With infinite thanks to Jo for catching all my typos and superfluous waffle.
Alexis tiptoed up to the doorway that leads from the foyer of the loft straight into her dad's bedroom – the one she had dubbed the 'quick getaway' door back when he didn't realise she knew he and Gina were sleeping together – and peered into the gloom. With the curtains closed, it was difficult to see whether he was awake or not, but the lump under the sheets on the bed seemed mostly immobile except for a regular rise and fall which was accompanied by the surprisingly quiet snoring of a deep sleep. She smiled and retreated to the kitchen to make breakfast for herself, happy to leave him to what she hoped were sweet dreams.
Looking up he sees the blue sky through the gently wafting leaves, bright green with the spring growth. It's a beautiful day in his beautiful city, with his beautiful... her... walking beside him. He looks back to her with a warm smile and he nudges her elbow with his when he sees the small frown that fetters her face.
"What's wrong?" he asks, internally kicking himself for such an inane question. She heaves a heavy sigh, making his forehead match hers, lines forming ridges, peaks, and valleys across their skin.
They come to a stop on the path and he continues to watch her. He loves watching her, cataloguing every movement and every nuance of her voice. He thinks that maybe he could watch her forever, and would never need food or water. He sees her eyes switch from their gaze on her feet over to his feet and back again before she suddenly moves away, taking a fork in the path he hadn't noticed previously.
Too busy watching her to watch the road ahead.
He tries to follow but his feet feel heavier than a tonne of bricks. He looks down to find they've been cemented into the path, and he snaps his head back up in alarm, only to realise that's she's gone.
She's gone.
"She's gone? What do you mean she's gone?" Alexis' voice filtered in from his study but abruptly stopped, before continuing. "Well have you looked under the fridge? She hid under there last time." Another pause, and a contemplative hum. "What about in that big potted plant your mom has by the front door?"
Castle rubbed his hands down his face before throwing off the covers and stretching like a starfish across the mattress with a huge yawn. He sat up and absently scratched at his belly when he reached the edge of the bed, planting both feet firmly on the floor and enjoying the sound of his foot joints popping as he walked across the room and into his study.
"Paige, I gotta go, speak to you later? Okay, bye." Alexis slipped her phone into her pocket and practically launched herself at her father. "Hi Daddy," she murmured into his t-shirt as he looked down at her in surprise.
"Hi yourself, Pumpkin. What's goin' on?" He squeezed her tightly before letting her go. Or tried to anyway – his daughter had an iron grip. "Alexis?"
"Paige's hamster escaped again, that's all."
"That's all, huh? You are hugging me before I've had a shower, which is seriously unusual behaviour, so I repeat the question. What is going on?"
She sighed, her nose wrinkling a little as she breathed in her sleep-sweaty dad. "I just thought you might need a hug because it's the launch tonight and you'll have to deal with Gina and Paula all day and all evening too."
He rested his chin on her head and cuddled her close. "Love you, sweetie."
"Love you too, Dad. But maybe you're right. You need a shower."
Rick shrugged and pulled away, "I tried to warn ya..."
She rolled her eyes at him and turned away to head for the kitchen.
"You want me to make you a smorelette for breakfast?" he called across to her.
"Euw, no! Get in the shower. I'll put the coffee pot on!"
He's falling, a black void surrounding him like a suffocating blanket as he drops feet first into the vacuum of nothingness. The shock to his joints as he hits the ground that suddenly appears is jarring but he doesn't fall any further, stays upright. Looking around, he takes stock of his location.
Battery Park. East River Piers ahead. Mid-morning. Bright sunlight. Thunder clouds threatening in the east. The dazzling orange of a Staten Island Ferry at the dock. A black speck on the deck of the boat that he recognises instantly.
Her.
He runs, faster than he thought he ever could, but it feels like moving through treacle, the air viscous and tangible, the oppressive heat just before a storm.
Bursting through the terminal building and back out into the open, the boat is just casting off, and he's too late.
