Misconception
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Castle stares at her. Kate. So terrifyingly certain.
"And what about the baby?" he says. "What side is she - he - what side is that on?"
She frowns.
He won't reach out for her; he won't. He can't keep reaching out only to have her keep backing away; he can't survive like that. "Does the baby make you think twice about investigating? Does it change your behavior at all?"
She doesn't have an answer for that, and he thinks that's answer enough. At least now she's thinking it through.
"I'm not on their side, Kate. That you can ask me a question like that - no, not even a question. A flat statement. I'm on their side. Am I? Is that how you see this?"
"This isn't a game."
"Oh, no? You're the one picking teams, Beckett." He disgust is a noise in his throat and he jerks to his feet, shoving off the desk to stride out of the office. He can't sit there and just watch her accuse him of being on their side.
And if he stays in his office with her, he might do something he'd regret.
She's fooling herself, that's what she's doing. She's looking for a reason to not accept this, to not love him back, and did he think it would change in the space of an hour? She's not ready. She has a wall. She told him that herself.
Maybe it excuses everything, maybe it should ease his way to forgiveness, but he's not feeling forgiving. He's ready; he's been ready. He's been waiting, but now that it's all within his reach, he's forgotten the first rule of running a marathon, set your pace, and he's chucked his discipline and just started flat-out sprinting.
"Castle?"
He realizes he's halfway to his kitchen, and he turns back with a studied smile on his face. Be nice. She's hesitant at the doorway to his office, and her nervousness is both heart-breaking and also endearing. And he loves her all over again and it's hopeless.
"Dinner," he says firmly. "I'm starving. And you look like you came straight from the Twelfth. Come on. You can help."
She opens her mouth, flushes pink, closes it again. She doesn't move to join him though. As if she thinks he's tricking her somehow.
He lets the silence drain tension from the room, lets the quiet work on him too. He opens the pantry and scans the shelves, but his mind isn't settled enough yet to plan a meal. So he just stands there, breathing, letting it go.
When he turns, she's approached the invisible line demarcating the living room from the kitchen, but he moves on, searching for food. He finds that his words are a good deal more calm.
"Detective, no matter what you and I are - whatever it is we're doing or not doing here - you've changed your mind or-" He thought he could affect nonchalance. Instead, his throat is closing up. That is not the way to do this. "So you've changed your mind about me. That doesn't change that."
He nods to where she's unconsciously pressed her palm against her stomach, right there, and he knows it's unconscious because when he points it out, she drops her hand as if scalded.
"Still a baby," he says quietly. "And you're right. I do know you. Even if it's difficult, you'll do the right thing. Which means we'll have to figure out how to talk to each other. Sooner or later, raising a child, things come up. What happens when she wants an iphone and you think no and I think yes?"
"She?"
He shrugs. "That's been my experience. Or he pitches a fit over watching a tv show you don't approve of? We're going to have to talk."
She clutches her elbows. "It's not a girl."
He scoffs, turns around to head back for the kitchen once more. She can't talk like that and have him keep his heart safe. She can't dream with him.
She'll kill him.
"You don't know what it is. That's not until 18 weeks."
"I know." By the sound of her voice, she's trailing after him. "But I - want a boy."
She's already killing him.
Rick doesn't turn around and look - he really can't do that - but he does give her a sidelong glance before he opens his fridge to check out the troops he might muster. Fresh veggies in the crisper, some cheese he bought at the farmers' market, and one of those pre-made pizza crusts.
Good enough, pretty well-balanced too. "You have vitamins and - and all that?" he asks, turning with items in his arms. Strategy, that's the goal now. Talk strategy until the knife's edge of pain has dulled in his chest, and then he can try again with all the rest of it.
She's standing at the bar, fiddling with the edge of a cloth napkin leftover from breakfast, and her hair has fallen forward to hide her eyes. She takes that moment to tuck it behind her ear, and then she looks up at him.
"I'm sorry."
He sets the veggies on the granite and places his hands on the edge of the counter to brace himself. She's not giving him the chance to retreat. "You're... sorry for what?" Doing this to him? Not loving him enough? Not willing to try?
"For what I said. What I made it sound like. I know whose side you're on." She takes a sharp breath and straightens up. "I'm still not any good at this, at being in a relationship. I want to be more-"
"You're more than enough," he cuts in, tamping down the urge to grab her. "I'm not asking for perfection, Kate. You won't get that with me anyway. Clearly. Just don't - just keep trying."
"Just don't what?" she says. As always, cutting right to the heart of things, seeing clear down to what people most want to hide. "Just don't what, Castle? Break your heart? Because I'm afraid I'm going to do that."
He grips the counter. "You already have. About four or five times just today. And yesterday, a few hundred. No need to be afraid; I've got practice."
Her mouth twists and she drops her gaze to her hands. "That's not funny."
"I'm not laughing."
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