Seeking Clarity
Rating: T
Pairing: Castle/Beckett
Category: Angst, fluff, romance, humor
Spoilers: All seasons up to season 4.
Summary: What would've happened if Kate had called Castle before going back to work in Rise? A season 4 AU.
Notes: This story began as a response to a one word prompt (Skyscrapers), to help me shake off writer's block for my original ficathon idea. It quickly took on a life of its own, becoming a summer long project, and thus, my humble entry to the 2014 Castle Summer Hiatus Ficathon. My thanks to everyone who encouraged me this summer as I got my Castle writing sea legs, and my biggest thanks go to nikkibeckettcsm on tumblr, who listened to me whine, moan, gush, and worry over this story. This wouldn't have been typed any time soon without you!
Chapter One - Skyscrapers
She's been back in the city for less than two days when the panic hits. The roads are too busy, the sidewalks too crowded, the buildings too tall. Here there are too many hiding spots for someone to lurk, too many sharp noises – cracks and bangs – that make her jump halfway out of her skin as she walks. At her father's cabin, it was just her, the trees, and the lake, but here, back in her home it's just too much. The air is too thick, too heavy. It makes her breath come too quickly, and causes her chest to ache more than it already does. It's misery. It's misery and it's partially of her own making.
She should have called. She knows that. She should have called him, called anyone. Instead, she did nothing. She stayed in the hospital the minimum amount of time her doctor – and Josh, whom she'd told a tad unceremoniously that it was over as soon as she could move on her own power – recommended before she packed as little as possible and escaped, never looking back. Now here she is, months later, standing in her own city more alone than ever. She knows she could – should – call now (and not just him, anyone; Lanie, Esposito, even Ryan), but instead she wanders, almost-blindly bumping her way through throngs of tourists on her way to a destination she hopes will eventually reveal itself.
It isn't until she's staring out at the city from high above her usual vantage point that she realizes where she is. She hasn't been to the top of the building in years, choosing to stay away from the skyscraper thanks to the masses who flocked to the landmark each day. She's long told herself she knows New York better than anyone visiting for the first time could hope to; she doesn't need to see the city this way, not when she drives up and down the streets each day. She sees the real New York, both the good and the bad, though most days it's hard to remember the good.
But oh, she's forgotten how beautiful it is here, how beautiful her home is. The city positively shines in the afternoon sun. Light glimmers on the water and bounces off windows of the buildings downtown. For the first time since the bullet burned through her chest, she's able to take a deep breath. It hurts, it makes her hands clench in her pockets and her body lean a little more heavily on the railing, but it's finally not excruciating. With each breath taken high above the sidewalks, the heavy ache of panic abates. No one can touch her here. This is her city, this is her home, and she'll be damned if she'll let pain or fear or a sniper take it from her.
She'll be damned if she lets any of that take him from her. She'll be damned if she takes him from herself with her own inaction.
Her fingers twitch in her pockets again, one hand drawing her phone out before she has a chance to shake off her revelation, her moment of bravery. Yes, she should have called sooner, yes, she should have let him in, but she's doing it now, isn't she? She's going to try to do that now. Isn't that what really matters?
Maybe the roof isn't the best place to make this call, with the wind whipping around her, drowning out the conversations of the people she may or may not have shared an elevator with on the way up, but she doesn't care. This is how she's reaching out. At the top of a skyscraper, breath caught in her chest in a way that finally doesn't hurt as much. She's doing it here. Home. So what if she has to plug her ear to make sure it's still ringing or to gauge if he's already picked up and hung up on her before she's even gotten a word out in her own defense. She would deserve that if he has.
"Kate?" He sounds rushed, anxious, but God, beneath that he sounds like a dream. "Kate I thought…never mind. Never mind. How, how are you? Are you okay?"
She swallows back the sob that his questions draw from her. He's been hoping for a call this whole time; worrying about her lack of contact. Worrying about her.
"Kate?" he repeats when her silence stretches on far too long. She hears the harder edge of hurt seeping in. This is what he's dealt with for months. She has to fix this. Fix this, fix herself, fix it all. Now.
She swallows hard, taking a long look around and drawing her strength from the sky ahead of her, from the man who loves her (loved? No, loves.); he loves her and he told her so. This distance hasn't changed that, has it? She has to hope it hasn't. She has to hope her running away hasn't changed the words he needed her to hear as she looked up at another clear afternoon sky and wished the pain would stop.
But first, she needs to speak.
