Rick scans the workshop, looking for a weapon. Something, anything to give himself an edge when he makes his move. His heart is in his throat, his palms sweaty. He gulps, loudly, freezes for a second sure that Tyson will have heard. But there is no movement from the alcove where Tyson is holed up and as Rick's heart rate returns to a more normal - if elevated- rate, he grits his teeth and continues his covert mission for a weapon.
He curses Tyson and his apparent need for order. The counters are clear, all the tools neatly put back where they belong. Not willing to risk a creak or squeak from the opening of drawers, or to expose himself by reaching up into the cabinets, Rick decides on the one thing that's handy.
The damn chair he's been sitting on for the last three days. He's sure his ass is permanently branded from where the wood has been digging painfully into his rear. It gives him a kind of perverse pleasure to anticipate smashing it over Tyson's head.
He's flexes his now free feet and ankles, makes tight fists with his hand and releases them. Quietly he waits with his breath caught in his throat as circulation begins to return. He doesn't want to rush this. It will be his one chance at escape. He has no doubts that if this attempt goes south, Tyson will not hesitate to kill him. The man doesn't have much to lose at this point, Rick's somewhat amazed that he hasn't been killed already just so Tyson could get it over with.
Softly, he rises. Picks the chair up deftly and stalks towards the corner.
Tyson is slouched over a desk, fingering at a page in his 'brag-book'. It is opened to a particularly gruesome photo. It's all the inspiration Rick needs to slam the chair across the back of his head. Gripping the chair tightly and ignoring the pain shooting through his wrists Rick shuffles to within range, heaves the chair over his head and slam it across the back of Tyson's neck.
He hears a loud bang and is momentarily confused. The sound echos in the garage and his ears ring. Tyson is howling, a sound somewhere between human and animal. The chair is in pieces, splintering as it crashed onto Tyson's neck, it's now a satisfying pile of rubble on the floor.
Tyson stumbles up from his chair, then falls dazed to the floor. He detects a faint whiff of gunpowder and the pieces begin to fall into place.
Shit! He was holding the gun! Where's the fucking gun?
Tyson is scrambling around on the ground, one hand held to his leg, the other wildly slapping the concrete floor.
Gun, Gun, Gun. Find the gun!
They both spy it at the same time, both lunge to reach it first. But Rick is faster, uninjured and for a moment, as he finds purchase on the weapon, cocks it and places it to Tyson's head, he considers pulling the trigger and ending this nightmare once and for all. A flash of fear passes Tyson's eyes and Rick loses his nerve. He is not a cold blooded killer, not like Tyson, he doesn't want this man to have any more hold over him.
Instead he rears his other arm back and slams his fist into Tyson's face. Repeatedly.
With one final punch to the gut, as Tyson's eyes slip closed, Rick falls back onto his heels and leans heavily against the desk. He slides down the old, wooden structure until he is almost laying on the cold, concrete floor, panting and shaking with the release of so much adrenaline. Three days of fear and frustration have been released and with Tyson now unconscious beside him, all he wants to do is close his eyes for a minute and breathe.
He hears footsteps, yelling and shouting. Vaguely notices as a flashlight is shined in his eyes and as Tyson is hauled to his feet. He tells them he needs a minute and squeezes his eyes tightly closed, takes deep breaths and waits for the sudden rush of dizziness to dissipate.
That's when he hears it. Her voice, like a siren song calling him to his feet. He stands, stumbles to his feet and holds on the the desk for balance, a small smile appearing on his lips.
"Kate.." he croaks out.
It's not enough.
He shuffles towards the exit, flashing police lights doing nothing good to his already dazed head. He uses his hand to shield his eyes and that is when he sees her.
She is being held by two members of the team. She's struggling and cursing and threatening them within an inch of their lives. They hold her tight though and she is powerless to get to him. Tears stream down her angry, red face.
It's all the motivation he needs to regain his strength and shrug off the post-adrenaline haze.
He chuckles as she kicks one of the men in the shin. He lets out an outraged curse and releases his grip.
That's my girl, he thinks as she repeats the action on the other agent and begins barreling towards him. She hasn't noticed him though and almost flies right by him in her attempt to get inside the workshop.
"Kate!" he yells, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him.
"C-astle..?"
