dive in with her. But when she raises her hand to cover the yawn stretching her mouth wide open, her eyelids lifting heavily afterwards, he swallows the words on the tip of his tongue.
"I should let you get some sleep," he says instead, tamping down on the twinge of disappointment. Maybe middle of the night when they're both sleep-deprived is not the right time for the discussion. But he can't help the fear gripping his heart that this will become yet another addition to the list of things they never talk about.
"Good night, Kate," he murmurs, turning to leave, but stops when a warm hand wraps around his wrist.
"Stay," her soft voice reaches his ears, and he's sure she can feel the quick thrum of his heartbeat under her fingers. Her request is something he's wished to hear from her for a long time. But not like this.
Not when he's sure she'll regret it in the morning.
"Please." Her grip on his wrist tightens imperceptibly and he turns to face her, the refusal dying on his lips.
Her head is tilted up, her eyes locked on his. Completely open, completely vulnerable, asking for nothing more than a friend. Him.
As seconds pass in silence, she lowers her gaze and clears her throat. Her fingers begin to slip from his skin, but he closes his hand around hers before she can withdraw too far.
"Okay," he says softly, a gentle smile lifting the corners of his lips when her head snaps back up, a tired smile lighting up her expression in return.
He lets go of her hand and waits as she scoots over to make room for him on the bed. Slipping under the comforter, he wonders briefly how close he's allowed to get, but she answers his silent question straight away by curling up against his side.
It's closer, more intimate, than they've ever been before, but wrapping his arms around her comes naturally. And falling asleep with her head pillowed on his shoulder and the puffs of her breath warm against his chest is something he'd be happy to do every night for the rest of his life.
And somewhere between dreams and wakefulness, he hears her quiet whisper.
"Love you."
End.