He stumbles while rushing to the front door of her building, trips up the last step, and ends with his face smashed against the glass.
He's still a little angry.
He's spent a week wallowing in self-pity and misery, certain his heart has been betrayed again. But the awful truth, what hurts more than thinking she had forsaken him, is the realization that he's done the same. Because he knows her; he knows how she ticks. He'd let his emotions get the best of him and let his anger take hold when he should have given her a chance to explain.
She would have.
In her own time, once she'd figured it out for herself. Headstrong, stubborn, ambitious, his mother had said. And scared as a rabbit in a foxhole. At the time, he'd glossed over the scared part, too hurt by his perceived betrayal to even begin to view things from her perspective.
But she would have explained. Because she's been trying lately; harder than him, he realizes, and perhaps that's exactly why she felt the need to keep it a secret from him.
He'd bought her the ring the day after she'd surprised him for his birthday. Having already narrowed his options down to three, months earlier, the choice had been simple. The one he chose was elegant, low profile and of the highest quality. A reflection of how he saw her. It was perfect.
How the hell can she question his commitment?
'How exactly was she to know?' his mother's voice echoes in his head.
He's ecstatic and he's terrified; he's a mixed up, stuttering mess of nerves and steely resolve. He fumbles with the keys and drops them at his feet, hitting his head on the door handle as he stands back up. He could kiss the disapproving face of Mrs. Jones from across the hall when she lets him into the building with a scowl and a roll of her eyes.
"Calm down, sonny," she says. "I don't know how that girl of yours puts up with you."
"Me neither," he replies solemnly.
Mrs. Jones gives him a confused tilt of her head and proceeds out the door, shaking her head.
He strokes his fingers over the box in his pocket. Finding the perfect time to give the ring to her…that hadn't been so easy. He'd brought it out of its hiding spot amongst his underwear at least a dozen times and had thought about popping the question, but it never seemed quite right and his own insecurities had quickly told him that it was too soon.
For her, he'd told himself. But maybe for him too, he now realizes.
He gulps down the nervous tension roiling in his belly. He wants her to have it, wants her to wear it; he wants to get down on one knee and offer her forever. But he's terrified. Of her, of himself, of all he could ruin if he pushes too hard, too fast.
This is what got them into this mess, he reminds himself.
It took his mother putting him through the wringer to realize that if he loved her, truly loved her, then he'd love her despite her faults, her tendency to keep things close to the vest.
He's been punishing her for the very thing that made him fall in love with her.
She makes him work for it, for every inch, and in the process it makes him a better man. So yes, he'll offer her the ring, his life, he'll offer it with no caveats. He'll love her fully and without fear, and let the cards fall where they may.
He jabs the elevator button with gusto. He taps his foot with impatience and almost falls out of the car when it arrives on her floor.
He gets to her door and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.
He shuffles his feet, chewing on his lip and eyeing her front door like it might jump out and bite him. He's never been so scared in his life. What he's about to do will change everything.
He wonders if she took the job. Or did she decide to stay? Does it even matter? If she did decide to stay, does she even want him in her life? He's spent five years trying to prove to her that he was different, that he was worthy and willing to wait. He knew going in that she was different, a challenge.
He knows now that he will follow her anywhere. But how to convince her of that? How does he convince her that he wants forever, for all the right reasons and not as a desperate ploy to get her to stay?
He digs in his pocket and fingers the ring out of the box, lets it encircle his pinky. The ring glints at him, a myriad of colors reflecting back from its surface. It makes him smile, reminds him of the many shades of Beckett that he fell in love with.
In the span of only a few days, he might have ruined it all. Shutting her out was the exact wrong reaction, and though he's honest enough with himself to know that it was human, he prides himself on his ability to read her, and his knack for making her open up.
Neither of them is to blame. It's just who they are. He hopes he can fix it.
He raises his hand with the ring still on his finger, groans at his carelessness and shoves it back in his pocket. He tightens his jaw, gulps in a heaving lungful of air.
Calm down, he tells himself. You've done this before.
No. He's never done this before. He has proposed twice, but it'll be the first time he's done it for the right reasons.
Tentatively, he raises his hand to knock and a wave of panic rushes over him.
