I don't think I've ever seen so many story alerts. Thank you all so much, it's exciting for me to know you want to know what happens. As always, any feedback is appreciated too :) And I love every single one of your reviews :)
Thanks to eitoph, who is the beta extraordinaire, for making this chapter better.
Enjoy.
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Chapter Two
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It's early when he wakes up, too early even for the sun to have risen. A glance at his watch tells him it's just past 4am and another glance around the room tells him he fell asleep at his desk, head resting against his laptop's keyboard, typing out a steady stream of letters with no meaning.
He groans and stretches out a kink in his neck, standing and stumbling towards his bedroom, wondering if he can get enough sleep before his publishing meeting that morning, or whether he should just shower now and be done with the sleep.
A flashing light on his phone alerts him to a message and as he steps out of his clothes, heading for his bathroom, he unlocks his phone, presses the keys to access his voicemail and listens as his partner's voice floats to him through the phone for the first time in weeks.
"Castle, hey, it's Kate…which you probably know. Uh, it's late, so you're probably asleep, but there's this case…it's your type of thing and we're stuck. Could really use your insight. Anyway, let me know if you're coming in." He expects more, but her voice awkwardly trails off and he hears her hang up.
He stands at the door to his shower, taps turned on, room filling with steam, and listens to her message again and again; the hitch in her voice, the sad edge to it all, the little things that she's trying to hide, but that her voice is betraying. He lets his back rest against the cool tile of the wall outside his shower and slides to the floor. On one side of him he listens to the calming sound of the water running down the drain, on the other he listens to Kate falling apart.
Sleep is not even close to being an option now.
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He doesn't call.
She checks her phone every ten minutes for the whole day, but he doesn't call, he doesn't text, he doesn't email her. She swallows the emotions that well up in her as she stares ahead at the murder board, it's not like she was expecting him to suddenly change his mind and make contact, but some acknowledgement would be nice.
She contemplates just showing up at his loft. It wouldn't be difficult to knock on his door and say hi, but she knows that he would find it offensive. When she needed space, he gave it. He wasn't happy about it, but he had bitten his tongue and let her have the time she needed to get her head around everything.
Her phone rings and she jumps, scrambling to answer it, "Beckett."
"It's Espo."
She looks around, confused and sees her fellow detectives looking back at her from their desks; she hangs up, "What was that about?"
Esposito takes her in with a knowing look, "We've been calling out to you for a solid five minutes. Thought we might get through to you if we phoned."
Ryan pitches in, "You've been holding that thing with a death grip all night."
She looks down at her phone, placing it on the desk next to her, "Sorry boys, in my own world. What's up? You got something?"
"Yeah," Esposito answers, "A desire to get some sleep."
"It's close to 11; we're calling it a night." Ryan adds, asking whether she'll be heading home too, without really asking. She'll never admit it, but she appreciates the whole big brother thing her fellow detectives do. She likes to know that someone always has her back.
Beckett looks back at the murder board, the pictures and writing strewn everywhere. First thing in the morning she's going to write it all out again from the start and try to find the missing link in the mess. But that'll be tomorrow, "Guess it'll all be here in the morning." She stands with the boys and they walk out of the precinct together.
She checks her phone four times on the elevator ride down.
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He ponders the voicemail all day. He can hear how much she misses him in the message (though she would never admit it) and that hurts him. It makes him feel awful for pulling away from her, but he knows that it might be what they both need in the long run.
He also knows that she'd never joke about a case though, and so on a cool Thursday morning, close to 3am, he drives to the 12th precinct and wanders up to the homicide bullpen.
There are a few detectives meandering around; the unlucky souls of the night shift. No one pays any careful attention to him, though. He's a long ago accepted permanent fixture of the precinct.
The carefully woven story of the murder of a young woman named Bella Thompson is written across the whiteboard in varying styles of writing. He can easily pick out her distinct lettering and follows the case from start up until the point they've found themselves stuck at. He chuckles to himself as he sees the gaping hole they've left untouched and begins to connect the dots in his theatrical way.
Without access to their secure computer network he's unable to look up the vital information, but he leaves careful notes on Beckett's desk explaining his theory in true literary form.
It feels good to be back in the precinct, he realises. The gentle hum of the place is comforting and allows him to feel close to Beckett without being too close. He sits in her seat for a moment and spins around, taking everything in. She likes to sit a little taller than him and so her seat is positioned to look down at his. He knows it's not about a power play, but it allows her to feel in control. It allows her to look at the world from a different perspective.
He only hopes that when it comes down to it, she'll see his behaviour and his actions from a different perspective. He still has those screams stuck in his head, reminding him of the fragility of their situation. He only wants to make her pain stop, he wonders if she'll see that.
He surveys the room once more, taking in the place that has become his second home for the past three years. Seeing the clocks reaching close to 6am, he stands to leave, one last favour in mind.
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Kate takes her seat with a huff. She's been thinking about the case all night and about Castle too. She won't deny it in her own mind. To some, her early hour start might seem obsessive, but to her it's just being thorough, she has a lot of data to go through today.
As she looks across her desk she sees a pile of paper that wasn't there the night before. She picks it up, running her eyes across the information Castle has left her, spelled out in his bold letters. A smile tugs at her lips as she looks further around her desk and sees a coffee laid out for her. He knows her better than she knows herself, she sometimes thinks.
She picks up the coffee cup, letting it warm her hands and wonders how long ago he left it, wonders if he's coming back, and when.
As she takes that first sip, a quiet moan escapes her and the thoughts going round and round in her mind quieten. It's the best coffee she's had in weeks.
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