"H-hey, Castle. It's me. Can you, will you meet me somewhere?"
She sees him before he sees her.
She isn't hiding, per say, she's just off to the side, out of the way. Already, she's stayed longer than her "tour" was supposed to, but she can't leave. She can't give up this clarity, at least not until he's here. Until she has been able to do something, say something, no matter how tiny a gesture it is.
Off to the side or not, she still has to stop herself from going to him as soon as she sees him. He's a sight for sore eyes, hair messily arranged across his forehead as if he's been running his fingers through it to fix it and then changing his mind about it. It's a far cry from the Castle who looked so put-together in the hospital. She's not sure she has any room to talk, though. After spending however long up here, she has no idea what kind of shape her hair is in; or what shape the rest of her is in, for that matter.
She knows the moment he spots her in the crowd. The wild, urgent desperation fades from his face, replaced after he swallows with something she's not sure she can even name. He's the one who gives her his words, after all. Still, she tries to stand a little taller as he slides around a gaggle of excited high school students most of whom barely give him a second glance. He apologizes to one as he trips over her in his eagerness, but it seems to get lost in the fray.
God, he looks good. His shirt is either new, or one she hasn't seen in too long, but the light lines – crisp white and light blue – brighten his face and make his shoulders seem even broader if that's possible. She knows she probably looks pale and small (pathetic) in comparison. She doesn't look like anything special, that much is definite. There is nothing extraordinary about her now. It's honestly a surprise that he hasn't turned right back around and ducked into the elevator again.
"Interesting meeting choice," he says in greeting. He doesn't rush to hug her or offer a joke. Even three words are tightly controlled. He's angry, understandably, but he is here and that has to count for something. He's here and she's here.
"I was…walking. I ended up here. I thought you might like to see it." She cringes at how lame it sounds, especially combined with her hand gestures toward the horizon. Surely she can do better.
"Beckett." Her eyes dart to him as he sighs, seemingly battling himself. "Tried to call you a few times."
He's going for nonchalant, she knows. He's mostly failing, but he's trying.
"I know. I'm sorry; I should've called you back."
"Called, texted, sent smoke signals, even a carrier pigeon. Any of the above would've done just fine."
"I know, Castle." She licks her lips and shifts a little closer to him so she doesn't have to shout over the wind. "I should have. I am sorry I didn't. I was –"
"Too busy with Josh?" he snaps, reminding her that, despite Castle supporting her choices in her doomed relationship, there was no love between the two men. Her shooting exacerbated it, and running away seems to have tipped the scales. Briefly, she wonders if Josh thinks she spent the last couple of months with her partner the way her partner thinks she spent them with Josh. What a mess she's made of all of this.
"We broke up." She straightens, ignoring the twinge in her side when the movement stretches her scar. It makes her wince and it doesn't go unnoticed by him.
"Are you okay?" The sharpness in his voice has receded a bit.
"It pulls, just a little." The words spill out before she can tell herself to hold them back. He deserves to know, he deserves her honesty.
Still, her answer has him looking away. She watches his fingers clench for just a second before disappearing into his pockets. He has other questions, dozens probably, but he doesn't ask. He doesn't say anything, leaving her to wonder what he's thinking, if he's thinking about her scars, about her recovery, or about her ex. Maybe some combination of both.
She shuts her eyes long enough to take a deep breath before looking downtown. The sun has shifted, casting a few more shadows than before. It's still beautiful, though, a reminder to her. Her hands uncoil from the railing as she turns to him, determined to try to get everything out.
"Before I left the hospital."
He cocks his head, but still doesn't speak. Anyone else would ask what she's talking about; Castle knows. Castle can track her thoughts, jumbled as they may be. She licks her lips quickly.
"I liked him, I really did. But it wasn't… what I wanted," she continues, hoping he's still following her, anticipating her the way he always could. "I'm not… very good at this, any of this –"
"Beckett," he starts, finally, and she notices his entire body orient in her direction. His hands come out of his pockets again, another sign he's opening back up to her. It almost makes her regret shaking her head to cut him off.
"Just let me try to get this out, okay?" she beseeches. Her fingers curl around his, the contact startling them both.
"Okay," he agrees quietly. His fingers twitch, but he doesn't return the squeeze the way she expects.
"I'm not very good at any of this, Castle. Not after my mom... and then all this," she pauses to give his hand a squeeze. "But I'm… I don't know if I will be good at it until I fix this, me. That's why I… well you know. I had to get away from everything."
