Shall Not Tear Asunder
Disclaimer: I still don't own it, and they're way more evil than me
AN: This story is essentially a multi-chapter follow up to the oneshot story Inchoate by ColieMacKenzie. I highly recommend reading that first, because it sets up the narrative and it's wonderful.
For CB, who always makes the words make sense. And for Nic, who offered unbelievable support and encouragement in allowing me to climb into her sandbox and build a whole new...well, castle.
His head is buzzing, filled with words and thoughts of her. So, it isn't until he turns to her as he hears the soft click of the door behind him that he really takes in how she is dressed.
He opens his mouth and then closes it, stunned both by the beauty of her in the long casual purple dress she wears, and the implication of it. "You're on your way out," he says finally. "I'm sorry, I'm such an idiot. I'll just..." He stammers and fumbles, trying to turn for the door without looking any more like a fool.
"No," her voice reaches his ears at the same moment as her fingers curl at his shoulder to arrest his movement. He stalls at her touch. "I was coming in, not going out," she says as he turns back.
For so long his thoughts of Kate have been of hushed fights, tense silences and then, cold, empty loneliness. But tonight, for all that, he sees the good they were too. His best friend, his partner, the joyful, relieved bride of their wedding day. He sees the Kate who worked so hard to bring their beautiful children into being, and who was the most alluring woman ever to share his bed.
"It's early," he says dumbly. How could anyone call it an early night with her, standing there looking like every good, beautiful memory he's ever had? His mind refuses to make sense of it.
She looks away from him, and he feels it like a loss of contact. "Apparently, he didn't feel I was invested in the future of a relationship." Kate says, as if she were quoting.
Ouch. He feels indignant on her behalf. And yet, oh so relieved. "I'm sorry," he offers, gesturing awkwardly with the hand holding the bottle of wine still clutched in his fingers.
She laughs dryly, pinning him with a look. "No, you're not."
"I'm sorry it makes you unhappy," he says, sincerely hating anything that stands between Kate Beckett and happiness. They are where they are now because he didn't want to be that to her, and he'd felt that was what their lives were fast becoming. But, now? Now all he knows is, it's not working.
She shrugs lightly. "It was what it was," she offers. And then she adds, "It wouldn't have been enough."
There is a significant silence as a look passes between them. She breaks the moment as she reaches for the wine, walks off in search of glasses. Then she stops and turns back to him.
"Shouldn't you be out tonight yourself?" She asks, eyeing him.
He studies his suddenly empty hands. "She left. Two weeks ago."
She sets the newly acquired glasses down so suddenly they clatter. "What?" She stares at him with a startled expression. "But last weekend, when I asked you -"
He stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, embarrassed. But even that feels lighter than he imagined it would. She's always had that effect on him, even at the worst of times. He'd resented it not long ago - that hold she had over him. But tonight it feels almost essential. "I didn't want to seem pathetic. Not once I knew you were seeing someone."
She hums a sympathetic noise, pours the wine, and hands him his glass. "Well, then, aren't we a pair?" She says with a wry twist of her lips. "Worth drinking to, even," she offers, raising her glass. He mirrors her, and then they step into the living room.
"You want to talk about it?" She asks, soft sympathy in her voice. He can feel her awkwardness too, but he ignores it. The notion that both he and Kate are free is only now really settling over him, making the world seem brighter.
"She said," he sighs out, less bothered by this than he has been in weeks, "she liked me too much to be my second choice."
Kate shifts slightly, and he can see the awareness of meaning in her eyes. "Did she?"
"Mhm. And then," he shifts closer, brushing a touch along her cheek, gratified when she leans in, just a little. "She told me to get my head out of my ass and go see my wife," he admits.
She startles and laughs. "Oh," she says softly, "I knew I kinda liked that one."
He murmurs assent, even as he leans in closer, taking his cue when she doesn't pull away. "She was a smart lady, yeah, but she was never what I really needed, and we both knew that."
Her hand comes up between them now, but he can feel her reluctance, even as she creates the modicum of distance between them. "Castle, we can't just -"
"Why not, Kate?" he asks, desperation and emotion lacing his voice now. "We're two single, grown adults. And this whole thing just feels wrong. I've been through a divorce before. You know what it felt like? A damned stay of execution. It wasn't fun, but it was such a relief, a reprieve. All being away from you has ever been is misery. An endless bad dream."
He feels a shift as she seemed to deflate against him, her forehead falling against his. He breathes her in, the scent of her shampoo and her perfume and her skin, and it gives him courage, strength.
"I thought it was better this way, better for you. But it's miserable. We're both miserable, and we don't have to be. Not anymore. Please, Kate. Please. If I'm wrong, then I'll accept it. I'll go. But I don't think I am."
For a long moment, the only answer is her unsteady breathing. And then her lips are on his, and he feels nothing else. Just her.