A Place to Rest
Part 1 of 3
Kate Beckett is having a bad day, so she turns to the person she trusts most. Set early Season 4.
"And the idea was that even though all that's left was the cryogenically preserved head, that that would be all the client would need because by the time science could revive them they wouldn't need their bodies!" Castle finished his story with a flourish, splashing dirty dishwater onto the counter in his enthusiasm.
He really should have waited until the after-dinner cleanup was complete before recounting his latest adventures with his mother. But he had been too excited to wait. This case was so awesome.
Martha sipped her martini and tapped her bright green nails on the tiled counter while she regarded him, not bothering to suppress a smile. "Look at you, Richard. So happy about the murders of others and not even a little bit ashamed of it."
He gave her a look. "I'm not happy they're dead, Mother. I'm just happy that they died in such a cool way. No pun intended." He smirked at his own joke, very intended. He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and surveyed the clean kitchen. "All done, no thanks to you," he noted with dramatic flair.
Castle chuckled when Martha lifted the hand not balancing her precariously full martini glass in a whatever wave. "Anyway, Darling, I should be going. The gals from the theater are going dancing tonight and if I leave now the party will just be getting going. Ta ta."
She stood and twirled away, tsking slightly when Castle plucked the martini glass from her hand mid-spin.
"You can't take it with you," Castle muttered, taking a sip himself. He grimaced. "This is disgusting."
"Well I didn't make it for you. Have a good night. Don't wait up!"
And she was gone.
Castle stood still in the quiet loft, contemplating. It was approaching midnight and the smart move would be to go to bed, but his mind was still busy with the details of the case. Frozen corpses! Frozen heads!
Eventually he wandered into his office and poured himself a bourbon, ostensibly to cleanse his palate, but also to help calm his mind so he might actually be able to sleep tonight. While enjoying the familiar smoky flavor he picked up his phone out of habit. He wandered back toward the living room and scrolled through his various newsfeeds.
The internet was boring. On autopilot, he scrolled through his contacts though there were few he would call so late on a Tuesday. His eye was caught by the pretty curls of his favorite detective and he paused, thumb poised over the screen. The picture made him oddly nostalgic. He'd taken it on the sly while she was laughing at Ryan the day he fell carrying a box with two dozen doughnuts. Her eyes were glittering with humor and she was holding her coffee mug in front of her wide smile as if she could hide it.
Castle sighed. He'd taken the picture six months ago. Before Montogmery. Before Beckett's shooting. It had been a happier time. They were getting back there, slowly, creeping toward normal on their elbows, but it had been a long time since he'd seen her look like this. Carefree and fearless. And happy. She wasn't happy now.
A few more swigs of bourbon and he was still staring at her picture. He wanted to call her, but the awkward truce they'd met that day on the swings outside of his book signing forced him to an unwanted separation. Oh, he saw her every day, and he tried to be there for her and be a friend, but calling her out of nowhere? Probably against the rules.
He sighed again, petulant. He set the phone down with too much force, wincing at the cracking sound it made against the coffee table. The screen had finally gone dark, so he had to swipe at it to turn on the backlight and make sure he hadn't caused any damage.
When it rang loudly in his hand Castle shrieked and jumped back against the couch, bourbon dripping down onto his hand. He quickly sucked the liquid up to keep it from spilling onto the leather before looking to see who was calling. His eyes widened, and then a grin spread slowly across his face.
"Beckett, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
There was a long pause, and a sound he couldn't quite identify, like intermittent static.
"Beckett? Kate?"
"I'm here." Her voice was quiet across the line, but Castle couldn't tell if she was speaking quietly or if it was a bad connection.
"Hey," he replied inanely. After another beat of near-silence he asked, "Got another body so soon?"
This time when she didn't answer right away he felt a tension creep up his neck and stand his hairs on end. Was something wrong?
"Kate?" He asked again. "Are you there?"
"No," came her response. There was a stutter of air and when she continued her voice sounded tight. "I mean, no there's no body."
"Okay." Castle dragged a hand down his face. He wanted to ask so many questions. Where was she? If there was no body, why was she calling? Was she okay? But their unspoken agreement to not speak things aloud caught the words in his throat.
"I'm… I'm sorry," Beckett murmured, "I shouldn't have called. It's late."
"Oh hey, no. I was up. And even if I wasn't, you can call me anytime." Castle's voice sounded too forced even to his own ears, casual cheerfulness that didn't fit the evening. When she remained silent, he couldn't stop himself anymore. "Kate, is everything okay?"
She took so long to answer that he checked to be sure the call was connected. Then finally, the words whispered over to him. "I'm. I wasn't... Castle, I just-"
Then the line did cut out. A growling sound of frustration bubbled up out of him as he stabbed impatiently at her face in his contacts. The call went straight to voicemail, and continued to do so for the next five minutes while he called her again and again and paced the loft.
Castle dragged both hands through his hair. He grabbed his keys and headed halfway to the door before stopping, turning back. She was fine. She had to be fine, and if she was fine, and she was, she wouldn't want him charging after her in the middle of the night.
That was probably against the rules. It was probably just static, a dropped call. She wouldn't want his help.
He stood frozen in the center of the quiet loft and wished that Alexis was there to guide him through the pros and cons of it all. But she was at a friend's place for the evening and it was up to him to be the grownup. And you know what? Beckett called him, so he should be within the rules to go check on her.
Mind made up, Castle turned and strode out of the loft without even stopping to put on his coat.
