Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, and/or favorited this story so far! I hope this next part satisfies.
Getting Closer to Always
Chapter 2
Castle found himself entering the precinct, two coffees in hand, almost before he'd consciously realized he was heading there.
He got a few raised eyebrows from the uniforms he passed and then Esposito saw him as he got out onto Homicide's floor.
"Whoa, Castle, what's with the tie?" Espo called. "It's a little early for a date, isn't it?"
He forced a small laugh and waved a hand at Espo.
Beckett looked up and smiled at him before her gaze flickered down to his tie and she raised her eyebrows. "You look all dressed up today, Castle. What's the occasion?"
He handed her her coffee and sank into his seat, feeling better just from seeing her smile. (Damn. He was so easy.) "I was down at One PP," he answered briefly. "Figured I should look a little more formal."
She raised her eyebrows. "What on earth were you doing at One PP? Trying to get the Commissioner's permission to shadow more cops?" she asked rather teasingly.
"No!" he said too forcefully. He made a face. "No, absolutely not," he repeated, as he rather impatiently loosened his tie and took it off. "I was down at One PP to talk to the Review Board about Slaughter." He had dressed in a nicer, conservative suit and worn the tie to look like an influential, upstanding citizen and help him in sounding confident when he lied about Slaughter's behavior on the job—his mother had always said a performer became more confident and thereby more convincing in costume—but now that it was over, he just felt used. Why had he made such an effort as to dress up for something he was doing for Slaughter of all people?
"Oh." Her expression blanked for a moment at the mention of the other detective's name. "To speak against him?" she guessed.
He inwardly winced. "No, to speak on his behalf," he corrected quietly. He saw the look on her face and quickly added, "We made a deal—he would let me shadow him and I would defend him to the Review Board from being cited for excessive force."
No, that explanation didn't help. He was an idiot. How on earth could he possibly even hope for Kate Beckett to love him if this was the sort of thing he did, he suddenly wondered.
"So you lied to the Review Board?" she asked.
He grimaced a little and this time didn't try to hide it. Damn it. He knew she would hate that. She dealt with people who lied to the police every day and she hated it; she would hate it even more when it was to the Review Board that kept bad cops in check. "I… uh… evaded as much as I could. I didn't outright lie but I made some very vague, generic statements and… uh… let them draw their own conclusions." Or at least, he'd tried to. He hadn't been entirely successful, granted, so yeah, he'd had to outright lie a couple times but he didn't want to admit that to Beckett. The entire thing had left him leaving vaguely… unclean… and his feet had somehow directed him to the precinct—oh, who was he kidding, his feet had directed him to her even without his conscious direction. Because he wanted to believe again in the NYPD, be reminded that not all cops were like Slaughter. Because her smile always brightened his day, because a day never seemed quite right unless he saw her or talked to her or otherwise heard from her in some way.
She was silent for a moment and he waited for her to say that she could have told him so, that she knew getting involved with Slaughter wouldn't do anyone any good. But she didn't.
"Did it work?" she finally asked.
"Did what work?"
"Your evasive answers. Did the Board dismiss the excessive force charges against Slaughter?"
"Uh… yeah, they did. It was a divided vote but yeah, the dismissal side got the one extra vote it needed."
"Well, I guess that's something good."
He gaped at her. That was the absolute last thing he would have expected her to say. "But it's wrong! Beckett, you and I both know that Slaughter was guilty, has probably been guilty of using excessive force a lot more times than they charged him with."
"I know. But he'll get written up for it again, he always does, and maybe next time he won't get away with it."
"But why do you think it's a good thing he got away with it now?"
She met his eyes. "Because I know Slaughter and cops like him and Castle, if the Board had found him guilty of excessive force this time, even with your testimony, Slaughter wouldn't have left you alone. He would have blamed you."
He blinked. "You think he would have attacked me?"
"No, not that directly. Slaughter—he's not a total idiot, he knows better than to try to seriously injure you himself. But Castle, you're not a cop. Slaughter knows there's only so much he can do to try to intimidate a fellow cop into lying for him when he gets pulled up on disciplinary charges but with a civilian… Let's just say that bad cops like Slaughter have ways you don't even want to think about to harass civilians, generally making their lives hell, and there'd be very little that you or I could do to really stop him if he decided you were his enemy. Slaughter has friends—"
"Hard to believe a jerk like that knows the meaning of the word," he muttered but subsided as she gave him a look.
