A/N: Thanks to everyone who's taken a moment to respond to the chapters so far. It really helps to know if I'm still on track with you all or not! Please do not hesitate to let me know if at any point you are no longer with me on this journey I'm laying out. It's the best way for me to get better!
And finally – thanks so much to Andrew Marlowe & ABC for letting me get creative with their ingenious invention!
Kate has started to count on her sleepless nights. Nights she spends gazing up at her ceiling, unable to quell the incessant swirl of thoughts festering in her head.
She's memorized every crack, every fragmented fissure, etched in the plaster above her bed. And as she watches them make their jagged attempts to reach the adjoining walls, her mind always, always goes to him.
All roads lead to Castle.
Tonight she remembers that look he gave her when she encouraged him - no insisted – that he go home. She had wanted him to stay, of course, but she knew once the cavalry showed up, word would get out and the boys would be there in a flash. She didn't want to have to explain his presence on top of everything else.
She wrestled with the idea of inventing a cover story. Knowing if she admitted she was investigating her mother's case on her own there'd be hell to pay. Indeed Gates was not pleased when she showed up. But for some reason – suspiciously like Castle had the Mayor make a call on her behalf – Gates sent her home telling her to get some rest and be prepared for some quality time together on Monday morning.
Yet another unsolicited favor putting her in Richard Castle's debt.
How many was it now? She'd lost count. She giggles softly to herself. The absurdity of it all. How long had she spent building a life where she didn't owe anybody anything? And now, in a series of a few short years she was indebted to someone she completely dismissed at first glance. When did it happen? When did it all change?
More importantly – what the hell does she do about it?
Kate thinks back to Dr. Burke's suggestion – write it down, put it in black and white. At the time it seemed ludicrous. The last thing she would ever do. A written proclamation of everything going on in her head – all her secrets laid out for the world to see. No, she would never expose herself like that.
And yet, before she knows it, she's sitting at the small desk she has in her bedroom. Its plane illuminated by the moonlight sifting in through her window. Just enough light with which to write.
She pulls out a pen from the mug perched on the top corner of the hutch. It's a rudimentary ballpoint but it'll do the job.
Gently she eases a desk drawer open, pulls out a few pages of blank stationary and lays them out in front of her.
Her pen hovers over the page but her head won't let the ink stain the paper. It keeps the pen at bay, waiting. Waiting for what?
His face springs into her mind. The way he looked at her when she lowered her hands from her face in the parking garage. The moment right before they almost kissed. The concern, the fear, the hope – all of it declared in his crystal blue eyes.
He knows everything – all the ugly stuff she lives with - but he never runs. Instead he looks at her like that, like he would give his own life to take her pain away.
That look? It haunts her.
Castle-
Her pen dips, writing out his name at the top.
I thought about writing you a letter every day since I got shot.
And suddenly the pen is moving, speeding down the page, crashing to the edge and resetting itself for another line. She dips back into the drawer, pulls out more paper. Her hand moving faster than her head.
Good, her head would only stop her.
She paints several pages before she has to ease up for a moment and massage her hand. She looks down, registering everything in front of her. Her feelings now a tangible tome on display.
She glances down at the paper, almost afraid to read it. But she picks up the phrases, little combinations of words that strung together spell out everything she carries in her heart.
And as she skips over the ardent apologies, the incomplete explanations for her behavior, the mention of the way her skin ached when he wrapped his arms around her while she cried in his loft, her eyes fall to the one passage still incomplete.
I don't know why I lied to you. If I did, I probably wouldn't be writing this letter.
It's like trying to think of what's beyond our universe. My mind entertains the thought for a second, maybe two, and then the idea becomes so big, so overwhelming my mind just shuts down, goes blank.
But I'm trying. I want to figure it out. I will figure it out.
I hope you are still here when I do.
Squeak! The bed moans loudly behind her.
Josh shifts and turns, rolling over in her bed.
Her breath catches in her throat. She sits frozen on the edge of her seat, anticipating his arm searching for her, realizing she's not there. But no, thank god, his body settles, happy to have found a new comfortable position to sleep in. She watches the rise and fall of his chest lengthen as he heads back into a deep slumber.
Her adrenaline pumping – the call so close – she grabs one of Montgomery's case files off her desk, stuffs the letter deep within. Sandwiching it in a sea of bureaucratic clutter.