It's a faltering, feeble explanation, she knows. It barely makes sense to her; she doesn't expect it to make sense to him.
"I haven't even been back for two days, but I couldn't be on the street. When I came up here, I could breathe again. That's when I called you."
She bites her lip at the compassion on his face. He shouldn't have to do this, any of this. But he is, he's still here and he hasn't shaken off her hand or told her where to shove her empty, blustered excuses. He's still here, so close she can smell his aftershave, his fingers wrapped warmly around hers and his eyes radiating everything she's already run from once. He's still here and this time he's keeping her here, too.
"So… what are you doing now?" he asks slowly, as if he's afraid it's not safe to speak just yet.
"Well right this second I'm apologizing to my partner," she says, finally tearing her eyes from him and gulping in a cleansing breath. "I'm apologizing for disappearing on him and not calling. And for generally being a mess."
"There's nothing wrong with messes, Kate," he answers automatically, defending her even when he has no reason to do so. "But you're forgiven. It doesn't mean I'm not still mad, but you're forgiven."
Relief floods her and she nods. She wasn't expecting his forgiveness, not this soon, and the urge to spill all her secrets in an attempt to convince him recedes. She'll have to tell him eventually, she will tell him eventually, but for now this is enough. Until she doesn't need to stand on top of a skyscraper to have even a hope of telling him she loves him, too, this is enough.
"Thank you," she murmurs, giving him a thin smile, one he returns before they slip into silence.
She knows there is more he wants to ask but he doesn't, and she doesn't know how to bring up anything else. She needs to ask about work. The one and only time she spoke to Lanie, she said the new captain had arrived, but that's all she knows. Even thinking about someone taking Roy's place – thinking about Roy in general – sends pangs through her. She knows she has to be evaluated before she returns to duty; it's an appointment her father insisted she make as his condition for bringing her back to the city. Then there's the case, her case. She doesn't know anything there either, and she needs to.
"She kicked me out," Castle interrupts her thoughts (doesn't he always?) somehow knowing exactly where her mind is. "The new captain. Told me there wasn't any use for me in her precinct. Less nicely, of course."
"I'll fix that," she promises. Judging from the look on his face, her conviction surprises him. She's fighting for him instead of fighting against him. "Once I'm back at work, I'll fix that."
He shakes his head. "If you – let me, okay? You'll see why."
If she what? Wants him back. Is that in question? "Cas-"
"Trust me, Kate."
She exhales, giving him a nod. Maybe he is being his sometimes-dramatic self or maybe he has a point. Either way, she'll give him this. "Okay, you'll take care of it." It's pointed, hopefully pointed enough for him to know his place is not in question.
"Kate… have you talked to anyone?"
His words sting like she's just been doused in freezing cold water. She steps back, hands dropping his. "What do you mean? I'm fine. I'll be cleared in a couple days and be good to go back. I'm just adjusting." It sounds too loud to her ears, the words coming too quickly to be anything but empty denials.
Castle lifts a hand to her shoulder before her voice rises further.
"I meant the others – Esposito, Ryan, Lanie?"
Her chest aches in the wake of her outburst. Mentioning the guys and her best friend just makes it worse.
"No. No, you're the first one I called." She pushes her hair out of her face, wishing belatedly that she had thought to bring a rubber band.
Castle's hand appears out of nowhere, a bright green hair elastic flopping between his fingers.
"Alexis," he explains. "She's been hiding these in my pockets since she was little. Shows you how well I check my them when I do laundry."
"Thanks." Taking the elastic from him, she does her best to gather her hair into some semblance of order and do it without wincing. Her dad would remind her to sit, to let herself rest, but she stays where she is. Sitting means leaving, it means explaining or letting him witness what she doesn't have under control yet. No, staying is better. She'll take a Tylenol later if she still hurts.
"Have you ever been?" He interrupts her thoughts again, gesturing downtown toward the water.
"Ellis Island?" She lifts an eyebrow. "Of course. Class trip when I was a kid. Why?"
"Tomorrow. We're going tomorrow."
She blinks, totally confused. They were doing what? "What? Castle, no."
"I have a signing in the morning, but after that," he steamrolls ahead, as he always does and a refusal is on the tip of her tongue. Today's been hard enough; she's tired. She'll need tomorrow's silence to steel herself for her appointment. For being cleared to get back to normal.
"Castle," she tries. "I don't… think that's such a great idea."
She knows she sounds weary; she feels it, too. Suddenly the ache in her side is more pronounced that it was just a few minutes ago. Her shoulders feel heavier, head a little more clouded.
