DISCLAIMER: "Castle" and all its wonderful characters are the property of ABC and Andrew Marlowe. Much as I enjoy playing with them, I unfortunately do not own them. Please don't sue me.
The simple guitar riff echoed through the silence. It drew her gently from sleep, bathing the room in the sounds of another era, nostalgia teeming in the static of the reawakened radio set.
I don't want to set the world on fire. I just want to start a flame in your heart, sang the tenor, smooth and sweet behind the aged recording. She knew the voice well. And the man who always accompanied it.
"You shouldn't be here, Castle."
She turned on her back and sighed. The crackling distortion of sound sent her back in time, a time she never knew personally, but still dreamed out in the dark of night when that best of all possible endings flickered in her head.
His face hovered overhead, filling her vision with his comfortable smirk, sending a thrill down her spine.
"I know." He held out a cup of coffee. His simple but effective wake up call. "Just seemed like you needed a friend."
She laughed and sat up cross-legged, taking the offered drink while he settled down in the space vacated by her feet at the end of the small bed.
The scent of fresh coffee filled her nose with bliss. She sighed contentedly, shut her eyes to fully immerse herself in the sense.
...In my heart I have but one desire. And that one is you. No other will do...
"Nothing better than a friend bearing coffee," she said, then sipped and moaned in bliss.
"Good?"
"Mmm, the best."
She opened her eyes, saw him staring intensely, memorizing her, dissecting her. She looked away quickly. His gaze made her nervous. He saw too much. Knew too much.
"It's great...but he wouldn't think so," she said after a beat. "He'll say I'm regressing."
"Are you?"
She looked up from the coffee, narrowed her eyes at him, momentarily peeved.
"You're still here aren't you?" she snapped.
"Always."
The irritation vanished into a grin. She looked back down at the rich brown liquid, imagined she could see her own smile in the reflection.
"There's your answer."
...I've lost all ambition for worldly acclaim. I just want to be the one you love...
She set the cup on the bedside shelf and laid back down, scooting back enough to prop the pillow and her head up against the smooth white wall. She settled her bare feet into his lap. Without hesitation he grabbed one foot and massaged it expertly, his warm hands a clear contrast to her cold skin. Melting into the touch, her eyes fluttered closed with a contented sigh. The music still sounded through the room, setting her at ease with its gently melody.
...And with your admission that you feel the same, I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of, believe me...
"I miss the fedora," she said after awhile, one eye peeking open to glance his way.
"I'll wear one next time."
"But you wouldn't be you."
"But wouldn't it be nice? To be them?"
She shook her head slowly, tentatively. She dreamed about them. She envied them. But he would always be her Rick. Rick and Kate, that was how it ought to be, right?
"I miss you."
"I know."
"Do you?"
She caught his eye, unsure, always unsure.
He reassured her with a sad smile.
"I wouldn't be here if you didn't."
She bit her lip, the sad truth of that statement stinging her like a whip.
"You really shouldn't be here."
She sat back up, removing her feet from his grasp. She shouldn't let him touch her. It was against the rules.
"Nothing I can do about that."
"I don't want you to leave." She picked at the threads of the blanket, focused on their faded green instead of the deep blue of his eyes. She shouldn't look at him either.
"You'll have to let me eventually."
"Eventually...but not now."
...I don't want to set the world on fire. I just want to spark a flame in your heart.
He reached across the bed and grabbed her hand, firm. Slowly she traced her sight from his fingers which covered her own, up the length of his pinstriped jacket, to the line of his jaw until he successfully captured her with his intense stare.
The room descended into crackling static as the final note of the song rang out.
"Kate."
"Not now."
"Kate."
"Please, not now."
Their gazes held, his serious, hers pleading. Another guitar riff picked up, this time with the tickling of piano underneath. That familiar voice began a new serenade, slow and melodic.
Maybe you'll think of me, when you are all alone...
He caved in first, nodding reluctantly and releasing her hand.
She breathed again without realizing she'd stopped in the first place. He always caved first.
"Do you have a pen?" she asked.
He reached into his coat pocket. "Sharpie work?"
She nodded, biting her lip in a smile.
"Give me your hand."
"Uh uh, not gonna let you mark me up with that, it'll never come out."
She raised her eyebrow, incredulous.
"I'll make sure it comes out." She snatched at his hand. "Now come on, you big baby."
