Hey all! Thank you so much for the lovely reviews you've sent thus far, the favs and the follows. As I said in the last chapter, they put a smile on my face (particularly those that highlight Beckett hating trolls! No room for those here.)
This time, I decided to go with Beckett as the voice, seeing that, as we all know, she's willing to take the first step when she's ready …
A writer and his muse, fighting crime. Just like us.
That's what Castle said as we watched officer Hastings and the Stan Lee wanna be leave the precinct, walking together, in unison. And man, was he uncomfortable when the two kissed. Yet, instead of the usual joke I've come to expect from him in situations such as these, he just smiled at me, said his goodbye and left.
Thought things have gotten better since our talk in the park not two weeks ago, I know I still have some explaining to do. He deserves an explanation, perhaps a more direct acknowledgement of the fact that when I spoke about not being able to have the kind of relationship I want until my wall is down, I meant with him. I don't want to just date someone. I don't want to just have someone approach me at a bar.
I want him. I want for him to take me on dates, for him to approach me at a bar, whisper on my ear, pretending the music is too loud for me to hear him if he doesn't lean in. Preferably we'd be at The Old Haunt, since I know he put this amazing Chesterfield couch in the basement office.
I've had more than one fantasy about that brown leather couch. Just the idea of being there, with the lights dimmed, waiting for him to close up for the night, decide to sleep on the couch, too tipsy to drive, only to find me there, wearing a lot less than I had on the last time he saw me, gets me riled up.
Back to the Stan Lee wanna be… cute name and all but let's be honest, as if anyone could come even close to the mind behind some of Marvel's greatest characters. Long Vengeance is no Elektra, I can confirm as much.
But officer Hastings' writer is bolder than mine, even if mine has based novels on me, not just comics. Her writer was bold enough to kiss her as the elevator doors were closing.
Castle would never do that.
But being honest, I know that it's as much my fault as it is his, if not more so: Every time Castle spoke about being something more, I shut him down, threatened to shoot him. I would probably be afraid if the roles were reversed, if I was the writer and he was the muse. Yet, I'm a strong, independent woman. And we've known each other for four years now. Why can't I take the first step, become the leading character of our own book?
Man, I've spent too much time with Castle. I even speak corny now. But the more I try to scold myself, I fail: he's my writer, I'm his muse. And he loves me. I know he does, because almost four months ago he told me so. And he's been there every day since. Well, not there there, because I wouldn't let him be here with me. But I know he would have been if I'd asked him to spend the summer at my dad's cabin upstate.
And his "I love you" was something I held on as I fought to get back into shape.
But no, overly independent me needed to heal on her own, prove the world I could do it, even if the world didn't care, and those who make up my world actually wanted to help, carry some of the burden. Because that's what those who love you do. And that's what you allow others to do when you love them too: you let them take care of you, keep you company. You shut the door to their face when they've been on your nerves for far too long, and you offer them a cup of coffee made just for them as a silent apology.
As my mom used to say, there's independent, and then there's stubborn. And I'm really good at both, turns out. And when it comes to Castle, I'm too good at being both at the same time, which means I've kept him at arm's length, even when in his hand he holds the key to the door that keeps it walled off from the world.
I once again make a half-assed effort to scold myself for my corniness, but it's useless: He's made me a softy, and I'm actually proud of it. I'm his muse, which means I've inspired him these past four years. And well, I'm not ashamed to say that he's inspired me too.
"Oh, Katherine, how wonderful it is to see you here! Are you going up? I know my son will be incredibly happy to see you," Martha says, bringing me out from my own musings. After leaving the precinct, my feet brought me here. Without really planning for it, I'm standing in front of Castle's building, being wrapped by his mother, who for the looks of it, is on her way out, ready for a night of fun if the cold I feel in my back is, in fact, a bottle of wine which I'm sure she took from his private stash.
"Martha, hi. So nice to see you. Uhm, yes, I was planning on going up, though I must confess, I wasn't really planning on walking here from work … I guess my mind had other plans, because here I am …" I say, not wanting to reveal too much, but also feeling the need to explain myself.