He wonders if she took a test already. Should he ask about that first? If she did, is she keeping yet another secret?
God, the woman will be the death of him. She keeps him tied up in knots and twisted with anxiety. His anger returns, sudden and unbidden.
At this point, he's not even sure who he's angry with. Is it with her, for making him work so hard? Or maybe he's angry at himself, for not having the courage to take the final leap and continue with what he had struggled for so long to achieve.
When will they ever learn to just talk about things? Is this going to be their fatal flaw?
No! He's not going to let it end like that. He's going to take his mother's advice and fight for it.
He deserves it.
She does too.
He pounds on the door, not willing to let her hide for another moment.
She casts a lingering, sidelong glance toward the bathroom and then strides toward the front door.
Jeez, Castle, she thinks. Your timing couldn't have been worse.
Or better.
No, it definitely couldn't have been worse.
Because right about now, as she hovers at the threshold with her hand on the doorknob and with shallow breaths making her feel lightheaded, the test will be conclusive. Right about now she could at least partially know what her future holds. And she'd like to at least know that, because she has no idea where they stand.
If they still stand.
It's been six days of radio silence. What could possibly have changed? What could have caused the ice to crack?
She forces herself to inhale deeply, slowly, like Burke taught her; she falters on the exhale, blowing it all out in one quick gush. Her hair flies out in all directions, her chest tightens, and sweat that has formed on her brow dries cold on her face.
This is absurd. It's ridiculous for her to be panicking now. The furious knocking continues as she regroups and regulates her breathing, gets herself under control.
She's put it off all week in hopes that he would come around, that they would talk and settle their differences and that they could find out together. She is loath to admit it, but in her idle moments she has caught herself daydreaming about white picket fences and two point five sandy-haired kids; a golden retriever lolloping to greet her after a long day at the precinct.
She closes her eyes, squeezes them shut to block out the image. Now's not the time. He's waiting.
Like always, her mind supplies.
He's waiting on the other side of the door with the answers she's been desperately searching for. So what is she waiting for?
She's not sure if they can salvage the relationship, but she is certain that if the test reads positive, he will be supportive, that he would want to know.
He's a good man. He has the right to know.
Her fingers curl hesitantly around the door knob and she bites on her lip, wavering, letting her grip on the handle drop as the reason for her fear becomes clear.
She's waiting because she's terrified that her habit of keeping secrets has ruined them.
Once upon a time, secrets were a good thing. They protected her, and sheltered her father when he was drinking; when he could have lost it all to the bottle. She used secrets to protect him and his good name. She used secrets to protect herself; to defend against well-meaning but clueless friends who would never understand the pain. She used secrets to rise through the ranks of the NYPD, hiding her past to gain access to what she hoped would be the key to her mother's murder.
But it was he who showed her that there was another way. It was he who taught her to be honest; first with herself, and finally, little by little, with him.
It was entirely unfair of her to not include him from the start. She should have told him the minute she was pulled aside and the job offer was only an inkling of the beginning of an idea. She's told herself she was protecting him, protecting their relationship. In reality, she was being a coward; too scared of the possibility of rejection if they were to find themselves wanting different things. She was protecting nobody but herself.
Well no more. No more secrets. She's done with them.
It's the first thing she'll tell him. Then, she'll sit him down and make him listen to her. Make him understand what she was trying to tell him at the swings.
Jesus, Kate, open the damn door!
He's here. His timing couldn't have been better. With a strong grip and a steady resolve in her heart, she clutches the door handle and swings the door wide open.
"Rick… hi."
He stares at her, fist still raised, mid-knock. His Adam's apple bobs and his jaw clenches. She attempts a smile. He quirks an eyebrow but his face doesn't soften and there's something in his eye she can't quite read.
"Come in," she says awkwardly, waving in the general direction of her kitchen.
He strides past and lands on one of the kitchen stools, heaving a deep sigh and sucking in a loud lungful of air as he sinks onto it.
This doesn't bode well.
She flicks a quick glance to the bathroom and steels her nerves.
One foot in front of the other, she tells herself. She can't help the quick flush of desire that washes over her as she makes her way across the room. She wants to wrap him up in her arms and whisper her apologies in his ear. She wants to lead him to her bedroom and show him everything that she has such a hard time saying.
She doesn't let people into her home, only a very select few. And seeing him here, even angry, even so very disappointed in her, it feels right. She'd never let anyone this close, doesn't think he realizes that he alone gets to see her like this. Will hadn't managed, and certainly not Josh. In those relationships it had been on her terms. She'd gone to them when she needed comfort, or dragged them quickly to the bedroom only to shuffle them back out the next morning; she'd held them at arm's length and scoffed at the very idea of them being comfortable in her space.
But Castle, he belongs here. Arriving unannounced and entering with a flourish, sitting at her counter or sprawled on her couch; snooping through her belongings and disrupting the order of her bookshelves, he had fit before she'd even realized she was in love with him.
She realizes she's been standing still for a moment too long. While she's been admiring the proud, resilient set of his jaw, the straight line of his spine despite his obvious discomfort, he has started to fidget.
She could show him, and it might even work. But she needs to tell him. They need to talk.
Now or never, Kate.
"I'm sorry," she begins, settling on the stool beside him, careful to keep her eyes on his face even if he won't look her in the eye. "I shouldn't have kept secrets."
"It's who you are, you don't let people in," he says, testing his first sideways glace at her.
Her heart flutters nervously in her chest and his tone of voice is making her worry.
"I've had to scratch and claw for every inch."
She gulps. "Castle, I…" she tries to interrupt, needing to tell him her secret.
"Please let me finish," he demands. His tone brooks no argument and her stomach plummets.
She drops her gaze and lets him have his say. All her plans have flown out the window with the steely timbre of his voice.
The man is deadly serious.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking about us… our relationship." He pauses. "What we have, where we're headed."
Present tense, she notes with a small shiver of hope.
"I've decided I want more. We both deserve more."
Oh.
Oh no. He can't be.
And with those two sentences her stomach is somewhere in the vicinity of the basement. She never thought it would hurt this much. Some stupid part of her, that had considered taking the job, had thought it would be easier to end things now, before it became too serious, before they had officially committed to anything. She knows now how very hard she had been fooling herself.
There will never be another. Not after him.
He's a decent, loving, honorable man and he's right. He does deserve more.
But so does she.
Seconds tick by, feeling like hours, and it's all she can do to hold herself up and not fling herself into his arms and beg for forgiveness.
She holds all the blame for the mess that is this last week, but of late, he's not given one hundred percent either.
She's the one that's been scratching. She's the one that's been clawing this past year. He's the one that's been holding back.
Kate doesn't hold it against him though. What little she has learned about him, about his past and the reasons he is the way he is, uncovers deep pain of his own; carefully held secrets that take him just as much effort to reveal as it does her to expose. The small glimmers of the real Rick Castle, the man behind the image he projects, only serve to make her love him more.
But how does she make him see that it's worth the effort?
They really are quite the pair.
"I agree," she says quietly, hoping he hears the courage she tries to inflect in her voice. The quiet hope that maybe they can have 'more' together, instead of apart.
"So whatever happens, whatever you decide..."
He stands up, as though he's about to leave and her lip trembles; tears threaten to spill over the edge of her lashes. It really is over.
She's been such a fool.
"Katherine Houghton Beckett, will you marry me?"
He…
She feels her eyes widen, her jaw go slack. Everything runs in slow motion and her peripheral vision blurs as her focus shifts to the man before her.
Did he just? Is he on one knee? In her kitchen?
His eyes are a clear and vibrant blue, and there is not even a small trace of humor. He is one hundred percent, deadly serious.
Her eyes travel to the ring and… oh wow... it's gorgeous.
Everything within her vibrates with the need to throw herself into his arms and say yes.
Instead, she says no.
Wow, guys, first off, thank you. The response to this story has been amazing and your insightful (or just plain FDKGFDFDSASSDFH) reviews make my day.
Second, to Kell, for being the best bloody beta a gal could ask for. The first draft rambled and jumped around and she kicked my ass right back into gear.
And to Nic, for reminding me that I do in fact know how to write a decent story once I get over myself and just do it.
I angsted over this chapter forever. I hope it satisfied.