I have spent a lot of late night writing lately and it is so true that you get to a point where you just need to put the story to bed. I am not really sure where this idea came from, but it was based on that principle.
Enjoy!
I own nothing!
It was the light that woke her. Or was it the shuffling of papers? The heavy sighs and groans of frustration? Or was it the lack of determined keystrokes she was so used to at this late hour? She wasn't sure. Maybe it was the fact that he never joined her in bed, for the second night in a row. She sighed and tossed the covers back. She quietly padded through his office and to the open area of the loft. He moved out there the previous day while she was at the precinct. He said his office made him feel trapped. He couldn't think in that confined space. That was after he had been up for thirty hours. At about hour thirty four, just after she returned home, the clothes lines went up above the table. Two of them, both full of drafts and notes and idea pages. Now at hour forty two, she found him laid out on the floor, next to his open computer, playing a solo game of catch with a crumpled piece of paper. He giggled, yes giggled, as the paper arced over one of his clothes lines and back down to his hand, rustling the hanging pages as it went.
"Rick," she started softly. He didn't look up; he just continued to toss the paper. He was lost in his mind. He'd been on a writing binge for two days. Inspiration hit him early one morning and he was glued to his laptop, typing like a madman for hours. She could tell when she got home tonight; he was starting to run out of steam. She tried to talk him into getting some sleep, but he was sure inspiration would hit again and he wanted to give it a few more hours. Well, his time was up, he was exhausted. And it wasn't that he couldn't sleep, he just wasn't allowing himself. She moved so she was standing over him. "Richard Castle," she said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Hey," he said with a lopsided grin.
"I didn't move in here so I could sleep alone," she smirked. He pushed himself up on one elbow and rubbed his tired eyes with his other hand.
"Sometimes I just have to write," he explained.
"That would be fine if you were writing, but from what I saw, you were playing catch," she laughed.
"Did you see me get it over the line?" he asked, his eyes shining with childish pride. She just rolled her eyes.
"Alright, up, it's time for bed," she said, reaching for his hand. He slowly pulled his fatigued body off the floor. He slid his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder, his face pressed against her neck. She reached a hand up and ran her fingers through the short hairs at the base of his skull. He left a soft kiss on her neck before he pulled away and set his hands on her cheeks. He gave her a tender kiss and then met her eyes.
"One more hour," he stated, trying to break away. Before he could, she threaded her fingers together behind his back, trapping him in her hold.
"I don't think so, you've had enough hours. Forty three straight ones to be exact. You haven't slept, you have barely eaten and you've hit a wall. It's time for bed," she pointed out.
"Forty three hours? That's days Kate," he realized.
"Two of them, and two nights of me alone in that big bed," she confirmed.
"But Kate, I'm onto something here," he whined, gesturing to the mess around him.
"You were on to something, but you have done all you can do. You are trying to force it and you know that doesn't work. It's time to put the story to rest and come to bed. It will be there when you wake up and you will have a clear head and a fresh mindset. There is no sense in staring at the blinking cursor for another hour. Even if you do manage to get something down, you will erase it when you come back to it. It won't be up to your standards," she continued. She really didn't know a lot about writing but she knew what he told her. And he always told her that at some point every writer gets to a point where the best thing they can do is step away from the computer. The story needs to breathe and the writer needs to regroup. Ignoring that point often leaves the writer with something that sounds stiff and very forced. He was way past that point. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. She had won. She looked up at him. His eyes were dull, his hair was a mess, his chin and cheeks were dusted with two days of scruff and he looked just plain worn out. She grabbed his hand and led him to the bedroom.
She settled against his side, hoping he would give in and go right to sleep.
"Oh, I think I forgot…" he started, sitting straight up in bed. She put a hand in the middle of his chest, effectively stopping him.
"Castle," she warned. He lazily lifted an eyebrow at her.
"You haven't "Castled" me at home in a long time," he noted. She laughed and rolled onto her side. He followed suit and spooned against her.
"Well, you haven't misbehaved in a long time," she responded.
"Not unless you wanted me to," he whispered in her ear. She shoved an elbow into his stomach. He grunted and grabbed her elbow, putting it back in front of her. He hindered further movement of the limb by trapping it with his arm.
