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"I can't give you anything but love."

Chapter 8

After talking with Joe and Vera Beckett and I seem to reach a silent agreement: neither one of us is ready to call it a night, too enraptured by their love story. Not to mention that I don't appreciate her assertion that we don't get it, as they were huddled together, saying the didn't care about the blue butterfly.

Because I do get it. I truly, honestly, painfully do.

But my relationship with Beckett is the opposite to what the song says: I can literally give her anything. I can get her a diamond bracelet; the best dress money can buy and even the thrill of going about town in my red Ferrari.

But the one thing I want to give her, love, is the one thing I cannot. Now, don't get me wrong: it's not because it's not there. But because I'm afraid of how she'd react if I ever do. I love her, and I've told her as much. And I know she knows, that she heard me that day in the cemetery. And even if she didn't, I know she knows, because how could she possibly not? My following her around like a lost puppy is a dead giveaway, but there are other things too.

Like the making sure she always has coffee when she needs it.

The continuous pig-tails pulling that I secretly know she's gotten so used to.

The late nights building theory.

My request for her to stay in bed when we wake up cuffed to one another with a tiger on the other side of the wall.

My not pushing her when I know she's coping with PTSD when a sniper terrorizes New York.

The list is long, and as hard-headed as I know Beckett can be, I also know she's not stupid, so I refuse to believe there's a universe in which she doesn't know that I love her.

Enough rambling, back to our silent agreement: instead of parting ways after filling out the paperwork and putting a bow on the case, we walk the not so short distance to The Old Haunt. I know we could have gotten into any of the many bars we found along our stroll, but I for one, wanted the safety provided by the familiarity of my own bar.

I'm not sure what she was thinking, but I know for a fact it's not about the free drinks she always gets when here. One of the few things she allows me to give her is food and booze. Not because she can't buy her own, but well, it's the compromise we reached after I told her I wanted to give her a part of the royalties for Nikki Heat. She refused, and man, did we fight that day. But eventually, she promised to let me buy her sustenance, in the form of coffee, bear claws, take out and the random beer we share. So, beer and fries would have been free for her no matter where we went.

I know her allowing me to buy her food had more to do with her knowing it'd also benefit Ryan and Esposito, since most of the time, all four of us eat and drink together. But I was too tired that day to fight a battle I had already lost, and decided to cut my loses, buy her as much food and coffee as I thought I could get away with.

And man, am I rambling tonight.

But you see, the endless string of random thoughts, together with constantly pinching my tight with the hand hidden by my pocket, is what's keeping me from telling her that I can, in fact, give her everything she needs, including love.

We perch ourselves in a booth, seating in comfortable silence, looking around and at each other, as if this was the normal way we unwind after a long day. As if this was a normal element of a shared life that we don't actually share.

The waiter knows to keep the beer and the fries coming, both always half full before they magically reappear. When the fourth round materializes, however, Beckett takes a deep breath and sights.

Me being me, and with the brooding mood I'm in, I jump to conclusions and take for granted that this will be it for the evening. It's been a long couple of days, we're both tired, and knowing that she has the next two days off, I assume that she's calling it a night, getting ready to depart with the usual "see you on Monday," which in turn makes me visibly deflate.

And detective as she is, she detects the change in my mood because she gives me this odd little questioning look, as if asking me what's wrong. But how could I possibly tell her what's wrong, when the only thing that is not right is the fact that we're parting ways whenever we leave the bar?

I just giver her a silent nothing with a slight movement of my head, but she doesn't believe me: the questioning eyebrow goes up, possibly higher than I have ever seen it.

"Could we just drop it?" I ask, regret dripping from my words.

"No," she says, challenging.

"Well, seeing that I had to drop it for an entire summer and stay silent when all I wanted to do was talk to you Beckett, I think the least you could do is listen to me when I say I don't want to talk now," is my response, perhaps harsher than it needs to be.