He smiles and she stares at him as though she's not quite sure he's real.
Rather than waste time with words he cups her face gently with his palms. Their noses touch and warm breath mingles as he gently lays his lips on hers. He soothes the tight, thin line of her lips with his tongue, seeking entry. He strokes the ridge of her cheek bones and she opens her mouth to him. There is a sense of urgency to his ministrations, a hunger and possessiveness that threatens to rage out of control. He feels saliva gathering behind his teeth, and he swallows it as he sucks on her upper lip, draws himself away and tries to regain control. He looks her deeply in the eyes, not trusting his voice to convey all she means to him, not sure he even has the ability to speak.
"Hi," she squeaks, her chest heaving, then throwing herself at him for a massive squeeze.
"I missed you," he breathes into her hair.
She pulls back abruptly and pokes him angrily in the chest. "What the hell were you thinking?" she cries.
"Uh..."
"Your phone, why the hell did you leave it behind? I could have tracked you!"
He's slightly gobsmacked by her sudden change in demeanor but manages to reply, "Evidence."
"Shit, Rick! What the hell?" she continues to pound halfheartedly on his chest and if she was paying any attention she'd be pounding a hell of a lot harder he thinks.
He's chuckling lightly at her, thinking she looks absolutely adorable; and she will kill him, he knows, if she catches him. He does the only thing he can think to do.
He kisses her again, mumbles apologies against her lips and smiles when he feels her shoulders slump.
"Don't think you can just shut me up by kissing me...stupid man..."
"Marry me." He leans in and whispers in her ear, ignoring her diatribe.
"And evidence?" she continues still in a huff, "What the hell is that supposed to...wait..what?"
"Marry me," he grins. Confidently, as certain of this as he has ever been.
Her eyes widen, one eyebrow raising impossibly high on her brow.
"You can't just...and you don't..and..I mean..what? You can't be serious, Rick."
"As a heart-attack." He solemnly replies. "Tonight, marry me tonight. On Christmas Eve. Because I love you and I know you love me. Because sitting in that workshop for three days was hell. Not because there was a lunatic threatening my life, but because you were not there with me. Because I can't bear the thought of another day without you as a part of my family."
"Rick..I.."
"Say yes, say you'll come home with us and never leave. We can do the dating, and the revealing to the press and the big, fat gala wedding later. Just say you'll marry me tonight and come home with me."
She is speechless.
Her heart is screaming 'Yes!' but her brain is telling her that he's lost the plot.
She searches his face for any sign of head trauma and finds none. His eyes are bright, clear and sincere. His gaze is falling softly on her, hopeful and expectant. She searches her heart for any real reason why she shouldn't and finds none. She knows him, loves him, would like nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him. This idea of his is ridiculous, spontaneous, and completely 'Rick'.
She's been his work-wife for years, she figures why not continue with this ass-backwards relationship of theirs and dive right in?
He's her one. She's done.
Reaching up on tiptoes, her mouth to his ear she softly replies, "..'kay."
Suddenly she is lifted of her feet and the yard and is spinning before her eyes. The red and blue police lights, the bright, white television lights, they dissolve into a fuzzy blur as he swings her around like a child.
"Yes?" he happily laughs, replacing her to the ground and eyeing her with a skeptical brow.
"Yes," she confirms, with a quick peck to his cheeks, taking his hand in hers. "Come on, lets go find Martha and Alexis."
"They're here?" he asks, delighted they will be here to hear the news. Delighted to see them again at all.
"Of course they are here...um Rick?"
"Hmm?"
"How exactly does this plan of yours work at.." she checks her watch, "..7pm on Christmas Eve?"
"Don't worry about it," he replies with a squeeze to her hand and a wink, "I know a guy."
"Of course you do."
And so after having his injuries checked and patched up, after giving multiple statements to various agencies, after a long and tearful reunion with his family and a relatively short and happy drive back to the city; at 11:42pm on Christmas Eve, Kate Beckett became Kate Castle.
"I do."
"And do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do."
"Then by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you man and wife."
Judge Markaway is looking to them both expectantly now as they stare at each other with wondrous and goofy grins plastered on their faces.
"Kiss her already Rick, I'd like a few hours sleep before the grand-kids wake me up for Christmas presents."
