A/N: I made it four for you Purplangel:) Reviews are love.
Chapter Four:
One minute she's feeling so great seeing him suddenly standing there – so happy. Because God – he's so handsome and she's missed him so much lately and she's so ready to just . . . wait . . . what on earth is wrong now?
Castle was looking at her only seconds ago with a sweet shy smile and a faintly amused glint dancing in his eyes – probably laughing inwardly at just how fast she grabbed for her coffee - and things were looking all rosy – sort of – and she was just bursting to tell him - everything. But then the smile actually fell off his face and the twinkle in his eyes faded and bam! Shutters up over his emotions and it's like he's disappeared again.
Where does he keep going? Why?
She's so tired of him disappearing – she's exhausted from the strain of it – because she's been far too scared (too cowardly) to really go and look for him. Too terrified of what she might find if she found him.
She just needs him back; she can't go on without him back again now.
The jacket is her proof of that. It's what she's trying to tell him with it.
Beckett can feel herself panicking – can feel her heart rate climbing and her respiration's soaring and – seriously Castle – then the detective follows his line of sight . . . .over her shoulder to his brown leather jacket hanging waiting for him on the back of her chair.
And then it hits her.
Oh come on – seriously Castle you can't possibly be thinking . . . ?
But he is. She just knows he is.
And boy does it ever royally piss her off.
How dare he – jackass!
And it's right then that the weird feeling of utter relief hits her sideways.
Oh – this means . . . this is actually somewhat good. At least this reaction is a tangible proof that he still cares. And if he still cares for her there is real hope that they can fix 'this', whatever 'this' is.
But it still stings. Hurts her that he could imagine, even for a moment (however fleeting) that she would – that she could - with Slaughter. Urghhh.
Well if she hadn't already, she's now 'officially' had enough. Beckett puts her coffee cup reluctantly on her desk and pushes her chair back as she stands. Keeping her eyes fixed on her wayward partner, who's now scowling faintly and staring past her at the wall, she reaches behind her, grasps hold of the brown coat and with it firmly held in one hand she grabs Castle's ear with the other and drags him to the break-room under protest.
"Ow. What the hell Beckett – let go of me." He yells at her.
Nothing doing.
The cop pushes him into the room, follows him in, and slams the door behind her before she flicks the lock.
"Stay there." She warns him. The 'do-not-even-think-about-messing-with-me' look in her eyes apparently still enough to keep him in one place for long enough for her to cross over the room to the other exit, and slam that door shut too – another lock flip. Then Kate closes the blinds for good measure before she whirls on her partner and pins him with a gaze.
"Sit down Castle." She instructs him.
He remains standing.
"What the hell is wrong with you Beckett?" He mutters petulantly, as he rubs at his reddening ear. "I came in because you asked nicely – I didn't come in for you to physically abuse me."
Kate swears he adds, 'the emotional abuse has been more than enough thank you' under his breath, but she can't be sure.
Frowning, she forces herself to calm down and try to get back to that wonderful glow she was experiencing when he arrived.
"I'm sorry." She begins gently.
His eyes flick to hers and his jaw tightens, but he remains mute for the moment.
"I'm really glad that you're here Rick." She speaks softly, hopes that the way she was feeling when she saw him comes across now in her voice.
She can see him fighting against something – but then his shoulders just slump and when he speaks he sounds tired now.
"Just give me what it is you dragged me in for and let me get out of here Beckett – I've got some things to do." He says.
Kate swallows. In her head that suddenly sounds like 'I've got some 'one' to do', looks like she's no better than he is apparently, and she forgives him for his jealous thoughts instantly.
She holds out the soft leather jacket, but he doesn't move to take it so she steps close and reaches for his hand. His skin is warm (as usual) and she determinedly laces their fingers together before she raises their joined arms and lays the jacket over them – holding it between them.
"This is yours I believe?" She tells him.
The writer looks befuddled, and when he nods it's vaguely cagey.
Kate waits for him to say something, to ask about why she has it but cat's got his tongue.
Do the work Kate. She tells herself. Commit to him now – just do this already.
The cop takes a deep breath, and hopes she can make him understand. "Slaughter doesn't deserve this Castle – he won't treat it properly."
Her partner's vivid blue eyes dart to hers and scan her face with laser-like precision, searching for hidden meaning in her words the way she always knew he would – because this is what they do.
He's silent for a long while, just studying her before he speaks.
"That doesn't explain why you have it Beckett?" He replies.
Her stomach is in knots – why is this always so hard? But she forces herself to smile, and if it's a little sad that's only because she's been a lot sad recently and she just needs that to stop now.
She wants to look him in the eyes and tell him this – tell him all of it – but she's staring at the floor when she speaks.
"I have it because I took it back from him – maybe forcefully – and I took it back because I like it where it's always been Castle. And I know I haven't always appreciated it the way it should have been appreciated – but you should know that I'm willing to do anything to fix that. I love this brown coat Castle – and I wanted it back – where it truly belongs."
She hears a catch in his breath, feels the fingers she clinging onto tighten around hers suddenly – the strength of his grip startling her. The cop forces herself to drag her eyes from the floor and look him in his handsome face. Forces herself to scan that face for signs he understands where she's trying to steer them with this.
"I thought it looked better on Slaughter there – for a moment." He says, but there is a tilt - a slight upturning of his mouth that eases the fear in her heart.
Kate shakes her head vehemently.
"No way. Never. It belongs here. Next to me – on you Castle."
The small up-tilt to his lips increases.
"Is that so?" He says.
Kate nods.
"Always. I never want it to go anywhere again." She says, passion coloring every word.
Her partner sighs.
"Ah but maybe it needs more than what's here Beckett. Maybe it wants to be loved – not just needed. And it isn't loved – it's just liked . . . and I wish that was enough – but it's not, it's not anymore."
Not loved? Oh God he's a million shades of wrong.
Kate takes her free hand and reaches for his beloved face, she cradles it in her palm, strokes her fingers over his jaw. He needs to believe her now – she prays he will.
"I don't know where you got that idea - but however you came to that conclusion I can assure you that you're wrong." She says.
He shakes his head.
"I got that idea directly from you Kate - you told me so yourself - you told me in your silence."
Oh - so very much makes sense now. Withdrawal. Flight attendants. Replacement partners. Unhappiness. So past time to talk and set the record straight.
"It's loved." She says. "It's totally freaking adored in fact. It's needed and desired and it belongs here." She says, before she stretches up and slants her mouth over his, swallowing his surprise and replacing it with her tongue.
She kisses him softly for a moment, and then the strain of holding back, always holding back from him breaks within her, and her kiss turns fierce – possessive – needy.
Their joined hands break from one another as the brown coat falls to the floor forgotten, the writer wraps both arms around her tightly, gives her back as good as she's giving, and when they finally break apart gasping for air he's smiling at her.
Wide, and happy and he's her partner again – finally once more the man she loves. He rests his forehead on hers, his words whispered across her lips.
"I take it all of that was just a metaphor – and I'm the jacket?" He teases.
His partner laughs.
"Yes of course you are. And FYI Castle - you need to keep that brown coat forever."