Disclaimer: They're not mine and the title comes from Canto XVI of Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "In Memoriam".
Author's Note: After watching "Vampire Weekend" and "3XK" I really wished the writers would explore the reasons why Castle writes about the macabre. They haven't, so, this is me doing just that. This story is inspired by an article about Thomas Harris, the man who created Hannibal Lecter, in which journalist Jason Cowley theorized that the author himself must "feel a terrible burden to be drawn ceaselessly to murder, violence and suffering, to what is worst in the human story".
People always ask him about how he comes up with his ideas. The truth is he doesn't know, sometimes they just float into his head during daydreams. People assume the murder stories come from nightmares when the truth is they don't. Those, too, sprout from daydreams. He doesn't think about how they get there or why they are there in the first place, he just writes them down to get them out. The fact he gets paid an obscene amount of money to do so is just a bonus.
When Rick starts shadowing Beckett he thinks he will get inspiration from the crimes he sees, that he will see things his mind will never be able to conjure up. Sometimes this is true. Mostly, though, he finds his inspiration in Beckett. The murders are relatively easy to solve compared to the never-ending mystery that is Kate Beckett. He finds it easy to think like a criminal and tries not to think about how easy it is to slip in and out of their heads or understand their whys and hows. He tries not to think about how comfortable he is with death or what he might have become if his mother hadn't raised him so well.
Jerry Tyson had told him that he writes about murder to suppress his own impulses. He has never told Beckett that he had let a serial killer get into his head, let alone how much he fears just how valid Tyson's theory might be. For the most part he manages to ignore these fears, too. He spends his time worrying about Alexis and his mother, cracking bad jokes, and slowly wooing Kate. But, sometimes, he catches himself by surprise.
One night he is typing away at his computer, when he realizes what it is that he has written and stops. Rick stares at his words for what feels like hours, horrified by their nature, and fights the urge to hurl his laptop against a wall. He doesn't delete the passages, the egocentric scribe in him won't let him because the prose and description is just too good to erase. Instead, he saves it and paces the living room for forty minutes, trying to quiet the shadows weaving through the windows and doors of his mind. His thoughts race until he finds a spark and instinct has him reaching for his phone.
He briefly hesitates before pressing Kate's name and composing a text message.
Hey, are you too busy for some ice cream?
Its 11:45 on a Saturday night and he is surprised by how quickly she responds.
Never. Bring Cherry Garcia with you.
The spark ignites a flame.
Thirty minutes later he is standing at her door and he can't help but feel his pulse quicken just a little when she greets him with a smile and immediately takes the bag of ice cream out of his hands. They have been spending more time together outside of work, actually talking about things and making steady strides toward the inevitable.
He watches her move about her kitchen, stares at her hair shining in the dim light and tries to make small talk, anything to hear her voice and have it ring out the darkness in his head.
"So, did you enjoy your day off? Do anything exciting?"
She shrugs. "Not really. I went for a run, had lunch with my Dad, and did laundry. Dad says "hi" by the way."
"How is Jim?"
"Good. Busy with work like the rest of us," she says around a spoonful of ice cream. "What'd you do today? Anything Page Six worthy?"
"Nope. I read lines with Mother and helped Alexis with her homework. They're both out. I've been trying to write."
She feels that she is beginning to understand his impromptu visit.
"Is that what's wrong? You've got writer's block so you came to visit your muse?"
He plays with his melting ice cream. "What makes you think something's wrong?"
"You've been staring at my hair this whole time."
"You have pretty hair," he says, as if it were the answer to everything.
"And you're uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, I can't get you to shut up and, yet, here you are moping on my couch. You're avoiding something and, since the topic of writing is the only thing you didn't bring up, something you're always more than willing to talk about, I figure you're avoiding your work."
"You know, sometimes I hate how well you know me."
"Now you know how it feels."
Her statement feels like a little victory and it makes him a little braver.
"You're right, I am avoiding my work," he says, finally meeting her eyes.
"It can't be that bad, Castle. I can't imagine you writing anything terrible."
He chuckles somewhat mirthlessly and places his almost entirely melted ice cream on the coffee table next to her empty bowl.
"Would you think less of me if I told you that I was scared?"
Her brow furrows in concern. "Of what?"
"Of what I wrote. I'm afraid of what I wrote," he finally says. "Sometimes, there are these moments when you realize just how easy it is to come up with this stuff. I write about murder, Kate. Death and torture. That's what I'm good at."
"You're not a murderer, Rick."
"No, but I could be."
The darkness in his voice sends a chill through her core.
"I would've killed Lockwood if you hadn't called my name, Kate. He was going to kill you and I could see myself doing it. I could see it so clearly."
"Do you want to stop? Stop writing? Stop shadowing me?"
"I don't know if I can. I can't stop writing and I'm not leaving you alone. It's just that, sometimes the thoughts, the images; they just sneak up on you too quickly for you to get them all out. Sometimes they come out too easily." He sees the fear and concern in her eyes and he runs a hand across his face in an attempt to hide just a little. "I guess, what it comes down to, is…why bother? What good does it really do?"
"A lot," she answers, leaving the couch to get a copy of At Dusk We Die from her bookshelf. "Everyone has a shadow in them, Rick; some of us just have bigger and darker shadows than others. It's how we deal with it that matters. It's just like our fears – we either face them or hide away. And trust me when I say that your writing does a whole lot of good.
"You know that I'm a fan your work, Mr. Castle, but I bet you didn't know that you are my favorite author," she says with a little grin. "After my mother was murdered and my father disappeared into the bottle, I looked for an escape from my life. Death of a Prom Queen was one of the last things my mother ever gave me. She said that she thought I would enjoy it, but I didn't read it until after she was gone. I found my escape in your books and in your words. They got me through her death. And, as weird as it sounds, I found comfort in them because, as horrible as things got, the bad guys were always caught and the good guys always won. Justice was always served. It's a part of why I became a cop – to be like one of your characters and bring about the kind of justice my mother deserves."
She hands him the hardcover, sitting close enough that he can smell the cherry flavored ice cream on her breath. He opens the front cover and is surprised to find his signature inscribed on the cover page along with the words "It'll be okay".
"I stood in line for over an hour to get this. I must've looked pretty bad because for everyone else you wrote something like "Don't stop looking". And then you hugged me. I remember that the most."
It bothers him that he doesn't remember signing her book; that he should have known, even then, just how important she really was.
"I don't expect you to remember, Rick," she says, no doubt reading his mind. "I just wanted to prove to you that what you write does do some good. I guess when you're typing away you forget that, once it's out there, it reaches across to people. That you are reaching across to people and maybe they're seeing something you're not."
Rick watches her for a moment, feeling the heavy gloom slip away as he basks in her glowing smile.
"You always know the right thing to say. That's why I always come to, Kate. You make everything so clear," he says, giving her his first genuine smile all night. "Thank you."
"Always."
They don't do anymore talking that night; not about anything important anyways. Instead, they sit on her couch and watch Mel Brooks' movies until they fall asleep with her head fixed on his shoulder and their hands clasped on her lap. Both wake up feeling lighter in the morning.
The next night Rick is back at work in his study, typing away at his laptop, describing a crime scene in all of its violent glory. He leaves the door open just a crack and he can hear see his mother sitting at the kitchen counter, studying some new script while Kate and Alexis channel surf in the living room. He hears Kate and Alexis's giggles cut through the dim space as he comes to Nikki Heat's entrance.
Jameson Rook, of course, is not far behind.
2nd A/N: This story is completely unbeta'd so please be kind when you review. (And please review!)