"He has friends in the force, mostly other cops like him, and if he decided you'd sabotaged him at the Board hearing today, he wouldn't have let that go. As you might have noticed, he's not exactly the forgiving type," she added, a touch of wry humor entering her voice. "He'd have found a way to get back at you by harassing you. He'd have hassled Alexis when she was at the ME's office…"
He sat up in dismay, remembering with a flare of panic what Slaughter had said about Alexis. Oh God, he hadn't even—he didn't want Slaughter coming within 50 feet of Alexis, didn't want Slaughter so much as breathing the same air as Alexis. "Alexis!"
"I'm saying he could have, Castle, but he won't," she quickly reassured him. "Because he got off. So he'll assume it was at least in part thanks to you vouching for him. So you—and Alexis—should be fine."
He stared at her. "So you—just now, when you said it was a good thing that Slaughter got off this time, that was… for me?"
God, he loved her.
She gave him a small smile. "Of course, Castle. You're my partner, it's what we do."
Partners. Having his back in life-threatening situations, yes, but she would protect anyone if she could. It was her job, her calling, and the type of person she was. He thought of how she'd had his back in the case he'd worked with Slaughter, the way she'd looked into it on her own, before he'd even asked her. He'd been touched and amazed but even there, a part of him had told him it was part of her job; she was a homicide detective, she would never want someone's killer to go free. This—this was something more, something different. This, as she'd freely acknowledged, hadn't been about his physical safety, just his peace of mind, really. And this involved Slaughter, a bad cop who was the sort that made the entire NYPD look bad, going unpunished for behavior that he knew Beckett abhorred. He knew Beckett; he knew how much she believed in the NYPD. She might not be blind to its flaws but she believed in it still, was loyal to it with all the loyalty she was capable of. But this—she had put him, his comfort, Alexis's peace of mind, above the NYPD. She had cared more about him…
And he remembered, again, with a force that the thought hadn't had until now—that he hadn't allowed the thought to have until now—that she had deliberately and knowingly broken NYPD rules about interfering with another cop's investigation—for him. She had broken the rules. And Beckett wasn't a rule-breaker. She only broke the rules for people she really, truly cared about—she'd broken the rules when Royce had been murdered, he knew she was willing to break any and all rules when it came to her mother's case—and he felt a stab of unease at this reminder that, after all, he had kept his own secrets from her, had lied to her too. And now, she had broken the rules, risked suspension from her job, for him. (He spared a minute to be thankful to whatever higher powers there might be that Slaughter had had this Review Board hearing pending; it would have kept Slaughter from reporting Beckett for her interference in his case since the last thing Slaughter would want was to get the attention of One PP at a time when he was already facing disciplinary action.)
This—this wasn't subtext, he thought rather vaguely. This was just… text… this was her telling him that he was more important to her than the NYPD—and surely she had to care for him for that to be true.
"Thank you." For having his back, for wanting to protect him from Slaughter, for caring.
She smiled, one of her real, glowing smiles that he swore illuminated her eyes, filled them with warmth. "Always."
Always.
Surely—surely—she couldn't smile at him like this, look at him with this warmth in her eyes, if she didn't care for him, if she didn't want more…
"And thanks for not saying I told you so," he added after a moment. "I've learned my lesson. From now on, I'm a one-detective writer."
She laughed softly. "Don't say that too loud or Espo and Ryan will hear and have their feelings hurt."
He grinned, suddenly hopeful, his heart thrilling. "Fine, I'm a one-detective-and-her-team writer," he amended.
"Doesn't have the same ring to it, though, does it?"
"No, it doesn't," he agreed. "I think I'm changing it back to just being a one-detective writer if you promise not to tell Espo and Ryan."
"Your secret's safe with me," she promised, a smile playing around her lips and putting green glints in her eyes.
He loved it when she was happy, playful, like this. She was always beautiful but in these times, she was so far beyond beautiful that he forgot how to breathe, forgot about the entire world, could only stare and think that he really could spend the rest of his life just looking at her and be happy.
