"Feeling the moment slip away
Losing direction you're losing faith
You're wishing for someone, feeling it all begin to slide"
Feeling a Moment – Feeder
Castle flicked his eyes to his phone and ground his teeth in frustration. Each second was weighted with the feeling of eternity. Usually Beckett was good at letting him know when she was going to be home late. She would text or quickly call and mutter an apology for another postponed dinner. She was only ten minutes late as it was, but this time felt different. He'd barely heard from her all afternoon and he was genuinely worried. He glanced at his three unanswered texts and sighed. It couldn't hurt to try. He pressed her name and pulled the phone to his ear. It rang out. Each shrill ring grinding his heart and skyrocketing his anxiety.
He tried to busy himself with dinner. Eleven minutes. Still no word. He added the rice noodles to the stir-fry, the finishing touch of preparing their meal. The meat was beginning to burn. He debated turning it off. The merits of the food being overcooked versus eating it cold. Another glance at his phone. Surely, she'd be here any second now. Must just be traffic. That was it.
Twelve minutes. He was beginning to wonder if his phone was faulty. Last week he'd missed a call and the thing hadn't even rung. He'd been holding it. Maybe that was happening again. He considered calling his daughter to test it out, but he ran the risk of missing a call from Beckett if he did that. He settled for frowning at the device, turning it over in his hands. He flicked it on and off silent a couple times, just in case it was stuck and the ringer was switched off.
Another glance at dinner and he decided he would have to switch the electric frypan off. Thirteen minutes. He shoved the lid unto the frypan and watched condensation begin to form under the glass. He could feel his heart picking up pace until it was beating just that little bit too quickly. He was worried. He turned his phone over in his hands nervously, eyes flicking to the screen every couple of seconds. Fourteen minutes.
The long window in his study offered a reasonable view of the street below. It was after dark, but he could still make out the colours of the cars passing beneath. He paced beside the glass, eyes locked on the road. Each time a car roared around the corner his heart leapt. Fifteen minutes. It sunk just as quickly. His eyes taking in the generic black sedan. He was aching with it. His heart pounding and plummeting with every nondescript vehicle. He was torn between keeping his line of sight fixed firmly on the street or his phone. He rapidly flicked between the two, worried he would miss something if he devoted too much time to either. Sixteen minutes.
He tried to talk himself down. He was being insane. She always came home. She had been late other times. It wasn't that far out of the routine. His heart interrupted his rational brain, but, but, but… she usually calls, she knows you worry, this is out of the ordinary.
Seventeen minutes. He was beginning to feel physically ill. He took a break from the window, deciding to check on dinner. Large steamy water drops coated the lid now. The mix of meat, vegetables and noodles within now beginning to resemble slush. It was fine. He'd lost his appetite now anyway. He liked to pride himself on his timing. Eighteen minutes. He aimed to be plating up dinner as she walked into the door. She always beamed at him and seemed to toss the stress from the day from her shoulders as she sunk into the dining chair. He liked that he could do that. Meet her needs in that simple way. God knows she was terrible at feeding herself appropriately at the end of a long day. Takeout temple that her apartment had been. Nineteen minutes.
He wasn't proud of himself, but he was already somewhat panicking about the time he'd spent in the kitchen. What if her cruiser had pulled in as he was busy turning his nose up at his carefully prepared dinner? He sprinted back to the study window, cursing the delay that slowing for door frames cost him. Twenty minutes. There was a car turning into the street. His heart latched to his throat. His hands were clammy. His mouth dry. Damn. Not hers. He felt the crushing weight of it and tried to inhale a breath of air into his stale lungs. He choked on it and slammed a fist into his heaving chest, a barked cough escaping. Twenty-one minutes.
His phone buzzed and he released a silent prayer. Please be her. His hands flipped the message open frenziedly. Not Beckett. That was all he could register. Tears pricked his eyes. He was being irrational.
"C'mon Beckett," he growled to the empty apartment. "Call me dammit," he hissed at the dull screen of his phone.
Twenty-two minutes.
Twenty-three minutes.
He was becoming frantic. If she wasn't dead, he was going to kill her for worrying him like this. He spat the thought out like it was toxic. He began to worry in earnest. He thought about turning on the television. It would be on the news if some sort of incident had gone down, right? Or maybe he was better off checking online. Twitter? He couldn't even call the boys. Beckett had been working alone all day. That caused him to stress even more. Twenty-four minutes. He really, really hoped she was okay. She had to be. He couldn't do this by himself. He didn't want to do this by himself. He loved her. He loved her so damn much.
Maybe there had been an accident?
Maybe she'd chased down the wrong suspect?
Maybe it had gone bad?
Maybe she was hurt?
Maybe? Maybe? Maybe? His head was spinning.
Each second was lasting much longer than its allocated quota. Twenty-five minutes. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time was tormenting him. He could hear every aggravating movement of the seconds hand on the old desk clock that sat in his study.
Twenty-six minutes.
A click. Barely discernible. A key hitching in a lock. Could it be?
Twenty-six minutes and seventeen seconds. A clunk now. The key turning?
Twenty-six minutes and twenty-five seconds. He runs for the front door.
Twenty-six minutes and thirty-three seconds. The door pushes open. He catches a glimpse of her hand on the doorknob.
Twenty-six minutes and thirty-seven seconds. He resists the urge to sink to his knees in relief. He bites back sharp tears of relief.
Twenty-six minutes and forty-two seconds. She eyes him apologetically, a quick scan of his face has her reaching for him instead.
Twenty-six minutes and forty-three seconds. He holds her a little bit tighter than usual. She can feel it, he knows. She gives him the moment she can tell he needs. She presses a fierce kiss to the underside of his chin, where she is nuzzled in his embrace.
"I'm so sorry, Castle," she sighs.
"I'm just glad you're home," he replies gruffly, he can't mask the raw emotion colouring his tone.
"I got stuck in an interview and I left my phone on my desk. I shoved it into my pocket without checking it and rushed home. I saw your messages in the elevator just now. I am really, really sorry that I had you so worried," her voice was both pleading and soothing. He released her from his arms with a watery chuckle.
"You hungry?" he motioned towards the kitchen.
"Famished," she grinned. She hovered, following him as he spooned generous helpings of stir-fry into bowls. Her lips curved into a slight frown as she eyed the limp beans. Castle noticed and shrugged.
"It's a little overcooked now. Sorry about that."
"No. It's perfect. Thank you," Beckett sighed shaking her head. She carried her bowl to the table and shuffled her chair closer to Castle's. She gripped his hand with one of hers, silently raising her fork to her mouth with her other.
Castle ate slowly. With each mouthful he managed to push another worst case scenario from his mind, his worry dissipating. He was home. She was home. They were okay.
Even so, he couldn't help but worry about next time…
"How do you feel when there's no sun
And how will you be when rain clouds
Come and pull you down again
How do you feel when there's no one"
AN: I've had this story weighing on my mind for a while now. The tragedy in Dallas sparked it once again. As a police spouse you worry every single time that they go to work. Their safety is no certainty with any shift. It's a terrible feeling, especially when something like this happens and they're running late and incommunicable. There's a little part of me that worries every time my SO walks out the door. Please, when you encounter a cop treat them well. Remember that they too have loved ones. Thank you for reading.