Suddenly, Last Summer.
"Each day we would carve each day like a piece of sculpture, leaving behind us a trail of days like a gallery of sculpture until suddenly, last summer. "
I. June
White sand reflected the brilliant sunlight and a pleasant, baking warmth brined by the salt of the sea.
Gina was there, somewhere in the house, far from where he sat on the wrap-around porch. Working on the book, he assured her sleepy sheet-tangled form that morning, though his laptop now lay forgotten beside his adirondack chair.
It was Nikki - Beckett - who filled his mind. His thoughts drifted along the space between the muse, the fantasy and the real woman. He mused again on the intelligence of inviting her to the Hamptons, of forcing her to choose between their friendship and her love life. He wondered if he really had misread the signals, become lost in his own ego, and overstepped a hazy boundary they'd drawn during their first case. He thought of his ex-wife, the familiar lifeline he'd sought when nothing else was drawing to its logical conclusion. She gladly joined him on this trip, not because she cared but because she needed the manuscript. Their reconnection was little more than distraction, and they were both fully aware of it. She would amuse herself in his palatial space and walk away with exactly what she needed.
Rick Castle would spend the summer telling himself that it was self-protection. Saving face. And perhaps he'd even pretend it was just a little bit of payback, to take Gina away with him. He would purposely avoid examining the picture of Beckett he held in his mind, her befuddled expression tinged with hurt. He would not ruminate on the sneaking suspicion that he'd missed something extremely important.
Frighteningly game-changing.
He would tell himself that he had a reputation to protect, and that he would not guilt her into anything, or push her to make a choice. He would pretend that it was his attention span, pitifully short and easily distracted by something shiny. He would be exactly what she (and let's face it, everyone) thought of him - shallow and juvenile and ridiculous.
But the truth was somewhat sadder, and infinitely more lonely. Martha Rogers may have instilled in her sun a gorgeous smile and rapier wit. But she also raised a man who was, if nothing else, genuinely chivalrous. Perhaps it was the formative years he spent in the wings of various theaters, watching romance as it was meant to be - dramatic and perfect. He would never be the men his mother dated - or married. He would never want to see real hurt in the eyes of any of the (many) women around him.
Including - perhaps especially - Beckett's.
And now, as the sun tanned his skin and his novel slowly poured across the page, his usually vibrant grin was slightly burnished and the sharp edges worn from his humor.
II. July
New York in July wasn't just hot, it was soul-scorching, and brought with it a violence borne of sweat and irritation. She stayed busy, beating the streets in her newly acquired pumps.
She was powerful, she was smart, she was scary.
She was *not* Nikki Heat.
She attacked her work with raw fierceness. It was no secret to her team that she'd walked away from Demming the day Castle left for the summer, leaving her behind with a stunned expression and a void empty of wisecracks and gentle familiarity.
They all made space for the specter of Castle for the first month, an empty corner of the elevator, a lone chair. His coffee mug. They all left it exactly as it was, believing that he would be back once he realized his mistake and put two and two together to make four.
Some mornings Ryan found her in Castle's chair, a far-off look on her face as she tried to parse out exactly what went wrong and when, guilt warring with irritation. She'd dismissed him, almost laughed at him. Took a mild but still perverse pleasure in *not* being the Nikki to his Rook.
She'd wanted so desperately to prove that she wasn't that woman that she'd managed to wound two good guys and still end up bitterly alone.
And so time passed, her fierce manner dulled, her stilettos cracking a slower beat. She held her breath and waited for fall.
It was not too much of a mystery for murder cops, her team, to piece together and know exactly what was brewing.
She was strong, they knew. She would rebound, they knew.
She would kick Castle's ass when he came home. And if she didn't, they would.
They knew.
III. August
A late summer storm tossed land, sea and sky together into a miasma of gray.
The book was done, hand-delivered by his agent, his ex-wife, his current...girlfriend? Lover?
Ass-pain?
He looked forward to his return to the city, the clogged streets, his apartment, his daughter.
He would be glad to escape these wide open spaces and Gina's hovering, her expectations and - my god - her insatiable appetite to bleed him dry in every way possible.
Lightning split the sky and for the 12th time that afternoon, his finger hovered over Beckett's number before he dropped phone back onto the deck railing.
All he could want was her happiness. And on the arm of another man, it was the only thing he couldn't bear to see. He couldn't intrude, wouldn't face rejection.
He believed in happily ever afters, had written them thousands of times.
He believed in them, even when he never had one for himself.
IV. September
It was easy to mask bone-deep hurt with anger and irritation. As a matter of fact, it was a skill at which Kate Beckett excelled.
But by the time the streets stopped steaming and the leaves began to change, anger melted and her confusion was plain.
She was tired of swinging at summer, venting into the humid, choking violence of the city. She felt exposed and raw when Ryan looked at her with knowing eyes and asked, with false gaiety, if she'd heard from Castle. Even Lanie stopped hinting and needling. She was a widow without the benefits of marriage, having lost her other half not to death but to her own ego...and his.
The entire division was subdued with the belated realization that somewhere along the way, Richard Castle had become one of their own. Perhaps he didn't carry a badge, and perhaps he was maddeningly childlike. But he was smart and funny and kind - espresso machines don't grow on trees! - and they missed him.
Then suddenly, as easily as he dropped into (and out of) their lives, he came home.
V. Suddenly, next summer?
Their fate was to wax and wane, to draw closer and drift apart. Maintaining a steady orbit, they would be oblivious to what everyone else saw.
Or would they?
It was no longer a question of if, but when.
It was no longer a matter of obstacles, but time.
Acceptance comes in stages, and understanding in slow but steady steps.
He would be the one man she would measure all others against.
She would be the one woman who was his match in all things.
And suddenly, it would be.
Happily ever after.
(1/1)