"What were you hoping for?" Beckett asked, out of the blue, while they were sharing a nightcap, seating close to each other on his couch. Closer than usual, it was evident.
Evidently, a brush with death goes a long way when it comes to removing an emotional brick wall.
"What do you mean, what was I hoping for?" Castle answered, unable to mask his wonderment.
"When I got to you at the volt and Martha interrupted us," she said. "You made this face, as if you were disappointed."
"Do you really need to ask?" he said, both hopeful at Beckett asking a question that could lead to them having an honest conversation, and frustrated at the fact that, even after everything they've been through, and the progress they made this past year, she still had to ask.
The wall is hers, not his. She's the one they're both waiting for, not him.
Much to his frustration, her answer is silence. After a few minutes, she gently leans in from her comfortable position in the couch, sets her half-drank bourbon on the table across from them, and in one swift move gets up, as if she was ready to flee. Again. Immediately Castle misses the comfortable warmth coming from her tight that was a few inches from his instants ago.
By the time he comes out his riviere, half expecting for her to be opening the door and summoning the elevator with her mind, he notices that she's by the window, with her arms crossed around her torso, as if protecting herself. More accurately, as if shielding herself. From him. Not that she needs to. He would never, ever hurt her, nor push her into something she clearly wasn't ready for. But just this once, a little honesty would go a long way in reassuring his gullible heart.
"I don't," she said, after a few minutes. "At least, I think I don't. But we're so bad at actually talking to one another, at being honest with what we want and hope and need, that I don't want to ever take you for granted. I know you said at the swings we'd work together, catch the people behind my mother's murder, bring down my wall. But I never actually told you that when I said I wouldn't be able to have the kind of relationship that I want until I put this thing to rest, I meant with you. I don't just want someone I can lean on, someone with whom to dive in. I want to lean on you Castle. Dive into it, with you."
And now it was his time to answer with silence. Following in her steps he pushes himself forward, finishes his drink in one swift gulp and moved with a certainty he doesn't really feel, takes several steps towards her.
Seeing his approaching form reflected on the windows, Beckett turns around, drops one of her arms to the side, a half-assed attempt at showing she's at least trying to let her guard down. Seeing the almost imperceptible change in his demeanor, she knows Castle took the gesture for what it was: a hesitant invitation to come closer, to push her to at least try to untangle her thoughts.
Despite the burning courtesy of the amber liquid courage, his steps falter. He knows what she's saying. But he also wonders what she's leaving unsaid. And as much as he wants to bulldoze his way with a wrecking ball, or take that one final step towards the other side of the wall he's been looking up from for almost four years, he cannot risk pushing too far.
"What were you hoping for, Beckett?" he quietly says, now standing close enough to her that she can feel the warmth radiating from him, but far away enough that she actually craves his touch.
Extending the hand that's on her side, she locks their pinky fingers together. Not nearly enough, but a substitute to the way her hands unconsciously perused his torso when she first found him, flattening an imaginary wrinkle from his dress shirt.
"I wanted to kiss you Castle," she says. "I wanted to show you in that one gesture just how worried I had been, just how much the idea of loosing you scares me. But I'm also glad I didn't Rick."
Not for the first time in recent months, her words hit him like a bucket of ice-cold water, his disappointment visible even for the untrained eye.
"No, that's not what I meant Castle. I want to kiss you. God, sometimes, kissing you is all I can think about, and by God, I wish I could allow myself to do so. Over, and over, and over again."
"Why don't you, Kate? Why on earth won't you let me in?" he asked, unable to mask his feelings. He always was a heart-up-your-sleeve guy when it came to her, despite the countless stories of hot women in various hotel rooms. Those days were long gone, and she knew it. She had to know that much like she was a one writer kind of girl, he's been a one-woman kind of man since he dared voice his feelings for her, arguably at the worst possible time.
"That's just it. I can't justify it anymore. Not to myself, not to you. I want to kiss you. I want you. And I want us, Castle," she said, closing her eyes in a failing attempt to quiet everything down: she was sure that if he looked close enough, her heartbeat was visible. Becket would have sworn that she could feel her blood running up and down her body, her lean frame unable to contain the excitement she felt at the prospect of taking that leap.
But for the kiss to be more than just a kiss, the sex more than the mind-blowing coming together of two consenting adults, for the them to be what they both knew they could be, they needed to talk.
Taking a deep breath, she caves in: "Here goes nothing … I lied to you Castle. Well, not at the beginning, because I didn't always remember, but when it all came crashing down, I refused to acknowledge your words. I just, I couldn't. Not without your words, their meaning, bringing everything back. And I couldn't. I wasn't ready, and to be honest, I don't know that I'm ready yet, it's all bundled in the one thought, those seconds that forever changed everything. But I don't know that I'm not ready either."
"Beckett, slow down, breath, and keep in mind, this is me you're talking to," he said. "Why don't you start again, this time, maybe, trying to make sense instead of toeing around the subject?"
She tries again, and this time the words make more sense, but she's still rambling, both desperate to meet his eyes but looking everywhere but at him. She's not sure she could stand the disappointment she knows she'll find in them.
"I heard you in the cemetery Castle. I remember being in the podium, thinking about how lucky I was to have found someone with whom to make a stand, and then I remember the shot. The burning pain in my chest. The screaming from the crowd. Lanie's 'Kate' on the background. But above all, I remember you, trying to hold me, begging me to stay with you, telling me that you loved me. It was all fuzzy in the hospital, when I first woke up. And Josh was there. And I knew in that moment that you were right, that I was hiding in a nowhere relationship with someone I didn't love. That very day, when I told you needed time, I also told him that we were over. He knew. Hell, he probably knew before I allowed myself to see it: it was you I wanted. It's long been you."
Castle couldn't take it any more: he shut her up, the only way he knew how. He kissed her. Slowly, patiently waiting for a reaction from her. But even when she responded, the kiss was timid. As if both were testing the waters, walking on eggshells and all the other cliches. Everything around them was changing, and they both knew it. But there was no need to hurry. No need to get all the pent-up sexual tension out in their first real kiss. Both knew there would be time for frenzied limbs and torn-up clothes later.
Despite the newness of it all, their first real kiss felt like one an old married couple would share after reaching a decision. They were sealing with a touch- long, but just a touch still- of their lips a promise. They both knew words needed to be said, but in that instant, with their foreheads touching and their eyes so close that it was impossible to focus on anything else, Castle and Beckett clearly heard to word neither voiced: Always.