Thank you all for each follow, favorite and review. I know I haven't answered each one of them, but know that waking up to the alerts puts a smile on my face!
(I think it's best I don't give you a heads up as to what the chapter is about… thoughts on this?)
Also, goes without saying, but nothing anyone recognizes is mine.
/
By the time I reached her house, I'm both having a guilt trip and third and fourth thoughts. I mean, seriously. Of all the stupid things I thought I might do today after the hell of a day we just had, this was never one of those, and I'm not sure I'll be able to live it down if she gets as angry as I believe she will. Or if I'll ever be able to look at her in the eyes if she gets as embarrassed about it as know I am by the whole thing.
But I'm tired. I'm tired of fighting my feelings. I'm tired of upholding the status quo even when I know neither one of us truly wants to. I know she's working on her walls to come down, but I'm tired of them walls, and I mean, can you blame me? Day in and day out, I work with the world's most incredible woman- mind-blowing inside and out- and I'm expected to just sit on my hands under my butt in that god-forsaken chair in the precinct to keep myself from reaching out and grab her hand when she puts it there, on her desk, mindlessly asking me to grab it as she makes a half-assed attempt to open holes on my some-times-right theories?
Seriously, there's only so much a guy can do to keep the love of his life at arm's length when she's literally within reach every day, at all hours of the day and plenty hours of the night too. Alas, when your one and only carries a gun, you do try to gage her moods before doing something stupid, like for instance, saying she's cute when she gets angry.
But I owe her an apology, or well, honesty. I cannot apologize for something I feel no shame over.
With a bravery I don't feel, I force myself to knock on her door. It's soft, almost apologetic, half hoping she won't answer because she won't actually hear it. Yet, I'm already here, so after a few minutes go by with no answer, I try again. I might as well man up, even if my man parts might no longer be attached to the rest of my body once I talk to her. Feeling bolder, I'm louder this time. But the answer is the same: silence.
I guess I could just leave, tell myself that I tried, brush it under the carpet that hides the thousands of things Beckett and I never talk about. The strings of moments that made it under there is long and varied. My favorite moments, I must say, are also the ones I'm most frustrated at having brushed off under the carpet. Like the kiss we shared last year, in a dark alley, as we were trying to save our friends. That moment is high up, but not too far behind is almost dying, frozen in each other's arms, and the life infusing hug she gave me after I pulled all the cables from the dirty bomb.
These are all moments in time, incredible, indelible, unforgettable moments in time, that we've never revisited. And I know I could just turn around now, go back home, with my head down and my tail between my legs, and just forget about it all. But I don't want to, so I knock again. Almost all hope has left my body, but my heart, stubborn as it is, refuses to give up.
Yet again, there's nothing but silence on the other side of the door. And the lights remain off. If she's in there, she's avoiding me- or anyone she might fear is at her door. And if she's not there… well, I don't want to go there. Her avoiding me is perhaps better than her being unaffected by today. Though, let's be honest, it's only slightly better.
Resigned to today joining those memories between us that go unspoken, I give one last, dejected look at the doorknob, as if praying the gods to move it, and turn my back to her door, ready to head back home, maybe take the time for a self-pity party at The Old Haunt.
Yet, my head down as it is, I don't really see her until our toes are touching, millimeters away from being one on top of the other. Hope and apprehension at once invade my body when I dare look up to her questioning eyes, and things are stupidly harder now: for some reason I though I'd have a few seconds from the moment I heard her head towards the door until I was actually facing her. Now I feel ambushed by her and in a fraction of a second manage to scold myself for not having thought about what I would say the second the door opened.
Sensing just how uncomfortable I am, Kate waits until I make eye contact with her, her face more open than usual, wonder but something resembling joy visible in her entire posture, to speak: "Hi Castle. What are you doing here? I thought you'd be home by now, sleeping whatever is left of the drug they gave us away ..."
"Kate, Beckett. Hi. I was just, waiting for you. Was about to head home, as you clearly weren't here …" I answer, a lot less suave that I would have liked.
"Astute observation Castle. But since you're here, would you mind grabbing a bag? I need to get my keys to open the door …"
At her request, I look at her arms, see two overflowing groceries bags and her helmet under her right arm.
"I didn't think you actually knew what the inside of a grocery store looked like Detective Becket …"
"Funny Castle. But seriously, will you help, or do I need to drop these on the floor?" she says, bending down to do just that.
In one swift motion, I grab both bags from her, silence her complaint with a daring eyebrow. In for a penny, out for a pound, right? Completely out of character, she choses to remain silent, and instead opens the door to her apartment, leaving it open in an invitation I would never refuse.
With no agreement needed, we begin putting things away, with me focusing mostly on the things that need to go into the fridge, as I don't really know where she puts her bread, the nice bottle of red I see in one of the bags or her oatmeal cookies.
