He's shocked, of course. It doesn't matter how many homicide scenes he's visited, nor how many people have wronged him in one way or another, he still hadn't expected Sophia Turner to be the bad guy. He definitely wouldn't have predicted she'd pull a gun on them while he and Beckett were on their way to save the world from war.
Castle gives. Trusts. Loves. He stands with arms wide open.
It makes him an easy target.
Perhaps in this situation it doesn't matter, though. Maybe there's nothing that he could have done differently. After all, Beckett is all shields and thorns and she would write it this way nine times out of ten if that were her domain, but she's in no better position now. They're both being held in a large room with a small chance, their voices echoing with the same abandon as his heartbeat within his chest.
Tilting his head as though the act will afford him a better view of the riddle he failed to solve, Castle studies his former muse and allows the memories of their time together to surface. The occasional glance back to Beckett both grounds him and sends him tumbling. The two women are brilliant and beautiful, but while his hands could still perfectly map the body of one, he's after the heart of the other. And though both have inspired him in ways for which he'll always be grateful, one is evil.
The other is extraordinary.
There's finally a flicker of surprise from Beckett when Sophia spits Russian at them with palpable derision, but Beckett regains her composure even as she's forced to kneel beside him, their execution stalled only by their assassin's desire to play with her prey a while longer.
Castle has barely shaken his initial confusion when Sophia brings up his father and he has to convince himself that there's no pity radiating from his partner, has to stay focused even as he wants answers. His father is a subject he's buried a dozen times over the years - the accompanying emotions, too - but Sophia kicking up dirt makes him want to dig. There's very little that could distract him from death as well as the insinuation of spy games being dangled before him.
Kate Beckett, as usual, is the exception to the rule; he's reeling when Sophia taunts him with feelings of a different kind.
"You're as clueless about your father as you are about her," Sophia mocks, jerking her head toward Beckett as he stares over his shoulder.
"What? Are you trying to tell me she's in the CIA, too?" he asks.
"No, I'm trying to tell you she's in love with you."
"Stop, Sophia." Beckett's tone is a warning he's heard and ignored for a few years now; it has no effect on the traitor standing above him.
"It's difficult to imagine you've been anything but a burden to the NYPD if you can't even see what's right in front of you. Your help with an actual investigation is almost unfathomable."
"Leave him alone," comes another demand, each word carrying a tremor he hadn't noticed before.
Sophia snorts as she walks a wide circle, then faces them, her weapon steady. "Leave him alone, or leave you alone? Is the fearless detective afraid of having her secrets spilled? Your blood will follow, sweetheart, so I think he might as well hear the truth, don't you?"
"I don't need anything," he interrupts.
"Sure you do," Sophia snaps, her eyes darting back to him. "You need words. You always have. They tether you, give you the kind of security you've searched for and lost more times than you can remember. And maybe she's offered up something vague, just enough to give you hope, but she hasn't cared enough to confess it all and you're too cowardly to push for more."
"He is not a coward," Beckett hisses.
"I'd argue you both are. Years of dancing around something that turned from lust to love a while ago." Sophia smirks. "I'm guessing he fell first. He usually does."
"None of time we've spent together is any of your business," Castle argues.
"Oh, really? Then let's ask your darling detective why she thought the time you and I spent together was any of her concern." He notices Beckett's spine straighten, but she remains silent when Sophia continues. "I have to say, while I've enjoyed watching her practically seethe whenever I've stepped into the room, I got a real kick out of knocking her hopes askew when she asked why you and I didn't last. I made it sound like there was nothing left after the sexual tension was gone, but that was a lie, wasn't it? That tension was always there. Heightened. Perfect."
"Not so perfect. I walked away when the inspiration dried up."
"You walked away when I let you." She smiles again and pivots back to Beckett. "It's really too bad you'll never be able to consummate this little thing simmering between you. The man knows his way around a woman's body."
"Please-" Castle wishes he could think of a way out, but he's not convinced there is one; Beckett doesn't look any more confident.
"Oh, don't worry. I need to wrap this up and make sure a little girl is dead. So, Detective, any last minute declarations of love or will you be taking all of those to your grave?"
Everyone is quiet for a moment, and though he had allowed his gaze to slip under the weight of embarrassment, he reconnects with Beckett and forces himself to face these last seconds with the kind of intimacy he wishes they'd shared elsewhere. She meets him halfway and it's all there for him to see, the truth he'd confessed the year before mirrored back to him now.
There's another gun aimed at her today, but maybe their love is only spoken aloud after bullets have pierced someone's skin.
"Kate, you don't have to-"
She's still staring at him, her mouth moving as though she's willing the words to get in line, her voice lost somewhere further back. The admission itself would be rather simple; Beckett is anything but. "No, Castle, I should-"
"Shhh, it's okay. I already-"
They both duck when the shot comes, loud and unrepentant, but it's Sophia who falls between them, her blood pooling in place of their own. Agent Danberg sprints toward them, whisks Beckett away a second later, and leaves Castle alone to reflect upon the betrayal of one woman and the love of another.
Both are silent.
By the time Danberg says his goodbyes at the 12th the following morning, Castle has had time to absorb their latest near-death experience and he approaches Beckett with the kind of cautious curiosity that he thinks probably protects them both.
"You think she was telling the truth? About my father?"
"I think that Sophia told a lot of lies," Beckett responds, steadying herself for what they know he'll ask next.
"But she didn't lie about everything, did she?"
"No," she admits, a wistful hum carrying the word toward him. "Not everything. But Castle, you need to know that she was way off about you. You're not a coward, not a burden. Not even close."
"You're not a coward either."
Beckett gazes out the window, as though the promise of fresh air might make it easier to breathe. "Thanks, but I think Sophia may have had that one right."
He gives her a minute. Allows her the space to condemn and forgive herself in a cycle he's sure she's repeated a thousand times before. But when her bottom lip is captured by the sharp end of a tooth and the crease between her brows begins to deepen, Castle speaks up.
"I sort of rushed out of the loft this morning to get here in time to see Danberg. Didn't get to grab breakfast first." He pauses to rub his stomach with the kind of dramatic flair likely to make her smile. "Care to join me?"
Not only does Beckett offer up the smile he hoped for, but she also stands to follow him into the bullpen. "Remy's or your place?"
"Do you have a preference?"
"Well, Remy's probably won't force me to try a smorelette," she teases, nudging his shoulder as they move past the detectives' desks. "But the quiet of the loft would be nice."
And so they go, with no acknowledgment of the past, nor assurances for the future. Just that simple touch as they leave the precinct side by side.
He gets to share breakfast with the woman he loves and it's enough for now.
The words can wait.
A/N: Another year, another happy birthday wish for M. Here's one more thank you for all your support as I string some words together with the hope that others will find them entertaining.