Disclaimer: Castle isn't mine.
Author's Note: Just a quick little something that I wanted to get out. Set after Kill Shot. I took liberties with the weather and a few other little tiny details. This is AU due to some of those changes.
We are all broken, that's how the light gets in.
- Ernest Hemingway
It falls from the sky in big fat drops that splatter on the sidewalks and ping off the windows of buildings. The rain pelts the city, collects in puddles in the strangest of places. Beckett walks around one, steps in another. Other pedestrians push by, scurry along and there are squeals and giggles as a mother rushes her young daughter into a nearby store. Noise. Its just noise and people shoulder checking their way out of the wet weather.
Her badge is heavy on her hip, an anchor to keep her present. Little good it does as her mind races, as her body welcomes each drop of rain that hits her skin.
She keeps herself still as a car putters by. Her heart hammers in her chest, her fingers twitch but she stands tall. Just noise. There isn't a sniper hiding in each building she passes but she forces herself to keep her eyes downcast, to push forward. Occasionally she looks up, sometimes stopping to check windows, rooftops. The further she walks, the faster her heart beats, the harder it is to keep her hands from trembling.
The rain coats her, shadows her. If there's a sniper, he or she won't be able to get a clean shot and it shouldn't but that makes her shoulders sag. There's a moment she pauses, waiting to cross the street and her eyes flit back and forth as more and more people crowd around. Umbrellas and raincoats fill her line of sight and she's soaked to the bone, her body shaking just enough to have a few people eyeing her curiously.
It's another block to her apartment. She made it this far and despite the shiver that races down her spine, she steps out onto the crosswalk the moment the light changes.
Almost home, almost safe. Except the locks she's installed and the blinds do little to comfort. That's when the alcohol comes in handy but she has to stop using it to numb her mind.
Her father did that…and developed an addiction. She won't be him. She can handle this better. She will handle this better. Somehow.
As she rounds the corner, her stride quickens. Home is in her sights and she's ready to lock herself away for the night, to curl up on her couch with a warm blanket and get lost in another world for a while. Words will be a hiding place; the pages of a familiar book can be a safe house against the torrential downpour - the one outside as well as the one within.
Her calves throb with the last several steps, her hamstrings tight as she sprints into the building. There's an ache in her back and a matching flash of pain shoots up her bandaged arm. Exhaustion settles in.
And still, she takes the stairs.
Each step just another physical reminder that she's alive, breathing. Her chest still aches occasionally, her scar along her ribs pulls if she moves a certain way. A hollow haunting discomfort she has to rub at and breathe her way through.
Her heaving breaths are loud and uneven in her own ears. She's on autopilot when she heads for her door, digging the keys out of her bag. Everything is rain soaked, dripping. Some papers inside stuck together and little more than piles of mush with rings of blue ink bleeding through. Her fingers are numb, fighting to grip, her body trembling hard as she sways on her feet.
A sound echoes and her senses kick into overdrive. Eyes wide, panic twisting up her spine, her throat closing and her knees threaten to give out. This isn't the time.
Breathe. Just a noise. Breathe, Kate.
The edges of her vision blur and she drops her hand to her hip, forgetting the keys. She holds onto her badge. Her badge. It's hers and there's no one…but there's someone because her skin prickles with the presence. She reaches for her gun.
Breathe.
Her hand closes around her weapon, the familiarity of it. Her name registers a beat later, just before she draws.
"Beckett?"
The tone familiar, she hears it again. The husk of it is barely a whisper, easing into her, making her hand drop.
Her eyes focus and dart around until she spots him.
"Ca-Castle?"
"I brought dinner." His hand comes up for just a split second and then drops; she startles at the sound of his jacket rustling.
"What?"
"Dinner. I just thought maybe you'd…want some company." They do this. She drops her head, rubs her palms against her thighs and tries to think.
Breathe. In. Out.
Everything aches in that moment. Standing still, dripping, cold and staring at her partner with red-rimmed eyes.
This isn't what she wanted. This is what she wanted to avoid.
She forgot. She forgot in her own turmoil that they do this now. This weird ritual is an unspoken agreement to date without labeling anything, and no pressure for more.
The dinners they share whenever one is feeling lonely. The movies they attend. The nights they stay in and just share some wine and good conversation. She forgot all of it in her haze, in the last several days of fighting against herself. The betrayal of her own mind made it difficult to remember much of anything.
Was this planned?
He shifts, there's a tic in his jaw and something questioning in his eyes but if he wants answers, he won't be getting them. She has none. Can't he see that she has nothing to offer him?
Nothing but a mess.
"I - I'm not very hungry." Please go.
She wants to lick her wounds in private; she's better at putting the pieces together without an audience. Her stomach chooses that moment to expose her as a liar. The gurgle is obnoxiously loud and her cheeks flush when he hangs his head. To tell the truth, she doesn't even remember when she last ate. The lie just came so easy.
I'm fine. I'm not hungry. I don't remember.
"Right," he says. He takes a step toward the elevator and she should let him leave. It's what she wants.
It isn't at all.
"Castle, wait." Her teeth sink into her lip and this time when she wraps her fingers around her keys, they aren't so numb. "Dinner would be good."
