AN: Dear all, please note that this chapter contains spoilers for the book Heat Rises.
Chapter Three
"Richard? What are you doing up this late?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Mother," he jokes without looking up from the pages splayed in front of him.
His mother shrugs as she saunters through the front door, closing it dramatically after herself. "Well, I caught up with some of my theater playmates from back when and time just, you know…" she makes a flying gesture.
"With you, doesn't it always?" he asks teasingly.
Martha drops her purse on the kitchen island next to him. "So, working on a new book?"
"Not exactly." He shuffles the pages into each other, hoping to obstruct her view of them and avoid the lecture, but his mother is nothing if not observant and she sees the now familiar photos before he is able to hide them.
"You know, kiddo, you can always just reach out to her. I'm sure she just needs a little nudge, we all do sometimes."
"I can't call her, not after…" he looks up at his mother. "She doesn't even remember."
"Remember?"
"That I told her I loved her. In the hospital, she told me she doesn't remember anything from the shooting."
Martha's eyebrows lift up in surprise.
"Yeah, so…" he closes the folder in front of him.
"Okay, yes, the situation is less than ideal," she placates, "but maybe this isn't about you and her. Richard, she got shot and this is Katherine we are talking about. I mean you were always going on and on about how independent she is, maybe she just needs time to wrap her head around everything."
"I called her dad this morning," he adds indifferently, because he knows that while his mother may be right, that's not the entire story. Kate has no problems talking to anybody else.
She gives him a reprimanding look.
"What else was I supposed to do?"
She sighs, "What did he say?"
"That she is doing okay, that she will come around."
She squeezes his forearm, because there is nothing else she can offer him.
She finishes the book within a day and a half. The solitude allows her this indulgence, to dive into his words and wrap them around her. Even though she is going through the last few pages now, there was no rushing. She would stop to think about what he thought while writing a certain part, contemplate the details she knows she never willingly disclosed yet he was able to spot. She flipped the book every once in a while to glance at his picture to reassure herself of something that she doesn't even understand herself. It's an older version that smiles crookedly at her now, all mischief and it's all she needs. It's a great book, maybe even his best.
Now she crawls through the last of the pages as it all falls down in a swirl of veiled familiarity that leaves her a little confused. When she is done, she can already feel her self control waning. She starts to feel it all coming at her like a giant wave that she refuses to drown under, but she can't help the seconds when it rises in her, forcing twin tears to fall down her cheeks right before she tamps it all down, suppressing back the edges of emotions that start to cloud her.
Rook gets shot and Nikki stays. Why?
She has so many things she wants to ask; she always does whenever she reads his books. She never does though, doesn't want to tip her hand, show the almost obsessive level of adoration for his books, never wanting to tamper with the magic of his words.
She rests her head back on the pillow propped on the sofa's arm, tracing the edges of the papers before she flips them.
Then she sees the acknowledgment. "…how to make sense of songs."
She feels particularly proud of herself because she knew. She knew while reading that acknowledgment that she would call, even as her mind lined up all the arguments of why she shouldn't, arguments she wholeheartedly agreed with, but she was certain, just like she was certain that the sun would rise come tomorrow, that she would call. She is proud of how long she held out.
So she calls. She calls in the middle of the night, that part she is not proud of, because it feels like she will combust if she doesn't press the call button next to his name, if she doesn't hear his voice. She'd even ask him to read it to her if that wasn't a level of ridiculous she just wasn't willing to cross.
She is sitting on the edge of her bed, cloaked in encouraging darkness, as she hears the phone ring. Once, twice, thrice. How is it that a phone ringing can cause her this much anxiety?
"Kate?" he answers, his groggy, no preamble, answer.
"So, you told my dad on me, huh, Castle?"
"Kate?" he repeats, needing to make sure it's really her. He doesn't understand; his sleepy mind can't make sense of this.
"Yes, Castle," she replies in calmness that she feels nothing of.
"I-" he pauses for a second, lying back in his bed, "you called." He feels entirely too overwhelmed by just her voice, the amused tone that was always there still laces her words now.
"I know it's late, wer-" she starts softly.
"It's okay," he interrupts hurriedly. The silence allows him to hear the crickets in the background on her side.
She fiddles with the edges of his book, bringing it up to her lap and opening it to the acknowledgment.
"How are you doing, Kate?" he asks.
She doesn't remember the last time he called her by her first name this many times in a row, like this, through the phone during a midnight call. It feels soothingly intimate, appropriate. "I'm okay. Slow and steady, you know?"
"Yeah." Although he can't imagine she would actually go by those words and not push herself.
"I just finished reading Heat Rises," she finally confesses. She closes her eyes; it's just so good to hear his voice after so long. So good. His book in her lap, his words swimming in her head and his sleep filled voice in her ear, he is everywhere and it makes her shiver.
He waits her out, but she doesn't elaborate. "And?"
"It's one of your best. Ending must have been tough to write?"
