For the sake of this story, episode 3x06 (3XK) happened a couple of weeks past the original airdate, a little closer to Christmas.
This story assumes that Castle never returned to the 12th after he left at the end of Season 2.
Thanks to airbefore for looking this one over.
Detective Kate Beckett should've gone home hours ago, but the thought of popping open a bottle of red in an empty apartment is too much to bear tonight, so she remains rooted firmly in her desk chair.
Or at least she tries to, but not if Esposito has his way.
"Beckett?"
"Hmm?" she snaps her gaze toward the Hispanic detective, realizes she's been out of it for the last few minutes — and the sympathetic tensing of his jaw tells her that it hasn't gone unnoticed.
She wiggles, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. She just needs a little coffee and she'll be good to go for at least another hour, maybe two.
"We found the boy. Closed the case. Why don't you go home and get some sleep?"
She waves him off dismissively. "I'm fine, Espo."
"When was the last time you saw the inside of your apartment?"
She pretends not to hear him this time, turning her attention back to the report she was working on before her mind drifted off. Truthfully, she's exhausted and the words won't stop swimming across the page — but it's still better than home.
Esposito sidles closer to her and she grits her teeth against it. She can't have this conversation — again. "Kate, you're running yourself ragged-"
"Javi, I'm fine," she snaps, shooting daggers out of her eyes. "I'm out of here as soon as I finish writing up this report."
"Sure, you are," he mutters under his breath, walking away with the shake of his head.
Her body sags in relief. But just when she thinks she's out of the woods, she hears -
"Beckett!" Captain Montgomery calls out.
Fuck, not him, too.
"Sir - " she starts to protest, pursing her lips.
"My office," he replies sharply. Apparently her captain is not in a negotiating mood tonight either, she thinks dryly.
With a sigh, she pushes back from her desk, brushing past Esposito on her way to Montgomery's office. "Did you put him up to this?" she mutters under her breath.
"Girl, you know I don't have a death wish," he fires back. She shoots him a little smile for that, hoping he can read the apology between her lips.
Beckett steps inside her captain's office, shutting the door behind her.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Sit down, Beckett."
Beckett lifts an eyebrow. "Sir?"
"Sit," he says again, more forcefully this time as he settles into his seat. She complies, doesn't need a formal reprimand on top of all of it.
He stares at her curiously for a minute, letting the silence fill the space between them. She shifts uncomfortably, fiddling with her father's watch under Montgomery's gaze.
"Beckett, you're running yourself ragged. You're the first one here every morning and the last one to leave - even when there's not an active case."
She shrugs. "Just trying to stay busy."
"Bull."
She startles. "Sir?"
"Why are you blaming yourself, Kate?"
Her fingers curl into her thighs. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're hiding out here because you blame yourself for what happened to Detective Ryan."
"Captain -"
"And you can't go home because then you'll start spiraling down that hole." He pauses. "How am I doing so far?"
Beckett expels a breath of disbelief, shaking her head as she fights back tears.
"He's going to be fine." His voice is so gentle, so understanding that it cleaves her in two.
"Barely," her voice cracks.
"Jerry Tyson had us all fooled, not just you."
Yeah, but she's supposed to be better. Instead, she's spent the last several months with a gaping hole in her chest that she can't figure out how to fill.
And there's a small part of her certain that her job is suffering because of it.
"Kate, take tomorrow off."
"We don't have the manpower - "
"Let me worry about the manpower. Go visit Ryan. It'll make you feel better."
She sighs, smoothing a knuckle over her eyebrow. "Is that an order?"
"Yes," he says firmly.
"Fine," she says, resigned.
Roy jerks his head toward the door. "You're dismissed."
"Thank you, sir."
She's halfway to the door when he says, "Still hasn't called, huh?"
She freezes in her tracks, her eyes slamming shut. "No," she croaks.
And then she's gone.
Richard Castle steps into the dimly lit coffee shop, expelling a breath into his palms before he rubs them together briskly, shivering. He loves this time of year, but he wouldn't mind if the nip in the air were just a little less….
Well, nippy.
He sucks in a deep breath, lets the delectable mix of coffee and sugar fill his lungs as he takes in the little shop adorned in twinkling white Christmas lights that he hasn't stepped foot in for several months now.
It's close to 10 o'clock now and the crowd looks a lot thinner than the morning regulars he used to encounter here every day. Mostly college students on their laptops and a few writers, he thinks. They've got that familiar line between their brow that he recognizes all too well.
A look he'll become reacquainted with as soon as he gets back to the loft, he thinks sourly. He's woefully behind on his deadline.
He shuffles up to the counter, shooting a friendly smile at the young barista, whose warm gaze brightens with recognition when she spots him.
"Mr. Castle!" she exclaims with a grin. "It's been awhile since we've seen you around these parts. Started to think you forgot about us."
