A/N: This is a post-Hunt imagining, because I'm scared we won't get a reunion scene on the show. If we do, I'm sure it will be better than this.
Can I just thank everyone who's been enjoying these 'Colors' one-shots and letting me hear their views by review and PM. This fandom really is an amazing place to be.
Cloudy Days and Silver Linings
"Oh, darling, look. They're here," says Martha excitedly, clinging onto Kate's hand, her eyes gleaming brightly with teetering, unshed tears.
The feel of the older woman's warm, dry grip around hers is oddly comforting; an anchor keeping Kate here when she still has the occasional, heart fluttering urge to flee, worried that she's crossing some invisible line, intruding on what should be a private family moment.
Martha left her in no doubt about where her place is when she voiced these concerns a few seconds ago, telling her in no uncertain terms:
"You are a part of this family, Kate Beckett. Your place is here, as much as anyone's."
They got the call several hours ago back at the loft, while the pair of them alternately paced the living room floor and idly chatted about nothing either of them will ever remember, just to pass the dragging ache of time, jumping out of their skins every time the phone rang.
And then finally it rang for the right reason: 'wheels up' confirmed. Alexis and Castle were airborne and on their way back from France.
Kate spent the next several hours sleeping fitfully on Castle's couch, her rest disturbed frequently by dark, troubling dreams, while Martha dozed in an armchair or read quietly on a stool in the kitchen by the meagre light above the stove.
And now finally they are here, at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey - a smaller, non-commercially viable airport, specializing in private aviation charter, just 12 miles from midtown Manhattan - awaiting the arrival of the Gulfstream G3 Castle chartered for the return leg of his mercy mission to save his daughter and bring her home.
"Detective, Tower just confirmed. Flight JAS124 is cleared for approach on Runway 6. They should be touched down and on the taxiway within the next couple of minutes and parked up over by the Jet Aviation hanger within the next ten. If y'all just wanna sit tight right here, I'll come by and get you as soon as they're on the ramp."
Martha hugs Kate hard, with a strength that is no match for her age and delicate frame, and in that instant Kate sees in her eyes the strain she's been fighting to keep hidden from her for the last several days. The two women forced into the role of unlikely comforters, while one beloved son and cherished partner waged a private war a long way from home, as they stood reluctantly on the sidelines, unable to do more than wait, pray and hope.
The aircraft - thin, sleek, and built to carry just eight passengers - noses its way slowly, elegantly, towards the ramp. Kate catches sight of the sun glinting off the bullet-shaped fuselage, dazzling when it strikes the silvered tailfin design, and her breath catches in her throat as the narrow-bodied jet turns, seemingly on a dime, headed towards the private charter airline's hangar facility.
And she's like a racehorse in the starting gate, literally pawing at the ground with the toe of her boot on the squeaky lino, desperate to get out there, but terrified at the same time. Because on the last call she managed to get through to him, the line went dead with the sharp, heart-stopping report of automatic gunfire before they could share anything of substance. And then not seven hours ago they finally got the message they had been waiting for, relayed by the FBI – that Alexis was safe and secure, and they were both on a flight bound for home.
She knows none of the details, and needs to know nothing more for now than that they are both safe and well, and that their life can return to the unusual rhythm they call normal – a comfortingly familiar soundtrack of body drops, paperwork, publishing, and this amazing relationship of theirs that continues to surprise her and bring increasing amounts of pleasure and joy into her once sterile, lonely life.
Kate looks over at Martha once they both see the crack appear in the airtight seam around the aircraft door, followed closely by the slow descent of the aircraft steps onto the tarmac.
Her partner's mother grins at her, eyes twinkling with love and gratitude and the selfless, maternal gift of permission.
"Go!" she insists, gripping Kate's elbow. "Go, my dear, before they get here and all hell lets loose."
"Are you sure?"
"Use whatever influence you have, Kate. But get to my son before the FBI and Special Agent What's-His-Name spirit him away for some God awful debriefing session."
Kate takes both of Martha's hands in her own, gives the woman a quick, impulsive kiss on the cheek and then she nods in agreement.
"Go," Martha adds again, shooing Kate away with her hands. "I'll be waiting right here."
Kate heads towards the glass door that leads out onto the apron in front of the small passenger terminal. A security guard is stationed by the exit and she shows him her badge to gain access airside.
"Ma'am, I really shouldn't…without the proper clearance…"
"That's okay, Jimmy," advises the Airline Dispatcher who's been taking care of them. "You can let Detective Beckett pass," he nods, turning to Kate to add, "Stay on the apron, Ma'am, inside the white lines, and keep an eye out for tugs."
Kate's hair is caught by a gust of wind the second she steps outside, and it's refreshing and invigorating after so many hours shut up indoors, waiting by the phone for a call that seemed as if it would never come. Fluffy grey clouds scud across the open expanse of sky, and she sucks in a lungful of fresh air to steady herself.
Her eyes are trained solely on the private jet, its engines now powered down, parked up not forty feet away outside a large, painted hangar. The cavernous building is so starkly reminiscent of the one where Captain Montgomery met his end that it sends a shiver racing down her spine.
But then her eyes land on the aircraft steps and the familiar dark head of hair and broad set of shoulders that emerges from inside, the tall figure ducking to exit the plane, and she thinks her heart might just stop from the sight of him alone.
