A/N: This is another one-shot in the 'Colors' series. A post-Hunt musing inspired in part by Stana's red dress at the pre-Oscars luncheon for Canadian nominees. Not something that will ever happen on the show, just a glimpse inside my messy little shipper mind. Very mild spoilers for 5x16. This story time jumps back and forth a little, so watch out for that.
'Hell bound, hopeless for you
Nothing left to hold on to
Hell bound, helpless, it's true
It's crimson crystal view'
Morcheeba, 'Crimson'
Your Crimson Red Blush
"So, what do we tell them?" asks Kate, dabbing her lips with her napkin before dropping it back onto her lap.
A vivid smudge of Dior's Ara Red lipstick marks the starched white linen like a bloodstain, and Castle stares at the spot before looking up at her face. Her mouth looks ripe, full, and slightly swollen, his kisses in the car on the way to dinner too urgent, too needy for where they were headed and why. But he couldn't get enough of her and he was done holding back and he just…he needed to do this in order to move on, to move forward.
He just hoped that she was ready too.
"Well, we…we tell them that…that you need to take a leave of absence. Kate, you've worked non-stop since you joined the force. No one should begrudge you a little time off."
"For a vacation?"
"Honeymoon. Not the same thing," he argues, tasting the wonder of that word on his tongue - a honeymoon - and all the magic it conveys.
Her ring is glittering in the flickering radiance of the candlelight where her left hand rests next to his on the linen-covered tabletop, their pinky fingers casually hooked together. She can't keep this wide, crazy, stupid grin off her face, and her red dress… He just wants to marry her right here, right now, looking as beautiful and stunning and glowing as she looks tonight.
"It's still a trip overseas, Castle, while the guys pick up the slack for four whole weeks."
"It's Paris, Kate," he says earnestly, taking her hand. "And then Burgundy and the Côte d'Azur. Look, I…I know that I hurt you when I took off to find Alexis by myself. I'm supposed to be your partner and you mine. I lied to you. I lied to my mother. I'm not proud of what I did, but…"
"But you'd do it again…" she interjects, seeing the plain truth written all over his face.
"I just wanted to bring my little girl back…safely. You know that."
"Castle it's not that you lied or ran off to deal with it on your own. I might not be a mother, but I do understand your need to find her, to fight for her. It was that you thought I wouldn't help you or…I don't know…that you didn't trust me enough. That I wouldn't be willing to do whatever it took to get her back. That's what hurt the most."
"We've been over this, Kate. You're a cop. You took an oath to protect and serve. I was trying to protect you. You would have been working outside your jurisdiction, outside the law, unable to use your weapon…"
"And you were so much better equipped?" she asks, her face flaming with the barely contained anger that still surges to the surface now and again when she thinks of all the ways this could have gone spectacularly wrong.
And she remembers L.A. and how he stuck to her like glue, wouldn't leave her alone until she agreed to let him help, and it smarts, it really does, the inequity of it all; the lopsided truth.
But he understands now that her reaction comes from a place of fear; fear born out of love. And that helps.
They had one hell of a fight when he got back with Alexis. She froze him out for two whole days, and when he showed up at her apartment on the third night, desperate to explain, desperate to put them back together again, they fought – physically fought - until the pair of them ended up on her living room floor, bruised and in tears, a vase smashed just inside her hallway, a picture frame containing a photo of Kate and her dad cracked and broken on the coffee table.
It was one ungodly disaster.
But she picked them up, physically lifted him off the floor, a sobbing mess of guilt and remorse, not for what he'd done to get his daughter back, but for what he'd done to his partner in the process. Since they'd been together, they'd never felt so estranged. It took him back to fights of old, to angry exchanges in this exact spot, throwing around punishing words like, 'You think you know me. But you don't' and 'You know what this is? This is over!'
Only it wasn't.
They were both in too deep, and once Kate Beckett was committed to something that mattered to her she wasn't willing to let it go. So she rinsed his bleeding hand under her bathroom faucet, gently patted it dry, bandaged the cut, and then she'd led him wordlessly into her bedroom, undressed him and took him to bed.
They had curled around one another, their bodies a tangled mass of aching limbs, grasping fingers, bruised lips and needy, tender hearts, never able to get close enough. His head lay against her stomach eventually, her fingers slipping over and over again through his soft, dark hair, until he slept with a frown on his tearstained face.
