There and Back
Two: With Coffee
Rick Castle had to admit, the Hamptons hadn't been terrible.
They'd been different, there was no doubt about that. Different in so many ways. Different because Alexis was too busy at Princeton to come. Different because he wasn't working on murder cases day in and day out, Naked Heat excluded. But most of all, it was different because instead of spending his days with the enigmatic Kate Beckett, he was spending them with his nagging, often blood-thirsty publisher.
Not that Gina was actually as terrible as he made her out to be. They had been married once, and though that had fallen by the wayside as their professional relationship clashed with their personal relationship, there had been piece of them that had made marriage seem like a good idea. He'd wanted company, that was all, and Gina had wanted to be able to be there, hanging over his shoulder while he finished the manuscript.
She'd left as soon as she had it in her hot little hands and while usually that would send him back to the city without thinking twice, this time, he'd stayed. Even without Alexis or his mother, the Hamptons was better than New York at the moment. There was too much in the city that reminded Rick of Kate and when he was reminded of Kate, he was reminded that he couldn't have her.
Well, admittedly, he'd conned Ryan and Esposito into telling him that Kate had ended her relationship with Demming the day he'd left, and he'd been able to put the puzzle pieces together pretty quickly. He wasn't stupid, by any stretch of the imagination and though he'd known Kate was going to nail him with some sort of heart-wrenching breakthrough the day he'd left for the Hamptons, he hadn't been willing to risk it being something he didn't want to hear.
Because after two failed marriages, his trust in relationships had been irrevocably shaken. Between that and his mother's string of relationships – not that he actually blamed her directly for any of it – Rick had never really had a stable relationship in his life. Beyond his mother and his daughter, they'd just all seemed to fall apart. So he'd gone superficial. It was psychology 101: man gets hurt too many times, man has superficial meaningless relationships to sate a physical need and a temporary emotional need before moving on so as to protect himself from harm and a broken heart. He didn't need a therapist to tell him that. He was a damned writer, a virtual psychologist in his own right.
It was a dog-eat-dog world and, unfortunately, in order to preserve his heart, his feelings and his emotions, he'd had to shatter hers. It had been heart-wrenching to see the look on her face, to know that he was the result of that look and it had almost made him pause, almost made him turn back to see just what kind of emotional truth she was about to share. But fear had gripped him too tightly, so he'd walked, arm-in-arm, to the elevator with Gina and headed on his vacation.
Now, he knew better. Now, he knew that Kate had been an instant away from giving him another piece of herself. Rick held a few and those few he'd worked very hard to protect. After screwing up the first time, regardless of how good his intentions had been, he'd vowed to himself that he would never do it again. He treasured the bits she gave him, searched almost blindly for more, waiting on the edge of his seat for the next time she would share a piece of herself. He knew it hadn't been a one-way street. He'd shared pieces of himself, smaller than hers, but poignant nevertheless. He'd shared his home, for one thing, and he hadn't been telling lies when he'd told her that it would always be a place for her where she could feel secure and where there were people who cared about her. For another, he'd shared his daughter, the most precious piece of himself. He'd put the safety and well-being of that precocious redhead in her hands should anything terrible befall him.
He missed her. He wasn't above admitting that. He'd missed her when she'd kicked him out of her life the first time, and he missed her now, when he'd pushed her away. He'd forced himself to re-write Naked Heat, but only after he'd written a painful death for Schlemming. Only then had he been able to step back and remind himself that though Nikki Heat was based on Kate, Nikki and Kate lived in two separate worlds. He couldn't control Kate – and granted, it was one of the things he liked about the fiery detective – but he could control Nikki. And that revelation had been the one he'd needed to complete Naked Heat and move forward.
But moving forward didn't mean moving on. He knew he'd done damage in walking away, and part of him couldn't blame Kate for being upset. She protected herself so completely, watched herself so carefully, that he knew how much it took for her to start talking to him, sharing with him, anything. So by walking away, he'd damaged that trust. How much, he still wasn't quite sure, but he knew it was enough that he'd have some work to do. They'd both have some work to do. But he knew Kate, probably better than she thought he did, and so he knew she wasn't going to take that first step. Heck, if he knew Kate at all he'd be surprised if she'd admitted to herself that she missed him, let alone that someone had to extend the proverbial olive branch.
Rick also knew he needed to be careful. He'd been hurt by Demming because he'd thought they were working towards something, building the trust that would set a solid foundation for more, and he'd thought he was doing the right thing by walking away and giving her the chance to be happy. He stood by that decision at the time, and considering the information he'd had, it seemed logical. Now, however, he had a different set of facts, a different case file in front of him, and he had to start treating it like a new case, instead of one attached to the old. Demming was a thorn in his side, like that piece of evidence that wouldn't quite fit in the case file, but he'd come to the conclusion that if he wanted to rebuild anything with Kate, he was going to have to put aside some of his anger and hurt for now. And he had to hope that she would too.
Because as much as he acted like a child, he'd raised a daughter and he'd done a half-decent job of it, if he did say so himself. He could be a mature adult, had proven that when it mattered most and to that end, he knew that he was going to have to strike a tenuous balance between being mature and being himself. Kate would never ask him to change, not for anyone and especially not for her, but he knew that if he wanted to eventually hold all of the pieces to the complicated puzzle of Kate Beckett, he was going to have to do it with an infinite amount of patience.
He'd had the idea of how to reach out to her a couple of days ago. He'd been alone on the beach, playing around on his laptop with ideas, characters, anything really, and it had hit him. He'd looked out over the sand, over the water, and only one thought had gone through his head. He wished Kate was there.
He'd had it all planned out from there, the scene, the setting the whole thing. Now all he needed was the courage to send it to her. He was nervous as anything because there was the distinct chance she'd ignore the text, the chance that she'd just delete it without looking at it, the chance that she'd fire back some scathing retort that would tell him just where he could shove it. He didn't want to upset her. That wouldn't do well in helping him to regain her trust and start gently taking hold of her heart.
So it took him three days before he managed to do it, finally convincing himself just before dropping off to sleep to just send it and turn off his phone. He could check in the morning if there was anything else. He'd surprised himself by being good about it, but when he'd surfaced from sleep the next morning, he'd found himself dreading turning on his phone. And that was why he'd waited until early afternoon, until he couldn't stand it anymore, to turn on the device. He waited impatiently for it to start up, holding it in his hand and almost praying for a positive response.
He wasted no time in checking the text when it came in, letting out a loud guffaw at the picture of the white NYPD mug beside the old crappy coffee maker.
Esposito broke yours. Coffee sucks.
It floored him how much she'd managed to say without saying anything at all. He wasn't forgiven yet, because he could almost hear the short, clipped tone in her voice as he read the words, but she'd alluded to the crappy break room coffee, a conversation they'd had over a year ago just before he'd started bringing her a coffee every morning.
Even though she hadn't said it, she missed him too and in pure Kate fashion, she'd done it with coffee.
You guys were fantastic about reviewing the last one. I'm glad you're enjoying this, truly.
With coffee as such a huge metaphor in their relationship, this just seemed kind of fitting.
I hope you enjoyed my take on Rick's POV as much as you liked Kate's.
Part three needs a few clean ups, so it'll be up in a couple of days.