Chapter Two
The mist of the morning was beginning to dissipate as the sun reached out triumphantly, its brightness only accompanied by the chilly winter air. It was a pleasant morning, and more and more New Yorkers streamed out into the streets to enjoy a rare day of ease during this cold season.
Kate joined the rest of the city as she strolled quickly away from the staircase where she collided with Rick, enjoying none of the cool weather. On the inside, mad winds battered against her heart, as if a Russian winter threatened to uproot her. The peace of the New York streets was jarring when she considered the implosion of feelings within her. Disaster should strike. People should panic. The world should react to the war in her gut. She felt like her lungs were squeezing the air out of her, and her throat hurt from trying to catch a breath. Of all the times she had imagined meeting Rick on a street corner or picking up a phone call from him, she had not counted on this much anxiety, this much nervousness, and oh God, this much desperation. But, no, the world stepped quietly by to grab a cup of coffee before work.
She had not realised until now that she had forgot the magical and precise way his eyes always seemed to be twinkling, and the curve of his lips always seemed to be developing a smile. Except, today when she saw him, there was no hint of a smile anywhere, not on his lips, not in his eyes, not even in the way he regarded her. She immediately missed the times during their partnership that her mere presence brought about his cheeky grin, or when their banter impressed upon him an awed smile, as if he did not realise someone who could match him in his games of verbal sparring could ever exist.
He had seemed thinner. Her heart sank into a strange ache at this thought.
It had been five whole years. She always envisioned him to be living it up in Los Angeles, reaping the rewards of his well-loved characters being immortalised in popular culture. It had been five whole years. She cannot even begin to fathom how much has changed in those years. Even some buildings and shops in New York do not last five years. People moved in and out of her life, while she moved away from previous places she claimed to be home. Yet, one thing had remained the same – every twist and turn was merely a straight line back to Richard Castle.
He had it easier, Kate had thought, on multiple occasions. Every time Kate passed a coffee place, every time she entered a bookstore, when she flipped through page six of the papers, even when she sat in the vast emptiness of her car, her mind will inevitably jump to the image of a particular writer, as if in a reflex arc. He had branded his own reflex arc in her body, much as he claimed her heart to be his – not his, but his. Yet, she thought, perhaps this was why he moved to LA in the first place, because New York was soaked in the other's smell, and painted with the other's face.
Kate would then laugh mirthlessly at such a thought. How could she believe for a second his thoughts mirrored hers? That she haunted his dreams and his daylight, just because he occupied hers, that she was the first thing he became conscious of in the morning and the last thing to contemplate before bed, just because he was for her?
Of course not. She had stumbled upon pictures in the papers of Rick and various socialites on his arm, like pieces of jewellery. She had pretended not to care, the way she pretended with everything else, with everyone else. After a while, a large enough part of her had withered away that she no longer searched for the Rick she once knew, the Rick she once loved. Any hope was pointless, and should be snuffed out. Just take a look at the evidence, her detective mind insisted.
Five whole years. Kate sighed, her soul weary. All she knew was to keep walking and walking. Soon, she reached a quaint little coffee place that was at once familiar and comforting to her. She pushed the doors in, embracing the sudden warmth of the surroundings and overwhelming smell of cocoa beans.
Kate had been frequenting this coffee house near her new workplace since she left the homicide department of the 12th Precinct. Missing Castle and the coffee he brought, and aching from all the intricacies and losses that accompanied her mother's case, Kate had left all vestiges of her life at the 12th behind, determined to carve out new paths and make new memories. This cosy coffee place was part of her effort to create a new life, to replace her association of coffee with Rick to this little shop, just as she replaced the warm sense of satisfaction of putting killers behind bars with the thrill of catching kidnappers and saving little children.
After her disastrous separation with Castle five years ago, Detective Beckett had requested a transfer and had been granted a position at the major crimes department of the 8th Precinct, dealing almost specifically with kidnapping cases. The fact that she was familiar with this work prior to her stint at the homicide department only made the transition smoother. Somehow, Kate felt that working kidnapping cases again could help make up for, if not erase, that particular case she worked with Sorenson eight years ago. It felt like the first step towards recuperating, towards mending the mistakes she had made at the 12th and with Rick. It did not signal much, but for Kate, the thought of helping to protect the children of New York helped her get out of bed every day.
