Where A Lie Leads - Chapter 2
AN: Thank you for all of the reviews and follows. This is my first foray into writing fan-fiction. It's a lot of fun, and made worthwhile by anyone who reads and enjoys.
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.
His long legs are stiff, and he stretches them out under the small table. The line still goes on forever. He should be overjoyed. It's bittersweet. Heat Rises, his latest entry in the Nikki Heat series, is doing well in sales, and the publicity generated by this signing event is always a good thing.
Even better, his next novel is well under way. If you had told him months ago that he would have found writing inspiration from a clean break with Kate Beckett and the detectives of the 12th Precinct, he would have laughed. As it turns out, the crushing manner in which he was – to his way of thinking – disposed of – has lit an internal anger of inspiration long dormant in Richard Castle. This next book certainly won't be what the fans of the series are expecting, but he has successfully moved on from Derek Storm, he will do the same with Nikki Heat.
It's been three months. Three long months without a word from Beckett. Truth be told, he has no idea where she is. Oh make no mistake, he still loves the woman. Love doesn't die that easily, or it was not love in the first place. The simmering anger he felt months ago boiled over into righteous indignation, and now what's left in the ashes is an ache. It hurts.
He knows this hurt.
He thinks about Meredith walking out his front door, with Alexis tugging his pants, tears on her cheeks, wondering where Mommy is going.
He thinks about Gina, walking out his front door, with Alexis holding his hand, thankful she is finally leaving.
He thinks about Kate, laying in the hospital bed, her eyes downcast as he walks out of her room. Her heart stopped beating in the ambulance. His stopped beating in the hallway outside her room.
Yeah, he knows this hurt.
So does his family.
After leaving the hospital he had gone home that afternoon, poured himself a drink, and simply stared at it. The small glass rolled easily in his hands. For half an hour he sat there, tears falling, thinking of the three women in his life who had each taken a piece of him. He stared at the brown liquid in the glass, thankful that he had not yet poured it down. An inebriated Castle would have faulted each of them – Meredith, Gina, Kate. A sober Castle knew better. The blame lied in the reflection he dimly saw in the large 65-inch television monitor on the wall. He was the one to blame. No one else. He remembered the words the priest at the local parish had shared with him after Gina left.
"Rick, You cannot complain about those things that you allow."
Those words were fresh in his head when he exploded, hurling the glass of bourbon across the room into the television screen, just as Martha and Alexis walked through the front door of the loft. A completely frightened Alexis fell backwards, into her grandmother. She had never seen her dad like this. Neither had Martha. There was no joke, no innuendo, no smirk to play it off. When Castle turned and saw his daughter, tears staining her face, with Martha's arms holding her up – then his descent that day was complete. His baby girl seeing him raw and exposed was more than he could handle. He ran to her, fell to his knees, apologizing.
"I'm so sorry, pumpkin. I'm so sorry."
"Dad…" The young girl, hands strewn through her red hair sobbed.
"I'm so sorry Alexis. I have no excuse."
It had been a long night, that evening. It was a very vulnerable Castle who opened up to his mother and daughter that night. He confirmed what they both already knew – that he was head over heels in love with Kate Beckett. Then he quickly shattered their dream by recounting the conversation with Beckett in the hospital that afternoon. A young, high-school redhead grew up considerably that night, while a well-experienced mother grew a little older. All had agreed that enough was enough – it was time for them – not just him – but all of them to move on. They all loved Beckett. But the pain of status quo was now far too much, costing far too big a price. That next morning, they found themselves on the road to the beach retreat in the Hamptons. They had gone to the retreat to do just that – retreat. Heal. Make changes – one small, tearful step at a time; one loud, angry step at a time.
You cannot complain about those things that you allow.
So here he sits at the book signing, and these are the thoughts, these are the memories that all come driving back into his head, with the force of a large wave on the beach, when he hears her voice, and looks up to see her face.
"Kate. Make it out to Kate."
. . . . .