"Kate."
"Castle, don't," she murmurs, trying not to sound harsh, trying not to ruin whatever progress they've made in the last few minutes.
He nods finally. "Okay. I'm sorry."
She doesn't want him to be sorry. He shouldn't have to be sorry because she can't get her shit – her fears, her issues, all of it – under control. He shouldn't have to be sorry because she's broken and the glue won't quite dry when she tries to piece herself back together.
"Don't," she repeats quietly. "Don't be sorry. It's just a lot at once, okay?"
She watches him stomp his own hurt down as he nods. "Right, that makes sense."
"I just need some time."
He swallows hard and she realizes her mistake. She said that once before, as her chest ached with a pain even the best painkillers in the hospital couldn't touch. She'd needed to get away then, to hide from him and herself, and the fight she still remembers vividly. She doesn't mean it that way now.
"No not, not like that. Just… one crowd was enough for now. And getting to my apartment when I leave here is going to be difficult enough. I just, I think I should take it easy tomorrow. Stay home. Read. Try to eat some of the ten pounds of macaroni and cheese Aunt Theresa had my dad deliver for her." She offers him a small smile, hoping she's made it obvious enough that she isn't taking off again.
Truthfully, right now she doesn't have the energy to run, but she hopes even if she did, she would be strong enough not to. For him at the very least.
"Ten pounds, huh?"
She nods, slumping a little more on exhale. He gets it, or at the very least gets part of it. She's trying, so he'll try too.
"Yeah, it takes up a ton of space. I'm never going to want to look at the stuff again soon, but it's nice to have." She doesn't mention that it is sometimes all she can stomach, or that it's filling enough that it doesn't matter if it is all she eats.
"Need any help eating it?" The question is light enough that it doesn't leave her breath seizing in her chest. He's backing down a little, but not letting her off the hook altogether. He'll give her the hideout of her apartment, but he's not giving her solitude. "I know a guy who loves comfort food."
"It… might be nice," she says, finally feeling as confident as her words seem. "After your signing?"
He nods. "Or the day after. Depending on how you feel. Why don't you call me and let me know?"
It's an olive branch and a test all in one. He's saying he'll give her this time as long as she stays, as long as she lets him in.
"Okay," she agrees quietly, stepping closer. Their shoulders barely touch, but it soothes her somehow anyway. "I will." It comes out a promise, a firm one.
Castle nods, too, accepting her answer. He may not trust it completely, but he accepts it. She just has to prove it to him. She has to prove a lot.
"It's getting late," he says after silence has reigned for a little longer. The sun has started to disappear, its reflection arcing across the windows below them. "Give you a ride home?"
"You drove?" She lifts an eyebrow, surprised.
"No, cab. But I can call a car and have it meet us." He shifts on his feet, head dipping closer to hers so she hears him clearly over the wind. "If that's better, calmer, I mean."
She doesn't deserve anything this sweet, forgiving man does for her, but she nods anyway, willing to take what he offers.
"That might be good. Thanks, Castle."
He nods in return, already reaching into his pocket for his phone.
"But hey," she adds, halting his movements with a light touch on his arm. "Can we maybe… wait until the sun goes down?"
"Sure, Kate," he murmurs, pocketing his phone again. "We can stay."
Impulsively, her arm slides through his. Her flats make it possible for her head to tuck itself against his shoulder and she feels him stiffen in surprise for just an instant before he relaxes.
She takes her strength from the fading light and from him.
"Thank you."
The slide of his fingers over hers is answer enough.
She wakes the next morning more refreshed than she's felt in months. Her nightmares were minimal, although not gone altogether. It's a start, waking up only a couple times with her heart hammering and her shirt soaked to her skin. She'll get there.
Her morning routine is still complicated, although less so than even a month ago. She's still on a few medications, but not the heavy painkillers they had her on at first. After her next checkup, she hopes only the vitamins will remain. Vitamins she can handle; she can't deal with finding time to choke the others down once she goes back to work.
After the pills and the dry toast she forces herself to chew between medications – lest her stomach revolt at the dosages – she does some of the stretches the hospital physiotherapist pressed into her father's hand before she checked out. They hurt, but she realizes not nearly as much as they had just two weeks earlier. In fact, everything feels a little better than it has in a long, long time. She's almost there she can really feel it. Just a little longer, a little more work.