"You need to get some sleep," she emphasized.
"I'm ok, I can finish this conversation," he mumbled.
"Well, I can't, I have to work in the morning," she reminded.
"Hm, I do too. I'm going into the station," he hummed against her skin as her buried his face against her neck.
"Whatever you say," she chuckled knowing he wouldn't hear it and knowing he would never be up to go to the station the next day. He had finally allowed himself to fall asleep and hopefully would stay that way until he caught up for the last two days.
She silenced her alarm quickly, hoping not to disturb him. However, one look at him said a bomb wouldn't disturb him. He was flat out on his stomach, with one arm tucked into his side and the other buried under his pillow. His face was smashed against the pillow and he had kicked the blankets off. Before she walked out the door, she fished his phone out of the pocket of his sweats and pulled the blankets up around him. She ran her hand through his hair and kissed his cheek. As she poured herself a cup of coffee she dialed Alexis' number.
"Kate, it's early. Is dad ok?" Alexis' voice was tired.
"I know, I'm sorry. Your dad is fine, but I am turning his phone off. I didn't want you to worry. He's been on a writing binge and finally crashed," she informed.
"How long was it this time?" Alexis wondered.
"I finally got him down after forty four hours. He went down fighting," she chuckled.
"He always does," This was not news to his daughter. "Thanks for letting me know. Have him call me when he wakes up?" Alexis requested.
"Of course," she promised, ending the call. She quickly scribbled a note and stuck to his cell phone on the counter.
When she got home, he was gathering his papers off the floor. He was fresh from a shower and looked like he hadn't been awake for very long.
"Hey you," she smiled.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice plagued with fatigue. He rubbed his eyes with his fist.
"Did you talk to Alexis?" she wondered.
"Yeah I just got off the phone with her. She gave me a lecture on the downfalls of pulling all-nighters," he chuckled.
"She was always the responsible one," she teased. He gave her a look and continued to pick up after himself.
"Have you eaten?" she asked. He rubbed his eyes again and shook his head.
"I've only been up for fifteen minutes," he stated.
"Well, I grabbed a pizza on the way home," she gestured towards the box on the counter. His eyes lit up.
"The good kind?" he checked.
"This will be your first meal in nearly three days, do you think I would settle for anything less than the good kind?" she replied, feigning hurt. He approached her and wrapped her in a tight hug.
"You're the best," he grinned, kissing her hair.
"I aim to please," she retorted, returning the kiss, this time on his lips.
She watched him load his plate up with four or five greasy slices before grabbing a can of soda from the fridge. He still looked like he could fall over at any minute, but when she did the math he still had only had twelve hours of sleep in three days. She wanted to encourage him to finish catching up and she had a plan that just might work. He stopped moving around the kitchen when he noticed she was watching him.
"Are you not eating?" he wondered.
"No, I am, I was just letting you go first," she replied, grabbing a plate for herself. "Why don't we take dinner into the bedroom and we can finally watch that movie you've been bugging me about," she suggested. His eyes lit up again.
"I like that idea," he grinned. She smiled back at him and followed him into the bedroom. She quickly changed out of her work clothes and joined him on the bed.
They cuddled close as the movie started. When Castle finished his meal, he leaned his head on her shoulder. He was fading fast.
"Kate?" he started.
"Hmm?" she hummed absently, watching the movie.
"Thank you," he whispered. She turned her head away from the screen.
"What for?" she wondered.
"Saving me from myself," he replied.
"Well, I just didn't want to sleep alone," she teased.
"I love you, Kate," he mentioned.
"I love you too, Rick," she smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. It was only a few more minutes before he was asleep again. She gently took the plate from his hands and stacked it with hers on the nightstand. She scooted down on the bed so he could rest more comfortably. She brought one hand up to slowly run her fingers through his hair. The one plus side to his writing binges was the extra cuddling after the fact. It was the only time he wasn't going a million miles an hour. She smiled as he rubbed his cheek against her shoulder. She knew to take advantage of this time, one more good night of sleep and he would be back to good ol Castle.