A few mentioned that they didn't think last chapter was realistic. I stick by my writing, but I thought I'd explain my reasoning. Kate is only 23, two years older than me. She's not going to have it all together. She doesn't have it together in canon and she's almost a full 10 years older. For me, last chapter was really reminiscent of her scenes in Kill Shot, where she just kind of loses it. And she's in Jersey, not in Manhattan, so she can't go visit her Mom's grave. Well, actually, I guess she could, but she didn't.
Her head pounds in a staccato rhythm against her forehead. She wants to open her eyes, tries to, but they're heavy with alcohol. She rolls onto her side on a groan, her limbs flopping over their sides. Her hand hits something soft and smooth, but she'd been in the kitchen, hadn't she? Had she fallen asleep on the floor? Maybe she'd collapsed on the couch and forgot. Hmm. Yeah.
Her system's crashing again, begging for relief from the wrench of exhaustion and alcohol abuse. She lets herself slip under again, praying that when she wakes up, it'll be a new day.
Castle.
Kate.
Castle?
God, Kate.
"Castle?" she croaks on a whisper, scrunching her forehead in confusion. He's there somewhere—she can feel him—but her grasp on reality is shot. Her head thumps and it's dark outside and she—
And then he's there in front of her as the fog clears a little, pressing his hand to the side of her face, cradling it reverently as his eyes flick over hers, searching for signs of real consciousness, no doubt.
"Castle," she rasps again, her fingers sliding through the sheets to rub at her eyes.
Wait. Sheets.
She's not on her couch.
Her eyes flit around anxiously, but she doesn't recognize anything. It's not her bed, not her room or any other room in her house.
"Guest room," he offers, observing her confusion.
"I don't—what—" She shakes her head at her incoherence, bracing her hands against the mattress so that she can slide up to a sitting position. It makes her dizzy though and her stomach rolls at the motion. She winces, pressing a hand to her stomach.
"Take it easy," he says softly. "There's a trash can next to you if you need it. I don't think you should try to make it to the bathroom quite yet."
She nods slowly, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead to dull the throbbing. She sucks in a breath and lets her hand drop to the mattress.
"What time is it?"
"About eight thirty."
Oh, shit. How long was she out for?
She needs to go home; her dad will be worried about her. She can't—No. She has to get home. She kicks the sheets off her body and starts to slowly slide across the bed.
"Kate, what are you doing?" he asks, sliding his body closer to her to prevent her from moving any further.
"'Need to go home. Dad'll be worried, Castle," she whimpers.
"Kate, you're confused. You've probably still got a decent amount of alcohol in your system. Your dad isn't home yet."
She frowns. "How would you know?"
"Because he called me, wanted to know what our plans were for today," he says quietly.
Riiiight. She was supposed to spend the day with him. And then she lied to him and-
Yeah, she's royally fucked this one up.
"Sorry," she offers weakly.
He clenches his jaw and slides off the bed. "You should really try to get some rest," he rubs the back of his neck with his hand, smoothing the tension.
"Rick—"
He sighs. "Later, Kate. You're still drunk."
She nods, her body shrinking into the bed like a reprimanded child. Without another word, he slips out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Way to go, Kate.
When she wakes again, her body sags in near relief. Finally a new day. The clock on the wall reads 12:03. Three minutes. Barely, but enough.
God, she feels disgusting. Her hands are clammy and her shirt sticks to her body. Her mouth is as dry as the Sahara and oh, she'd kill for a glass of water.
She gets out of the bed slowly, testing her body for signs of buckling. She's still a little woozy, but the her mind is clear. She shuffles out of the room and tiptoes down the stairs in case he's asleep.
Well, Alexis would be, anyway.
Oh. Alexis.
How'd he explain that one to her? She'd be too young to truly understand, but she's the smartest kid around. She'd pick up on most of it, especially if Rick was a nervous wreck when he found her.
Oh, God. Found her.
Like she'd found her father two weeks ago, passed out in a chair with an empty liquor bottle littering the floor.
