Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won't rot, I won't rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won't rot.
And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we lived for.
They've escaped the city for the weekend. Trekked out to the Hamptons house for some peace and quiet because even though the loft isn't that loud, the city is. Work certainly is – for both of them. As soon as they arrived the cell phones were turned off, laptops were left downstairs, and they retreated to the suite upstairs for their own little make-shift spa time and…well, there's a bed.
After soaking in the tub and eating their fill on pizza – who wants to be bothered with cooking on vacation – and spending time exploring each other, they lay side by side in the ocean of a bed, the sound of the actual ocean sweeping a rhythm that seems just theirs. The candles she had lit around the room are running out of wick to burn all too quickly and their glow is beginning to fade, and she finds that despite the fact that it's deep into summer, she's grateful for their fireplace.
Sometimes it still catches her off guard. It's their fireplace. Their house, and their life. She's been married to the man for almost six months – her ring is gleaming so beautifully in the light from the flames as a reminder – but sometimes she still can't believe that this is her life.
She glances up at her husband from where she's tucked into his side – her writer, finds him slowly beginning to drift off. She can't blame him; he's been working harder than she's ever seen for the past month. Finishing up plans for a new graphic novel and writing the next Nikki Heat all while keeping up with her job keep him busy enough, but she knows he's also been stressed over the proposal to turn Derrick Storm into a TV mini-series.
The recent interview he did with Letterman plays in her mind.
"It's an awful lot of macabre though, isn't it? Wife working homicide, writing murder mysteries, spy thrillers…you must have the most disturbing dreams," Dave had laughed.
Thankfully, Castle returned the chuckle, "Not really, no. Murder's kind of been my thing since the beginning – fictional, not actual murders," he stressed to the laughing audience, "I can't imagine who I'd be if I were writing anything else."
She can't either.
His hand is lazily, lovingly stroking up and down her bare side while she thinks. If she doesn't ask him now, he'll fall asleep. Then she'll fall asleep and she knows if that happens she'll forget by morning.
"Hey Castle?" She whispers.
"Hmm?" He grunts. "You've been thinkin' for a while. What's up?"
"I have a question to ask you?" Pause, "You don't have to answer, but I'd really like it if you would."
She feels him shift beneath her, twist just a bit and prop himself up against the mountain of pillows they've settled against the headboard. "Alright? Shoot."
"You remember that case we worked, way back, with the murdered-"
He interrupts, "All of our cases are murders."
"Be serious."
"Mm'kay. Being serious." He makes a movement with his hand, sweeping over his face as if putting on a mask.
Her fingers trace random patterns on his chest while she re-gathers her words. Damn, her interrupting man-child. "The murdered artist – Crow?"
"Yes," he answers quickly, "What about it?"
"While we were working his case, I asked you what got you into murder."
"You did."
She knew he would remember. He remembers everything. But she needs a deep breath before continuing, "You lied to me. Back then." For just a second she feels his breathing stutter. Just barely a shock before going back to normal, and not a word out of his mouth. "You told me that you found the murdered body of a friend, your housekeeper's son, I think. That that's how you became so interested in the macabre.
"Why did you lie to me?" His silence makes her question herself. She's married to him, sure, but is she prying? Can she ask about this without being accusatory?
"I don't know," he answers after a too-long-for-her-comfort pause. "I guess…" he sighes, "we were really just starting out and I didn't want to risk, anything really. I had already overstepped my boundaries and I didn't want to make you feel any more responsible for me, or, feel sorry for me."
He gently pushes her off then, turning them both so that they're lying face-to-face. "Now that I hear the words come out of my mouth it sounds pretty empty though. I'm sorry."
"I don't want you to apologize, I just want to make sure you know that you can share these things with me." She brings a hand up to his face, softly caresses the spot beneath his eye with her thumb, other fingers teasing the hair behind his ear. "I probably should've asked you this before now."
"It's okay," his hand reaches up, fingers lace with hers, "I should have told you the truth. If not way back when then certainly in the recent past. I guess it just never came up."
"Tell me?" She asks of him, timidly.
Just a hint of a smile graces his face, lighting up in the way that warms her heart and draws her in. He pulls her close so that there's almost no space between them again, so she turns, lets him wrap himself around her, their legs tangling together in a complicated knot beneath the comforter while she brings their enjoined hands to rest against her heart.
"I was twelve. Kind of a loner of a kid and no one really wanted me in their group, so I spent a lot of my time at the library if I wasn't helping out with one of Mother's shows on my time off from school. I read…man, I read anything I could get my hands on. But I was horrible at making decisions so I'd just wander the stacks for hours, staring at titles hoping that one would just jump out at me,"
He sets up the scene for her simply enough, but she finds herself lost in his words, his tale of his youth.
"One day I was wandering through the fiction section looking for something new. I had two titles in my hands – don't even remember what they were, now – when a throat cleared just a way's down the aisle. There was this man, tall and sturdy, strong-looking, you know?"
She hums, letting him paint the picture for her.
"He was wearing a baseball cap obtrusive enough that I couldn't describe his face – not if you asked me back then. But, he was kind. Handed me this worn copy of Casino Royale and said "Here son, I was going to check this one out but I have a feeling you'll enjoy it more."
She lays a kiss to his knuckles.
"I read that book in one afternoon. Made me want to be a writer. Took me years to get good at it, to be respectable in it, but…that's why I wanted to be a writer. That book made me want to write Derrick Storm long before I knew how how I ever would."
"Thank you. I know who he-," she stops herself, "But that's not important. I'm just glad you told me, Castle. Just, been a piece of you I always wanted to ask you about again, but…didn't."
"I shouldn't've lied to you."
"No," she soothes, "It's okay. You're right. We weren't there yet. But," she turns back around, still wrapped up in him, kisses him soundly, "we are now. Thank you for telling me."
He returns the kiss, pulling her up practically to the position they began the conversation in. "Anything you want to know, Kate. Anything."
"Goes both ways, Castle. Love you." She kisses him once more, catching the corner of his mouth as she settles back down into his arms, feeling the sleep tugging at the seams of her being.
"Love you, too," he breathes, drifting off with her. "Always."
And there will come a time,
you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart,
but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see
what you find there,
With grace in your heart
and flowers in your hair.
-"After the Storm," Mumford & Sons
ajksmusic said something about how Castle's lying to Beckett about this subject was one of the cruelest things he's done and BAMMO! Headcannon for me. It just sort of happened and I never expected it to make this length or anything, but here it is.
BTW, it's almost 3 AM right now, she's told me to go to bed but I stayed up to finish this cause Fau is awesome and I kind of love how this turned out. So, if there are any horrible errors - I'm sorry.
Tappin
=)