He had to fight for some coherence but managed to say, "I think I've been spoiled these past few years, spending all this time with you, Esposito, Ryan, and others like Captain Montgomery, L.T., Officer Hastings and even Captain Gates."
"Spoiled—how so?"
"You're all good cops," he explained. "And I don't mean good, as in good at your jobs, although you are. I mean good, as in you've all kept your sense of honor as well as your sense of justice. You're on the side of the angels."
"Thanks."
He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug by way of demurring. "It's true. It's… easier, I think, to become a cop like Slaughter, who acts like he's above the law, who acts like it doesn't matter how you go about doing your job as long as you get results."
"Yeah, well, Captain Montgomery never let us believe that," she said quietly, as she always tended to speak of Montgomery.
"I know. He was a good man," he said equally quietly. "He made mistakes, big mistakes, but he was a good cop, a good man." It occurred to him that maybe the reason Montgomery had been so effective at teaching Beckett, Esposito, and Ryan to be such good cops was because he'd learned his lesson from working with Raglan as a rookie, had seen, first-hand, the domino effect of cops acting as if they were above the law.
She let out a shaky breath and managed the ghost of a smile. "Yeah, he was."
She looked too close to tears for his liking so he quickly added, "It's what I like so much about Nikki Heat too."
That succeeded in clearing up her expression as she raised her eyebrows at him. "You mean, aside from the fact that she's a fictional character you created?"
"Touché, Detective," he shot back. "I'll have you know I've created many characters I've disliked. No, what I like about Nikki—more than I like Derrick Storm, for example—is that she's good too."
"Derrick Storm was on the side of the angels, as you put it."
"Yeah, of course, he generally was, but Storm himself—not such a good guy, when it comes down to it. He's cool, efficient, gets nice cars and big guns and all the fun stuff to play with, but he's not a really admirable character. Nikki, on the other hand, is an admirable character. She's a role model."
He wondered if she realized, if she understood, that what he meant was that she was admirable. She was amazing—and so much more than Nikki was. And he realized at that moment that he really had forgiven her entirely for lying about what she remembered. He wasn't sure when it had happened but he had forgiven her and he wasn't even angry anymore. It still hurt—especially when he thought about that hellish last summer when she'd left him without a word for all the months of her recovery even while knowing that he loved her, it hurt damnably—but he had forgiven her. Because she was admirable and she wasn't deliberately cruel. She wasn't vindictive. She had made a mistake but it was a mistake made when she'd hardly been in a position to think clearly. And, well, she'd been in therapy trying to deal with all the emotional repercussions from that day—when it had taken her all she had just to put one foot in front of the other and get through the day—and how could he stay angry at her when he knew she'd needed that kind of professional help? And maybe he was forgiving her too easily—part of him was insisting that he was setting himself up to be played for a fool—but what he'd said to his mother the other day had been true. When it came to her, he didn't really have a choice. He loved her, of course he forgave her.
Her expression softened but she only said, rather wryly, "Wow, Castle, if you keep on talking like that about Nikki, I'm going to start calling you Pygmalion."
"Ooh, very nice, a mythology allusion. I approve, Detective Beckett," he nodded at her.
She rolled her eyes a little. "So kind of you to bestow your approval, Mr. Writer Man."
He lifted his eyebrows as he smirked. "I like that name, keep calling me that."
She laughed. "Not a chance, Castle."
He only smiled but couldn't help but think that there was possibly something wrong with him to find her so adorable even when she was puncturing his pretensions—or especially when she was puncturing his pretensions.
"Anyway, Castle, not that it's not always a delight to see you," she said, her tone ironic, "but why'd you come in today? You know it's going to be another paperwork day; it's not even our turn to be called if a body drops."
For half a second, Castle wondered what she would do or say if he blurted out the honest truth, that he'd come in because he wanted to see her every day. He wanted to see her every day for the rest of his life—and that was the terrifying thing about his entire relationship with Beckett, that he was so sure of that. After all, he acknowledged, he couldn't really blame her for keeping their relationship going on the delicate balance of subtext and silences; he did it too. He could have asked her directly any time in these last months, could have told her how he felt again. I love you, Kate. I'll wait for you, Kate. Just tell me if you want me to wait. But he hadn't. Had kept his own silence just as much as she had hers. It was… easier, safer… to hide behind subtext, letting the real emotions go unspoken, because the real truth of what he felt, how much he felt, was terrifying. And it had been easier, he'd almost been happier, waiting and living on hope rather than asking directly and risking hearing her tell him, you're my friend and my partner but I don't love you. And that would devastate him. Because it meant too much to him. She meant too much to him.
