Chapter Three:
Kate wakes up early and wonders how wrong is it that she took his leather jacket to bed with her last night? It's weird right? But the thing is, despite Detective Slaughter having had custody of the coat for a few days – it still smells like Castle. It's his expensive cologne that lingers on the soft brown cow hide – that insanely comforting smell that she can never get enough of – especially lately when he's so deliberately been keeping his distance.
She slept like a baby last night – the first time in weeks that she's really gotten a full night's uninterrupted rest. And she knows without dwelling on it that this fact says a lot about her state of mind – and the effect just the illusion of him being there has on her psyche.
Beckett sighs heavily and snuggles the jacket closer to her as tears prick the back of her eyes (something that's happening with scary regularity these days.) She's being sentimental and foolish, she knows she is – but she can't quite seem to shake herself out of it. No the only thing that's going to accomplish that is getting their partnership back on its previous footing – no – preferably better than their previous footing. It's their time now – its here – and she's certain she's ready.
The cop pushes back the bed covers and hops out of bed, laying the brown coat gently on the chair in the corner of the room before she heads for the shower. When she re-emerges twenty minutes later the sight of it momentarily has her heart skipping beats and her face cracking into a rare wry smile. Silly girl. But it sure does look good lying there – like he just left it behind after a night of passion, and she shakes her head at her own fancifulness as she finishes getting ready for work.
Castle's brown coat is of course coming with her.
At the precinct she's tempted for a moment to simply hang it on the back of 'his' chair, and leave it waiting for him – and the next time he shows up. But then somehow that feels wrong – like it's an afterthought instead of a gesture – so she hangs it on the back of her own chair instead and then grabbing the bull by the horns she sends him a text message. They don't actually have a case – but there's no more denying that he needs to be here.
'Can you stop by the 12th today? I have something for you – please Rick.'
She hits send, hopes it doesn't sound like she's desperate (she is) and then she swallows back a sudden raging bout of nerves, forces herself to walk away from her phone and give him some time to respond to her while she goes to get coffee.
The writer is having coffee himself – along with a cream cheese bagel for breakfast when his phone goes off. He pulls it from his pants pocket and stares at the screen as he chews.
The message is from Beckett and the author sighs heavily. Figures – he hasn't been able to put her out of his mind for a moment since he left the Twelfth yesterday and sometimes the weird parallels between his life away from the precinct and his life inside it blow even his writer's imagination away.
Despite two bowls of ice-cream and a talk that lasted hours - Alexis still hasn't come to a conclusion about what she wants to do about Stanford. And he's sitting here in his kitchen this morning facing a similar dilemma. He can't decide what to do about Beckett either, because 'getting over' being this hurt by her isn't as easy as it sounds and there is a disturbingly large part of him that petulantly doesn't want to even try.
And it's not like him.
Because the writer loves a challenge – he loves to beat the odds. He is not a quitter (two failed marriages aside, and God knows how hard he tried to save those) he knows he's never been the type to give up easily. He would not be what he is or where he is if he was.
And yet despite this, the same question he posed to Alexis – how badly do you want it? Remains.
Castle glances down at his partners' message again and he's struck suddenly by her choice of phrasing. His fertile mind automatically reading into the few short words she sent him, seeing the subtext, ascribing a meaning.
'Can you?' She's asked. Not 'will you' or simply 'stop by', but 'can you?' 'Can you' - as if, for once – Kate Beckett's actually uncertain of where she really stands with him. And then there's the sign off – 'Please, Rick' both a plea and the usage of his given name, and that's something Castle can count happening on the fingers of just one hand.
Please, Rick.
Damn it.
It gets to him. It reaches right inside his chest and squeezes his bruised heart tightly in an iron fist. Please, Rick . . . please.
Closing his eyes the author sighs heavily again. This angst he's been putting himself through is so pointless.
The truth is - he's already given up on wishing that he didn't love her. He does, he has for so long that he can no longer even remember the moment when he started – it's just a part of him. It's just like it's always been there – always will be there. Always – just like he's told her.
And here's the real kicker - he still wants it even now. He still wants her – so badly. So badly that he already knows he will dutifully go today – to the precinct, as she's asked him too. So badly, that he realizes he's been agonizing about nothing really, because there is no choice to be made here. He chose a very long time ago to try for Kate Beckett's love – and if he's failed in that – if he can only ever be the partner she relies on – the friend she needs – then he still wants that too, and badly enough to get over the fact that she's broken his heart.
He types a reply into his phone.
'Sure can. I'll stop by in an hour or so – coffee?'
A peace offering he thinks. He needs a peace offering – something that tells her before he sees her again that he wants things to go back to normal between them. Normal isn't enough, but it's far better than the alternative has been.
Back at the precinct her phone goes off with her partner's response just as Beckett returns to her desk. She scans the text anxiously and finds herself smiling in relief – he's coming! He'll be here soon in fact.
She eyes the coffee she's just made and decides to wait on the one he's offering to bring her – just the thought of seeing him already making her truly happy.
She sends him a response.
'I'd love some – see you soon.'
And then she walks back to the break room to pour the crap she just brewed down the sink – because she can face it, Castle's coffee is just plain better. Then she heads once more for her desk and as she sits she finds herself slowly brushing her hand against the soft leather of his coat where it hangs down the rear of her chair. There is some paperwork she should really catch up on but the jacket distracts her and instead she spends the minutes planning what she'll say when she returns it to him today. She does not (she totally does) let herself also get distracted by remembering the way it's filled out by his broad shoulders and the way it brings out an almost royal blue tone in his eyes.
God she's pathetic. But she's so looking forward to giving this jacket back to him now . . . in fact she can hardly wait.
Castle grabs their usual order from their usual place and feels something settling inside of him as he does so. A certain sense of rightness, of peace - both in the pit of his stomach and somewhere in the vicinity of his heart too. The beginnings of healing and the stirrings of hope - if he had to label it, and as he takes a slip of his coffee he finds himself truly surprised by the latter. He didn't think he had any 'hope' left not of this kind, not when it comes to anything more than getting over the broken heart and going back to being happy as her friend – and yet it's there. If it was gone and he thinks it genuinely had disappeared there for a time – and suddenly now this morning its seeping back, infusing him from the inside out - then that's all because she's requested his presence.
God he's pathetic. He's reading way too much into this - but he still can't wait to see her.
He finds her sitting at her desk and doing something very 'un-Kate' like. She's daydreaming, sitting there and staring off into space with the end of a pencil in her mouth. Lucky, lucky pencil. He swallows back a faintly dirty comment and instead sets her coffee cup down in front of her and waits for her to see it.
Studying her familiar, beautiful face the warmth he was feeling before colors him still further. Kate looks amazing today – more amazing than is usual he thinks. There's just something about the small smile flitting around her mouth and the way when she sees the coffee she immediately looks up – her eyes instantly seeking his. There is a strange and wonderful sparkle in their depths that's completely directed at him, like he's hung the moon or saved the world or something and though he cannot think of anything to account for it – he knows his whole face lights up beneath it anyhow.
"Hey Castle." Her greeting is all breathy and delighted.
In response he knows his smile widens further, his reply kinda shy.
"Good morning Beckett."
The detective grabs for her coffee cup and downs a thankful swallow of perfect skinny vanilla latte in his favorite fashion – the two-handed tilt-back – he calls it - and that's when he notices it – his brown leather coat on the rear of her chair.
The one he handed over to Detective Ethan Slaughter.
And Castle can't help it – his smile and his mood immediately fade – because what on God's green earth is Kate doing with it?