Missing Scene: 6x02
Castle sat in the breakroom of the FBI headquarters with his sleeve rolled up past his elbow. A man sat across from him, syringe in hand, which the writer eyed wearily. He wasn't a fan of needles, never was, though there was the one time when he was a little boy, and he thought they were so cool. He'd dress up like a doctor and go around with his fake needle, injecting his mother with random things that only made sense to a child. Then came the day when he had come face to face with a real one and they weren't so fun anymore.
He looked away as the doctor loomed over him, bringing the needle ever closer to his arm. This wasn't the first needle he'd had in the last few hours, and it wasn't going to be the last, either. The skin surrounding his veins was already bruised, but compared to what was happening within his body, he could forgive the doctor his brutality (he wasn't brutal at all, but that was just what Castle wanted to think).
It was over as quickly as it had started. Funny how that worked. The anticipation of the needle was the worst part. He held his breath, needle extracted, and accepted the task of holding the cotton ball to staunch any blood that might escape. Castle cleared his throat.
"How is your breathing now, Mister Castle?" the doctor asked.
"It's beginning to hurt, but it's bearable," he replied.
Agent Beckett stood outside the breakroom, looking in with her arms crossed. She didn't realize it at the time, but she was taking him in. Memorizing him, wishing she hadn't wasted four years of her life evading his advances on her. A subtle remark here, a handhold there, a whisper of "Always" in her ear. Always didn't seem to have the same meaning anymore. It was a promise about to be broken, and it tore her to pieces. He promised, and she believed him. She promised, and he believed her.
He was getting his shot, and she couldn't help the slight cringe. This was her fault. Well, it was really his, but she felt the weight of it on her shoulders. Castle. Her Castle. Her thoughts backtracked to the fallen dominoes that brought them to this point. His proposal. Her acceptance of the job in DC. All the times they had been there for each other. Witty remark, after witty remark chipping away at the bricks of her 'wall'. Allowing him to become her partner, and then become more than her partner. This was all her fault, however indirectly.
He was embedded in her very soul, and she trembled just thinking about what this case could do to them. It was beginning to sink in. He was slipping through her fingers like grains of sand on a windy day. She couldn't stand the thought of waking up in the morning and him not being there. Granted, that was sort of their relationship now with him being in New York and her in DC, but she had the knowledge that he was there. Alive. Living. And he was merely a phone call away. He was there.
And now, in a few short hours, he wouldn't be. He was supposed to be her one and done. He was the Alexander who saved her, in more ways than one. He's saved her life, yes, but he's also saved her soul and taught her who she was without her mom's murder hanging over her head.
After the doctor finished packing up his things, he dismissed himself, leaving Castle in the briefing room alone to dwell on... things. He was scared. Facing his mortality in such a way was scarier than standing in front of a bomb, clutching Beckett's hand. At least there, she was with him. Now? She hardly was - and there was nothing wrong with that. She was trying to save his life, but he couldn't help the selfish feeling in his gut. He wanted her there with him, to offer him some support.
To show a little emotion.
She was trying to be strong for him. The writer knew that. He couldn't help the conflicting feelings swirling around inside him, mingling with the toxins that were going to kill him.
The doctor had been perfectly blunt with him; he knew what was coming, and the bottom line was, he didn't want to face that alone. He sat there, alone, unaware that Beckett's eyes were on him. He sighed to himself and rolled down his sleeve in what could only be considered a way of distracting himself. It didn't work. As soon as his sleeve cuff was rebuttoned, his thoughts drifted back to Beckett.
He wondered if she would be okay. He wondered if she would take care of Alexis like she promised years ago. He had only hours to live, and he wanted her. He deserved to kiss her one last time, to hold her, to drink her in. He deserved it: after the hell he had gone through for her, he didn't want it to end when his last thought of her was wondering what was really going through her mind.
Sighing, he stood up and numb fingers grabbed his blazer. He swung it on and turned to leave the break room. He should see where the investigation was. Maybe all his selfish thoughts were for nothing.
