TITLE: Take Me Home
SUMMARY: "Take me home, because this happens every time. I knew it would." Another season 2 fix. One-shot.
DISCLAIMER: Me? I own nothing. Really.
SPOILER(S): Mostly o2x24 A Deadly Game. But there are some slight references to other episodes from seasons 1 and 2.
SONG: If You Wanted A Song Written About You, All You Had To Do Was Ask – Mayday Parade.
A/N: A rather large one-shot. This is late, I realise that, and I know I've done one. But, I just couldn't get this out of my brain. I couldn't just leave well enough alone. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it‼
XXX
"Take me home
I'd rather die than stay with you"
His eyes narrowed as he looked at the bottle blonde in front of him. Three days and...four hours was all it had taken. Seventy-six hours, fifteen minutes and twenty-five – no – thirty seconds. He had felt it – them – slipping on the drive up, but he did everything in his power to forget what he had left in the city. In his heart he knew – knew – where they were wrong. She had said 'No'.
But he couldn't help but wonder...
He wondered about the ever lingering feelings for a certain female NYPD detective
(Like three hours on the phone to his ex could erase all the time they'd spent together. Building theory, building trust, sneaking through and around walls.)
He wondered about the ever lingering jealousy over the intimacy she shared with another.
(He knew he had no claim to her, but he was a guy who liked a girl, and – damn it – his ego had been bruised.)
He wondered about the ever lingering feeling that he had just walked away from the best thing that had ever happened to him.
(And as he thinks about it, save for his daughter, she damn well was the best thing. Nobody handled him like she did.)
He wondered about the ever lingering feeling of surprise and delight he'd felt, when she'd asked to have a private word with him.
(And just why was their timing always so damn screwy!)
But, mostly he came to realise that the one thing, the one concrete fact that he could attribute half of his personal problems to, was his own stupidity. It had taken someone else's interest for him to wake up and see what was staring him right in the face. To see that what he thought was a harmless flirtation, was something more. To see what he didn't know he'd always wanted was right there.
And even that was bordering on a half truth.
He'd wanted her body from almost the moment they'd met. It had taken her quietly spoken "You have no idea" for him to fully understand. But he knew, from that second onward that he wanted her to show him what he had no idea about.
Over time, he'd grown to want her mind; her brain power. Her wonderful mind that had her standing toe-to-toe with him during their verbal spars. A mind that was always ready with a sarcastic comeback. A mind that never seemed to stop turning evidence over. A mind that was able to process new information and slip it in with the old seamlessly.
But it had taken too long – too damn long – for him to wake up to the fact that he wanted her heart. Too damn long to realise that, somewhere along their road, she had stolen his. Too damn long to realise that he wanted every single piece of the woman. He was possibly the last person in the world to see it. Certainly, he was the last person in the room.
"... Even listening to me! God, Richard, its moments like these that remind me why we didn't work the first time."
He stared at her, his sudden understanding rendering him speechless for a moment, before he shook his head sadly. "No, Gina, what broke us up the last time was our complete and utter in-compatibility." He shook his head again, and his whole body seemed to sag as all the fight left him. "I love you, Gina, really. As my publisher. As someone who knows what needs to be done to sell my books. But I can't," he hesitated. Words have always been his friends, and now he was afraid they were going to let him down. Like he had – unwittingly – let her down. "This isn't right. It isn't fair. Not to you. Not to me."
'And not to her'. he finished in his mind.
She stepped closer, reaching for him. "But, Richard, I thought... the other night on the phone...?"
He sighed. "I'm sorry, Gina, I really am. But I can't, in good conscience, give you what you want. Not when I don't have it anymore."
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about, Richard? I want the book – the manuscript – not the secret to passing 'Halo'."
He smiled softly. "You'll get your book, Gina, don't worry. But not like this; not here." He swept his hand in a wide arch, indication not only the mini mansion they stood in the formal sitting room of, but the whole Hamptons.
And then, suddenly, realisation slapped her across the face. "Your detective." she breathed, a statement, not a question.
With a shrug, a sheepish smile and finally a nod he replied, "Yes."
"Isn't she with someone else?"