She tiptoes back to the bed, eases her body as quietly as possible under the covers. She curls up, facing away from him. His massive body sprawled out on the right side, hers tucked in and small on the left.
She gazes across at her desk. Calms the panicked voice within by reminding herself that her true feelings, all the more real now, are tucked safely away. Hidden deep, along with her heart.
As the cool light of dawn stretches across his living room Castle sits, fully dressed, on his couch, waiting. Waiting until the clock turns to a reasonable hour where he can head out, grab two coffees and knock on her door.
He'd woken at four, and even though he only got five hours of sleep, he's never felt so well rested. Never felt this excited to get going in the morning.
He'd spent long nights banging out chapters of his latest novel and toddled off to bed as dawn approached. He'd woken before the moon had fully fallen for hellaciously early flights out of the city to promote his books. But he had never risen at four just to sit in his living room until it was time to see her.
He resolves never to spend that much time away from her again. Granted, their recent hiatus was not his doing, but still, he won't let it go so easily next time. He doesn't care if it means sitting through her lectures about his latest unprofessional behavior or, worse, watching her with Josh. He'll suck it up, find a way to live through it, whatever, as long as it means he won't have to experience that horrible withdrawal again.
His phone rings. Instinctively he grabs it, pressing talk before even checking the caller I.D.
"Kate?"
But the response comes from a voice he's never heard before.
"No."
Confused, Castle leaves an awkward pause as his brain tries to catch up with the change in his expectations.
"Is this Richard Castle?"
"Yes. Who's this?"
"I'm a friend of Roy Montgomery. We need to talk."
Castle sets down the phone. His brain cart-wheeling through the new information he's just been given.
"I know that face. It's never good."
Martha floats down the stairs, her silk robe tied loosely at the waist. Castle looks up at her, unable to squelch the concern etched in his brow.
She glides across the room, keeping a watchful eye on her son as she gestures to the phone. "Not good news I take it?"
"Not sure."
"When you had that look when you were a kid, I'd have the nanny heat up some milk for you." She pulls down a mug from the shelf, pours some hot coffee into it, hands it to him.
"Warm beverages have a way of calming the mind."
He takes the steaming cup, taps its warm porcelain in consideration. "That was a friend of Montgomery's."
"Oh." Martha leans in, intrigued.
"He says… he says Roy gave him files that contain damaging information about Beckett's mother's case. That he's been using them to keep Beckett safe. But now that she's digging things up again, it may not be enough."
"She's doing what?"
Castle looks up, realizing only now that his mother has no idea he spent all yesterday getting right down into it again with Kate.
"Beckett came by yesterday."
"Can't say I didn't see that coming." She shoots Castle a look, notes his brow is still deeply furrowed.
"What? What else did he tell you?"
"He says if I can get her to stop looking into her mother's case, he can keep her safe."
"And you believe him?"
"I do."
"Then you have to tell her."
"I know. I know. But…."
"What?"
"What if he's right? What if they're gunning for her and this is the only way she'll stay safe?"
He looks at Martha, trying to sell her on his reasoning. "She trusts me. I can steer her away."
"Listen to yourself."
Castle sighs. His new found excitement ebbed by her reason. "If I tell her, she'll just go after it. Put herself directly into the line of fire. She'll get herself killed."
Martha parses her words carefully. "Maybe you'll be successful. Maybe you'll keep her out of harms way by following this man's advice. And maybe she won't find out your role in all this."
Martha leans in, nailing the dramatic effect. "But if she does find out, you'll be the guy that helped keep her in the dark."
He hangs his head, his voice soft, already beaten. "I can't lose her again."
Martha lays an aged hand over her sons. "Just promise me you'll think about it. Okay?"
He nods.
"Who is this guy anyway?"
Castle looks down at his recent calls list. "I dunno. His number didn't come through. It's listed as unknown."
"He didn't give you a name or anything?"
"Sorta. He told me to call him Smith." And the lightbulb explodes before his lips have released the last word.
He hops up and lunges for his jacket.
"What is it? Where you going?"
"Out." He races back, gives her a quick peck on the cheek. "Tell Alexis I love her and that I'll see her tonight."
She's barely able to utter a goodbye before he's out the door.