"Yeah."
"Why is it that Rook is the one who got shot?" she asks bluntly; it's been eating at her. Rook gets shot and Nikki stays. What does that mean?
His brain is still having trouble catching up with this entire conversation, feels like it's jumping around. "Does it matter?" he says, though he doesn't know why he says that, because he knows that it does.
"Yes, Rick," she replies weakly. His indifferent answer leaves her eyes stinging. Definitely not the answer she was looking for.
As opposed to him calling her by her first name, her calling him Rick is never a good sign. Sitting up with his back to the headboard, he rubs his free hand over his face, trying to focus his mind. "I didn't want to write an ending with Nikki getting shot. It would have felt too… familiar. I didn't want to immortalize it with words, if that makes sense." He listens for a reaction and then adds quickly, "Plus, I didn't think you'd want to read that."
After a moment she replies with finality, "It's a great book, good dedication too."
"Thank you," he says, and it comes out more like a bewildered question. He takes a second to think about the conversation and it seems that was too long because she takes it as a sign to end the call.
"I should let you get back to sleep."
"Kate, wait."
She doesn't reply at first, expects him to start a conversation she, illogically, expected to avoid, but he doesn't, it's only silence. "Castle?"
"Why did you call?"
And here it is, just a little softer than she expected. She's still not prepared for it. Chewing on her lip, she thinks I missed your voice seems far too intimate, far too honest. "I wanted to tell you that I read your book, that it's really good."
"Okay." He can't quite keep the disappointment out of his voice. He doesn't know what he expected; you don't put Kate Beckett on the spot. He thinks about leaving it at that, his anger driving him towards a petulant response, but he knows that won't get them anywhere. "It's good to hear from you, Beckett," he says lightly instead.
"It's good to hear your voice again." She will allow herself that much.
Those words surprise him, mostly because he can hear the smile in her voice.
"Good night."
"Good night, Kate."
It's true what they say about the light of day and decisions, but now a few hours of sleep and a scrutinizing analysis of every word of that conversation.
She is at a loss. She had put on her boots to go on a walk, but she ended up sitting on the steps of the back porch. She knows the talk went well, or at least better than it could. But what's next? What happens now? How could she have possibly thought that this was a good idea? In all honesty, she never did, but in her need for his voice all protest was dulled, but now it roars at her.
The silence surrounding her is broken as she hears the sound of wheels crushing gravel and she knows it's not her dad, so she bolts to the house for her gun. Retrieving it from the night stand, she is carful not to make any noise as she does so. She can hear the opening and closing of a car door at the front of the cabin, then the steps against the gravel as she leans against one of the bedroom walls for support, her breaths coming a little shorter now. She feels the gun shaking in her damp hand, trying to still it by holding it in both hands. Then the soft knocking.
"Kate?" the familiar rasp says.
Castle? She furrows her eyebrows. This is enough to distract her from the panic that was about to take over her, making her push herself from the wall, dropping her gun back in the drawer and walking towards the door, accelerating her steps when the knocking gets louder. She yanks the door open, catching him in mid knock. "Castle?"
"Kate." He looks at her with wide eyes that are a little comical. They stand there for a second, looking at each other before he recovers, suddenly looking around. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. "You know, I haven't even seen a hospital in sight all the way up here?"
What? That's not what she expected and it takes her a second to catch up to this strange line of conversation. "There is one," she says and she shrugs dismissively.
"Where?" he replies, not missing a beat.
She fumbles because why the hell are they talking about this, her tone turning defensively aggressive, "An hour away."
The look of disbelief he gives her doesn't help and then he whines, "Kate, what if something happens and you need to see a doctor, what wer-"
"Did you come all the way up here just to yell at me?" she interrupts. It's just like him to irritate her within seconds of being here.
"No." Then he just stares at her, eyes glinting because the fire in her eyes is still there. Despite her thinner form and slight paleness, she is as gorgeous as ever. Always Kate.
She doesn't push for the reason of his surprise visit, knows not to ask those kinds of questions. She just steps to the side in silent invitation.
The floor boards squeak under his weight as he walks into the cabin and she watches his eyes darting everywhere, taking it all in.
Then he turns to face her, a smile on his face, "You look good, Kate."
She runs a self-conscious hand through her hair and smiles back. "You look good too. Umm, can I get you anything to drink?" She feels the awkwardness settle in between them, so she pushes, "I just made some coffee, want some?"
"Sure. Thanks."
She shakes her head at them, this overly polite version of them. She sighs and then lifts a teasing eyebrow, "Going to take off that jacket, Castle?"
"Sure," he repeats awkwardly.
She chuckles and moves to the kitchen to get their coffees. Despite all her worries before and this newly acquired awkwardness between them, sharing a space with him makes her feel like herself in a way she hasn't been able to in a long time.
Thank you all for reading, reviewing and enjoying, it's much appreciated. And a big thank you to the beta for this story, the always patient, adama-roslinlove.
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