"Rick, I'm not trying to pick a fight. Quite the opposite, in fact… I can't avoid thinking there's something you want to say, that happens to be something I truly, truly want to hear, but I've scared you into silence. And that's a problem, because we both know that if you're scared, I'm having an internal panic attack. And I've been having them since I got shot, so trust me, those are no fun," she says.

"Can you have a panic attack over something you don't actually remember?" I challenge.

"I don't know if you can. But I know I've been having panic attacks that take me back to what's the most amazing moment of my life, tangled and darkened by the worst," Beckett says, fighting back.

"Please, be saying what I think you're saying, because, Kate, if you're not, I don't think I can keep doing this. I'm a father, and I need to think of Alexis: there's only so much masochism I can endure before I crack and become someone I don't want to be… the despondent father who ignores his daughter's needs to bury himself in desperation."

"Hearing you say you loved me is the greatest thing I have ever heard, and not a day goes back in which I don't wish I could hear it again. In fact, I can barely put myself to sleep without imagining your arms around me as you whisper loving words in my ear," she says. "And with each day, my response is easier, to the point that though hidden in the safety of my room, it's no longer silent, growing in volume and confidence: I love you too. But you haven't said those words since then, and though you've done your best to show me every day, and even though I told myself you understood that it's you I want on the other side of my wall when it comes down, we never put a label on it. And yes, I know, it's my fault, as I'm the one who always says later or not now. But well, here I was, have been for the past four beers, hoping Joe and Vera's story would bring back the bold, semi-reckless, unfiltered man when it comes to inuendo I fell for."

"If you want unfiltered, here it is: I love you. I have for a long time, and not being able to say it to you, not being able to offer you everything in the world and my love has been an exercise on restrain that I never though myself capable of. I spent last night reading Joe's diary, picturing you as Vera. It was you I saw wearing the blue butterfly, imagining another man's arm around you and being jealous of a man who's been dead for over seven decades, because even he got to hold you and proudly present you to the world as his before I did," I say, exasperated and truthfully.

"You have nothing to be jealous about, and in fact, there's no one you should feel jealous of: even with me not allowing you to hold me like we both want you to do, no one has ever held me as closely as you do Rick. You're it for me, and have been for a while. That's why I dumped Josh even before being released from the hospital. He might have held me at night for a while Rick, but he never had my heart, because to the extent that I've allowed myself to give it away, it's yours. And no one else's."

"Where do we go from here?" I ask.

"Well, where would you want to go?" she answers, and I'm not sure if she means this very second, or in the future.

"I want to go everywhere with you Beckett, all the way to the house in the suburbs and the picket fence with the two kids and the dog if that's where you let me take you," I say. She wanted unfiltered, I might as well go all in, right?

"I was mostly asking if you wanted to continue this in your office, your place or mine," she volleys back, but seeing in my face that I can read her answer for what it is- evasion- she continues: "But after that, I want us living together, in sin for a while, until you make an honest woman out of me. And I want three, not two kids, a cat more than a dog, as we have crazy schedules and they don't need walking, and I'd keep what I presume is the mansion you have in Hamptons as our house in the suburbs, but either stay at the loft or get an even bigger place if your mother and incredible daughter stay with us after the first kid is born."

Having rendered me silent with her own unfiltered thoughts, she smirks and says: "Now that that's out of the way, let me ask again Rick. Where do you want to go? Because the things I want to do to you, I will not be doing them in public. At least, not the first time!"

With that, I grab her hand, drag her out of the bar and hail a cab. Man, it's good to not have to settle the bill at your own place!

"To yours, Beckett, we're going to yours. The things I want to do you, I cannot do if I know my daughter might hear us. At least, not the first time! Just be warned: after tonight, your neighbors might not look at you the same way," I say.

"That's alright… I'm not planning on staying there for much longer. Just until this guy I know I'm going to marry asks me to move in," she says, getting in the cab with me closely behind.

Never has such a short ride felt so long.