Her quest to replace memories of Castle with parts of her new life had seemed to be increasingly effective as years went by. Time was no healer, Kate had known from the beginning, since the ache of her mother's murder did not lessen so much as it merely became dull, just as the loss of Rick burnt a hole in her being that was still gaping. Yet, time acted as an antiseptic, and it numbed her wounds. Perhaps it was not recovery, but it was enough.
"Detective Beckett!" A familiar female voice chimed, as Kate found the source of the voice behind the counter. Charlotte, the full-time owner and part-time barista of this coffee house, grinned at her without reservations. She was a young girl with brunette curls and unparalleled optimism. "A little later than usual today," Charlotte chided in a friendly manner.
Kate smiled, Charlotte's kind demeanour releasing the iron grip on her heart just a little bit. She walked up to the counter, her eyes on the familiar menu written on chalk above. "Yeah," she acknowledged, "There was an accident this morning."
"Accident? Are you injured?" Charlotte's eyes widened in shock, and her eyes traveled up and down to ensure Kate's safety.
"No, no, I'm fine, don't worry. It was an accident of a different sort." Kate's eyes lowered.
"Oh," Charlotte nodded slowly, as if in understanding. She inspected Kate's expression for a while, before she smiled again, "The usual for you?"
"Yup, a tall skinny latte with two pumps." Kate said, and she wondered if Charlotte would detect the wistfulness in her voice. She wondered if Charlotte knew that this was the coffee Rick always brought her. She wondered if Charlotte saw the way Kate was remembering the first day Rick handed her breakfast. "In my dreams, you're never jealous. In my dreams, you just join in." She had a shoved a bear claw into his mouth then, unaware that five years later she would never order that pastry again.
As much as Kate had wanted to erase images of Rick and replace his presence with new things in her life, if she were honest with herself, she also wanted to hold on to everything Castle, go over his shadow in her life with a big bold marker and outline it until the paper breaks. How could she want to let go and preserve parts of him at the same time? Her profound lack of understanding of her heart was only matched by the inexplicable nature of her pain at his absence. She wanted him, but hated him, craved him, but rejected him. Some days she would rejoice at how she was finally feeling okay, until her consciousness became punctured with pieces of him. It was a joke, her self-proclaimed effort to move on.
Everything reminded her of him.
"Detective Beckett?" Charlotte's voice made Kate realise she has been holding out the cup of coffee for a while. Kate took it quickly, reaching into her pocket, when Charlotte waved it off, "It's on the house."
"Really, Charlotte," Kate smiled, half-teasing, half-grateful, "With the way you do business around here, I'm worried for you."
Charlotte chuckled, her eyes bright, "Only for you, Detective."
"Thank you," Kate said sincerely, "Really."
Charlotte only beamed, saying nothing, as Kate made a move towards the door.
"Figured you could use the caffeine, and the warmth." Obeying that reflex arc he owned within her, Rick's voice echoed in her head. She stood and closed her eyes for a moment, as she suddenly felt the tight circumference of his arms around her in that freezer, the way people still felt their limbs even after they were amputated. She had thought with so much clarity then that she was going to die. She remembered thinking that doing so in his arms was not such a poor way to go.
Straightening her shoulders, Kate opened her eyes to the world again. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if he would call. What was he doing back here in New York City?
Finally, control of her legs seemed to regain itself, and Kate joined the rest of the city in the cold, as she continued her walk to work.
They sat across each other, bursting with so much to say that they settled for saying nothing at all. Their cups of coffee turned cold from neglect, while the discomfort in the pits of their stomach expanded like wildfire.
Kate stared at her cup and saucer for such a long time that it was a wonder she had not memorised the pattern on the china. Yet, she stared without registering. In fact, she could not take in anything except for Rick. His presence blanketed her senses, his scent drowned her while his eyes pierced through her. She felt like if she could breathe, she would vomit.