"I could never forget you, Sheila," he replies kindly. "It's good to see you."
"Would you like your usual?"
He grins. "You still remember it?"
The young woman scoffs. "Six months isn't a lifetime, Mr. Castle. I got your back."
He laughs. "Thanks, Sheila. Can you throw in one of those delectable blueberry muffins, too? I skipped dinner." He pats his stomach with a frown. It growls on cue.
"You got it. I'll just be a minute."
Castle leans against the counter while he waits, lets his gaze trip across pink-cheeked passersby outside. God, it's good to be back. The unexpected extra leg of his book tour has left him depleted and he's so glad to be home again just in time for the Christmas holidays.
Now, if he could just figure out how to approach going back to the precinct after he left them all with six months of radio silence.
He doesn't anticipate that going well at all, but he misses them all terribly. Especially her.
And he meant to call, he really did, but -
Sheila returns then with two coffees and a muffin. "That'll be $13.80."
Oh, there are…"Two coffees," he murmurs.
Sheila cocks her head, confused. "Yes, that was your usual order. One grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla and - "
Castle waves her off with a tight little smile, slipping out a few five-dollar bills from his pocket. "No, of course. You're right, Sheila. My mistake." He drops the cash into her palm. "Keep the change and have a good one."
She smiles. "Same to you, Mr. Castle."
Castle can't bring himself to throw the drink away or tell Sheila she made a mistake — she didn't, really. He isn't even sure he's ever stepped foot into the shop to get a drink just for himself. The little place was just a few blocks away from the precinct, so he always stopped in every morning on his way to Beckett.
He turns around to retrieve a cup carrier but isn't paying attention, lost in thought as the solid wall of his chest runs straight into -
"Beckett," he gasps in surprised delight.
It takes the brunette detective a second too long to recognize who she's collided with, her reflexes slow as her eyes slam shut with the grit of her teeth at the inconvenience. In the few seconds he clocks before her gaze flickers with recognition, he can't help but notice the tight lines in her face, the sharp protrusion of her clavicle that peeks out from beneath the cloak of her trench coat.
She looks...exhausted would be one way to put it. She's still gorgeous as hell, her hair much longer now, stunning waves that settle on top of her shoulders.
Gorgeous, but a little worn out.
When her eyes finally land on him, she inhales sharply, a spark flaring behind her eyes before she shutters it away, her brown eyes dimming as she takes a not-so-subtle step back.
"Castle." She shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat, flashing him the thinnest of smiles. "It's good to see you."
He lifts his eyebrows. The flat tone of her voice sounds like it's anything but good to see him. "How are you?"
"Good."
He winces. A one-word answer and she doesn't even bother to politely return the question.
Worse than he thought.
"Good," he replies lamely before he can come up with something, anything better. They stand helpless and awkward for a minute, his fingers tapping against the cups in time to the beat of the Christmas pop song that plays over the speakers.
She rolls her eyes. "Well, as much as I would love to continue this scintillating conversation with you, I'm on my way home," she curves a thumb behind her. He wants to laugh at the wry sarcasm laced in her words, but it's void of teasing.
She is angry with him. Or something else is going on.
Or both.
"I'm sorry," he blurts out.
Her eyes slam shut. "Castle," she warns.
"I should've called - "
Her eyes fly open, flames alight in her gaze. "Castle," she says again, sharply. He shuts his mouth and it's quiet again. "Please." She visibly swallows. "I can't. Not tonight."
Her voice is pained, broken, and all he wants is to gather her in his arms and ask her to spill whatever demons are haunting her so he can right them and make sure they never find her again.
But he doesn't.
"Okay," he says gently.
Her shoulders drop in relief, the fight gone. "Thank you."
His hands are warm, too warm, and oh — duh. "Here," he says, handing her the extra cup he ordered. Her cup. Her forehead wrinkles in confusion.
"I haven't been here since - " he stumbles, shaking his head. "They gave me my usual," he tries again.
Again, she's slow to understand. "Your...usual?"
"My coffee and yours," he explains slowly. "This is the place I used to stop at every morning on my way…"
It dawns on her then. "Oh." She nods. "Right."
"Anyway." He holds it out between them, a peace offering.
"Thanks." She shoots him a weak smile. "But it's late. I should get decaf." He doesn't argue, though from the looks of the bags under her eyes, he'd guess that she's hardly sleeping as it is.
He licks his lips. "Right." He forces a small smile. "I'll let you go then."
"It was good to see you," she echoes her earlier words, dull on her lips, far away from the woman he'd spent two years with. He winces at how hollow they sound, how they sink down into his bones, make him shiver.
He swallows hard. "You too, Beckett."
And then he walks out of the shop, tossing her coffee into the trash can with a sick thud that settles into his stomach.
Just a little angsty Christmas reunion fic for the holidays. Hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I'm loving diving back into these two.
Update soon.
x,
Liv