Oh, Castle.
She pauses at the bottom of the stairs, startled. She doesn't expect to find him sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee, weary eyes trained on the laptop in front of him.
He looks exhausted. His button down shirt is wrinkled—partially unbuttoned—and his hair looks like it's been on the end of a few anxious hands.
"God, Castle, I'm so sorry," she breathes to herself.
But then his head snaps to where she stands and she knows he heard it, heard something, anyway. She forces a little half-smile and joins him at the table, sliding out a chair.
He closes his laptop and offers her his glass of water that sits next to him. She accepts it greedily and sighs as the liquid soothes her mouth and throat.
"Thank you," she says, her tone far more serious to be referring to a glass of water.
"You should've told me," he says roughly.
She swallows hard. "I couldn't."
"Why the hell not, Kate?"
"I was trying to prove something to myself. That I could do it on my own without any help."
He laughs darkly. "I think you had a little help."
"Castle, please—"
"No, Kate." He scrubs a hand down his face before letting his hand fall with a hard slap to the table. "God, to have your Dad call me and then—" His voice begins to crack. "I found you lying on the goddamn floor, Kate Would've taken you to the hospital if you hadn't started muttering in your sleep." He lets out a choked sob, tears trailing down his cheeks. "Thank God Alexis had a playdate." He shakes his head.
She grips the table hard to keep from flying to him in a whisper of apologies and raw kisses. She has to let him finish.
"I would've held you all day, Kate, if you told me it was what you needed. I would've gotten you out of town or figured something—Jesus Christ, anything, Kate. I would've done anything for you." He pauses. "I would've left you alone if it was what you wanted. I didn't—didn't know how bad it was, but I would've left you alone if you'd told me the truth to begin with."
"I—"
"Because I trust you, Kate." He pauses, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "So why the hell can't you trust me, too?"
She goes to him, then, because she can't wait any longer. He resists her at first, just like she knew he would, but she forces herself into his arms, situating herself on his lap.
"It's not that I don't trust you," she breathes. "Today was—" she shakes her head, tears filling her eyes. "It was so awful, Castle, but I thought I could handle it by myself and I—" She sucks in a breath. "I thought you and my father would try to talk me out of it."
"I would've tried to understand. I would've," he says firmly, tears still dripping from his eyes as he slides a rough palm to press against the side of her face.
"I never meant to hurt you," she expels a harsh breath, her forehead colliding with his.
"You can't do this again. I can't do it again, Kate. I can't," he whispers, closing his eyes.
She lays her hands on his shoulders, gripping the edges of his shirt tight in her palms.
"I just—God, I miss her so much," she chokes out, collapsing against him.
"I'm right here, Kate. I'm not going anywhere." He presses a soft, comforting kiss to her lips.
But it isn't enough. Her fingers claw at his shirt as she hungrily lunges for the cavern of his mouth. She moans as her tongue finds his, his strong hands gripping her thighs. She nips harshly at his lips, sucking, drinking him in. She pushes his shirt from his shoulders impatiently.
"Kate," he groans, pulling away from her mouth.
"What is it?" she asks through a heaving breath.
"We can't do this."
"Sure we can," she growls darkly, reaching for him again.
He leans back, away from her grasp. "It's our first time, Kate," he says softly.
"You said you'd do anything, Castle. Anything." She stares at him, hard and cold. She craves the feeling of his skin on hers, his body under her fingers—just needs something to take the edge off.
He shakes his head. "Anything but this, Kate," he says quietly.
She glares at him as she untangles herself from him, rising from her spot on his lap.
"It's late. I should go. Check on my dad," she mutters.
"Don't do this," he pleads, reaching for her.
She flinches, shirking away from him. "I'm not doing anything," she whispers harshly.
"I'm here, Kate." His palms cup her cheeks. "Stop pushing me away," he says gently.
She swallows hard. "I'll call you tomorrow."
And just like that, she's gone.
Thoughts?