Making the Call
A/N: This is for CaskettFreak101, who sent me a PM out of the blue, telling me to write something. This isn't what you asked for in particular, but it's something.
This is set after the Season 2 finale. I know the premise has been covered before, several times. I've read a few of those stories myself, and a handful were so, so good it's ridiculous! Hopefully this is different. And hopefully you'll read it again because… well, who doesn't want to read Caskett?
Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.
I own a boat!
(No, I don't.)
Chapter 1
He stared at the device in his hand longingly, like he had been for the past five days. It had been fourteen days since he'd said goodbye to the precinct. Thirteen days since he'd come to the Hamptons to write his latest in the series of 'Heat' books. Five since he first had the urge to call her. Them. To call his team back at the twelfth. He missed them all. But truthfully, most of all, he missed her.
It was as if he was gathering the nerve since five days. On the first day, he just thought about calling her. Looking at his phone placed on the desk next to his laptop – several times in the day – before he shook himself out of it and dismissed the idea each time. What if she didn't want to hear from him? What if she was busy? Preoccupied by something – or someone. No, he wouldn't want disturb her.
The second day saw his brain signals reaching all the way to his hand. He picked up the phone, turned it about in his hand, thinking the decision over. It's just a call from a friend. The idea of it was to exchange pleasantries. Friends do that. He could do that. Hey, Beckett, he could say, how've you been? For some strange reason, he was afraid of the answer – afraid that she would be great. Doing well at work, and otherwise. Doing well without him there. It was an irrational thought. Of course she would be doing well. She'd been a fantastic detective far before he entered the picture – had to be to grab his attention – and she would stay that way long after he was out of it. The thought jolted his senses. He hoped, and hoped, and hoped that there was no 'after he was out of it'. Irrational or not, he was afraid. And so he didn't call.
Emboldened by the spirits – the drinking kind, and the family kind (His mother and daughter had very sweetly given him a pep talk. Alexis had been sweet, in any case. His mother had been her own brand of sweet, he supposed.) – his thumb made it all the way to her name on the contacts list. Then he fell back into his pattern of staring at it. Wishing for things. Thinking about things. Hoping for things. Thankfully, no matter what, he was a hopeful guy. Currently disheartened, however, hopeful.
Not calling her on the fourth day hadn't been his fault. Not entirely, anyway. Seeing as how he was supposed to be writing, – a fact that Gina made sure to pester him about right since he first arrived at the Hamptons (Honestly, she didn't even allow him to relax in peace even for one day, without starting her tirade about how he should be writing every single second. He, of course, did relax. She isn't the boss of him. Or so he petulantly tried to argue.) – when he was struck with an idea for a book; he had to get it down. It had come to him while he was staring at her name on his phone. Not even here and she was more effective than when Gina would try to force him to sit in front of her and write – why she ever tried that he never understood. It hadn't ever worked - not even once.
Now on the fifth day – almost at the end of it, really – his exercise of the past four days seemed to have come to a head. He picked up the phone with a purpose, his thumb furiously, and quickly typing out her name (He knew her number by rote, but the act of typing out her name made him happy. Everything about her made him happy, when it didn't make him pathetically miserable.), he finally pressed dial and held his breath as he held the phone to his ear.
It rang.
He wondered what she must be doing. It was late in the evening after all. She could have been having dinner – alone he hoped, though he knew it was petty of him to think it – could be watching tv (A likely story. Not.), could be at the precinct doing that thing she does.
It rang.
After the first three rings, he wondered if he should hang up. If she were going to pick it up, surely she would have done by now. What if she really wasn't alone? Or maybe she really was busy. Or – and he sincerely hoped he was wrong – maybe she didn't want to hear from him. Maybe four days ago, he was right…
Leave a message, or hang up? Leave a message, or…
"Beckett," came a breathless sounded greeting.
Never would he have pegged himself the sentimental kind, and so he dismissed the thud in his heart as inconveniently timed heart burn from the lasagna he'd eaten for dinner. It certainly wasn't a skipped beat, or a super excited one, just from the sound of her voice. Nope.
"Hello?"
"Beckett. Hi. It's me. Uh.. Castle."
"Oh…"
It had been fourteen days since she'd not had her heart broken. Her heart wasn't broken because Kate Beckett is a woman of steel. A woman who knows better than to put her heart on the line in the first place. Her every move is precise – always governed by thought and calculation. Practicality trumps sentimentality. Only – it doesn't.
