A/N: Spec ficlet for 8x03. Kickboxing Beckett based off the promo, so no real spoilers. I'm writing out my feelings here. Don't ask me what this is, because I don't know LOL. Once again, if you come to rant about the show, you will be blocked. I've got five people already on my list.
She's unbelievably grateful Espo answered her, considering how early she had called. That's the first of many thoughts as she travels to the precinct. A thank you breakfast might be in order for him, post workout. The session is much a needed distraction.
Hell, need might even be an understatement.
"Don't you usually bring Castle along?" he'd asked.
First hit of the morning, and she hadn't seen it coming. "Didn't wanna wake him. He had a rough night, I think."
Of course, she wouldn't know, and yet, she does.
She had the same night.
The commute consumes a decent amount of time, but she's glad in realization. The hotel she's opted for, it's somewhat ideal, at least as far as maintaining distance. She needs to be far from Castle, far from everyone else too, so as not to draw suspicion if anyone catches her away from home. Away from…everything.
The drive over being long enough also permits time to meditate. She keeps going over the details, the logic in her head, but only one conclusion keeps coming up amidst the haze of grief; when all is said and done, the only life she's concerned over is the one she loves. Not her own, but the one that showed her how to live, again.
Richard Castle stays alive, no matter what that cost may be.
Some doubt still eats at her, though. Bouncing back and forth between her words, her rationale. Is walking out the answer? Is keeping him out the best way to keep him safe? Her pillows and sheets left at the hotel are so stained with sobs, she had convinced herself her eyes and throat might bleed from trauma. Even that hadn't been enough to stop her.
The aftermath of the night surely lives clear in the swell of her face, those bloodshot eyes the primary indicator of the kind of night she had spent. The green in them even appears faded, washed out by the tears she continuously had to give and give…unwillingly.
The night had been hell, to say the least. Restless. She isn't sure how she's even awake, considering her choice to hold off on coffee, or any food really.
The taste of him cannot and will not leave her mouth. It's one thing she's actually firm on.
Arriving at the precinct she runs in a haste towards the gym to gear up, more than ready to beat out whatever residue of despair still congests her chest. She even manages a head start on the kickboxing before Espo can arrive to the scene. The heavy sweat that starts to film along her skin, she hopes, will conceal whatever wounds she's accrued on her face.
"Hey," he calls out upon entering the room. He's changed already, wearing a questioning face too, more and more evident as he approaches her sights. "Good to see you're not letting Captain rank keep you from knowing how to hit one." He's being kind…he has to know something's up.
"It's gonna take a lot more than administration and politics to unlearn that. How long have you known me?"
They exchange some laughs, and his curiosity disappears with it. For a moment, she breathes freely.
"So what we doin?" he says, clapping his hands together.
"Hold the bag," she says walking towards it, positioning herself to throw the first punch.
"Come on, that's why you called? I was at least expecting to spar. Ryan could've done this."
"Okay cool it, no reason to harp on Detective Dad. You're the most available, he's at least got two at home."
She manages a smile when he cocks his brow in reply. "Nice. Thank you, thanks for that."
Taking his hold, she throws her wrapped fist without much trouble. It's not as hard as she thought it might be, but Espo is already bugging out, possibly from underestimating or overestimating her first tap.
"What's the look for?" she says, continuing to jab. Letting her cut through the air a couple times, he just observes, as if waiting to confirm his reply.
"Haven't seen you go this hard in a long time," he says, trying to hold up between her kicks. Based on his slight strain, she guesses they're worse.
"Yeah well," she grits, "happiness tends to cleanse the rage out of you."
Bemused. His brows furrow and lips purse. She's said something wrong. "What – you saying you hit a slump?"
Her next kick packs ten-fold with a grunt as the warning sound, pushing the bag enough to loosen his feet's traction on the floor. Had he just been distracted by her comment, or had her force been a true reflection of her regret?
That's the driving force, really, more than anything.
"Yeah," she says through a sharp exhale, "something like that." A pause hangs, thick as she awaits a response she's sure will come.
"Is this about the last case? About your other team?"
Making a point to stop altogether, lips poised to speak, her jaw hangs, the words reluctant to reach the air. Caution keeps her careful.
"Listen Javi don't take this the wrong way, but if I wanted to talk about it I would've brought Castle."
It's true. She would've. Of course she would've.
"Ahright, no problem. Just…helpin' out."
"I got it, okay, don't worry about me," she says speeding up. Her moves become mechanical, involuntary, leaving an opportunity for her mind to wander. That's when it hits. That's when reality crashes down.
Alone.
She's damned to do this, this mess, alone. It's her punishment, responsibility, and no one else's.
But in the heat of a morning in silence, her husband manages to claw his way through and invade her reverie.
Why are you under the impression that you need to do this alone?
It's not your burden to bear, not by yourself.
You have a choice.
If you're gonna cast out this demon, you can't do it on your own.
Sweetheart. Please. I love you. Let me help you.
The threat of tears comes too swiftly as his voice breaks through the beat of her heart, prompting the spin of her heel to turn away and stalk off a few feet, tempering each breath to calm the race of her blood. Fuck. Not now. Not here.
"Beckett," Espo calls. No steps echo afterward. It's good, she's glad it's happened with him.
He knows well enough to keep his space.
"I'm fine," she spits, turning her head slightly as her eyes angle towards the floor. "Just gimme a minute."
She waits, waits for that return of her breath, for the resolve before she can return to him. Watching the floor, she strolls back to the bag, undoing her ponytail and pulling back her hair tighter. She edges toward him slow, but purposeful in every step. It's daring, confident. Strength building inside stretches the darkness of her pupil so wide that the honey-green, glowing under the sunlight pouring in, shrinks to a mere sliver. It's a dangerous focus she's narrowed on the bag, the motivation of why she's desperate to finish off her demon piecing together.
You're doing this for him.
The gaze Espo bears once she lifts her eyes to his conveys he knows something's wrong, but she doesn't address it. Thankfully, neither does he.
With one word, they keep the silence.
"Again."