"It doesn't matter. If I stay here, with or without you, I lose whatever slim chance I ever had. I'm sorry."
They lapsed into silence and just stared at each other.
"I'm not going to pretend this doesn't hurt, Richard," she started quietly after nearly a full ten minutes of nothing. "But, so help me God, if you do not get that book to me, I will hunt you down and string you up. Do you understand?"
He grinned, nodded, and leant forward to kiss her cheek. "You're one in a million, Gina, really."
She smiled, almost sadly. "Just not your 'one'."
"No."
"Go, Rick."
His eyes widened. "What? What about this place?"
"I'll leave in the morning. I do know how to lock a door. Now, go!"
He spun on his heels and rushed up the stairs, throwing everything into his suitcase haphazardly. He could sort it out when he got home. But, right now, he needed to be on the road.
When he came down, she stood in the hall, eyes focussed on the front door. He offered her a final, soft look, before saluting and jogging out the front door.
XXX
"Take me home
you have a problem with the truth"
She couldn't get her mind to Just. Shut. Up. To stop running the what if's and missed chances and – God. Damn. It. – the looks. All the looks she pretended she didn't see. All the looks she pretended she didn't give. The looks she wished she could take back and the looks she so desperately wished she could return to him.
She wished she could return the verbal swordplay. That she could take back all the stupid and pointless arguments. That she could forget all the ridiculous jokes and one-liners. All the times they had said something suggestive, and she wished he would just take her in his arms and... The subtle flirting, and the not-so-subtle flirting and the innuendo (God, the innuendo), and the times they caught each other's eye and she thought he was mentally undressing her, because she knew she was mentally undressing him.
She wished she didn't love the way they finished each other's sentences.
She wished she didn't love the warm feeling that spread through her heart when she saw him with his daughter. She wished she could say his daughter was as big a pain in her ass as he was, but that would be an outright lie. She wished she didn't feel a little gooey when he asked for advice on parenting a teenage girl. She wished she hadn't felt the slightest bit happy that he thought she was good enough to keep an eye on his baby should anything happen to him.
She wished she could forget the comfort she had felt when he opened his home to her. She wished she didn't get a little thrill out of knowing that he knew how she took her coffee, and that he always brought her some. She wished she hadn't felt the slightest bit glad that he never took 'No' for an answer, and that he made sure she ate, or slept or was safe.
And she wished she hadn't finally – finally – given in and given up hope of ever being rid of him. Because when he turned his back and walked out, his arm slung comfortably around his ex-wife's shoulders, she felt like her heart was being ripped right out of her chest. That any chance for them had walked away with him.
She hated herself for pulling down the last of those metaphoric walls. She wanted to hate him, for being there and being someone she felt she could trust, but in her heart she knew it wasn't fair. Yes, he had weaselled his way in, with his charming smile and that mischievous glint in his eye. She hadn't given him permission to get so close, but she knew she'd had enough of fighting it. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she had grown to crave his insights. And more than that, she craved how well he knew her.
If only she hadn't realised so damn late.
If she sat and concentrated, really concentrated, she could quite easily and quickly pin-point missed opportunities. Where, instead of rolling her eyes, or frowning, or snarking at him, she could have smiled, or nodded, or said something nice. Where she could have taken what she wanted and stepped into his embrace. Where a soft touch didn't have to mean anything sexual and could simply be a source of comfort. A bond between friends; between partners.
But that was who she was. The tough and savvy police detective, hell bent on justice for those who had it stolen from them. She was under no illusions. She knew exactly where her drive and fight came from. And the irony wasn't lost on her. She fought tooth and nail against trusting him with anything; but she had never told the one she dated her secret.
She had told the annoying, pain-in-the-ass shadow, but had deflected every time her boyfriend asked. She didn't even want to think about what that meant.
She wondered why it had taken her so damn long to figure out what everyone else seemed to see without the slightest ounce trouble. Why couldn't she see it before? When she was staying with him. Or even before her apartment blew? When he'd gotten the offer to write about a 'certain British spy'?
