In any attack launched on a castle, there is always a safe spot. That little sliver of land between the cannon's firing range and that of the archers. It is the enemy's goal to stay in that tiny spot as long as they can, without the protectors figuring out a way to kill them even there. The attackers try as hard as they possibly can to knock down that big stone wall. To hit the heart of the castle.
But do you know what they hardest part of the battle is? It's not loading the guns. It's not standing out in the hot sun. It's not even watching others crash and die, knowing that's probably your fate. It's sitting there in the small little safe spot, trying to work up the courage to run through the fire, straight to the door of that castle and just barge your way in.
This is where he sat. His toes hanging over the invisible line between safe and not. So he sat there, trying to figure out what his next move would be. A move that would finally knock down the strong, carefully constructed wall that was Kate Beckett. But also a move that wouldn't make her run away, go out the back door into her reserve haven.
This invisible line people talk about. Where is it? Well, in this circumstance, the line is situated right in front of her door. Rick's feet inched forward, almost daring himself to step across the line and knock on the door. He looked down the hall and out the little window, out at the darkness of the New York night. Maybe she's already asleep, he thought to himself but the rational part of his brain told him the shuffling and hum of the radio weren't being caused by a sleeping person.
But remember, sometimes in war, decisions are made for you. Rick Castle found this out soon enough. He was about to give up and just go home when the elevator dinged and out stepped "Super-sized Sam" from down the hall.
"Excuse me, Mate," he huffed, trying to step around Rick, effectively slamming him into Beckett's door.
A moment later the beautiful detective opened the door, wondering what all the racket was. "Castle?" asked, surprised to see him on her doorstep at elven-thirty on a Friday night. "What're you doing here?"
"Ah," Rick stalled, rubbing the beading sweat off the back of his neck. "I… um… brought you dinner." He held up a bag of all their favorite Chinese goodies.
"Well, come in then," she offered after a minute.