As he was about to leave, Castle saw Beckett retreating into the bathroom, a hand hastily wiping at her face. The door closed behind her, and the writer looked around. He approached the woman's washroom door, and shoved his hands in his pockets as two FBI agents walked by. He nodded politely to them. Seeing the coast was clear, he opened the door.
First, he looked to see if there were any other women in the washroom. All the stalls were empty. But then... Beckett? He heard her sobs first, the struggle to breathe through the tears as they poured down from her face. Oh, Beckett. She was sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall. Her legs had felt like jelly. Her body slowly lost its resolve to not break down.
Castle didn't even realize it, but his hand traveled to the lock of the door and sealed themselves in. Beckett's eyes snapped up upon hearing the bolt slide into place. Castle. If it was possible, the look on her face was even more defeated. She was caught in her moment of weakness by the very man she was trying to hide it from.
Castle could count on one hand how many times Kate had cried - in front of him, at least. "Kate," he whispered, taking an urgent step towards her.
"No, Castle," she cried, scrambling clumsily to her feet. Her hands hastily rubbed at her eyes. Fuck. She moved to the mirror to compose herself. Castle descended upon her faster than she had ever seen him move. His lips crashed against hers, hot and needy. Kate's back collided with the same wall she had sunk down earlier.
"It's time to say goodbye," Kate had once said to him.
"Kate - no."
"Rick, you promised to help me with something when the time came. This is it."
He wasn't ready then to say goodbye, and he wasn't ready now. They were just getting started. She told him that. Him, the biggest believer in fate was having trouble reconciling with how cruel it was being to him. Usually, his dreams came true. But this... It was a nightmare.
"I'm sorry, Kate," he breathed against her cheek. It brought more tears to her eyes and he tenderly reached up and wiped them away. "Don't cry." Don't shed tears for me. Now that he saw it, he didn't know what to do, say or think. His hand reached up, cupping her cheek, and she tilted into it, wanting more, aching for more. Always more. Always.
"I can't believe this is happening," she whispered after many long moments of just being with him, standing in a locked washroom. They weren't racing to tear each other's clothes off. Just the feel of his hand on her skin - that was love, and it was more tender than any lovemaking.
"We should probably talk," he said softly. "We should probably say our good-"
Kate brought her hand up, silencing him with a finger to his lips. "Don't. I am not going to say goodbye to you, Rick." He loved the sound of his first name tumbling from her mouth. She rarely used it, and only when she did was she serious. "I won't. I can't." She opened her other hand between them, and Castle looked down. Her engagement ring rested in her palm, accompanied by her mother's ring and a dangling necklace. "You're supposed to be my one and done." It was a whimper, and he had never heard her sound so disheartened.
She brought her teary eyes back up to his, noting the redness there. He was fighting back his own emotions. Kate always brought out the best and the worst in him. "Is this what you think Fate has in store for you? For us?" No, she was never a believer in Fate, but surely, there had to be something out there. She would believe if it would make things right. She'd believe in the possibility of magic if it meant she'd find it. All she needed was a tiny vial - the antidote. "We've survived so much more than this. Please… don't say goodbye."
"Kate…"
"Richard…" More tears that said just that: goodbye. "There's still hope."
"Kate…" Castle shushed her, cooed her to be silent for a moment. "I know there is, and I know you. You'll do everything you can, and I understand that. I am grateful… but…"
"No buts, Rick…"
"But… we need to be realistic. We need to talk about 'What if'." He reached into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulled out five envelops. Each with their own individual name on it. Ryan. Esposito. Mother. Alexis. Kate.
Kate's heart sank at the sight of them. Inside those envelops were his goodbyes. Heartfelt words from a man who knew how to swing them. "No…" she wailed.
"For if it happens," he informed her, slipping them back into his inside pocket. "I need you to know… just how much I love you. We don't say it enough."
"I know, Rick. I love you, too - more than you could possibly know. And that's why I am not giving up." Her eyes went hard with newfound resolve. "You're my one and done." Period. End of story. Her lips teased his for a second before the kiss intensified, breathing her own faith into him. He had to believe it with her. He was going to be okay. She was going to fix this, whatever the cost.
There's no one else for her.
