Kate collapses on the couch, hair stuck to her forehead, clothes clinging to her body. She kicks off an old pair of flip-flops, letting them tumble to the floor. She digs her hand through the crevices of the couch, searching for the remote. She grabs it, her fingers sticking to the ends of duct tape. She'd had to tape the battery cover after her father had dropped it one too many times after falling asleep with it in his hand.
She shoves another cheap pillow behind her head and flicks on a rerun of Temptation Lane, turning the volume way down. She's too exhausted to truly pay attention, but it comforts her, keeps her company while her Dad spends his time passed out or painting a rundown beach house.
Her father's odd summer jobs keep her familiar with the locals, which Kate hates. She can't stand the looks on their faces, the scrutiny, as they watch and wait for her to screw up or buckle under grief. Kate used to go with him when she was younger, hand him a paintbrush or a socket wrench, but she stays away now that her mother's gone.
Her eyelids flutter closed just as her phone buzzes in her pocket. She groans and fishes it out, answers without checking to see who it is.
"Hello?" She says flatly. She runs her fingers through her dirty hair, rests the back of her hand against her forehead. She hears a man chuckle and her eyes immediately flit open.
"Your enthusiasm overwhelms me, Beckett." She rolls her eyes.
"You interrupted my beauty sleep, Mr. Castle."
"Really? I would've said that you're all caught up."
"Wow. What a line. You say that to all the girls?" she teases.
"Only the hot brunettes that wait on me in Jersey bars and read my books."
"This again? I think I pointed out that the fact that I knew who you were did not mean that I read your books."
"True. But you do."
"You'll never know," she promises.
"I don't need confirmation, Beckett."
She hums in amusement, shakes her head. "Did you just call to rib me about being a fan?"
"So you're admitting that you are one, then?" Damn.
"Not a chance," she replies smoothly. He laughs.
"There's this great little place in town that serves the best…" He rambles on about tilapia and shrimp, cute and nervous, and she hates that she has to turn him down.
"I can't," she interrupts him when he moves on to recite the dessert menu. She feels his disappointment in his silence.
"Can't or won't?" he asks quietly. She stiffens a little, surprised by his boldness.
"It's just…a bad night, Castle. That's all." Her father will be home in an hour or so and she needs to stay, needs to keep an eye on…things. She can tell he doesn't quite believe her and she's not sure she would either.
She does a little math in her head, unnerved by the fact that she can set her watch by her father's drinking schedule.
"Listen, I can't do dinner, but uh…maybe we could go for a walk later. After it gets dark?" She bites her bottom lip. She should probably stay in, but can't bring herself to say no. Doesn't want to say no.
Dammit.
"Should I meet you at your house?"
"No," she says hastily. "I mean...just, uh, meet me outside the board rentals. That way you won't have to walk so far." She winces to herself, hopes he doesn't pick up on the fact that she doesn't want him near her father again.
"I won't be walking from the shack again. Your house is only a few blocks from mine."
She hesitates, doesn't know how to reason her way out of that one.
"But if it's easier for you, we can meet there," he says quickly, picking up on her reluctance.
"Yeah, it's… easier for me." She swallows hard, feels the hidden meaning of her words deep inside her bones.
"Nine o'clock?"
"See you then." She ends the call out of habit, hopes he isn't the type to respond with a final goodbye. She hates goodbyes.
Her rest is uneasy and fitful, the kind that ends up making her feel more tired than she was to start with. She dreams of her mother at the end of a knife, lying in an alley. It's all there—the only clear memory of a hazy dream—the blood pooled around Johanna Beckett, staining her clothes, lying slumped against a wall.
Kate awakens to newly-damp clothes and a queasy stomach. She shuffles quickly to the bathroom and shrinks to the linoleum, dry heaving over the toilet.
The nightmares are nothing new. She used to have them every night without fail, but now she was down to about one a week, something she was grateful for. She couldn't bear the look in her father's eyes when he woke up morning after morning to find her gaunt, dark circles haunting her eyes. It was almost worse than the nightmares themselves.