...Maybe the one who is waiting for you will prove untrue. Then what will you do...
He huffed, but didn't attempt to extract his hand from hers, even as she pulled up the cuff of his jacket to expose his wrist.
The bright red of the pen stood out sharply against his skin where she touched it down in short strokes, like blood pouring out from a web of small cuts.
"What are you drawing?"
"A picture," she answered simply.
"Of what?"
"You'll see."
He leaned his head back against the wall and let her work.
...Maybe you'll sit and sigh, wishing that I were near...
"Why do you always play this music?" she asked after a few moments of comfortable silence, still hunched over his wrist as she marked him.
"I like it. It's...different. Simple. Innocent."
"It's sad."
"But hopeful."
"It's sad."
He shrugged.
"Ooo, I love this part." He bobbed his head in time with the simple beat.
"Maybe, you'll ask me to come back again. And maybe I'll say 'Maybe.' " He sang along, voice gruff and untrained, eyes closed, breathing in the sound.
She paused and watched him get lost in the music. He looked so sure in that maybe. She wished she could join him.
His eyes opened, catching her in her stare, pointedly matching her second for second.
"What am I doing here Kate?"
She went back to drawing on his wrist, the doodle climbing up towards the top of his hand.
"You're here because I need you here."
"No you don't."
"I do."
"Don't say that."
"I do," she repeated with extra emphasis.
"You need to face what happened...and what you did."
She ignored him, choosing instead to focus on her drawing where she carefully traced the lines of a new shape over his hand as the tenor continued to croon about maybe's.
"Kate, every moment you hide-"
"I'm not hiding. I know what I did. And I'm not ashamed of it," she said, punctuating her words with the capping of the pen. She leaned back to admire her work for the first time.
Together they surveyed the scene sprawling across his skin, scribbles of red blending into an elaborate storyboard. Over the back of his wrist, in stunning detail, a snarling dragon blasted a steady stream of fire over a graveyard of books. Propped up like tombstones, they burned in neat rows. The back of his hand featured a shadowy figure, bathed in fire itself, but leveling a handgun towards the monstrous creature. Emerging from the flashing muzzle of the gun was a bullet, speeding down his wrist towards the menacing villain.
For a long time they were silent, mesmerized by the images played out in skin and ink.
..Maybe, you'll ask me to come back again. And maybe I'll say 'Maybe.'...
"I killed him," she whispered finally.
He nodded.
"I killed him because he killed-" Her throat caught on the words and she shook her head, closing her eyes tightly. "I killed him."
She repeated it again. And again. Until he moved his hand from her grip and pushed his sleeve back down. She opened her eyes and stared blankly at the spot his arm once occupied, like she was looking into another world, while he slid off the bed and encouraged her to lay back down on her side. He tucked her legs back under the covers before dragging the thin blanket across her shoulders.
The tenor and guitar faded into static once more.
"Go to sleep," he whispered, touching his lips to her forehead softly.
"Goodnight Castle," she mumbled with a nod.
"Until tomorrow Detective."
A sweet little string of piano notes fluttered by as the static shifted back to music. Kate closed her eyes, the ghost of a smile on her lips.
I'm making believe that you're in my arms, though I know you're so far away. Making believe I'm talking to you. Wish you could hear what I say...
She whispered along with the lyrics, lyrics she knew by heart, her near-nightly lullaby. She drifted back to sleep, Ella Fitzgerald crooning sadly in her ear. And when she woke the radio was gone, and so was he. Like always. Vanished from her eight by ten cell by daybreak.
The doctor would not be pleased.
A/N - So yeah, this one is really random and kinda weird. I originally started writing it for the Castle Fan Awards from the prompt - Castle & Beckett stuck in an empty room with a radio, a cat, a sharpie and a single cup of coffee - but I didn't finish it in time for the submission date and forgot about it. I resurrected it this week and finished it (sans the cat). It's purposefully ambiguous but still random and weird. Not much else to say.
The three songs referenced are "I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire," "Maybe," and "I'm Making Believe" by a 1930s/40s doo-wop group called The Ink Spots (that last one features Ella Fitzgerald as well). They're really worth the listen and can be easily found on youtube if you're interested (fans of the video game Fallout 3 know them well).
As usual, please review. I appreciate even a simple "like" or "dislike" and in this case maybe even a "wtf?"
Fight On and You'll Never Walk Alone