The judge shakes his head and laughs, claps along with Martha and Alexis as the two of them engage in a long and searing lip lock.
"Ahem.." Alexis coughs when it becomes clear they won't be broken apart without help.
They grudgingly disengage and Rick happily exclaims, "Come on family, lets got home!"
After many hugs, a firm handshake and a promise to deliver a ridiculously expensive bottle of Macallan for the Judge's trouble, the four pile into the waiting car and make their way home.
They lay curled up in his bed. Warm and satiated, their hands joined and their fingers linked together. She absently strokes the bandages on his wrists and confesses how scared she was, how useless she felt while he was being held. He shushes her with a kiss to her lips and reassures her that the knowledge that she was waiting for him was all that he had needed.
He rolls away, towards his bedside table and she grumbles at the lack of contact.
"Hush, Sweetness," he chides with a grin. "It's Christmas Day, I'm just getting your present. Don't you want your present?"
She rolls her eyes at his continued attempts to find her a nickname. "I have all the present I need," she replies tapping him on the shoulder. "I have you."
"Well I've been waiting to give you this one for years; and much as my ego loves your stroking, I want you to have this," he says, reaching into the drawer.
He places a small, velvet box on her chest, and smiles brightly.
"Open it."
Her eyes fill and a lump forms in her throat.
He's been waiting to give this to me for years? Oh that sweet, wonderful, patient, man.
She wasn't expecting a ring, hell she wasn't expecting to be laying in bed, married to the man. Just a week ago she would have balked at the idea. Now that she thinks about it, she realizes she had done exactly that when her best friend had confidently proclaimed, "Six months!".
"Oh God, Lanie is gonna have a field day with this," she laughs, sitting up and slowly opening the box.
"Wow..." she whispers, running her fingers over the smooth, white gold and the delicately inlaid diamonds.
It's understated and it's perfect.
"Now, of course," he starts, she feels a long Castle rant coming on but smiles lovingly at him as he slips the ring on her finger and allows him to continue.
"This is just the wedding ring. I plan on taking you shopping for an engagement ring. A big one, with lots of bling. Something to wave in front of the fan-girls when I finally get to take you out on that date and show you off to the world."
"Still, fixating on taking me on a date, Rick? I'm laying in your bed, thoroughly satisfied and more than a little worn out."
"Katherine Beckett, I plan on dating you for the rest of my life."
"Aw, that's sweet, Rick."
"It is, isn't it...Honey?"
Kate flops back down to the bed, dramatically beats her head against the pillow.
"Again?"
"….Schnookems."
"Goodnight, Castle"
"Ouch. We're back to Castle, huh?"
"Rick," she sighs, sleep quickly creeping up on her.
"Angel," he whispers in her ear and she can't help the annoying flapping of butterfly wings, again residing in her stomach.
She rests her head on his chest and wraps an arm around him. Let's her eyes drift shut and inhales his warm, rich scent.
"Night, Rick."
"Goodnight, Mrs. Castle." he breathes against her hair.
She thinks that's one name she doesn't so much mind.
A/N: Wow. Okay, so this is it. The penultimate chapter.
The 'Marry Me' scene outside Tyson's workshop was pretty much the ENTIRE reason for this story after about chapter five. I saw that in my head, could not let it go and pretty much pulled everything else out of my, errr, well you know where I pulled it from, from that point onward.
Also, the phone so many people had issues with? Also because of that scene and the fact that I needed something silly for her to be slightly pissed about. :D
I hope what I imagined in my head comes through in the actual writing. You have no idea how many times, I re-wrote this chapter.
Expect an epilogue in the next few days. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see how crazy Christmas Eve is in my house with three small children all on the edge of insanity.
To all who have reviewed, added me to your favorites and alerts. Mwah! I got behind on the replies and I apologize to anyone that I missed. Also, three more favorites would seriously make my week. I kind of have a secret goal in mind, so hint-hint, nudge-nudge, wink-wink...
And finally, before the author notes become longer than the damn chapter:
Irina. I don't know what to say other than, "Thank you."
You have no idea how much you have helped; with your willingness to let me rant, rave and generally annoy you with my ideas. I thank you for pushing me to publish this in the first place.
Even if you were expecting smut. ;)
Sorry about that.
-Ky.