Her legs are stiff, and she bends over, trying to stretch her thigh muscles and relieve the tension in her back. The line still goes on forever. It's bittersweet. She knows that Heat Rises, his latest entry in the Nikki Heat series, is doing well in sales. She knew to expect to stand in line for a while in order to see him. She has no idea what will come next.
She could have called him. She could have texted him. Either would have been infinitely easier now than standing here, both anticipating and dreading how their first conversation in three months would go. She has to admit that she is surprised that he never called her; never texted her.
Well, you told him not to call. Stupid. Stupid.
She buries those thoughts. He's never listened to her before. Never. He's never stayed in the car, he's never stayed back, he's never stayed out of it. Why in God's name did he pick now, when she makes the biggest mistake of her life, to fall in line and listen to her.
Actually, that's the second biggest mistake of her life. The bigger mistake was lying to him. Telling him she didn't remember. The man expressed his love for her, and she bolted at the first opportunity.
The two months she had spent at the cabin had been harsh, yet cathargic. Her dad had come up for a couple of weeks, and their conversations had been tearful, complete – and long overdue. For years, her dad had not really been 'dad' – he'd been the man she had helped pull out of the gutter, the man she had helped pull back into a sober existence. And she'd rewarded this man the way she rewards everyone – with a wall, keeping him at arm's distance, always determining how close she would allow him – or anyone else – to get.
Those couple of weeks at the cabin had changed that. A man who watches his daughter get shot in the heart, who sits in a waiting room wondering if he is shortly going to be praying with gratitude or screaming in agony - that man tends to find himself. It was that man who visited her at the cabin. It was that man who worked through the physical therapy with her at the cabin. It was that man who wiped her tears with the compassion of his heart, then gave her new tears with conviction of his words. He'd lost his wife. He would not lose his daughter.
She had broken up Josh before leaving the city for the cabin. She knew it was the right thing to do. She didn't love him. He was comfortable. Shoes are comfortable. People are not. Perhaps a bullet in the heart was giving her a different world view, insight into things she had not considered previously. She thought she'd accomplished something. Her dad thought otherwise.
She remembers telling him that she'd broken up with Josh. She told him she didn't love Josh, that she felt she could love Richard Castle but she just wasn't ready yet – she thought her dad would be proud, would understand. Perhaps he did; but his next words had cut deep and remained fixed inside her.
"Geesh Katie . . . Sorenson, Demming, now Josh. Three years, three pretty decent men. For someone who claims to be a 'one-and-done woman', you have left quite a litter scattered behind you."
It had been harsh, but it had been true – and just what she needed. She'd become a construction expert, building these walls around her – and then surrounding herself with people who wouldn't challenge those walls, who supported those walls, who reinforced those walls every time they backed off, every time they didn't push back.
Fortunately – or unfortunately – her dad was not yet finished. He knew she had just come through heart surgery – but he was going to have to open her heart yet again in order to completely heal her, and get his daughter back.
"Three years, three relationships – and now you have your eyes on a fourth, yet you start this one out with a lie? How do you expect to recover from this Katie. A lie never lives to be old – you know this."
Yeah, there had been plenty of tears that night – tears of anger because he dared breach her walls, and tears of utter sadness to know that the walls she had constructed so carefully actually weren't made of brick. They were made of glass – and those who knew her could see right through these glass walls. Brick walls crumble. It's a slow process. Glass walls shatter. It's instantaneous.
"I just want what you and mom had, dad. I've never had that. Is that so wrong?"
His reply to her is why she cut her time away short. His reply to her is why she is standing in line now. His reply to her is why she almost called Castle, almost texted him, but decided either would be the cowardly way out. No, to do this the right way, she had to do it in person. All because of his reply.
"No, Katie – there is nothing wrong with that. But remember this – if you want something that you have never had, you have to do something that you've never done."
Those are the words – received weeks ago from a father who had re-found himself – that are front and center in her head as the young, smiling blonde in line in front of her steps away with a signed copy of Heat Rises folded into her chest. Those are the words she feels swimming in her head as she steps forward, and looks down at the utterly handsome but distant writer sitting in front of her at the table.
"Kate", she says simply. "Make it out to Kate."