I'm not even going to try to explain why this has taken so long. Let's just leave it at severe writer's block and a mix of a lot of other things.
When she wakes, the room is still enveloped in darkness. The TV is still on, she can hear the quiet murmur of voices and sees the flicker of light through the fiery curls she has her face buried in. But there's another sound too. It's not soft enough to be the TV and too close to be coming from outside the loft. Immediately she's awake, her cop instincts kicking in as she sits up quickly and reaches for the gun in her bedside table.
But she's in Alexis' room. Not in her apartment. Not anywhere near her gun. But that doesn't matter anymore because she knows that form standing in the doorway. Rick's staring at her, and all she can do is stare back because she knows he didn't think she'd still be here. She knows he didn't want her to be.
"I told her I'd be here when she woke up. I know I shouldn't have promised her something like that without your permission, but I did. And I'm not breaking it." He only nods before surveying the room. His gaze sweeps over the empty carton of ice cream, the tissues littering the floor and the sleeping teenager still curled around her body. He nods again.
"You want dinner?" She blinks a few times because she's not sure she's heard him right. But she doesn't question it, only extracting herself from Alexis' hold and following him out of the room. He starts unloading leftovers from the fridge and placing plates of pasta in the microwave. He works quietly as she takes a seat at the counter, studying him and marveling at the familiarity she feels. But she knows this is much different than anything they've dealt with before. Sure, they've fought before and been in these exact positions, at least one of them seething. But this was so much more than a fight. This time she doesn't know if the damage can be repaired.
"Here." He places the plate in front of her and she picks at it with a fork.
"Thanks." He nods again before looking away, getting his own dinner ready. She wants to ask him where he went, wants to ask him what's going through his mind because she can see the wheels turning. She doesn't say any of those things. "She came home in shambles."
"Carter?" This time it's her who nods. "I never liked him. He was always jerking her heart around. And I could never fix it." She can see the pain in his eyes because she knows that from the moment he first held her tiny form he never wanted that little girl to feel pain. He never wanted his baby girl to have to know the evils of the world. And he couldn't protect her. He couldn't save her every time.
"I know, Rick. I hate seeing her in pain, too." He sits next to her and picks at his own plate, bringing a piece of pasta to his lips and chewing thoughtfully. He glances at her every so often but they don't speak. The silence is companionable. It's familiar.
"How could anyone hurt her?" Even she is surprised as the words make their way out of her mouth. Because she never meant to voice them, only scream them in her head.
"I don't know. She's too good. She gives so much love and not everyone gives it back. She doesn't deserve this. She deserves to be cherished. She deserves to be loved. But people take the trust she so willingly puts in them and stomp all over it. They hurt her. And for the life of me, I can't imagine why."
"She's more like you than a lot of people think." There she goes again, saying things she only meant to keep to herself. He's staring at her. He's staring at her and she doesn't think she can take being under his scrutinizing gaze. His eyes are so blue and, against her better judgment, she stares back. She's probably going to do something stupid – something he doesn't want her to do right now – but she stares anyway. "Do you know where he lives? Because I'm pretty sure the boys would help me hide the body. And Lanie would definitely be on board, girl power and sisterhood and all that." She changes the subject. And part of her wishes she hadn't.
"Please, make it a slow death. Slow and very, very painful." He chuckles, but she doesn't detect any humor in his tone.
"Oh, believe me, I plan on implementing a lot of torture techniques." She looks down and rolls a piece of pasta with her fork. "He was cheating on her, you know. She came home and literally just crumpled against the door. And then when we were watching TV, she hugged me and started crying. I just hate seeing her like that. I hate watching her fall apart and knowing it won't be the last time." Popping another piece of pasta into her mouth, she sighs. She wants to introduce Carter to some of the guys in holding.
"I'm going to kill him." Rick's hands are clenched into tight fists, his mouth a thin line.
"I'll help." He looks over at her and something in his eyes change. They're no longer angry and pained. She can't quite name the expression, maybe she's too scared to.
"You really love her." It's not a question. He already knows the answer.
"Of course." How could someone not love that beautiful redhead? It doesn't seem possible.
"Thank you," her brow furrows and she looks up at him, "for being here with her, for her." She still can't name that emotion in his eyes, but the way he's staring at her is exhilarating. She can feel the goose bumps breaking out on her skin. And she finds her thoughts slipping from her lips again without permission.
"Always."