He wants to shout to her, call her name, get her attention somehow. He needs to know why she's going, why she's putting herself in danger again, why she would get on that same boat when the last time she did she got shot and he couldn't get to her.
Couldn't save her like she'd saved him.
As the vessel gains speed, her gaze rests on him, finally. He sees the sadness in her eyes that mirrors his. And he sees the chains that bind her to the deck.
"No!" he screams, but there is no sound from his mouth, only his lips contorting into a tortured grimace as he realises he, too, is chained down, his restraints sounding like a ringing phone as he struggles against them.
Rick snorted awake on the sofa, his phone blaring as it moved across the coffee table in front of him. He picked it up before it could fall off and flipped the shell open, answering groggily, "Hello?"
"Hey Ricky, it's Paula, did you just wake up?"
He let out a quiet groan, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly in an attempt to clear his head of the images from his dream. "Yeah. Must've dozed off on the couch."
"So long as you're awake tonight, that's all I ask." Her broad Brooklyn accent was making his head hurt. He picked his coffee cup off the table and stood to head into the kitchen for a fresh refill.
"When have I ever fallen asleep at a party, Paula?" he asked as he sauntered over, stretching his legs and perching his phone between his shoulder and his cheek when he reached the sink and emptied his mug out.
"Do you remember the launch of Storm Approaching?" she retorted.
"...No?"
"Mhm..."
"Oh." He set the coffee machine going and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Anyway, what can I do for you this morning?" He could hear Paula rustling a few pieces of paper, like she was turning back a few pages in her notebook.
"Are you still not going to bring a date for this one?"
"I'm bringing two dates. Alexis, and my mother."
She tutted and he silently chuckled at the accompanying eye roll he knew accompanied that noise.
"Fine Ricky, but next time let me find someone for you to take, okay?"
"You seem pretty sure there'll be a next time," he gritted out, bitterness seeping into every word.
"Just because you killed Derrick doesn't mean you won't write again." She sighed and continued quietly. "I know you, Ricky, you have too many words in you to not get them out somehow."
He shifted against the countertop, a mixture of slightly uncomfortable that his agent really did know him, and ashamed that he needed the pep talk and compliment. "Thanks, Paula."
"It's fine. Just stop moping and get on with it, 'kay?" He huffed a laugh and turned to fix his coffee. "Here's what's happening tonight..."
It's a Mexican stand-off across the great room of the loft, they both stand with their weapons holstered, waiting for the other to twitch first.
"What's in that bag?" He points to the non-descript black holdall she has in her left hand.
"It's my stuff. I'm leaving, Rick." His face falls.
"No. No! I won't let you!" He stumbles towards her, grabbing her upper arms and gently shaking her. "You can't leave, you... you just can't!"
He sees remorse flitter across her face. "I'm sorry." She rests her palm on his smooth cheek and presses a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth as his eyes flutter closed. "I'm sorry."
As his eyes opened again he saw the blurred ceiling of his bedroom through his tears. He swiped at his cheeks and sat up against the headboard of his empty bed. He looked to his right, wondering if she would ever really occupy the side he had stopped sleeping on after he'd first started dreaming of her. It had been like his mind expected her to slip in beside him in the middle of the night, expected her to lift the covers and cuddle up against him, lifting him from sleep long enough to press a kiss to her hair before falling into a deep slumber once more.
Rick pressed his eyes closed and pulled his knees to his chest, propping his stubbley chin on top of them. There was no point torturing himself any longer. His mind clearly wanted her gone, and he would endeavour to not think of her ever again.
A deep cleansing breath and another scalding hot shower and then it would be time to dress and prepare for the onslaught of the wrath of his harpy publisher and the last ever Storm book launch.
After that, the next thing he had to look forward to in his life was teasing Alexis about wanting grandchildren in about fifteen years' time. Between now and then though, absolutely nothing. There would be no words, none that he could ever conceive of stringing together into more than a couple of sentences at once. The thought left him empty; what kind of writer was ever without words?