He doesn't say a word but follows close behind as she unlocks the door and pushes it open. He's warm against her back and for the first time in days, she feels safe in her home.
He makes a strangled noise when he sees the disarray in her living room. Fuck. She forgot about that too. The remnants of her flashbacks linger in the overturned bottle, the pills. A pillow that's usually in the corner of the couch is now lying in the floor. She cleaned most of it, the glass, left the rest due to the rush to get answers.
"I - bad night. There were -" She fumbles for words. He doesn't need them; he places the food on the corner of her coffee table and gives her a look that leaves no room for argument.
"I'll pick up while you change." The soft command brings her back to the present. She's aware of the coolness of her skin and the way her clothes are heavy, wet.
They weigh down an already aching body and she can't argue. Maybe on a different day she could. She leaves him and heads for her bedroom, for the comfort of slipping out of her soaked clothing.
Each article becomes a part of the pile in the corner of the bathroom. Forgotten in favor of a sweater and soft leggings. Her skin is still cool and she holds her hands under warm water for a few minutes just to ward off some of the chill. She'll shower when Castle leaves.
She doesn't want to keep him waiting and after quickly towel drying her hair, removing her ruined makeup and putting a fresh bandage on her arm, she heads back into the living room.
Everything is back in place when she walks in. Including the man sitting on one end of her couch. It's the side he always sits on and she gives him a small smile. A silent thank you.
They don't talk about it.
Everything is eerily quiet as he hands her a takeout container filled with her favorite Chinese. And for the first several bites, the air is thick between them. It's wrong, needs to be fixed.
"I meant what I said - about not pushing. Thank you for the space and for being willing to give me more just now in the hallway."
"I'm glad you decided you didn't need it tonight."
"So am I."
"You're okay?" he asks nonchalantly. Tries to anyway but she can hear the worry and see the concern.
"Yeah. I will be."
It doesn't settle in her stomach like a lie. It isn't a knot that twists uncomfortably until she's in a hurry to get him out of her apartment. Instead, it soothes whatever ache they're both feeling. It's a balm to the burn left in their souls from the last several days.
Comfort washes over her while they eat. A companionable silence instead of an awkward one settles. She's still not sure if this dinner was planned, she can't remember.
Even if it wasn't, she's glad he's here. His presence is normal in her life now. He's constantly around. If he isn't here in person then she's usually thinking of him. He's her normal.
She almost snorts just thinking about it. She buries her smile in the back of her hand. He relaxes into the couch, kicks off his shoes just like usual. He's keeping her here, in the present.
"So, rain walk?"
"Just needed to breathe." Needed to face the city.
"Did it help?"
"Yeah." She leaves out the part about almost panicking and tells herself that it's completely normal to be so jumpy. "When I was a kid, my mom and I used to go for walks in the rain sometimes and then we'd come home to a big mug of hot chocolate."
His eyes soften, his lips tilt and she's not entirely sure why she just threw that out there but he's pleased with the new information. This new peek into her life is enough to satisfy him and shows her that maybe, just maybe she can eventually get there.
One day. That's what she's working for. She's in therapy for the hope of one day looking at him and being unafraid to lean across the couch, to touch him, to kiss him. She wants to be enough; she wants to be better.
She's just not there yet.
"I think I would have liked your mother," he says softly.
Every muscle relaxes, she melts into the couch and her smile is genuine.
"She would have liked you too, Castle."
The conversation dwindles in and out as they eat their dinner. He keeps glancing at her, letting his eyes linger and sweep her form, and she keeps pretending to not notice.
The food disappears before she's ready to say goodnight. She left work wanting to be alone, wanting to have time to herself. Her walk, the ache in her bones, the panic, the mess she's become, she wanted all of it to be just hers to deal with. Sitting now, with him gathering empty cartons and running out of excuses to hang around, she doesn't want to be alone anymore.
"You can ask." Her tone is hushed as she continues, "About the mess, I know you want to."
"You said you're okay. I believe you."
"It was a hard night. I have them sometimes but this was intense." She rubs over the knotted scar between her breasts. "If you're…here then you need to know."
"Here?"
"Yeah. The movies, the food, coffee, wine." Dates from the last month and a half. We're dating.
"Kate," it's soft and all she hears is a confession.
Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate.
Her chest clenches, a knot forms in her throat but she swallows it down. This time it doesn't send her running. For once, she's okay with the love in his gaze and doesn't turn away.
She won't reach for him though, she picks at one sleeve of the sweater and folds her legs beneath her.
"You can stay…unless you have somewhere -"
"I don't."
"Okay."
"Okay," he repeats after her. "Bowl of popcorn and you pick the movie?"
"Actually can we just…" she trails off, leaves it with a sweep of her arm as if he'll just know.
Apparently he does because his body shifts closer and that's new. With all the time they've spent together over the last several weeks, touching is still rare. Tonight is an exception because he chooses to scoot close until her knee presses into his thigh and when his fingers seek hers, she lets him hold on and stroke his thumb over the back of her hand.
Even after the hell she's been through, PTSD rearing it's ugly head and making her question everything, she's closer to where she wants to be. Closer to the goal of being better.
Of being ready. Until then, she's okay with holding his hand.