She had hidden her heart and herself behind so many walls for so long that she'd forgotten what it was like to let someone in. To share. To be unguarded and carefree and happy. To smile just for the sake of smiling, or because you're remembering time spent together.
She sighed and eyed the books – his books – that lined the top two shelves of her bookcase. Doubles of each, one for her to read and one he had inscribed and signed. One she could read in the bath, or in bed, or wherever; and one that would only be opened to the title page, to read what he had written to her; for her. As she looked at the brightly coloured spines, she wondered if his words were ever going to be a comfort to her again.
XXX
"Take me home
because this happens every time"
Though he arrived in the city late that same night (or, early the next morning, depending on your view point), it still took him another three weeks to talk to her. And even then it was just a text, telling her he was back in the city, if she wanted his help on any cases.
He hadn't been surprised at her delay in replying. But it had shocked him when she said she wasn't at the precinct. Immediately, his mind had conjured a picture of her at the beach with her boyfriend. But then he'd gotten another text, her complaining about apartment hunting and a passing comment about his ex.
He'd smirked, telling her he was allowed in the city, as long as he emailed a new chapter every 3 days. He told her it was better than being in the Hamptons and having the previously mentioned ex nag him continuously. At least he could screen her calls and delete her emails without actually seeing her.
Then he asked about her boyfriend.
Her heart had soared and her breathing shallowed, knowing his ex was still his ex. But she couldn't stop the slight frown that appeared at his final line.
"How's Demming?"
She had almost forgotten he didn't know about the break-up (okay, so that's a lie. She had almost convinced herself that her feelings for the writer were fading. That he didn't need to know about the break-up. That it was none of his business. That she'd built up the possibility of them in her head. That it didn't, and wouldn't, ever exist.) But it had been three weeks. While she knew things hadn't changed dramatically, they could have changed enough.
Just because she was still clinging to random memories didn't mean he was.
"Transferred out to Staten Island."
Then, after a full three minutes without a reply, "We broke up."
She knew she wasn't quite ready to admit when and why – she wasn't sure if her heart was ready for the risk – but she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she had to be as honest as possible.
He had always had this uncanny ability to read even her most subtle of tells.
They had spent so much time skirting the issue that it sometimes came as an automatic response, the deflecting. She could picture his face: a careful mix of glee and sympathy. His muscles wanting to show support, his eyes telling her that, though he was sad for her, he was happy for himself.
Like a boy whose friend had the better toy, that just broke, so neither had an advantage.
Her phone lapsed into silence and she went back to flipping through the property guide. And then her phone buzzed that annoying personal tone. The one she still couldn't figure out when he set, but still hadn't gotten around to changing (she didn't even want to contemplate the meaning behind that!).
With a sigh, she picked it up and tapped 'answer'. "Beckett."
"Hey, it's me." She rolled her eyes. "Which you would already know, with caller I.D."
"And the 'James Bond' ringtone you set."
"You still have that?" Surprise.
"Yeah. I knew if I changed it to one of the generic tones, you'd just put it back to 'Bond'. And I know it's not work, so I feel less guilty if I ignore it."
"Oh, hardy-har-har." He heard the smile in her voice and was instantly grateful for their ability to joke their way through awkward moments. "Aaanyway, Detective, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to take a break from – now, how did you put it? Oh, that's right 'the tediously boring necessity that is apartment hunting'. Remy's in an hour?"
She sighed. "Word for word, well done Castle. Seems you do listen."
"I read it, and things stick in my brain when I read them."
"From now I'll leave a post-it telling you to stay in the damn car. Which is not my point, but I don't think Remy's is a good idea." She finished softly, and could feel him deflate through the phone line.
"Oh, hey, okay. I just thought you'd like a break. Some fresh air, somewhat decent company."
With an eye roll, she interrupted. "I didn't say 'No', Castle. Just not Remy's. Toh- uh, Demming's old Robbery team go there." She left out the part about him being there sometimes, too.
"Oh, not to worry. How about... how about the Ray's near your apartment? I know we both like their slices. The milkshakes aren't the same, but they're better than that place on 87th." He shuddered and she heard it through the phone.
With a soft laugh, she nodded. "Sure. Ray's in an hour, then?"
