The door opens to Martha.
"Oh, Martha…hi." She can just barely manage to stutter out a greeting to the woman, who had welcomed her into their home, their dinners, their breakfasts, their family. Who had given her advice, and sought out her advice.
"Katherine, my dear." The older woman's voice is rich and musical, and most of all warm. She expected an edge, or at least neutrality tempered by coolness. She gets neither. At least one member of the Castle family doesn't hate her. "Come in, come in."
"Thank you." She has a bottle of wine in her hand, not wanting to come over empty-handed. It won't be better than most of Castle's own collection, but this feels like something of a re-start, a do-over, and she is once again a guest in his house. She must come bearing gifts.
"Richard is just in the shower. Not expecting you for a few more minutes, I suspect."
"Oh, that's OK, I'm early."
Martha's dressed in a glamorous outfit as ever, looking every bit the aging stage diva, possibly the only one not to have changed a whit in the past few years. Well maybe a few more lines around the eyes that she has absolutely no intention of mentioning.
"It is nice to see you again, you know. Nice to have you back in the loft."
"And you too. I do miss being here sometimes." A note of sincerity, of genuine emotion, that she didn't quite intend to show winds itself around her words.
"Well, far be it from me to meddle too much in my son's personal life, but I'll definitely say that he hasn't quite been the same since your…partnership ended. Or maybe just paused. Took a break?"
"Mother, not now." Castle interrupted Martha's line of questioning before she was forced to give a meaningful answer. Gone were the formal clothes of the previous night, but in a plain black t-shirt and comfortable jeans he still made her breath quicken, her stomach flutter as he always had.
"Oh all right, I'm supposed to be off anyway. Have a good night you two." Martha waves her fingers as she sidles out, and she can't help a small smile breaking out on her face at the easy domesticity of it all here, not much different to how it was before.
"Sorry about that." He walks over to the kitchen, clearly checking up on the food.
"Oh, no, don't worry about it. That's just your mother being…well, your mother. Here." She hands over the bottle of wine quickly, but is unable to stop her fingers from brushing his wrist, just a moment of unnecessary contact that sends a shock up her arm. He reacts too, those azure eyes darkening just briefly, enough to reassure her that whatever else has happened between them, the physical chemistry is still there, still present, still arcing as strongly as ever.
Small consolation, in wider terms, but she'll take her victories where she can get them.
He brings out the rice and stir-fry, simple food, but as ever a side of him she never really got tired of seeing- domestic Castle. The father, the provider, the cook. Who he was really, not the image he presented to the world.
The butterflies in her stomach take wing again.
"How's the case going?"
Oh good, the case. The sure footing of their relationship, the easy common ground. Yes, she could use this. Latch onto it, ease her way onto more difficult conversation.
"Frustrating. None of our leads are panning out."
"Oh one of those, I remember."
"Yeah. Mysterious phone call originating from payphone, no surveillance. Nothing in the financials. No witnesses to what happened in the alley. Kitchen was loud, no one heard the shot…"
She walks him through the specifics in detail, watching him take them in, build a picture in his own mind, put the little pieces of the puzzle together as well as anyone she'd seen. Maybe even better than herself at times.
"Maybe it was an assassin. With a silencer."
"I swear Castle, if you try to tell me she was a spy…"
"What a perfect way for the Russians to get one of their own on the inside, though!"
"Mmhmm."
She takes a sip of her wine, knowing her eyes are twinkling despite herself. This is the rhythm she remembers, the easy push-and-pull over theory-building and cases, Castle eager to jump in with logic-defying stories while she concentrates on the evidences.
Her heart clenches at the memory, because they've lost it, lost it through their own machinations and this faint shadow of those four years is nothing but a painful reminder.
Something of her thoughts must've showed on her face though, because his expression changes just as quickly, closing off, guarding himself, shadows lengthening on his face
Just like that, the moment is gone.
He steps away from the table, clearing their plates, putting some physical distance between them. Closing himself off, shoulders drawing in. She doesn't miss the body language.
She trails after him into the kitchen, not sure what to say, but sure this isn't the note their evening isn't going to end on.
He turns to face her, keeping the width of the island between them.
"Why are you here, Beckett? Why have you come back? What is there left to talk about?" He breathes out, nostrils flaring,
"I miss you. I miss…us."
It's the most honest she's ever been with anyone in the past three years. She doesn't even know she had that kind of honestly left in herself, really. But this…this was a turning point for them, she could feel it, and if she couldn't bring herself to be honest now then there wasn't going to be anything left to rescue later.
"And maybe I do too. But maybe we missed our chance."
"Did we? What if we're getting one last shot?"
"It isn't the same Kate. You can't waltz out of my life for three years then come back in and try to pick up as if nothing has changed."
"I'm not. Things have changed."
"Have they?"
"Tell me you're happy Rick. Tell me you're happier with me out of your life, and I'll walk out and never contact you again."
His silence is its own answer, damning and gratifying all at once.
"So then…"
"Just. Just let me have tonight, Kate. Let me try and process this. I can't stop thinking about you since yesterday, and I'm not…thinking straight."
"Don't shut me out. You want to talk? Let's keep talking."
"I'm spending tomorrow with Alexis. How about Sunday brunch?"
"Sunday afternoon?" Her usual time with her mother's case. This is a better way to spend it.
I know some of you aren't enjoying the slow pace of the story. I am, though, so we're sticking with it.
Review away.