"So, Castle, what brought you her, beyond your spidey senses telling you I'd need help with my groceries?"
I stubbornly refuse to meet her eyes, mindlessly continue putting things away. Well, not mindlessly… I can't help my brain from cataloguing her yogurt preference, and the orange juice she drinks, even the brand of the butter she bought. I wonder, does she have a preference, or was it within easy reach?
Though I'm sure there's much she can be feeling over my silence- frustration being up in the list- she surprises me again and instead of defiantly putting her hands on her hips, waiting for an answer, continues her well-choreographed dance around her own kitchen, opens a cabinet to take two wine glasses out, opens the aforementioned bottle and silently heads to the couch in the living room. Having deposited the glasses and wine on the side table, she kicks out her shoes, lies back and closes her eyes. I note that, for the first time in who knows how long- perhaps, since we've met- she's actually waiting for me, and being patient about it.
I guess my awe stretches the silence for too long, and I'm brought out from my riviere by her timid "Rick?"
I close the fridge- I should probably offer to cover the light bill, as I kept it open way longer than necessary- and head to the couch to join her and my already poured glass of liquid courage.
"I came here to be honest with you Kate…" I said, being cryptic enough that I know she has no idea as to what I'm referring to.
"Will you elaborate, or should I just try to guess?" she asks. Again, everything in her shouts she's open, maybe even receptive to whatever I might have to say, despite probably knowing that what I want to say has little to do with a safe topic and everything to do with one of those "moments" we hide.
"I enjoyed it," I said, trying to feel remorse, though I truly don't.
"You enjoyed it?" Beckett asks, trying to pry something else from me.
"Having your back to my front, as we worked together to kick down the wall. You warned me against enjoying it. But you see, Kate, I did. I mean, I really did. I know I should be sorry, and I am if I made you uncomfortable. I know you must have sensed that I was enjoying it, or well, you would have, had we kept going…but despite knowing I should be ashamed, as I have no right, I can't say I'm sorry I enjoyed it. Again, I'm sorry if it was way more than you bargained for, but I am a red-blooded man after all, and it's you."
"What do you mean with it being me?" she asks, with a tone I cannot read, even if my life depended on it. I'm not sure if she's angry, ashamed or teasing.
"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? I mean, literally, ever?" I ask. "Beckett, you're the most amazing woman I have ever seen, spoken to, listened to, had my front against her back to. You cannot honestly tell me you don't get it when I justify my uncontrollable reactions by simply saying 'it's you'."
She looks serious for a while, as if contemplating how to kill me and hide my body. But then the most amazing smile I have every seen her sport- at least, from the side, she is looking down after all, avoiding me, her hair hiding most of her features- blooms and I know I will live to see another day.
"I enjoyed it too Castle," Beckett says. "In fact, it took me longer than it should have to come back home on the bike precisely because, even hours after being released, I could still feel the thrill of you behind me. Hence the wine, the chocolate, and well, the now paused plan to have a nice, warm bath."
I'm dumbfounded. I mean, would you blame me? The woman of my dreams just acknowledged that she was maybe going to release some of the pent-up tension with some wine, chocolate and in a bath, hopefully thinking of me.
"But since you're here, I don't think the chocolate and the bath will be necessary … I mean, as long as you're maybe willing to help me out Castle?"
"Yes. Please, yes, let me help," I say.
"But promise me something Rick," Beckett says, placing herself on my lap before I can make any actual moves.
"Anything you want, Kate, anything at all," I say, too lost in the amazingness of the moment to actually care.
"Don't let me run," she says, which works much like a bucket of ice-cold water would in bringing me back to reality.
"What do you mean?" I ask, hope dripping from my voice.
"When we wake up tomorrow, and you feel my tensing up, getting ready to bolt, hide in the bathroom until after you've left, don't leave. Wait for me, knock on my bathroom door as I know you've been knocking on my wall. Wait for me, naked, and beautiful in bed if I go for a run, literally and figuratively running away from what I know will be my last first time," Beckett says, apprehension and hope marring her words in a way I never thought possible.
"Kate, I love you. And maybe you've already heard me say that. Maybe you're hearing it for the first time, despite me having told you so before. Maybe you've never heard me say it, but have known all along. And you see, if you actually let me kiss you for real this time, I know I will never stop," I say.
"Good. Because I need for you to never stop. I love you too Castle. And I've known. For almost a year, that you love me too, because I heard you a year ago. And I'm sorry I lied. But you see, I needed way too many hours of therapy to acknowledge that you're it for me Rick, so please, don't hate me and just know that I kept it from you simply because I wanted to put in the work, make sure that if I do in fact bolt from your arms tomorrow, I will come back. Because you're it for me. This is it," Beckett says.
I don't feel like talking anymore. So, I kiss her. I kiss her with everything I have, wind my arms around her and for a few minutes, or perhaps hours, we stay there, with her seating on my legs. And well, what lies between them.