"Well, my son is up there, trying to eavesdrop on Alexi's call with Ashley, so you keeping him occupied is something I know all the tenants of the loft will welcome," Martha says, coming to my back and shoving me forward. "Ok kiddo, I have to run now, places to be, parties to crash. But before I do, some unsolicited advice: Don't make it all about work- yours and his. You really should kiss one another before you're too old."
I blush a shade of red I never thought I could achieve, and refusing to acknowledge the smirk I know Martha is sporting, I walk on, quickly greet Eduardo, the doorman, and get myself into the elevator he had been holding for me.
Having mused enough for the night, I go straight to his door and knock. He opens a few seconds later, surprised to see me, but happy at the same time.
"Beckett, hi! Did something happen, did we catch another case?"
"Hi Castle. No, no cases. And nothing happened. I just… well, I was wondering if you meant it, when you said you'd let me peruse your private comic books collection?" I ask. I'm resolute on letting him know I heard at the cemetery, but that doesn't mean I was ready for that to be the first thing I told him when he opened the door.
"Yes, of course! I was actually about to do so myself… Alexis is Skyping with Ashley and truth be told, young love, though cute, is not something the father of the teenage girl was to witness first hand, every night, of every day," he says, both bringing me up to date with what he's doing, what his daughter is up to and the frustration he feels over the fact that there's a new, younger man in his life now.
"Well, if you wouldn't mind the company, I did bring a bottle of wine we could maybe share? It's probably not as expensive as the one I know Martha just stole from you, but it's this great Argentinian Malbec that I think you'd enjoy," I say, walking into the loft and handing him both my bag and the bottle, so I can rid myself of my coat and my boots. No need to pretend I'm not planning on being here for at least a few hours.
"Ah, you brought wine … a woman after my own heart, Beckett. Just for the record, I happen to be a big fan of wines from down south," he says, with an honesty hard to challenge.
Mindful of Alexis being in the living room, we quietly work in tandem, getting the bottle open, two glasses and some snacks that Castle deems a necessity without really asking. And seeing the last I ate was lunch, I see the wisdom in his decision.
When we have the tray ready, he makes me lead us towards his office, and then past it, all the way to his bedroom. It's my first time here, at least, purposedly here, aside from that one time when I was living with them after my apartment blew up. Things look different than what I remembered, but well, I wasn't really paying attention, so I don't comment on it.
Seeing my hesitation though, he does: "I changed the bed since the last time you were here," Castle says. "It's new. Or well, basically new … I've only had it since the early days of summer."
"What made you change your bed Castle," I ask, unsure I want to know the answer, but certain that he wants for me to inquire.
"Well. After you got shot, Lanie told me you'd need somewhere to stay, and for some unknown reason, I naively thought hat maybe, just maybe, if I played my cards right, you'd be willing to stay here… if you know, doctor motorcycle boy wasn't able to take the time off to be with you doing the first days after you getting back home," he says.
"I'm sorry Rick, for everything," I answer, ready to actually dive in.
"No Kate, you don't owe me an apology. You don't owe me anything. I'm a hopeful man by nature, and that's not your problem," he says, dejectedly.
"You see, Rick, I do owe you an apology, and even if you don't think I need to, I want to give it. Because you see, when I was discharged, there was nothing I wanted more than to come to the loft with you, let you take care of me. But I couldn't. Because I'm independent, and stubborn. And I needed to prove to myself that I could get back on my feet, even if that meant shutting everyone I love out. And shutting you out, I know, was my biggest mistake this summer. And I don't want to do so anymore," I tell him, honestly.
"Beckett, are you saying what I think you're saying?" he asks.
"If you mean I'm saying I want for us to be a writer and his muse fighting crime, but going home together at night, then yes, I'm saying what you think I'm saying," I tell him
The wine and snacks are abandoned and the comic books he has hidden in his walk-in closet forgotten when I go up on my toes, bring him down with my arms around his neck, and kiss him.
"I love you Rick, and I'm tired of waiting, I'm afraid that one of these days, our regular brushes with death will be too close and leave us wondering what could have been," I say.
No words are spoken for a while. Or well, no full sentences.