"Yep. One hour. Wear something that'll make you stand out. I haven't seen you in three weeks, I'm afraid I may have forgotten what you look like."
She chuckled again. "Okay, will do. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, I remember what you look like, so you can just dress normal." It had nothing to do with all the dreams she had of him lately. Nor with the abnormal amount of time she spent staring at his picture on the dust jackets. Something else she didn't need to analyse.
They hung up and they could swear their hearts beat double time at the anticipation.
-…-
Her hair was tied in a lose pony-tail; the bits that had fallen framed her face. It wasn't a 'look' she was going for, but somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she knew Castle liked the soft, comfortable 'look' it gave her. She pulled her boots over the ankles of her well worn in jeans and tugged at the bottom of her 'The Who' t-shirt. She grabbed her handbag and eyed her jacket. It would be warm enough without it, but it was like a security blanket. Sighing, she dragged it off the back of the chair. Glancing at her watch, she realised it was time to go. Taking a deep breath, she headed out the front door.
-…-
As soon as their lunch – date? – had been agreed upon and they'd hung up, he pushed himself out of his chair. He cast a fleeting, guilty, glance at his laptop, knowing this wasn't exactly productive use of his time, but Gina need never find out.
He rushed into his bathroom, flipping the handles in the shower, before stripping down and jumping in. The hot water scalded his skin slightly, but he didn't care. His shower was quick and he eyed himself in the mirror as he towelled off – to shave or not to shave? Decided it would be a waste of precious time, he reasoned that every woman – including Detective Beckett – secretly liked a five-o'clock-shadow (really, it was more like two- or three-o'clock). It showed maturity and a hint of danger – two things he knew she liked. Twenty minutes later, he was hailing a cab and on his way.
-…-
She walked up just as he was exiting the taxi and his breath caught in his chest. How on Earth he thought he could simply walk away from this woman was beyond him. Not when she looked so effortlessly gorgeous in the afternoon of a cool, early summer's day.
He stepped up to her; hands jammed nervously in his jeans pockets. His baby-blue shirt untucked and unbuttoned, showing off a tight, light grey t-shirt, that left little to the imagination. Even his dark brown boots screamed a casual dress that only he would ever be able to pull off.
He grinned. "Detective. These first three weeks of summer look like they've treated you well."
She smiled almost shyly in reply. "I've had a couple days off, and we haven't caught any cases. Touch wood." Her shy smile morphed into a cheeky one as she reached out and tapped his head softly.
He chuckled. "A smile and a joke at my expense. Oh, how I do feel lucky."
She grinned again. "Well, wonders never cease." she muttered, turning her body toward the door.
"After you." He gestured with his arm, and stepped forward to open the door for her. She smiled shyly again as she passed and her green eyes sparkled as his free hand found its way to the small of her back.
They were seated quickly and ordered not long after, deciding to get a mix-and-match pizza to share, with a strawberry shake for her, and a triple choc for him.
They started out awkwardly, testing the waters and found safe areas in Alexis and Martha and what they were up to that summer. Eventually conversation flowed to Ryan and Esposito, and Kate admitted that the two 'boys' would be glad to see him back as soon as he was. Despite the fact that he hadn't called either of them, his presence would be enough... after some hazing.
Lanie, however, was an entirely different matter.
"She's," Beckett hesitated, and sighed. "Lanie's a little bit mad at you."
"Me? What did I do?"
Beckett bit her lip and took a sip of her drink. She was buying time, trying to figure out how to tell him without making their lunch – date? – awkward.
He reached out and tapped her fingers. "You know you can tell me anything, don't you, Kate?"
Her breath caught in her chest at the use of her first name and she blew out a breath, rustling her bangs. "Because of how you left." Her eyes didn't quite meet his, and he slumped back in his seat.
"Oh."
She smiled apologetically. "She's being a best friend, Rick. And if there's one thing you should know about girls, it's that their best friends are fiercely protective." And, just like that, last names had been forgotten.
He nodded, almost dumbly. "I wonder if..." his thought went unfinished and Kate could tell by the look on his face that he was thinking of Alexis.