For so long, he hadn't wanted to risk losing the hope of Always, because that was what she was. Even though he'd never even kissed her for real and not just to distract a guard, never slept with her, never experienced being in an actual relationship with her, he was somehow sure that this was a rest-of-his-life thing. He'd said "always" and he meant always, and that terrified him when he stopped to think about it, so he had kept his silence.
And he was the one to whom words came easily.
Oh God. The thought flared across his mind, illuminating his own thoughts the way a bolt of lightning lit up the night sky. He was the one to whom words came easily. He was a writer; he was used to expressing himself in words. But even for him, what he felt for Kate meant too much, had kept him silent for months. There was a reason he hadn't even been able to tell Kate he loved her in so many words until he thought she was dying. A reason aside from the one named Dr. Josh Davidson, that is. Yes, words came easily to him, but where Kate was concerned, his words—like his courage—failed him all too easily.
But she wasn't like him. He knew that about her; he knew her. He'd somehow forgotten it in his automatic, impulsive reaction to being blindsided by the revelation that she remembered his confession of love but now, his thoughts no longer clouded by anger and hurt, he remembered. And realized his mistake.
She didn't let people in; she was guarded, cautious, about her emotions, about anything that went too deeply. Words didn't come easily for her, not when it came to what she felt; with her, her actions always spoke louder, much louder, than her words ever would. He'd wished that she had told him, had asked him to wait for her to be ready—and realized, belatedly, how huge a step, to the point of being out of character, that would have been for Beckett. He knew this about her; he'd even told her this—well, flung the accusation at her, more accurately—in that fight they'd had before Montgomery's death, when he'd accused her of hiding in relationships with men she didn't love.
And he suddenly realized that this was what she'd meant, what she'd really been saying, in the hallway of the hospital after they'd talked to Kyle Jennings. When he'd asked if Kyle—and by implication, she—would ever be ready to remember and accept the trauma they'd suffered, she'd said "Hopefully, someday, if he feels safe." If she felt safe. Safe enough to let someone in, to trust someone else with her life, her emotions, her heart. Safe, in a way he knew she hadn't felt since her mother had died, the day her secure world up until that point had been brutally ripped apart. Safe enough to be in the real relationship she wanted, not the sort of relationship she'd had with Dr. Motorcycle Boy, one where she'd let Josh in so far but no further, always keeping most of herself hidden away, always keeping one foot out the door.
Castle didn't doubt that if she'd wanted to, she could have let him in to that extent, slept with him at any point in the last year—hell, any point in the last four years. And he wasn't stupid enough to believe that he could have resisted Kate Beckett if she decided to seduce him into a physical relationship but little else. He could imagine it, picture it in his head all too easily, sleeping with Kate only to realize, slowly, that she was keeping it as a mostly-physical relationship, treating him much as he knew she must have treated Motorcycle Boy. He inwardly flinched—oh God—that would have killed him, shredded his heart well and truly and probably forever. (For the first time, he felt a stab of empathy for Josh.) Oh, he would have pushed, tried to get her to let him in further, but he knew better than anyone probably just how sturdy her wall was, how deeply her reluctance to really trust someone with her heart went. And he knew that if he'd pushed when she wasn't ready, their relationship would have ended and ended badly, catastrophically badly.
But she hadn't done that.
She had waited, was waiting still—putting in the time, as she'd put it—had kept him waiting, for the wall to come down—and she'd known he loved her, because she'd known he loved her, even. Oh God. Oh damn. His heart suddenly hurt—he'd been such an idiot—even as he felt a swell of poignant emotion bubbling up in his chest—happiness and, yes, hope. Hope that was a living, vibrant, vital thing inside him now.
