A/N: It's raining! Completely unrelated to the story, but I always feel so motivated to write when it's raining. Too bad this wasn't written in the rain either, haha. Anyways, little one shot about Mike Royce. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Don't own Castle. If I did, I'd be able to hold the ending of Setup/Countdown over everyone, but I don't know it, so I can't. Sadness. xD
Your teacher, your mentor, your hero, shouldn't make mistakes.
As a child, your parents fill that role. In your eyes, they can do no wrong. When you realize they're not perfect and invincible, you can't recover from that. The betrayal is heart-breaking, and the child won't be able to recover quickly, if ever. The parent will not have the same role in the child's life, because the child does not trust the parent. Some people experience this loss of trust early on, and some never experience it.
There is always a favorite teacher in school, someone who helps you, who protects you from bullies, who teaches interesting lessons that you actually want to learn. This teacher makes you excited about school, makes you want to get up at six-thirty in the morning in the winter before the sun comes up, even though the cloud cover is so dark and heavy it wouldn't matter if the sun was up, and it's pouring rain that hasn't let up for days and you have to wear a skirt or shorts because all you jeans smell like mud from trekking back and forth through the puddles on the streets-but you want to get up and go to school because this teacher promised a really great class. This teacher rarely falls in your sight, because you only get to see this one side of them, and often they disappear from your mind and wonder whatever happened to that great teacher I had in seventh grade? They are an echo in your mind, but they're always there.
In high school a lot of times people your age are your heroes. They are cool, popular, and they seem to have everything. They are rebels and break the rules, but when they get caught, your opinion of them drops. Celebrities often fall under this category at this age as well. You love these celebrities and then they get busted for marijuana or DUI, and they're not these great people anymore. They're just human.
Throughout your life, there are people, people who you think can do no wrong. You build them up on pedastals, imagine them as superheroes like the ones you see in movies and read about in comic books. But even superheroes have flaws. They all have their own special Kryptonite. And when people are the heroes, they probably have a few more flaws than Superman.
When you're a rookie police officer in New York, right out of the academy with absolutely no experience except at the shooting range, your partner is your superhero. They're the veterans who have shot people, who have watched people die, who know what it's like out there. They're your protector, your teacher, and your friend. And me...well, you'd think I'd have been better prepared, but all I wanted was to solve cases, more importantly solve my mom's case, that I didn't think about any of the consequences. When I met Royce, he prepped me, realized how eager I was and sort of slowed me down. He was the one who helped me get through everything. He always had my back, and I always had his. We were partners, and that was that.
All of this runs through my head in the few seconds I watch him approach, hands cuffed behind his back and wearing a gray jumpsuit. They slide open the barred gates and a guard leads him towards the cold metal table at which I sit.
He smiles weakly as they push him into the chair. "Hey, kid," he says, like we're out getting drinks or something. Like it's old times. Like he didn't betray me.
"Hello, Royce," I say emotionlessly. He just stares at me, sadness in his brown eyes.
"What are you doing here?" he asks.
"I just saw a man who shot the detective on my mom's case," I tell him. My finger plays circles on the tabletop, the metal like ice. "He isn't talking. He won't tell me who he works for. So I keep coming back."
"Good," he says. "That's good. You beat 'em hard enough, they'll break eventually."
"And you would know that so well."
I see the hurt flash across his face. Whatever he's done, he never intended for me to get involved in any of it. But when you play with fire, someone's going to get burned, and a man ended up dead. It wasn't intentional, but it happened, and I'm the one who landed the case.
"I know I've made mistakes," he says. "But I always tried to do right by you."
"You were my hero, Mike, but you threw that away when you got involved with that treasure. Why? Why did you have to go after it?"
He shakes his head, at his own folly rather than my question. "I was selfish, Kate," he says softly. He's sorry, but I can't just forgive him. "I hadn't spoken to you in years-you were always in the back of my mind, but sometimes I just, I couldn't imagine ever meeting you again, and that made what I did matter so much less. I worked for me because I didn't have anyone else to work for. What was I supposed to do?"
"You were supposed to be the better person," I inform him lowly. "Be the guy who I looked up to for years. I admired you because you were the greatest cop, because you never let anything go. What happened to that cop?"