Being away from her, when he'd fled to France to rescue Alexis, had been a catharsis of its own - a revelation - this, the first real time they had spent apart since finally getting together so many months ago. He missed her viscerally, with a physical ache. He was focused on the task in hand – fighting to secure his daughter's life, dealing with the shock of finally meeting his father, and yet through every second of that - every terrifying experience, every heart-stopping, knife-edge negotiation - he carried Kate Beckett with him.
He wanted to ask her what she thought of every tiny detail, wanted to share every vista, wanted to hear her converse in French like she sometimes would for him late at night; lying in his bed, tangled up in a web of his sweat drenched body and cool, crisp sheets, whispering sweet, sexy-sounding phrases to him in the darkness.
She seemed to know exactly what he needed on that night too, back at her apartment, while they healed and he drifted, half-conscious, warmed by her body and her fierce determination to fix them.
To forgive.
He heard her lilting, poetic words pierce the silence, his eyes drifting heavily closed, pulled down into the depths by sleep as she whispered to him.
"Tu me manques quand tu n'es pas avec moi. Je désespère quand la vie nous sépare. Tu tiens mon cœur dans tes mains...toujours. Les siècles des siècles, jusqu'à la fin des temps."
And so they had made it work. They had put themselves back together again, mended the cracks, built back the trust, made their relationship stronger after the horror of it all, both feeling a deep revulsion for the alternative.
Kate worked with Alexis through the aftershocks, earning her trust and respect. Not because of how well she treated her dad anymore, but because of how willing she was to share her own difficult experience and expose the complexities of her personal nightmare journey back to recovery with her as an equal, an adult. No wrapping in cotton wool, no soft soap, just good, solid advice on the harsh realities of staring down a trauma like the one she'd just gone through, and kind, honest words about the hard work that lay ahead to help her eventually make peace with everything that had happened.
That short, distressing time apart had made Kate and Castle both reevaluate, separately, think more deeply – about their future, about disaster planning, about all those what if's that pop into your brain just as your head hits the pillow at night, robbing you of sleep and pleasant dreams. But mostly, about not wasting anymore time.
So he took a risk, bought a ring, planned this dinner and crossed his fingers for the best, hoping she wanted this as much as he did; hoping that the harsh reality of their precarious life had buffed the hard edges off both of them, so the fit would be perfect. Like a piece of sea glass, tossed and smoothed by the surf, turned from an object mundane into a thing of beauty over time.
He waited until their entree dishes had been cleared, and then he looked at her, really looked at this beautiful, fierce, independent woman sitting by his side - her soft shoulders bare, her crimson red, strapless dress, stunning him all over again, and then he took a breath and felt a blanket of calm settle over him.
It wasn't showy, splashy, Richard Castle of old. It was sincere, from the heart, and the most certain he'd ever felt doing this.
He cleared his throat and covered her hand with his.
"Kate, I want us to be a family. I love you...so much. Being apart from you taught me, if I needed the lesson at all, that I see my future in you…in us. And I would love nothing more than to be your husband, if you'll have me?"
The surprise was definitely there, the naked shock, and, after a second or two, maybe even a hint of delight. Her sumptuous mouth formed a tantalizing red 'O'. And then she smiled, her cheeks flushed, and she nodded slowly, then more eagerly, her eyes never leaving his, tears glittering like diamonds against her lashes.
He produced the ring box from his pocket, cracked open the lid, and she actually emitted a breathy gasp when she saw what was inside. He slid it onto her trembling finger, cradling her hand in his, and it fit perfectly; just like they did.
When she kissed him, it was soft, deep, and so, so sweet, as she poured her answer into him so that he could feel how sincerely she meant it. Her left hand slid round behind his neck, the cool press of her engagement ring branding his skin, while her lips warmed his heart.
"You won't regret this, Kate," he had whispered, his forehead pressed against hers, noses nudging, her wrist wrapped securely in his hand, thumb caressing her racing pulse.
"I don't intend to. First and last time, Castle. You and me."
Crimson red noun: a strong, bright, deep reddish purple. Adj: Resembling the color of blood or cherries or rubies.
Thoughts?