She was guarded, she was cautious, she was slow to trust and quick to doubt, a skeptic in every sense, not just about things like the supernatural. But she was waiting, waiting and working towards being ready, waiting for the wall to come down. And she wanted him to be there when it did.
Maybe it was vague, maybe it was an oblique sort of confession. But this was Beckett, who didn't share, who didn't talk about her emotions. And from her, it was the equivalent of sky-writing a declaration that she wanted more, that she wanted a real relationship with him.
And he wanted that. It was what he'd always, always wanted, really. Kate Beckett to feel safe, secure—Kate Beckett to be happy, confident, totally committed to life and to love with all the depth and strength of her heart. For her damaged, wounded heart that had been broken and suffered so much hurt, so much betrayal, to be healed, fully. That was what he wanted and to see that, to be with a happy, secure Kate Beckett, he would wait as long as she wanted, as long as he needed to.
And yes, the wait would be—was—hard but to be with Kate, really with her, would be worth it. He'd always known that, hadn't he? That she was never going to be an easy, uncomplicated person—but, as he'd said to Kate just days ago, uncomplicated meant boring. He'd had the casual flings with "fun and uncomplicated" women and he knew that wasn't enough for him—maybe had never really been enough for him but certainly weren't enough for him now. Kate wasn't like that, could never be like that. Kate was hard, a challenge, a mystery he was never going to solve—and he loved her for it. And everything that was truly worth having was also worth fighting for.
He blinked, belatedly remembering that she'd asked him why he'd come in and was now giving him an odd look for his delay in answering. Quickly, he managed a shrug and a smile. "I just thought I'd drop in, bring you your coffee, on my way home from One PP." Which was lame, since the precinct wasn't on the direct route back to the loft from One PP, but oh well.
She smiled but didn't comment on that. "Well, thanks for my coffee. Are you going to stick around, watch me doing paperwork?"
"As exciting as that sounds, Beckett, I should get going. I wanted to pick up some things. Planning to make a special dinner tonight since Alexis has her last final today."
"Congratulate Alexis for me."
"I will."
"Have a good dinner."
He put on an expression of mock affront. "My special dinners are better than just good."
She grinned. "I'll take your word for it, Castle, and keep an eye out for reports of a fire at your address."
"Oh, very funny, Detective," he retorted. "I assure you that the spread my mother prepared after we were held hostage at the bank will be put to shame in comparison."
A flicker of… something… crossed her face at the reminder of that day but she answered lightly, "I'll have to make a point of calling your mother tomorrow to find out if she agrees with you on that."
His heart flipped—again—at her casual reference to talking to his mother. Whatever reservations that his mother might have about whether Beckett would hurt him, he knew his mother was fond of Kate and he knew that Kate returned his mother's affection. And he loved that too, loved the way she fit into his family, into his home, and made it so easy to dream of her sharing his home and his life.
"I'll tell her not to accept your calls tomorrow."
"Since when do you think your mother will do what you tell her to?" she shot back laughingly.
He made a face at her. "Okay, now you're bringing me down so I'm leaving."
"See you tomorrow, Castle."
"Have a good day, Detective. Try not to miss me too much." And just before he turned away, he saw the smile tugging on the corners of her lips before she ducked her head to hide it and he smiled to himself, his heart lighter, as it always got after any of their teasing exchanges. He loved the way she gave as good as she got—and he really, really loved the way she indulged him in being, well, himself and how her irrepressible smiles softened her verbal insults.
He would wait for the wall to come down, wait for her. Because she wanted him to wait. Because she wanted a real relationship with him.
And for now, that hope, that belief, that knowledge, was enough.
~To be continued…~
Author's Note 2: I wanted Kate to say "always" to Castle again before, well, "Always" actually happened, especially because the moment at the end of "The Dead Pool" had me squeeing and swooning at the sheer adorableness of it, of them. I hope my explanation, of sorts, of Kate's behavior in Season 4, from Castle's perspective makes some sense. He seemed to forget it towards the end of "47 Seconds" and afterwards but he was hurt and angry and people tend to do stupid things when they're hurt and angry and Castle's always been impulsive. This is as close as I can come to explaining how Castle's attitude seems to shift so quickly in "Undead Again."
As always, thoughts and reviews are much appreciated. Thanks for reading!