Somehow they ended up lying on opposite ends of the couch, their feet meeting in the middle. They've fallen into friendly conversation, the banter she's missed so much falling into place like it never disappeared. It's like she never left. But she did and she knows that fact is hanging over them permanently. But right now, it's not dead weight on her shoulders. It's not pushing him away from her. It's there but it's less of a burden, like they're sharing the weight of it equally now. Like they're working together to push past it.
"I'm telling you, she loved it! Her name was Debra and she sat in front of me in class. I was completely smitten. It was more than a little pathetic. So I wrote her a poem because I was in ninth grade and had decided I was going to be the mysterious and romantic poet type. Debbie, whom I only actually nicknamed Debbie in my head because I was too scared to call her that aloud, loved it. It was cheesy and all sorts of cliché, but for some reason she thought it was the cutest thing ever." She rolls her eyes but can't hide the amused smile. She really can't picture him as the secluded poet. Really, the image is hilarious in its own right.
"Problem is, I was too shy to sign it. So she thought this really popular guy on the hockey team wrote it. And let me tell you, that guy had the brain of a goldfish. As if he could spell his name, much less write a poem. But when she ran up to him and told him that poem was the sweetest thing she'd ever read, he went along with it. The bastard went along with it! I was heartbroken." He's clutching his heart dramatically, a look of pure teenage pain on his face. But she's laughing her ass off.
"I'm surprised you could pick up a pen again, much less write. You're truly a brave soul." He scrunches his face up at her sarcasm, as if he doesn't like the taste of her words.
"I'll have you know that it was quite traumatic." He's pointing his finger at her as if to scold her inability to take him seriously. He pokes her ankle with his toe when she doesn't stop. She looks at him again, seeing that childish pout plastered on his face, and can't help the chuckles that escape her. It's just so refreshing to see him this way. She's relieved and she can't help but be happy about it.
"I don't appreciate this blatant disregard of my capricious teenage self-esteem." She raises an eyebrow at him and smirks.
"Really, capricious? Does anybody actually say that?" He tilts his head at her and narrows his eyes. And then he's on his knees in front of her, leaning down to put his finger right in her face as he voices his feigned displeasure.
"First you insult my poetry and now my word choice? This means war." Furrowing her brow, she lightly kicks his leg and lets out a very unfeminine snort. But he wasn't supporting himself very well. And now he's on top of her, his hands on the cushions on either side of her waist as he tries to balance himself. She tries to breathe normally, she really does. But goddamn it, his face is mere inches away from hers and she doesn't know how to handle this without screwing up all the progress they've made.
She's going to say something and it's going to scare him off. She's going to do something to ruin the night they've had so far. She bites down on her lip, worrying it with her teeth as she tries to figure out how to get him off of her. But she doesn't want him to get off of her. God, she doesn't want him to go back to the other side of the couch. She likes him here. She wants him closer. And then his gaze drops to her lips. And, damn it, it stays there. He's staring at her lips. He wants to kiss her. That thought alone breaks her control.
Her lips are on his before she can talk herself out of it. Hell, before she can even think of a reason to talk herself out of it. He runs his tongue along her bottom lip and she feels something flare deep in her stomach. Because she's missed this, she's missed him. She hears the moan first before realizing it was her making that desperate sound. It's not like her to give in so easily. It's not easy to coax a reaction like that out of her. But it always has been for him. From day one, he's been able to draw out sounds she didn't think she could make. One hand comes up to cup his cheek, reveling in the stubble she feels there, while the other continues to tangle itself in his hair, almost as if she's rooting herself to him. Because, really, she never wants to leave, she never wants to stop.
"Rick…" She sighs contentedly against his lips as he bites down on her bottom lip. And then he's gone, there's nothing but air beneath her hands and the space above her is empty. Her eyes flutter open and she sees him kneeling alertly, eyes wide and confused. "Rick." This time his name falls from her lips as a plea. Don't go. Don't go. It's all she can think.
"I'm, um, I'm going to go check on Mother. Um, yeah." He awkwardly gets up and turns slowly, as if he's still processing what just happened. And she wouldn't blame him because, truthfully, she is too.
"Rick, please just–" She starts to stand but he holds up a hand and she stills her movements.
"No, just…just stay there. I need to think." Her lips are still tingling as he walks up the stairs.
So who else is already going through major Castle withdrawal? I mean, it's been a little more than a week and I'm already having breakdowns. How am I supposed to last for four months? Tumblr and fanfiction are doing a fairly good job of keeping me full of Castle goodness though. So at least I have that.
Review? Really, reviews are what keep me going. And, really, they're the only thing I'm looking forward to right now. Next week are exams for me. And I have no Castle to fangirl over for the whole summer. So please? Brighten my day?