All at once, she begged herself to say something – anything. How was LA? Are you writing? Are you writing about me? Are you missing New York yet? Have you forgiven me? Have you forgiven you? What are you thinking? Where are you going? Why are you here?
These questions gathered at the back of her throat like a series of chain car crashes, and if she did not puncture the silence soon, she felt like she was going to implode, or the world around them was going to shatter from the silence that grew like an invisible poisonous gas. So, she rose her head, her eyes searching for his. Rick's blue eyes were almost grey, so unlike the clear determined blue she was used to. They devoured her, almost expressionless, and she felt suddenly self-conscious, so she spat out in a hurry, "I didn't think you would call."
Rick nodded slowly, as if savouring the words he was about to say. "I had to," he said simply, his eyes transfixed upon her. She used to catch him staring at her like this, perhaps less intense, less in pain, but always with something she could not quite decide was contemplation or awe. She used to call him creepy, but she silently pondered his looks, the way she mulled over his words. Always, he had promised with a sincerity that could move felons.
Then, she had shoved him to the edge of always and pushed him further, only to realise his fall would never bring him back. What more did she want from him? She did not know. She only knew that she got in the way of her own loving, and even got in the way of his loving her. She understood this now, but five years ago, she had been consumed with rage because she had fallen so far down the rabbit hole, Rick would not have been able to save her. In fact, he had reached with all his might, but she had let go of his arm, just to see how far down she will drop, just so she can finally reach the ground. If only she was Alice though, and there was a bottle that yelled "Drink me", or a cake that demanded to be eaten. She would gladly take any instructions now that did not stem from the Russian winter that raged in her heart, as steely as his eyes.
His eyes seem to soften suddenly, and he spoke again, "How are you?"
"I'm good," Kate responded instinctively, pausing to wonder if she should elaborate. "I'm no longer working homicide at the 12th."
"Oh," Rick said in surprise, "I see."
Kate blinked at him, bringing her chin to rest on the back of her left hand. She was determined not to let silence overpower them again, so she would not need to listen to the pounding in her head. Their silence was jarring to her, because words were their weapons. "How are you?"
"I'm doing well too," Rick responded with so much politeness it almost hurt. His face contorted into what he probably thought was a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. Rick was always horrible at concealing his emotions. Again, she felt like she could barf, so she continued.
"Ryan left the 12th as well. He went back to the Narc department. Esposito is still there, and I think he is doing well." She smiled, and he did too, as they remembered their little tight-knit family that had since fallen like ragged dolls.
The corner of Rick's eyes and the lines of his forehead creased as he smiled, and Kate was alarmed to find how much older he looked now. She resisted the urge to touch the lines on his face, like cracks in a ceramic vase. "I've had some contact with Esposito," he said, his eyes exploring the expression on her face. "He seems to be doing well under the new Captain."
"Oh," She said simply. Why didn't you keep in contact with me? She wanted to ask, but did not. He sensed her question even before it reached her tongue, and his eyes hardened. It would have been too much, he wanted to say. It would have been too much, and I would have come crawling back to you.
Kate could only hang on to the words that spilled out of her mouth next, "Yes. The new Captain's management style is slightly different. Ryan didn't like it, but Esposito – Esposito saw it as a challenge."
"And you?"
"I uh, I needed Montgomery."
They stared at each other, both realising too late they had been prying open a can bursting with worms. It was never the same after that night in the hangar.
So, they sat across from each other, throats filled with please-forgive-mes, hearts full of whys and hows and lungs choked on if-onlys.
Hi there! So, I researched NYPD departments since Kate transferring is part of my story, and I realise the 12th is a fictional precinct. So, the 8th Precinct mentioned here is fictional too. Please forgive the inconsistencies with the organisation of the NYPD, if there are any. Did anyone catch the few references to another amazing show Pushing Daisies?
Thanks for your amazing feedback on this little piece. I will definitely continue to work on it, but it will not be a long fic at all. Oh and to the readers of my other stories, I'm sorry for the temporary lack of updates. I'm afraid I'm going overseas for a while, so the next update on all my fics won't be any time soon. Still, stay tuned and thank you so much for your support! Reviews validate the writer, as always.