At the cemetery, I cannot avoid revisiting my fight with Castle.
We've had our fair share of arguments when it comes to my mom's case, but nothing like yesterday's: had it come at any other moment, his confession of knowing I've known for almost a year that he loves me would have been heart breaking.
Finding out that he knew I knew put many, many things into perspective.
And facing my mom's tombstone, my mind goes back to his words, but even more so, to his eyes. The heart break in them was something I easily ignored during our heated argument, but right now, a bit cooled down, his eyes come back to me and I cannot but wonder what am I doing.
Is this fight truly worth it?
Furthermore, is finding justice for the death more important than actually living?
I look down to see the time on my watch, keeping an eye on the need to go back to the precinct, and it hits me: What if Castle was right? What if they do, in fact, continue sending trained killers after me and I end up getting killed?
How will my dad survive my death? Will he drown his sorrows again? Is finding justice for my mom worth killing my dad?
The answer, though incredibly hard, comes easily: no. Montgomery was right: we owe the dead our best, but not our lives. Even if the dead is my mom.
With this realization, I know I cannot go back to the precinct as if nothing had changed.
I text the guys. All three of them- telling them to meet me I my place. My not to Castle is, obviously, a bit longer, acknowledging that, even if perhaps too late, I had heard him a year ago and yesterday too. I also told him that Alexis graduation meant that he was too busy, I understood, but that I was hoping that his invite for me to join him later today, for a John Woo marathon, hadn't been withdrawn.
When, by the time I'm home, he still hasn't answered, I text him again: "Please Rick. I know I've given you plenty of reasons not to trust me, but I give you my word. I will do everything I need to do to guarantee that I'm alive tonight. And for many, many nights after that."
He answers back by saying "seeing is believing," to which I respond: "I deserve that. But mind my words: I'll be there tonight. And for as many nights as you'll have me Castle. I'm done keeping a foot out the door, and hopefully, you'll hear me out later today. Enjoy what I know will be an incredible speech by your valedictorian daughter."
I have no intention of breaking my promise: I will live to die another day. Hopefully, many years from now.
Javi and Kevin arrive to my place no too long after my last text to Castle, and we hatch a plan: I tell them what little I allowed Castle to say to me, about just how dangerous these people are, about the file Montgomery sent this mysterious many to get the target off my back. I agree that it's too dangerous for me to go to the hotel and confront my shooter. We agree to tell Gates enough for her to willingly take me out of the case- not without some fake fighting on my part- and for her to send the boys with more than enough backup. Being the lone pack of wolves has not solved this case, and my life is not worth more than that of my team.
They set their foot down: they're going. And as much as I want to tell them that they don't need to, I can't deny, I'm happy to know that men I trust with my life will be there. There's truly little I could do that they are not more than qualified to do, and strong in my resolve to make it through the day, I'm more than happy to let them take charge.
I call Gates, putting her on speaker and letting her know Ryan and Espo are with me. I tell her as much as I can without brining her predecessor's role in the case into the conversation, but revealing that the DNA of our suspect matches that of my shooter.
If she's surprised by this unusual moment of rationality from my part, she decides not to comment, and orders the gut back to the precinct, with the promise of leading the takedown herself.
Ever since she took over the 12th, the jury has been out regarding Gates being trust worthy, but her words before parting loosen the knot in my stomach: "Becket, I know you're protecting Mongtomery. I just hope I'll earn from you some of the respect you have for him, even if trust is harder to give and might be too much to expect after all that you've been through."
She hangs up without giving my a chance to respond.
The boys head to the precinct, and I start walking up and down my living room, feeling much like a caged tiger. But I promised myself, and Castle, that I wouldn't put my life at further risk.
In yet another unexpected moment of rationality I never truly believed myself capable of, I send a quick note to Esposito letting him know that I will be at Castle's and to reach out to him instead of me for any updates, I take a quick shower and seeing the rain, forego drying my hair when getting ready to head over to his place.
I'm ready to grovel, beg for forgiveness and God knows I'll probably cry if he makes it too hard. But wanting to prove to the both of us that I'm in this, I pack a week's-worth of clothes in a carry-on bag, grab my keys, my phone, and head out the door.
With the rain, it takes longer to get to the loft than I had hoped for, but I try not to kill the cab driver: it's not his fault that New Yorkers become the world's worst drivers when a few droplets fall. Plus, if it's hard for me to get to his home, there's no reason to believe that the car service I'm sure he's hired is having an easier time.
Once I'm there, I settle my bill and when I'm open the door, I could swear someone threw a bucket of water on me. But I don't care. I feel freer than I have in a long time, and those few second in the rain feel like cleansing.
I'm smiling from ear to ear by the time I reach the lobby, and Eduardo, the doorman, greets me with an "evening Miss Beckett. I was told we were hoping to see you, and to let you right in if you did, in fact, make it here despite the rain. Mr. Castle is not back yet, but he gave permission to let you in if you in fact, beat him to it."
I say my thanks, and allow him to lead me into the elevator, and eventually, open the door to Castle's loft. It feels both odd and reassuring to be there when no one is home, and in a heartbeat, I decide to make the best out of it. Before our fight, our John Woo movie marathon was meant to be a date, and I'm set on making it one.
But well, I'm also self-conscious enough to know that even though I've invited myself to stay at the loft for a week, or for however long it takes me to convinced Castle that I'm in this, I'm honest enough with myself to know that it might take more than him finding me here, alive, and in the dark when it comes to the take down of my shooter. So before I get into making pop-corn, open the wine I brought and raid his kitchen for perfect movie snacks, I go up the stairs and drop my bag in the guest room.
This way, he won't get angrier- if he's angry- when he sees the bag, but I'm also ready to stay when- if- he issues the invitation for me to spend the night in the room that I called home after my apartment blew up.
He's thankfully not back by the time I'm once again in the kitchen, so I set my little plan in motion. I won't pretend to know how to handle his TV, but I can at least get everything ready.
Once I'm satisfied with the spread I set up on his side table- tissues included, in case he wants to talk about the graduate instead of watching movies- I take my shoes off and make myself at home in his couch. I know that's what he'd have told me to do had this been any other day, and I need some sense of normalcy. I might seem unaffected by the fact that I'm not part of the take down that will hopefully bring down the man who almost killed me, if not the person who ordered the shooting, but God knows I'm not.
Unwilling to let my thoughts get the best- or worst- of me, I close my eyes, and apparently, that's enough for the adrenaline to leave my body, because next thing I know, Castle is kneeling in front of me, with this awe-struck face. I might be sleep-fogged, but I can swear everything in him gives this vibe of "I want to propose to you right here, right now," and I force my hope down.
We need to talk. Hell, we need to kiss before he can propose.
But being more honest with myself than I've been in my entire life, I accept that not much more than a kiss is needed for me to say yes to him, were he to propose right here, right now.
"Beckett. Esposito called. They got him," he says.
"Good," I answer, pretending to be more awake than I feel. "Can we watch the movies now?"
Judging by the smile he gives me, that's the right answer. He hands me his phone, so I can read the conversation he had with Javi, excuses himself to go get changed, and disappears from my sight, with the promise to be right back.
When he does come back, wearing the most comfortable looking gray PJ's, I cannot but smile and move a bit, making it clear where I hope he will seat down. Smiling down at me as if I'd just given him the world, his seats down, pours the one glass of wine, and without a word, turns on the TV and presses play. With my right side glued to his left, a glass of red between us, I know that everything will be OK.
It will all be as it should be.
Castle and I, slaying dragons together, coming home at the end of the day.