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Chapter One: The Beginning of the End

December 20 2020

Kate once read that love was like a rubber band. When one end is released, the other end would be hurt. But as the rubber band is stretched beyond its breaking point, it would snap and in the end, none of them will go out unscathed.

She guesses that it is their situation now, tethering on a thin line, ready to snap.

She looks at the yellowed paper in her hands. Her first poem she wrote as an official member of the Castle family. It was the beginning of her married life.

She had taken quite a while to write the poem. She was no writer, no poet, words didn't seem to come to her as well as she had hoped. She could not paint beautiful imageries about her love, she could not liken him to the moon or to the sun but she could use the simplest of words to convey the strong, intense love she had inside.

She knew-knows-the importance of the tradition. To Castle, family is everything. You can hurt him, tear him down, destroy him but you can never touch his family. And she, she was fortunate enough to be part of his family, even if it wasn't forever.

She traces the words she wrote.

Funny, how it was the beginning of the end.

She sits at her old desk and waits. Detectives bustle past her.

10 pm.

And she waits.

Kate Beckett glared at the empty piece of paper. She disliked herself at that very moment. The emotions she held could not be translated into words. For that moment, she understood Rick's moans of writer's block.

She checked the clock.

2 a.m.

She really needed to write the poem.

But as Richard Castle said, some space and rest might fuel the writing mind. So she decided to put down her pen and take a small breather.

She found Castle lying on their bed, deep in slumber. He did not realise it but he was often tense in his sleep. It felt as though all the tension surfaced when he was at his most vulnerable state. She wondered what dreams he had, if he were dreaming.

She touched the crease between his eyebrows.

He had been running around, trying his very best to unravel the mystery, to find answers to the case.

That was who he was, righteous, determined, stubborn.

He was even an honorary mobster, a fact Kate did not know how she should react to.

This man, this infuriating man was the one who threw himself into dangerous situations together with her. Sometimes she wondered what had she done to deserve someone like him. He was more than she could ever hope for. To have someone like him love her, she was more than lucky.

And she loved him, with all her heart, with every fibre of her being, down to each atom that made her up.

And the feelings translated into words and she found herself jotting down the random words that formed in her mind.

Just a little more.

The poem, it was simple but it got her message-her feelings-across. And that was enough, she supposed.

The clock ticks.

Kate takes in a deep breath. Will he show up? It was, well, it is preposterous of her. Her request had taken her by surprise, not to say her soon to be ex-husband.

She wonders if he would meet her here.

She wonders.

Kate Beckett was often calm, even when she was facing the most notorious killers. But at that moment, she felt that her legs would snap under her weight,and her heart was in her throat.

She took in a deep breath and caught hold of Castle. With excitement dripping off her fingertips, she recited her poem to him, anticipating his response.

He was acting rather strangely that night but with her giddiness from all the anticipation, she had pushed her doubts aside. She did not think much of it, allowing her excitement from her marriage and Christmas took over. Christmas was never something she looked forward to since her mother's death but with Castle, she was starting to like it. She was enjoying the holidays.

Christmas felt magical, almost surreal. And yet, she supposed (again), that it was the beginning of the end.

The next day he was gone from the precinct.

"Sorry I'm late." She hears his voice and turns, getting up from the chair.

"It's fine," she smiles and smooths her clothes. Silence, once again, filled up the space.

He runs a hand through his hair, an obvious sign of discomfort. Once upon a time, there was not an inch of discomfort between the two of them. Now, they could barely look at each other in the eye.

"So, the precinct," he starts, his eyes darting around the room. Christmas decorations litter the precinct, giving it a sense of cheerfulness. The party has ended a few days ago, with the detectives pampering their children, showering them with gifts. Jo and Ray are little starlets in the precinct, loved and cherished by all.

"It all started here," she is soft, "when a killer started copying your works thirteen years ago."

"And everything was history." He concludes.

"I hated your guts back then and I never thought that one day, well, I would fall in love with you just like how I fell in love with your words."

"What do you want Kate?"

His words sting.

"Remember the poem I wrote for you six years ago?" She is louder now, a hopeful smile on her face. She doesn't know what she was doing. She wanted to let go of their relationship, not… Not this.

"This has been an epic year

Life's been full of joy and tears.

Solving crimes and catching killers-"

"Just like Castle's famous thrillers," he continues, his eyes avoiding hers.

"We share a passion every day."

"As partners go we are here to stay," they speak in unison, the words heavy above them. Their eyes meet and time seems to stand still. For a moment, she thinks she feels a spark, something that might ignite the frozen flames between them. These words are a secret vow she made to herself. She promised that she would be by his side as long as time permitted.

Maybe time is up.

"Hug me, Castle," she whispers.

He slowly draws her into a hug, his hands awkwardly on her back, like he is trying to hold a bagful of released puppies, not quite sure where to put his hands.

She silently breathes him in as she closes her eyes, allowing his scent to surround her. She misses this, misses his hug, misses his words, misses his scent.

Five more days to christmas. Five more days to their divorce.

It is the beginning of the end.

No, it has already started years ago.