So someone (my sleep deprived brain can't quite remember who) told me to write a little companion piece to my story Quicksand. Only from Castle's point of view. And then my imagination went wild. So here it is. 1000 words of Rick Castle's view to go along with my 1000 words of Kate Beckett's view. You don't need to read Quicksand to understand this at all. Though I would love it if you did anyway.
It also gave me a chance to use the quote I've been saving. Yahoo!
And again, sorry for any typos. I really need to stop writing things at one in the morning. Too bad I know I won't.
Disclaimer: I don't own Castle. I'm just visiting, maybe taking a tour and snapping a few pictures. Oh, how I wish there was a gift shop.
"That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty...you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are." ~ J.D. Salinger
He's falling.
He jumped without even realizing it. He still doesn't really know how it happened.
The only recollection he has comes in still images, freeze frames.
She's leaning close to him, lips almost grazing his ear as red and blue flashes from sirens stain the back of her shirt. Then she's laughing, her head thrown back and her smile the widest he's sure it's ever been. She's staring intently at the murder board late at night, that spark of tenacity and the hunger for justice in her eyes. Now she's smirking, rolling her eyes at him and he's sure it's because of some wild CIA theory he just pitched or a cheap come-on that rolled off his tongue. The slideshow is on repeat, the pictures playing through his head without an end.
Somewhere in the middle of all of that, he jumped. And he can't even blame her for it.
It would be so much easier if she had batted her eyelashes and lured him in with that 'come hither' look he's seen on so many women. This would be much easier to deal with if she had just giggled and pulled him over the edge by the lapels of his jacket.
But she didn't do any of that. That was not Kate Beckett. All she did was roll her eyes at him, tell him to get lost and then jump over the edge by herself.
And he followed. He followed her like a puppy, just like he always had. It was magnetic, the pull he felt. He had to follow her. There was no other option. He just had to. And he had no idea why.
So he jumped into the abyss right behind her. And that's when it started, the falling.
He flails, looking for anything to hold onto. There has to be something. But there isn't. There is nothing to stop him from tumbling into the unknown.
He's petrified. He's panicking. And then he hears it.
He hears her all around him. She's calling his name, she's telling him she'd get him out of prison, she's saying she's glad he's okay, and then she's whispering that he has no idea.
The statement certainly describes how he's feeling right now.
He has no clue. He doesn't know where he is or why he's here. He doesn't know what's happening. He doesn't know where the bottom is or when he'll reach it. But most importantly, he doesn't know where she is.
He can't find her, can't reach out and touch her. He can only hear her voice.
Her tone changes all the time, but she's always there. Exasperated. Playful. Livid. Relieved. Pained. Silly. Dejected. Comforting. Serious. And then sometimes her voice is full of desire, laced with pure need. Those are the times he's sure he's losing his mind.
It's dark. He can't see anything. That's why it surprises him when he hits the bottom. On impact he sees a flash of her, she's telling him he's gone too far. That he should've minded his own damn business. That she's done with him. Then she stops talking. She's no longer there. But then he's crashing through the floor.
He can only conclude that it was a false bottom, an ending that was never meant to be an ending. It's only a temporary setback. And then he's falling again, her voice eventually keeping him company in the darkness.
It seems like this could go on forever. Like this journey will never end. But he's sure there's a bottom. Because one way or another, this has to end. He can't keep doing this. They can't keep doing this.
Then he hits the ground. The image that comes this time is much different, he's the one walking away from her. He's not planning on coming back. There's the end he's been waiting for, but he feels strangely empty now that her voice has been silenced.
But just like that, the floor gives way and he's tumbling into darkness again. When her voice returns it's strained at first. Is that hurt he hears? That can't be right. But it is.
Soon her voice is back to normal, her words teasing and stubborn and just so damn perfect. It's like a song, one that's permanently engrained in his head. One he'll never forget. He's not sure how he could with that musical laugh and deep chuckle burned into his brain.
And then there's this little moan he hears once. God, that sound was possibly the sexiest thing he's ever heard. Ever will hear.
Once he's not so distracted anymore, he realizes he's picked up speed. He's falling faster and faster. And he can't do anything about it. He knows by now there's nothing to grab onto, nothing that can stop this. He just has to let it play out on its own.
He smirks and wonders when exactly he started accepting this. When he learned that fighting it was futile. When he accepted that he'd reach the bottom soon enough and he might as well enjoy the wait.
But what exactly is he waiting for? Bullshit. He knows. But that is something he's not quite ready to accept yet.
Because he can't be falling in love with her, he can't be falling in love.
Love hurts. Love and pain are much too closely related for him to be comfortable with this whole thing. God, it's hurt like hell when he's hit the false bottoms. He can only imagine what it'll be like to finally get to the real one.
Love's also one of the most amazing things he's ever experienced. He feels weightless. He feels like nothing else matters besides them. Together. He's happy, he's just so happy.
God, he's so confused. His head hurts. He wishes he knew where he was. He wishes he knew where she was. But it doesn't matter.
He has no choice, no say. He's marked. He's hers, has been from the very beginning. She can swoop in and claim him anytime she wants to. He'll be waiting. Sometimes he thinks she's just amusing herself by waiting to make him hers. Officially, that is, because he's hers whether she wants him to be or not. He can see her smirking as she watches him squirm in anticipation and just a little bit of fear. Okay, maybe a lot of fear. But goddamn it, he has a right to be scared. He's confused as hell and has no control over anything anymore.
He doesn't know where he is but he knows where he's going to end up:
In love with Kate Beckett.
Okay, that was an interesting experience. I'm so much more used to writing Beckett. I'm so much more comfortable with Beckett. Oh, comfort zone, please take me back. I can't even remember why I left you. Anyway, I can't wait to go write something from Beckett's point of view just to un-freak me out (wow, I must be tired if I'm making up words). I understand her so much better than Ricky here.
Review? As you can see, I'm extremely insecure about this one. Okay, I'm 15 and I'm insecure about a lot of things but take my word on this one. Please? I even asked nicely. Used the magic word. Whatever you want to call it.