The stacks of Tupperware in her fridge and freezer remind her of the promises she made Castle the night before. She will call him. She has to. Her apologies will be empty if she doesn't. She just needs an hour or two, maybe a few more, to herself. She needs that time to sit on the couch and read (but not his book, not yet). To enjoy the almost calm. Here in her apartment, she can do this. She can remember the way it felt to be on that roof and try to replicate that peace in her own home.
Turning away from the fridge, she takes her tea and her fruit and pads to her couch to do just that. She'll call her dad in a little bit, too, just to ease his worries. If she's relaxed enough, it may even convince him he doesn't need to come and check on her. She's sure that's more of a fantasy than anything. Her dad is nothing if not attentive. Nevertheless, it never hurts to try.
She doesn't drink more than a half a dozen sips of tea and only makes it a few pages when she feels her eyelids slipping shut. Damn, these mid-everything (day, night, evening) naps needed to stop. Maybe once she's done with the meds, it'll be better.
Her stomach is in her throat when she awakens, the result of unseen terrors chasing her down. She claws the blanket off her shoulders, eager to put her feet flat on the floor and stand. She barely remembers the dream itself, but the heaviness in her chest and her raw throat gives her an indication of what it was about; she's been screaming.
So much for a peaceful day. She sucks in a breath and digs her toes into the carpet, trying to ground herself. Her legs sway unsteadily at first. The dreams always manage to throw off her equilibrium, but this time she manages not to hit the deck. The last thing she needs is to bust her knee before her physical.
Swiping her hand through her hair only tugs at her side, but she has to get it off her neck. She needs to cool down, remember to relax her muscles, and be calm. Be calm. She can be calm.
She reaches for her tea, gulping the minty liquid down. It's bitter now that it's cold, but her throat needs it, needs something wet. She finishes it before her stomach can protest. The nightmares always make her queasy; keeping anything, water included, down is a chore.
Her hand is shaking by the time she replaces the mug on the coffee table, but she just focuses on breathing. The nausea passes finally, even if the trembling her limbs hasn't yet. It will pass, it always does. She just has to breathe.
Pacing helps. Everyone has always told her it wouldn't but it helps her. It forces her legs to cooperate. It forces her brain to realign, to focus on the slow path she makes through her living room. It works for her.
She's finally managed to calm the frantic beating of her heart when the shrillness of her phone breaks the silence. She retraces her path once more to get to it. She's fairly certain this isn't the first time it has chimed either, but she snatches it up without bothering to look at the display to test that theory.
"Beckett." No amount of time away from the precinct will break her of the habit.
"It's me."
"Hi, Dad," she breathes. "Sorry, I was going to call. I fell asleep."
Her father's chuckle is soft, but relieved. Briefly, she wonders how many of the notifications she hasn't looked at yet belong to her dad.
"It's good to rest, Katie."
"I know, but maybe not half an hour after I get out of bed?"
He gives her another gentle laugh, warming her. There was once a time when neither of them had much to laugh about. She's been worried this – the shooting, her recovery, the reminders of her mom's case – would be too much for him, but he has surprised her. He's been as steadfast and focused as ever.
"Rest is rest, honey."
She sighs. "That's true, I guess."
This time when he laughs, she knows he is laughing at her. She is not very good at resting; she'll admit it.
"How are you feeling? Besides the midday nap."
Her father's voice helps shake the rest of her nightmare away.
"Fine. Ready to get back to work, to the case, to normal."
"Katie," he sighs. They've talked about the wisdom in jumping right back in, but she needs to do this. The same way she needed to stand above the buildings yesterday and attempt an apology to Castle. She can't go anywhere, she can't be herself again – whoever she really is – until she makes headway on this. "You need to give yourself time."
"I gave myself months. I got away, now I really need to finish it, Dad."
Her father is quiet, contemplative, and she finds herself squirming as she awaits his next words.
Apparently, he chooses to let it go. "You have a couple appointments soon, right?"
"Yeah." It's a confirmation of something he already knows, but she'll let him off the hook. "Tomorrow."
"And tomorrow is the –"
"Precinct shrink, yes. For my psych eval. And the cardiologist and my physical. Those are in the morning, the shrink's in the afternoon."
She's already cringing at the thought of desk duty if she can't pass the physical evaluation to get back out there. She wants to be back, but she needs to be back in every way. Working scenes, doing the foot work with her team.
"What time?"
"Dad –"
"I want – no, I need to, Katie."
"Okay," she relents, already wishing she could say no. Her appointments promise to be miserable and she knows she shouldn't put her father through that. However, if he wants to be there, she will let him be there.