Beckett glared at her phone and swiped angrily at her cheeks. Seriously? Of course her phone would die right now. She stared at it and took a deep breath and held it, attempting to stop the stuttering and hiccupping that she hadn't been able to keep from her voice while she was talking to Castle.
It didn't work, though, and she buried her face in her free hand while she gasped in another breath. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, trying to remember what she'd learned in therapy about stopping panic attacks before they started, about dealing with stress, and compartmentalizing when she had to.
She was so focused on her self-meditation that the soft ding of the elevator arriving at its destination startled her, a quick surge of adrenaline undoing whatever small calm she'd been trying to find. But it was nothing like the shock she got when the doors opened to reveal an agitated Richard Castle on the other side.
Beckett's eyes widened in surprise, both at his presence and at the completeness of his agitation; the wild hair and flushed cheeks, the tense line of his jaw that relaxed and dropped a little when he saw her.
"Beckett! Are you okay?" She watched as he combed a hand through his hair, succeeding only in making more of it stand on end, before he reached out to stop the doors from closing between them.
"I'm…" Saying she was okay would be a blatant lie. Even if she thought she could get away with it, and she knew her appearance would betray her, she didn't want to lie to him. Again. She swallowed noisily and wiped at her face again, wondering how bad she looked. Without making eye contact, she muttered, "I was going to ask if I could come over."
Though still obviously concerned, Castle cocked his head slightly and the tiniest smile played at his mouth. "You don't ever need to ask," he replied warmly.
"I don't like to intrude." Staring at the ground now, Beckett sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. It was then that Castle took in her appearance aside from the obvious watery sheen in her eyes. Her hair was wild and kinked, her raw-looking face free of makeup, and she was wearing leggings and a sweatshirt at least three sizes too big.
She looked adorably young and painfully vulnerable, and the part of him that loved her clenched in response to the injustice of it all. Carefully, he reached out and squeezed her shoulder, tugging lightly until she stepped all of the way off of the elevator so he could let the doors close behind her.
"Well," Castle offered with a slight smile, his eyes still assessing, "since you're here, would you like to come in for a drink? And," he added as if it were an afterthought, "you can tell me why you called tonight."
He let his hand drop from her shoulder when she started stiltedly down the hallway, where he stepped back inside the loft and pulled the door wide open behind him in invitation. Once she began to follow, however tentatively, he felt a small thrill of victory. If her silence and her hesitation were any indication, Beckett hadn't quite convinced herself to come over when she'd called him. In a way, the dropped call might have been his best friend tonight, getting him out of the loft to meet her before she convinced herself this was a bad idea.
Once inside, Castle headed back to the kitchen and began babbling immediately. "Do you want coffee? Or I was having a bourbon if you'd rather have a real drink. We've got everything. Vodka, tequila, gin, wine-"
"No," Beckett interrupted him softly, the tense scratch of her voice making him wince. "No, I'm okay."
When Castle turned back to her she'd made it all the way over to the barstools across the counter from him, still hugging herself and looking lost and sad. "Kate," Castle said softly. "What's wrong?"
"No, I'm okay." But her voice was an octave too high, her chin was trembling, and her lips were pulled back in an expression of grief. "I'm okay," she insisted again when Castle came around the counter to squeeze her shoulder again.
"Kate," he repeated, "talk to me."
She inhaled deeply and looked away, a quiet cry escaping when she was forced to exhale. Castle rubbed his palm over her shoulder bravely, but she jumped in response and he dropped his hand again. Then to his eternal amazement, Beckett finally met his gaze and launched herself into his arms.
Castle let out a small oomph at the impact of her chest against his and held his hands away from her for a beat, so used to holding himself back from her. But when Beckett wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and began to cry in earnest into his tee shirt, he came to his senses and pulled her tightly against him.
"I don't want to talk," she managed between gasping sobs. "Can we not talk right now?"
"Of course," he murmured into her hair, rubbing her back in small circles. When it became clear that this wasn't going to be a short cry, Castle moved her slowly over to the couch and sat them both down. Trying not to jostle her shaking shoulders he reached over and plucked a few tissues from the box on the nearest table and offered them to her silently.
Beckett took them, but after briefly trying in vain to stem the tide of her tears she only clutched them in her tightly fisted hands. Castle felt tears sting at the back of his eyes while he held her trembling form against him. This was unprecedented. He'd only seen her cry like this once, in the dark night outside of a hangar where Montgomery was dying.
Still trying to figure out what she needed from him, Castle's eyes widened when Beckett took his hand and glanced at his face, brushing two fingers across his cheek. Then she leaned over on her side, pulling him with her until they were spooning on his leather couch. Castle held himself away from her stiffly, uncertain where the line was between them, until she tugged on his hand and wrapped his arm around her.
"Are you comfortable?" Beckett whispered after her tears finally began to subside.
"Yeah," he whispered back, squeezing his hand where their fingers were tangled together.
They lay quietly that way for a long time as Beckett's breathing calmed to normal and then even slower and deeper. Tugging her close to him and settling back into the cushions Castle nudged his nose against her ear and whispered, "You falling asleep?"
"Mmhmm," Beckett mumbled. She shifted heavily against him, her fingers wrapping around his forearm. "Is this okay? I'm so tired."
"Yeah, Kate. This is okay. You're going to be okay."
A/N: This is my first ever fanfic. I started this after the news broke about Stana (but before cancellation) because I imagined a meta-world where Kate Beckett needed a hug after getting the news. It grew into this. Part 2 should be out Wednesday. Any response would be lovely!