So Small
I'm gonna write
A letter to my true love
I'm gonna sign my name.
She's ready to throw the knife at his head. The handle is in her hand and her body is trembling, on the edge of aiming the point of the steak knife straight at the bastard's head. Maybe she could trim off some of that perfectly-styled hair that he's so damn proud of. That'd be good. Icing on the cake really.
"Let's just talk about this," he tries, taking a step further into the apartment.
The knife sticks in the doorframe next to his head. Close, but not a strand of hair falls.
"Talk?" she shouts, grabbing for the next piece of the table setting closest to her. A fork. That works. Still does damage.
"It's a stupid website, Kate, not Newsweek! A gossip site! They troll for this type of stuff and when they can't find it," he pauses, taking a breath, "they make it up."
She wants to throw the fork. Wants to see the prongs hit him. In the shoulder perhaps. That's a good target. A glass would be better. That hits then shatters and provides a danger even after the first impact. "Do you know what I had to put up with at work today? The glances were worse than the outright questions." She flips the fork in her hand, the points digging into her wrist. "Even witnesses looked sorry for me. Hell, the suspect apologized! He apologized for the male gender in the middle of my interrogation. 'After I jumped her in the alley, I… Oh, and Detective Beckett, I am so sorry about your little problem. Anyway, I strangled her from behind. She had a nice scarf, strong enough to use to kill her.'" Kate tosses the fork onto the table, watching as it skids to clink against the porcelain of the plate. "I thought you said Paula had control over this, that she'd make sure stuff like this didn't get printed!"
Castle moves toward the study, aware of her eyes following him, narrowed and still pissed off. "Just… stay there."
Kate sits in the chair at the dining table, pulling one of the plates closer in order to pick a piece of broccoli from the stirfry and eat it. Giving herself something to do other than throwing silverware and wishing bodily harm on her husband. She can hear banging from the study but doesn't go to investigate. Whatever he got himself into he can get himself out of. Castle had to have known about the article way before she stumbled across it this morning. Paula had to have told him and he held it back from her even after they agreed on no more secrets.
He's back, holding a plain oak wood box under his arm as he goes into the kitchen. She listens as he opens drawers, looking for something until she hears the creak of wood against wood. Kate lets her head fall onto the table, resting on her forearm as he rummages in the silverware drawer for the corkscrew.
There's a pop as he wiggles the cork from the wine bottle. Then his feet appear in her line of vision, right under the careful pleats of his dark dress pants. She doesn't move as he leans his free hand on the table to pour the wine into the glasses she had set out.
"Here," he says softly, pushing one of them close to her hand.
Kate curls her fingers around the stem, sitting up and regarding him. "Getting me drunk is not going to fix this, Castle."
"Not trying to do that."
"Then what?" she bites out. He looks way too calm right now but she knows he tends to bubble under the surface; his eyes are harder than usual and she can see the tension in his arms.
The next thing he holds out is a packet of folded pages. "This. I call the study."
She looks down at the paper, folded in three. His handwriting is visible through the paper, sloping black lines across the clean white. The door to the study clicks shut and Kate pulls her feet up onto the chair, resting her head on her knees.
He had been the one to find this idea online. Write a love letter. Nail it into a box with a bottle of wine. During their first fight, open the box, pour the wine, and read the other's letter in a separate room. Remind yourself why you love the one you married.
Figures the writer would want to use written words to fix this. Can't just let her yell it out like she wants. Kate sips the wine, one of his good reds that they sealed up back after the wedding, and unfolds the letter. It's three pages of stationary from Black Pawn, probably pulled from the printers back at the headquarters during one of his meetings there, a little typewriter at the top of the page with the address of the building under it.
As she reads, Kate feels the anger seep out of her. God, that man and his words. It's not fair, she thinks as she wipes a hand over her wet cheeks. He didn't go the flowery poetry route; he knew her. Went straight for the facts, laying them out so that the part of her that strove for order in chaos would understand. Abandoning the wine, she tries to stop herself from vaulting the couch to get to the study and fails. Her foot gets caught in the cushions and she nearly topples onto her face on the coffee table before she catches herself on the back of the sofa.
Just a stupid gossip website making things up. Not enough to get between you and him, you idiot.
The door opens before she can reach the handle and Kate sways into him before she can stop the movement. "I'm so sorry," she mumbles against his shoulder, his letter crumbled against his back as she wraps her arms around him. "I'm so sorry."
"You threw a steak knife at me," he murmurs into her hair.
"Didn't hit you."
Castle squeezes her closer and Kate's breath huffs from her mouth against his neck. "Sorry." She turns her head up and is met by his lips in a surprise kiss. "I'm sorry."
The papers fall from her hands, joining his on the ground as he grabs her thighs, boosting her up so that she loops her arms around his neck. "Quiet now," he says before catching her words in his mouth.
"I didn't finish your letter," she manages breathlessly as he walks toward their bedroom. "Want to read it."
"Later. Gotta prove that you're the only woman I love first." He drops her onto the bed, crawling over her and pressing kisses on the skin of her upper arms in a trail to her collarbones and up her throat. "Just you, Kate. Only you."
Kate finds his hand, links their fingers as she runs her thumb over his, smiling into his kiss. "I knew you wouldn't go back to Gina," she gasps, his free hand pulling at the hem of her shirt to tickle over her stomach.
"Why would I? She's married, I'm married. I'm happy for her but," he pauses as his mouth nips at her jaw until he looks up into her half-lidded eyes, "you, Katherine Beckett, are the only woman I will be getting pregnant."
"Stupid gossip magazine," Kate says, hooking her leg over his hip. "Who stalks a business lunch for photos?"
"Just answered your own question, Detective. Really thought you'd be better at that by now," he teases, tugging her shirt over her head. "Now stop with the tabloids for, like, ever."
"Why, Mr. Castle? Want to work on getting me pregnant?" She pushes up to kiss him hotly.
He growls into her mouth, his hands diving into her hair to hold her in place. "Definitely."
Give the media something to titter over that has some truth behind it. Now that's a plan they can get behind one hundred percent.
Now our lives are changing fast,
Now our lives are changing fast.
Hope that something pure can last,
Hope that something pure can last.
- "We Used to Wait," Arcade Fire