Fourteen days since she'd broken up a potentially good relationship. Demming was a good guy. Smart – had to be since he was a detective in robbery who'd at his young age, made a name for himself, just like her. Handsome – he had a charming smile, no question about it. Strong – something she'd experienced firsthand thanks to their little combat session carried out in the name of distraction. Good – that was evident from the way he spent his time outside work, and the way he spent it when he was at work. His biggest fault – and he'd never know this – was that though he was all these things, there was something he wasn't. Castle.
The first week had been kind of difficult. Even for her. Schooling her face and not talking about it worked well enough for her, if only the others would leave her alone. She didn't miss the looks of pity, and genuine sadness, sympathy and even empathy that were cast her way. But she wanted to. She wanted it all to stop. Just go back to work. Go back to the way things were. Was it that much to ask? Just – go back to the way things were before … But she couldn't even think that. Not even as angry, or betrayed as she felt. She couldn't complete that thought. So those first seven days, she gritted her teeth, took deep breaths, blinked hard and moved on. Of course, sometimes she'd stare people down with her steely gaze, just because she could. It felt empowering, though she knew it was mean. Payback. No one pities Beckett and gets away with it.
In the second week, people moved on, the way they do. A person can only care so much about another – whom they know as a friend, or colleague – to think about them for so long. They get back to their lives, everything forgotten until the moment it's not. People move on. Ryan and Esposito probably didn't forget. But they were her boys. They knew how she functioned. They knew the less said, the better she would get. Even Montgomery didn't mention any of it. They'd all been there in one of the rare moments where she couldn't mask her features for the world to see an illusion. They'd all been there – Lanie, too – and that's why they knew all the more, not to bring it up. Not to let it fester, but to let it fade. She didn't need to be reminded of anything. She had a strong mind. At a young age, Kate had learnt to let that very strong mind form a barrier for her heart. A wall, if you must. To protect what needs protecting, what had already been battered once by taking away a big chunk of it. Her wall stood strong, a barricade from all things potentially dangerous.
The problem with walls without doors? It's simply a barricade. No exit. No entry.
On the fourteenth day, she wasn't thinking about him at all. Lewis Mitchell – she was sure – had been the one to murder the three girls whose crime scene photographs she was staring at. The how and where of it had eluded them so far. Studying it long enough, approaching it methodically could provide a break in the case, she knew. The bullpen was nearly empty save for a couple of detectives in a whole different part than her; and then there she was, determined to break this case.
The silence had long since settled around her, giving her that extra bit of concentration, allowing her to think in peace, and to focus. And so she'd been startled enough to knock her phone to the ground when the call broke through her reverie; somehow making its way under her desk causing her to kneel down to retrieve it, with one hand over her pounding heart. It probably wasn't a good idea to leave it at that volume in such a tranquil setting. Finally collecting it, and herself, she answered without looking, hoping that whoever was calling wouldn't cut the line in the time it took her to do so.
"Beckett," came her prompt, slightly breathless reply as she went to right herself.
She was greeted by silence, though she gave it a second, wondering two things – One, whether her phone was working properly because it did just fall on to the hard floor. And two, whether the caller had cut the phone just as she had answered it, and if they did, she hoped her phone was undamaged enough to tell her who the call was from. One try and she'd hang up after it. Let caller id work its magic.
"Hello?" she asked.
The reply – that by now she wasn't expecting – was something that she certainly wasn't expecting.
"Beckett. Hi. It's me. Uh.. Castle."
Soundlessly she opened her mouth and closed it again, not knowing exactly what to say. Not knowing exactly how to breathe.
"Oh…" she said finally. Not the most intelligent reply, but, pretty much the only one in her mind as it took its time to reboot.
It helped though, that he didn't seem to be doing all too better at his end either. "How are you?" he said haltingly, and she could almost imagine him chastising himself. She could imagine that he'd be holding his fist to his forehead, mouthing the words to himself again, mocking himself.
She almost laughed. She definitely smiled. And in that moment, she forgot to be angry, not that it wasn't awkward instead.
"I – Hi, Castle. Umm.. Is – is there something you needed?" She was skipping over the pleasantries though, in favor of finding out why she was getting this call.
"No. No, nothing like that. I just – I wanted to call you. See how you're doing. You know, what with me not there to lend my expertise in several areas of your investigation –"
She bit her lip to hold her laughter and then interrupted him, her voice coming out stronger, more confident with the familiarity of banter. "You mean now that you're far enough away that you can't go around interrupting me every second with your childish background commentary."
"Ouch, Beckett. That stung," he said, and she could almost hear the pout.
On the other side of the line, Castle's face finally lit up with a eye-crinkling smile for the first time in days, when he heard the beautiful sound of her laughter. The single 'hah' ought not to have so much power over him.