"He's still there," he shrugs, and it seems like he really does have nothing to live for. "He's just buried deep. Trying to come out, but how can that happen now? You know I failed, I know I failed. I'm sorry, Katie. I fell."
"Damn right you fell," I retort angrily. He doesn't realize what this does to me, he doesn't understand how it feels seeing him walk through bars to see him, rather than walking into a bar with me to get a drink. It's not old times, and he can't accept that, even though he's in prison. Things have changed.
"Please, Katie, I'm sorry. I won't say I'm sorry for doing what I did, because I know how wrong it is and being in this hellhole is all the punishment I need. I'm sorry for hurting you."
"I meant what I said, you know," I tell him, hoping I can see the emotion that he wants to show me. He wants me to take his word for it, but I can't do that. I'm a detective. I spend my life verifying people's stories, even if that person is a girl scout, a priest, a saint come back from the dead. I check and double check. Royce had to prove that he was sorry; he couldn't just say it. "I meant every word. You understood me, when I became a cop. No one else knew what to do with me, an overly eager broken little rookie who just wanted to figure out who killed her mom. You showed me that there's more to being a cop than just solving crimes. You were like the teacher who all the girls were in love with in high school, but I was the only student."
Now I see it, the tears brimming on his vision. He blinks, trying to stop them from rolling. He doesn't want to be seen as weak, but right now I won't let him be strong. I keep eye contact with him and within moments of just staring he begins to cry silently. My nose is runny and my eyes are red but I won't. I just continue to stare.
"Kate," he says softly, like he used to when we would be on stakeout and he was showing me how to be quiet. I had never been very good at that; I was always talking away. I was much better undercover, when I didn't have to be myself. Still to this day undercover work is how I escape the confines of being, well, me. I don't have to be Kate Beckett. I get to be whatever the situation demands. Royce taught me that too.
He'd taught me so much and now he's in jail. I shake my head and stand slowly, and Royce rises with me, watching me desperately. His lips move in a silent prayer, praying that I don't leave him down begging on his knees. Because he won't do that. Not in prison. Anywhere else he would beg for my forgiveness. But prison isn't forgiveness, it's punishment and revenge and justice, and certainly not forgiveness.
"Katie, please," he pleads quietly. He can't afford to be weak, a target in here. But he is weakâeveryone is. He only let's me see it.
I turn back and slam my hands down on the table, leaning right up in his face like we're in an interrogation room. And with the view, it almost looks like it too. "What, Royce? What more can you do?"
He surprises me by kissing me gently. "Katie, if no one else in the world forgives me, I need you to. Or I can't live with myself. If you can't forgive me, nothing matters."
I stand up straight, pulling away. I stare at him for a moment, then I walk around the table, even though I'm not supposed to. I can see the guards glance at each other and shift uncomfortably, but I've been here often enough that they know me. I'm not one of their emotional visitors. I'm the cop.
Royce watches me walk, still as a statue. I unlock his cuffs. I know he won't try to escape; besides, it's so unexpected that he probably doesn't even have time to create an escape plan. I have no doubt that he could do it, but he won't. Not if he wants forgiveness.
"I just wanted a hug," I whisper.
He wraps his arms around me, and I lean against him, closing my eyes. For a moment I can imagine that we're not in a jail. I picture the day after we'd solve a really tough case, one that was too hard that I hadn't thought I could handle it. One time a little kid was killed, once a mother with a teenage daughters. And I'd make it through, just like Royce kept telling me, and it would only be after we'd found the guy that I'd break down and start crying, and Royce would pull me to him and hug me tightly, letting me sob into his shirt for ten minutes before he'd say, "Come on, kid, let's go get a drink," and I would automatically feel better. I let myself believe for a moment that we were back at the precinct. Then I opened my eyes again, letting go. He offered me his hands like I'd known he would, and I locked the cuffs again.
"Bye, Katie," he said quietly, as the guard led him back into the jail.
I stood there in silence for a moment. "Bye, Mike."
I turned and walked away. Back to reality, and away from the illusions of my heart.
A/N: Hope you liked it! I have one more one-shot scheduled pertaining to the 2-parter, then I'll be back to Evanescence Files, never fear. (: