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Lost in bright city lights
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Chapter Seven – Comparison
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With no reason left to hold onto where life was taking her prior to her parents' deaths, Kate Beckett stumbles into a different world. Can she keep herself and her emotions buried deep or will everything crack open when fate throws Rick Castle her way? An AU Caskett meeting. Ficathon 2014 Entry.
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Kate brings her knuckles to the wooden surface, and resting them against the front door, she pauses, the war inside her continuing to rage. She has to knock, has to go in, has to get these photos taken, and when he asks how good a job he should do, she has to reply, "The best," no matter the cost that comes with it.
You're only as good as your last campaign.
She doesn't want to be famous, though, has turned down major offers in her bid to be nobody, but working for Peter would be regular income, regular hours, at least for a little while, and if she has to screw his photographer to get there, then that's what she'll do.
Knocking, her eyes close as she waits, her hands dropping as she shoves them into her pockets, and the scrunched up napkin inside one brushes against her fingers.
There is another option - Rick - but pride comes before a fall, and as the door to the massive art studio creaks in movement, she opens her eyes, faces the impending crash landing.
"Kate, so glad you could make it." Vincent's brown eyes don't meet hers, his gaze already traveling down her body, across the tank top she'd thrown on over her bare chest, along the pleated skirt that brushes the tops of her thighs every time she shifts. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up."
Lifting one shoulder, her fingers curl into the palm of her hands, her nails creating crescent indentations. Concealed within her skirt, he can't see the effect he's already having, the disgust that's churning her stomach, and she inches her chin higher, looks down her nose with indifference.
He can take what he wants from her body, but he's not getting any emotion from her. Not that there's much left.
She had well and truly decimated her supply of cocaine before leaving, her skin now rippling with the excess energy, her flesh numb, her heart buried so far underneath the avalanche of white powder that he has no chance of touching it, regardless of how much he touches her.
Opening the door wider, he shifts to one side and she walks past, stands in the middle of the renovated warehouse not bothering to look around. It's easier, later, when there are fewer details plaguing her memories.
"So, you're here for your photo spread for Peter?" The breath that slides across her neck is damp, a dirty wet rag and she constricts each muscle, refuses to let the shudder break free.
"Yeah."
He stalks around her, circles her like a tiger eyeing its prey, his stare stripping her bare, but he doesn't touch, not yet.
"And what are you hoping to get out of tonight?"
There it is - the question that she has to answer.
Inside there is a woman who stands strong, stands for what she believes in, fights for what is right. Inside there is a woman who looks the devil in the eye and back hands him, shows the steel that's in her bones, the iron that runs through her veins.
Inside her that woman weeps for what she has become, the unspoken depths she has fallen to.
That woman looks a lot like her mother.
Closing her eyes, Kate breathes in, sends a silent apology to the woman who she could be, to her mother for what she is, and straightening her shoulders, she does what she has to do, says what she has to say.
"I need the best images you can take."
"At any cost?"
"Of course."
Taking her hand, he pulls her across the workspace to the long sofa set in front of a blank green backdrop, and sitting down, he tugs, her body falling against his with the sharp jerk.
She shifts back, moves away from him, though not enough. The suffocating sensation of his body next to hers is quicksand that fills her nose and mouth, makes breathing near impossible, yet she perches on the edge of the seat, waits for the inevitable.
Buried at the back of what used to be her parents' cabin there was a cluster of bushes that had grown wild, dishevelled, unkempt, and long ago, she had crawled underneath them, the tangled branches a web above her head. She'd lain on her back, staring through the mess, the bright blue sky so far out of reach, except, for a moment, it would engulf her, descend and swallow her whole.
There was nothing but her dissolving, disappearing as she was absorbed into the glorious color.
The color she'd never seen since, not until she'd looked into Rick's eyes.
Vincent trails a finger along the skin of her arm, dipping under the strap that rests on her shoulder, and slipping it down, he exposes her left breast.
The air conditioner hums in the background, almost like the wind rustling through the grass, and the hairs on her arms rise.
He moves his fingers slowly across her bicep, his back bending and as he lowers his head, he puts his tongue against her skin, follows the path of his hand.
When she had lain beneath the sky, the breeze would be feather-like, barely there, and she would imagine floating above the world, drifting amid the clouds.
Slithering a palm underneath her breast, he lifts, his thumbnail slicing across the tip of her nipple, the sweat in his touch slime on her skin, and her eyes close, again.
Find the blue sky - vanish within it.
But the blue isn't the vast expanse of heaven above; it's Rick's eyes.
It was the way he'd looked at her, a soft smile curling his lips, before he'd placed his mouth on the skin of her abdomen, kissing her slowly.
The touch on her now is such a contrast to the care within Rick's, the firm pressure of his hand as he'd drifted across the battered flesh of her feet, removing her shoes, so very horrified at what had happened to her.
How horrified would he be now?
She stands, her head twisting side to side and looking around the room, she comes to.
What are you doing, Katie?
Her mother's voice cracks through the cocaine, pulls the branches aside, her smiling face glancing down through the gap, and a sob claws its way up her throat.
I don't know, Mom.
"What the hell, Kate?"
Vincent's harsh words cause her to turn, and looking down at him, half sprawled on the sofa, his face twisted with anger, Kate's mouth opens before closing again.
What is she doing?
Frozen in place, Kate's eyes lock with Vincent's, but she doesn't answer, couldn't even if she wanted to.
The face of her mother morphs back into Rick's, and Kate takes a step away.
The comparison to him, his hands, his touch, slashes further through the haze, through the white dust that's churning in her mind, and hell, if she is going to be paying the price for a set of photos, why in the world is she paying the asshole in front of her instead of the man she actually wants?
Pride does come before a fall, but she's fallen; the path of sweat from Vincent's hand is clinging to the skin of her breast, a nasty example of that cost.
She could have said yes to Rick, should have. But she'd turned him down because of the risk he represents to her closed off way of life. She doesn't need anyone to take care of her.
Except maybe she does.
Dragging her tank top back onto her shoulder, Kate takes another step backwards. Then another.
The gap between her and Vincent widens, his outraged shouts spurring her on as she spins, stalks across the space until she hits the front door and ripping it open, she exits.
Her body slumps into the nearest wall, the brick's rough surface scraping her shoulder, and she slides down.
What has she done?
"Are you okay?"
Looking up, her head nods of its own accord. The couple standing before her raise an eyebrow as one, and Kate offers a smile, attempts to convey that she's fine.
Of all the things she is, fine really isn't one of them.
Shrugging his shoulder, the man steers his other half away, the girl moving to his side, her hand slipping into his back pocket as his arm encircles her shoulder, and together they move off.
The stomach acid that's been churning all evening rises up through Kate's throat, and turning toward the wall, she heaves. If there were food in her stomach, she'd at least have something to vomit up, but as shudder after shudder races along her thin frame, nothing comes of it. There's nothing left inside.
Letting her head fall back, the dull thump of pain vibrates through her skull, tumbles down her neck, and she brings her knees up to her chest, her hands burying themselves deep in the pockets of her skirt.
Once again, the paper brushes her fingers.
She pulls the napkin out, smoothing the crushed mess of numbers against her naked thighs, and staring at his phone number, she inhales freely.
For the first time in a long time, she'd stood up for herself, had made a choice and walked away, and while - if she goes through with this - there will still be a price to pay Rick, the shroud she lugs around each day slips a little, the weight not so heavy.
Standing up, she fixes the rumpled material of her outfit, smoothes a hand across her hair. The ponytail she'd thrown it into is hardly flattering, and tugging at the tie, she frees the unruly curls, allowing them to spill across her shoulders.
Each step along the sidewalk stretches her stride, her eyes scanning the street for a payphone. It takes her half a block - it's moments like this that spending her money on a cell seems worth it - but one presents itself eventually.
Holding Rick's number between her fingers, she inhales, and holding her breath, she gathers the courage needed to call him.
The simple task of pressing buttons on a phone overwhelms her system, her eyes closing, another deep breath forcing her lungs to expand.
For the love of god, Kate, just press the buttons.
Her fingers move rapidly, as if in a race with her mind, and she brings the handset to her ear, the ring tone occurring before she's ready for it. Wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, she wipes the moisture that is beading on her skin, the palm of her free hand pressing against her skirt; she waits, this time in nervous anticipation.
"Hey, you've reached Rick Castle, how can I help you tonight?"
Laughter simmers, his cheesy greeting wiping her worries away, and she grins in spite of the fact that he can't see her.
"Rick. Hi. It's Kate. I-"
"Kate." Her name rushes through the phone, the warmth in his tone washing her skin clean, and her mouth widens, her teeth flashing the empty street.
"Yeah. That's me."
"You're calling? I didn't-"
Damn it. She'd rejected his offer, had pretty much told him to take it and shove it where the sun doesn't shine and now she's screwed. She has no chance of going back to Vincent without some serious groveling, and no chance of Rick's help.
And, shit.
Tears burn, her vision going hazy as they pool on the bottom of her eyelids and her head lists into the glass of the phone booth.
What was she thinking?
"Kate?"
Placing the handset against her shoulder, she sucks in a lung full of air, attempts to level the shake that is coursing through her body, before she brings the phone back up to her ear.
"Yeah, Rick."
"When can you get here for your photo shoot, picture thing?"
The back of her hand wipes across each eye, disturbs the tears, smearing them along her skin, a path of regret erased with his question.
"Are you sure it's okay? I can't imagine that you have a photographer on speed dial."
"Hey. Don't worry about it. I know a guy who owes me a favor."
She bites down hard on her lip as he mentions the word favor, reality crashing down on the cocoon that was created with the tenderness of his voice, and as it cracks open, she shifts from foot to foot, the material of her tank top brushing her chest.
Far better to owe Rick than to owe Vincent.
Granted it would be far better to owe no one…
Swallowing the lump that's lodged in her throat, she nods, her body and mind agreeing.
"I can be on my way now."
He rattles off his address, her lips moving as she silently repeats Broome Street over and over, lest she forget, and he encourages her to repeat it back to him. Apparently, she's not the only one worried about that possibility.
"I'll see you soon, Kate."
"Bye, Rick."
Placing the handset back onto the payphone, she slumps against the glass, the energy that was zipping through her body after she'd inhaled more lines than usual has dissolved as the night spun in a thousand different directions. But, pushing her hand against the glass of the phone booth, she propels herself off and out, stepping onto the sidewalk.
She's just has to keep moving forward.
Her eyes scan the area, the warehouse district so far removed from the hustle and bustle of the city, that her movements halt as she takes a second to take it all in, attempts to steady the beat of her heart as it picks up pace at what comes next.
She has to find a cab and make her way to Rick's place.
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Can not say it enough, but thank you so much for all the support xoxo Your words are such a bright spot xoxo
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Thank you to Jo and Jamie for their beta and hand holding especially with this chapter xoxo
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Thank you for reading xoxo