Abruptly, though, she remembered to be angry again. "What do you want, Castle? If you're calling because you're bored, you can try someone else…"
"No!" came his urgent reply. "I just called to ask how you're doing. Really. No ulterior motive, detective, I promise. I'm not bored – well – not too bored anyway. Still writing, you know. It's actually going really well – the book, I mean. I've been writing day and night. The words have been pouring out, and I've been sticking Nikki into these awesome situations and getting her out of them, with Rook's help, of course." Castle was talking so fast that she couldn't get a word in. "Not that she needs it, 'cause she's totally badass, just like you. But he's there for her anyway."
When he finally stopped, possibly to catch his breath, she almost smiled again, having listened to his rambling. Having heard what he was, and wasn't saying. Almost smiled again, but she caught herself. "I'm sure Gina's doing a great job keeping you in line."
"Pfft. She's not the boss of me," he said, sounding completely unconvinced himself. "But if I stop, she'll come back here, and I'd like to avoid that if I can."
"Back wherever you're hiding in the house right now? You better go back if you're that…"
"No, no. I mean, back to the Hamptons. I am completely safe right now," came his swift interruption. As an afterthought, he added, "And I don't need to hide. It's my house."
That stopped her cold. Because, wait, what?
"Aren't you – wasn't she coming with you? I was under the impression that you were going together." For work and pleasure, she completed in her mind.
"She did come with me, as my blood sucking publisher. She stayed for five whole days before I could finally convince her that I really was going to work on the book, and that I'd need some peace to do it."
Kate chuckled; feeling for the world like a burden had been lifted. Not that she cared or anything. Not at all. She hadn't put her heart on the line. "Really, Castle. You wanted to be left alone to do your work in peace? I can't imagine anyone ever wanting that."
He sounded mildly affronted, "Hey! At least I'm useful to you. All Gina was doing was riling me up. I had to delete a whole petty argument I wrote between Rook and Nikki, after I had Gina give me yet another lecture on how I ought to be writing all the time. Give a man some room to breathe, jeez!"
She laughed at that. "Okay, okay. Calm down, big guy. How are Alexis and Martha?"
His voice changed completely from sounding irritated to sounding affectionate in less than a second. "They're well. Thanks for asking. Uh.."
"Yeah?"
"How's uh – how are things at your end? How's…" she heard him pause and take a breath before finishing, "Demming?"
Taking a quiet breath herself, she tried to figure out how she felt about his question. He'd cared enough to ask, though it obviously made him uncomfortable. He clearly made an effort to keep his tone neutral. She couldn't judge if he was just trying to extract information – though it sounded from his hesitancy that he might not even want to know the answer. That's why she gave it to him, honestly. "I wouldn't know," she replied softly.
He paused for a beat, digesting what he just heard. "Oh. Uh – I'm sorry. Did – did you guys fight? You want to talk about it?" He asked just as softly.
This time there was no masking the genuine concern in his voice, and it made her smile. "No. It was amicable. Nothing to talk about really."
"Okay. Good. Okay. But, uh, if you ever do need to talk, I'm here."
Even biting her lip couldn't help contain her smile. She was sure he could hear it, too. "Thanks, Castle. I'll keep that in mind." Just then the phone on her desk started ringing. She wondered who it could be, seeing as how it was late. People had learnt to expect her to be there, though, so she wasn't exactly surprised. And it could be about the case. Reluctantly, she knew, she had to let him go for now. "Listen, I have to go. Might be a lead," she said.
"Oh. Okay, sure," he said hurriedly, "Can I call you again, Kate?"
So he did pick up on her initial anger. Did he just call her Kate? Why didn't she mind?
"Would you listen if I said no?" she joked.
He paused again.
"Castle?"
"Whatever you say, Kate," he said softly, and she knew he was being uncharacteristically serious.
"Until tomorrow, Castle."
There was no mistaking the relief in his voice. "Until tomorrow, Beckett."
Making the call might just have been one of the best decisions of his life, he thought, as he stared at his phone again like he had been for the past five days. Longer than that, if he were to admit the truth. This time, it wasn't full of sadness, emptiness and longing. He placed it next to his laptop, and for the next several hours of the night, his fingers were flying over the keys with a renewed purpose, ideas running a mile a minute in his mind. He paused, just for a second, looked back at his phone gleefully with the thought that she'd break his legs if he'd call her a muse when he planned to call her the next day.
A/N: That's that. I've always felt that a lot of her anger in the S3 premier was because he didn't bother keeping in touch. That's why I thought about this 'what if' scenario. Honestly don't know if this particular combination of events has been written in ff before, but I hope you liked it. I don't know if I'll be continuing it. What do you guys think? Should I?