"Thank you," he says once she's given him her appointment times again. "Do you need anything now, honey?"
"No, Dad. I'm okay." She rests her cheek against the back of the couch, feeling her body sag more than she'd like. "I'm just going to go back to reading and hopefully I'll be able to stay awake."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Dad. I'm sure. I'll be fine today, and I'll see you tomorrow."
"Alright, okay. But you'll call if you need anything?"
"I'll call."
Her father still doesn't seem entirely convinced, she knows, but he lets it go. "Okay then, I'll see you tomorrow."
She exhales. "See you tomorrow, Dad."
Her phone stays in her hand long after they hang up, reminding her of the promise she made long after the screen goes dark. If she's not up for his company, she needs to say so instead of being a damn coward. Instead of doing it again, the same thing she did to him for months.
She starts typing a message before she can talk herself out of it. Before she pulls the blanket high over her shoulders and ignores everything for a little longer. Even refusal is better than silence, right? It would have to be.
She hits send before she thinks too hard about her words and tosses her phone off to the side. He's probably still at his signing right now anyway; it's still early enough in the day. He'll be able to make other plans now since she's sure he's blocked off today in his mind whether she'd agreed to it yesterday or not. He's presumptuous that way.
An energy rush has her searching for her book a moment later. Her page has been lost between dropping it onto her chest and throwing it halfway across the room thanks to her nightmare. It's not a big loss, though. She doesn't remember any of what she read before; it'll be easier to start over.
Somehow, she manages to stay awake through almost eighty pages of plodding story set up. Usually she is drawn in faster than this, but either this isn't one of his better works, or she's just not in the mood for Castle's poker buddy today. She knows she would rather read Heat Rises. She hasn't picked up the copy she preordered, but she has the copy her father brought to her after one of his trips into the city. She doesn't know when Castle had it delivered, but she's kept it tucked away ever since. She's still surprised he gave it to her. She remembers having to cajole him for the chance to read Heat Wave, and he never even gave her the chance to wheedle an advanced copy of Naked Heat out of him. Yet somehow, after the summer and their standoff had ended, a copy had found its way onto her bookshelf. She still has no recollection of him showing up with it in his hands, no idea when he sneaked it beside the others in the Richard Castle Collection. Now she has Heat Rises, too. It waits for her just like its writer. It reminds her of all the ways she still isn't where she wants to be.
Her current read joins a pile of other discarded books and magazines – failed attempts to calm down or amuse herself in the last two days. This is why she needs to go back to work. She needs to do something, focus on something other than herself and her failings. If she has to leave the house, she will have to push the panic and the noise away and be okay.
Getting to her feet again takes effort, but she's glad to have headed off another opportunity to fall asleep. She may spend the next few hours wearing a path in her hardwood floors, but at least she won't wake up screaming again for now. And she won't have to feel guilty that his book sits unopened, half-peeking out at her from a batch of things she brought back from the cabin. She will read it, just not today. Not while it's all so fresh. She hasn't been spoiled for it, per say, but she knows Castle well enough to know just enough of their lives have probably bled into the lives of their fictional counterparts. It will make getting through it painful.
Still, after her feet take her to the kitchen for a glass of cold water, they take her to the book. She sighs. Typical Castle. He's not even here and he can't leave her alone. Immediately she chastises herself for that thought. He's given her plenty of time and space. He's left her alone far longer than the man who flirted, annoyed, and babbled his way through their first official meeting ever could have managed. The least she can do is be kind to him in her thoughts.
She grabs the book after a second of thought, holding it to her chest as she scurries back to the couch. Already she feels better, making the connection with his words, even if they're the ones on the cover. Even if she can't turn the page just yet, she'll take solace from holding it.
Beside her, her phone chirps, reminding her quickly of the message she sent her partner earlier. She hasn't heard back from him, which feels like more of a relief than it should. She knows she did the right thing reaching out to him even if it was only to turn him down, but she still feels bad about disappointing him. She'll try again tomorrow, she will. Hopefully he'll be willing to try with her.
He must know she's wondering about him, because this time the message is from him. She expects a thoughtful, calm, but disappointed response, which is why she's so confused when his reply is cheerfully telling her he'll be over at five, the soonest he can. What? That is not what she asked him to do. She knows she asked him to –
Come over. She looks at her message, her supposed refusal, only to find a somewhat plaintive request to join her if he can. It isn't the message she intended to write.
But maybe it's the message she needed to write. The message that gets her what she wants.
Him.