"Katie?" She hears him call from the kitchen. He must've just gotten back. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.
"I'll be right out, Dad." She washes her hands quickly and splashes some cold water on her face. She dries her face with a ratty towel and pulls her hair back into a low ponytail. Still not great, but a small improvement.
She walks out to the kitchen to find her dad sitting at the table, paint-splattered jeans and all, nursing a glass of….water.
Water.
She lets out a breath, hopes it means today was a good day for him.
"Hi, Dad." She brushes a kiss across his cheek in greeting and pours herself her own glass of water.
"You okay, Kate?" He turns in his chair towards the sink that she's propped against, concern etched in the wrinkle on his forehead.
She nods, waves him off. "Just a long day. Tourists and their kids. You know." She gives him a small smile, hopes it reassures him.
"You could quit and come work for me. Might not be as much money, but it'd probably make you a little less crazy," he jokes.
She laughs a little. He has a point, she knows, but she can't. When she isn't at the shack, she's home holding her breath, waiting for something to happen to him, waiting for his addiction to take him away from her, too.
She can't spend her days next to him, constantly looking over his shoulder, worrying. It would drive them both nuts.
Of course, she would never tell him that.
She shakes her head. "It's really not so bad, gives me the opportunity to interact with new people." Like Richard Castle.
"Like the gentleman who showed up here last night?" He asks with a small gleam in his eye. Kate's heart warms immediately, hasn't seen such a look in his eye for…
Awhile.
She nods, feels herself blushing a little.
"He looked familiar," her father observes.
She hesitates, doesn't think she's ready to share, ready for him to know how very much the stranger means to her.
She shrugs in response, takes a gulp of water and places her glass in the sink.
"What are your plans for tonight?" she asks seamlessly.
"Bill's coming over later. There's a game on."
Bill was her father's age, a permanent resident who lived a few streets over. Jim met him a few summers ago when he helped him replace the plumbing in the bathroom.
Kate feels some of the tension leave her body. She could probably get away with leaving the house for awhile tonight, at least for an hour.
"You gonna stick around and watch the game with us?"
She shakes her head. "I'm meeting a friend later for a little bit. Shouldn't be gone too long, though."
"It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if you were gone for longer than a little bit, Kate," he says wryly. She knows he's joking, doesn't really mean anything by it, but she can't help the way her spine straightens and head stiffens in a short nod.
"I'm just gonna grab a shower," she says tiredly. If he does notice the change in her demeanor, she hopes he lets it go, doesn't fight with her tonight.
She's just so very tired.
She brushes his shoulder lightly when she walks past him, a gesture of love and comfort.
"I love you, Katie."
She stops in her tracks. "I love you, too, Dad."
Normally, Kate would spend a decent amount of time fussing over her wardrobe. And since this is Richard Castle, Kate surprises herself when she opts for comfort, dressing in a pair of jeans and a white tee-shirt. She musses her wavy hair a little, slips into a pair of navy flip flops, and pockets a tube of Blistex.
"I'll see ya later, Dad. It was nice seeing you, Bill." The two men throw her simultaneous waves, eyes never leaving the screen. She rolls her eyes. Men.
She takes her time getting to their meeting spot, basking in the peace that the clear night sky brings her. She sees so little of it in Manhattan, nary a star to be found amongst the polluted air.
When she reaches the edge of the beach, she pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, tilting her head up to the moon. She loves the feel of it on her face. She finds it ironic that she spent much of her childhood fearing the dark when the worse thing that's ever happened to her occurred in broad daylight.
She continues her shuffle down the beach, where she finds him waiting, propped against the small stand. Her heart flutters a little when he notices her approaching and smiles.
"Hey."
I'm going back to school this weekend and I imagine that I'll have some downtime, especially since I'm roommate-less for the semester, so I expect to have another one written by then. Enjoy your week.
Olivia