Castle is wholly unaware of her proximity when he looks from left to right, descending the short set of steps with deliberate care, physical exhaustion bowing his normally upright posture as he grips onto the thin, metal handrail. But when she calls out his name, his head instantly whips in the direction of her voice, and his drawn, tight expression lightens up in a heartbeat, eyes flashing with excitement and surprise.
"Castle!" she yells, her voice whipped away on another gust of damp, salty air from the nearby Hackensack Meadowlands.
"Kate?" he yells back, as if he can't believe that she is actually here.
"Castle," she calls out again, running now to get to him.
"Kate," he repeats, his part in this call and response she has initiated, starting to move quickly towards her too.
When she reaches him, she launches herself at him, all cool disregard and careful self-control flown out the window these days where this man is concerned. Kate wraps her arms around his neck, reveling in the tight, harsh, wonderfully crushing grip he responds with, and in that instant everything is okay. It's okay, because he's here and he's alive, and there will be time for harsh words and inquisitions later. But for right now, all that matters is his warm, solid presence in her arms, and the rough scrape of his unshaven jaw against her cheek.
Kate laughs and then sobs, her feet lifted clean off the ground as Castle spins them both round.
"I thought you were gone," she confesses, another sob escaping her throat, when he finally puts her back on the floor, holding tight to her waist to keep them both upright.
"No. No, Kate. I told you. Never, never, never," he repeats, like a mantra, not for the first time, though she hopes this will be the last time he has to promise her these words.
"Alexis?" she asks, pulling back to look at his face, tenderly cupping his cheek with her hand, stroking the dark circle beneath his right eye with her thumb.
"Still asleep inside," he tells her, indicating the jet. "Physically, she's fine. Sara too. But they're both exhausted."
"You look pretty exhausted yourself," she tells him honestly, smoothing her hand through his hair, unable to stop herself from looking, touching, caressing and wanting him.
"Always with the compliments, detective," he jokes, a tired smile lighting up his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, a special kind of relief rushing through Kate that he can do this so soon after everything.
"Still ruggedly handsome though," she adds, stretching up on tiptoe to finally meet his lips with her own in a bruising kiss that almost knocks them off their feet.
Castle moans loudly into her mouth, his fingers fisting in the back of her red wool coat, before freeing themselves to work through the soft curls of her hair, to squeeze her waist, cup the back of her neck, map her curves; claiming all of her again.
"God, I needed that," he gasps, when they finally break apart. "I missed you. Oh, I missed you," he tells her quietly, urgently, pressing his nose into her hair, lost to everything but each other, ignoring the sturdy, rumbling tanker that trundles past on it's way to refuel the Gulfstream.
"I missed you too," she admits, kissing his cheek, his eye, brushing her face against his neck, needing more of him, but knowing that will have to wait. "Welcome home, Castle," she whispers, shivering when he exhales against her neck, brushing his lips over her throat.
"Feels good to be back."
"Martha is waiting inside," she tells him, after a moment of just being together; of stillness.
"How's she doing?" he asks, fingers pressing into the tightly bunched muscles either side of her spine again, as he holds her firmly against his own needful body, not yet ready to let her go.
"She's one tough lady, your mom. Quite amazing actually. I think I can see where her son gets his courage and determination," she says, in an unknowingly prophetic statement. "But I think she could really use a hug."
"Yeah. I should probably…" he says, nodding in the direction of the small terminal building.
"Castle, FBI is on its way. Agent Harris wants a debrief," Kate warns him, and he drops his head onto her shoulder, letting out a long, exhausted breath.
Kate cradles the back of his head, steadying him for a second or two, until he stands upright again without leaning on her.
"I'll do what I can to fend them off, you know that. But they're going to want to know everything. CIA possibly too. And Paula's been dealing with the media. But you should prepare yourself for a reception committee outside the loft."
"I know. I just…I want to get Alexis home and settled. She's been through one hell of an ordeal. And I want time for us, Kate. To explain. To apologize."
"I know," she nods sadly, reaching up to caress the side of his eye with her fingertips, her tender gaze darting to his lips and up again into those beautiful, earnest, twin pools of blue. "But that'll keep. We're all good for now."
"Thank you," he tells her, kissing her lightly on the lips. "I'll make it up to you. I promise."
"I know you will," she tells him quietly, the sound of a noisy, twin-engine puddle-jumper pushing back almost drowning her out.
"Did someone call the El-Masri's?"
"Gates did. They're on their way."
Just as they're getting ready to face the rest of the world and the demanding chaos that awaits them when they exit this private little bubble they've created for themselves, a man appears over Castle's shoulder. The white shock of hair and tall, upright frame exiting the cabin of the aircraft catches Kate's attention. He's dressed all in black, but even from this distance she can tell that his outfit is no pilot's uniform. So she turns Castle in her arms to face the hangar.
"Who's that guy over there?" she asks, something about the man at once strikingly familiar and yet disturbingly strange.
"You're never going to believe this," says Castle, waving to the man, before taking her hand and leading her back towards the small plane. "Kate, I want you to come meet my father."
Silver noun or adj: a metallic color tone resembling grey that is a representation of the color of polished silver. The color silver has a feminine energy; it is related to the moon and the ebb and flow of the tides - it is fluid, emotional, sensitive and mysterious. It is soothing, calming and purifying.
Thoughts?