She nodded. "A girl like Alexis, loyal and undemanding, would have no trouble. At her age, it's all hidden behind petty jealousy and a girl's need to find herself, but there'd be one friend who's there, thick or thin, no matter what. And if there isn't, then I'm sure Ryan and Esposito would fill the space." She hesitated. "Not to mention you and I."
His eyes shot to hers. "You and I?"
Kate nodded. "You would do everything in your power to protect her. We all know that. And, you know, I carry a gun." She shrugged. "Besides, sometimes I like Little Castle more than Big Castle." She paused with a smirk. "Actually, most of the time I like Alexis more than you. She listens to me." she added to answer his questioning glance.
"I listen. I just don't pay attention. Especially when you tell me not to do something."
Kate laughed lightly, and they were quiet again. Rick looked at her expectantly. Damn him and his Jedi Mind Trick.
Sighing, she continued. "We broke up that same day you left. When we were at my desk, I was going to tell you I wanted to come with you. I wanted to know if what everyone else was telling me was true."
And then understanding smacked him upside the head. "But you were interrupted, by Gina. And, and my... stupid need to be the bigger man for once."
She raised an eyebrow.
"I was bowing out. You seemed so happy with... him, and I couldn't stand to get in the way of that. You deserve every happiness, Kate. And though I was there first, you had chosen him. You wanted him in your heart and your bed and me? Well, I don't know where you wanted me, exactly, but wherever it was, I wasn't comfortable there."
"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel unwanted, Rick." She murmured after a few minutes. "I honestly didn't mean it. I just... I didn't – I don't – know how to deal with... with my feelings for you."
"And he was safe." A statement of understanding, not a question.
She shrugged. "I guess." She looked up to meet his eyes. "But he wasn't you."
XXX
"I knew it would..."
They sat at Ray's for another hour before Castle decided he had to stretch his legs. So they took a walk, slowly winding their way through the streets in the general direction of her apartment.
They didn't hold hands, but they walked close enough that their hands brushed occasionally; sending a tingle up his arm and a small smile to her lips. Though they weren't physically joined, their minds were; their hearts somewhere in the middle.
They talked, and Beckett slowly filled him in on the random happenings of the precinct, avoiding all talk about certain robbery detectives and their former team. She told him that while Lanie was fiercely protective, all she'd need was time. Time to adjust to the fact that he was back, and that they were talking and on their way to... something.
He promised to be gentle with the M.E., realising that as protective as the good doctor was of the Detective, that door swung both ways. And Castle had witnessed firsthand just how protective Beckett was of one of her own.
He hoped that one day it would extend to him and his daughter and his mother. He didn't know that she's defended him in countless arguments with her ex.
He told her that, until his book was finished, he wouldn't be at the precinct all the time. "I'll text you in the morning and you can tell me if I should come in."
In compromise, she promised to only call him if they caught cases between 10:00 and 4:00. And then she stopped, which made him stop and turn back. She raised a hand to block the sun, but she still squinted. "I can't promise that I won't call you outside those hours, just to chat."
With that admission, he grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Now, that I will whole-heartedly encourage, Detective."
She reached out to shove him playfully and he intercepted her hand, holding it loosely in his larger one. He didn't let go until they reached the steps to her apartment building.
"You should know, Rick, that I never let him in my bed. And I never crawled into his, either."
He felt his heart explode and his eyes widen. He reached out a hand to gently cup her face.
And there, on the second and third step, they kissed a slow, soft kiss.
He pulled away and smiled. "Until tomorrow, Kate."
She smiled in return and ducked her head, willing her blush to fade before she looked up and met his gaze. "Until tomorrow, Rick." She replied.
"I knew it would..."
xxx
So, remember when I said I was seeing New Found Glory in March? Well, Mayday Parade are totally playing at the same festival. Can you say excited!
AAAAND, while I'm here, I'd really like to wish every one a Merry Christmas and a safe and Happy New Year. Hope Santa brings you everything you want, and watch out for Tequila slammers. They'll get you EVERY time!
EDIT: Because I'm an idiot and forgot the first time...
Thanks very much to Ariel119 for her awesome beta work.