Author's note: This will be a tough day for Castle and Beckett, but it'll also be a turning point for their relationship. I brought Kyra into the story not as a mechanism for angst, but for Castle to get some perspective on his own feelings.
Anonymous/guest reviews are now moderated. FF is a different site than it was a few years ago, sadly. Or maybe it's just the story specifically.
Beckett paced her apartment, giving herself a pep talk to stave off her rising nervousness. It was 09:51, and her phone sat ready on the coffee table.
"You can do this," she said.
She had spent the best part of the last two hours thinking about what to say, and after many false starts, she'd realised that ultimately it was simple. She had to get things out in the open, instead of continuing their elaborate dance of subtext and innuendo.
A dance he's walking away from.
She had to address the elephant in the room: his genuine feelings for her, which were always there, just behind the flirting and the half-joking propositions. The feelings that were in his eyes whenever he said always, or even just when he brought her a cup of coffee each morning.
"I want another chance," she said, and felt her pulse race at the idea of saying it to him.
Then there was the really difficult part.
Convincing him that I want to be with him.
She was completely unprepared for this conversation, but she had realised two important things during the few hours since she woke up.
One: I'm scared, but I'm also relieved we're finally going to talk about this.
A part of her had always hoped that he'd bring it up again, and force her hand. Maybe one night at the Old Haunt, or in a quiet moment when they were companionably watching a movie at his loft, or even (slightly more safely) when they were talking on the phone at the end of a long day. If he'd just said the words again, she was pretty sure she would have jumped in.
But I have no right to expect him to do all the running. It's my turn.
She glanced at the clock on the wall again – 09:55. She took a calming breath, and focused on the second thing she'd realised.
Two: Being unprepared doesn't mean I'm not ready.
This epiphany had arrived while she was preparing her own coffee after she got out of the shower earlier, and thinking about how even the coffee at the precinct always tasted better when Castle made it. That thought was accompanied by a brief crying jag, then she had laughed at herself in embarrassment, wondering what he would think if he could see her like that.
Then the unremarkable fact slipped into her mind, fully-formed and obvious. She was ready, and she'd been ready for a long time. She was just waiting for a push, or for some external confirmation of what she already knew: that she was already overdue to let him in.
It was now just two minutes before ten, and she had the sudden thought that maybe if she didn't call on time, he'd assume she wasn't going to. Then she wondered if he'd actually pick up at all, even if she called at exactly ten o'clock. Then she wondered what she'd do if he didn't answer, and how many times she should try to call him again before giving up for a while, and then she looked at the clock and it said 10:00.
She hurried over to the coffee table, knowing full well how ridiculous she was being, snatched up her iPhone, and unlocked it. She tapped the Phone icon, and the Favorites screen appeared automatically. Castle was at the top of the list, and she felt a small but very welcome surge of confidence.
She tapped his name, and lifted the phone to her ear.
Castle was sitting at his desk, staring blankly across at the closed door of his office, deep in thought.
The lid of his laptop was shut, and the only other objects on his desk were an empty mug, and his iPhone.
The conversation with Kyra the night before already seemed like a strange dream. There was a time not so long ago – after the case where her now-husband was a murder suspect – when he had thought about her a great deal, but he knew that it was just their unfinished business. That rekindled infatuation had faded quickly, and in the fullness of time he'd discovered that his feelings for her were entirely in the past. She wasn't even the Kyra that he knew as a young man – that person was gone, and he wasn't sorry about it.
He frowned. Agreeing to meet her for lunch today was a very bad idea, not just because she was married, or even because she was Kyra, but because he was vulnerable at the moment. Of all the times she could reappear, this was perhaps the worst.
"It's just lunch," he said aloud to the empty office. "What's the worst that can happen?"
You could fall in love with her again, his mind suggested, and he snorted, then felt a chill run up his spine.
There's zero chance of that, he thought, and he knew that it was absolutely true. Even with Kyra, of all people. There's just no chance. Because of Kate.
He grabbed for his coffee mug to distract himself, raising it to his lips before remembering that it was empty, and he sighed.
"I should become a monk," he muttered, and that at least made him grin distractedly for a moment. The grin faded when he again thought about why he was sitting in here, with the door closed despite both his mother and Alexis being out.
He tensed, wondering for the hundredth time what Beckett was going to say when she called, and he'd just started to replay the taxi ride from the night before when his phone suddenly buzzed on the wooden surface then began playing a distinctive ringtone.
Crap, he thought, reaching for the device after a moment's hesitation, and seeing that it was indeed Beckett who was calling.
He tapped to accept the call, and lifted the phone to his ear.
"Castle," he said.
"Hey," she replied, and he thought she sounded a little breathless. There was a brief pause, then she spoke again. "How are you?"
"Good. You?"
"Fine. Well, not fine. I'm OK. A little nervous."
He raised an eyebrow. "About…?"
"This conversation."
He sighed, feeling awkward and also a little guilty, despite himself. Just be her friend. Find a way.
He took a deep breath, and tried to put on his most breezy tone.
"Listen, I meant what I said last night, y'know. We should just forget all of… that stuff. Whatever it is. Get back to work after the weekend. I know I've been, uh, grouchy – my bad. You really don't need to say anything. OK?"
There was a moment of silence on the line again before she spoke.
"You stopped waiting for me, and I don't blame you," she said.
He felt his heart drop into his stomach. Oh shit, he thought. His veins filled with ice, and he had no idea if he was still breathing.
"I kept you waiting too long," she continued. "I'm so sorry."
He felt pins and needles break out across his face, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
We're having this conversation now, he thought. This is… actually happening. The let-me-down-gently conversation. Now.
"Uh," he said, and he had to swallow to restore his voice. "There's… I mean, we really don't need to talk about–"
"Yes we do," she interrupted, her voice gentle but insistent. "The problem is that we never talk about it. And now you've moved on" – he heard her voice hitch, and his eyebrows shot up – "and I need to know if I'm… too late."
The quiet of his office seemed to become a high-pitched whine, and he could feel a tingling sensation in the fingers that held the phone. He could hear her breathing rapidly, and he forced himself to speak.
"I'm… not sure what you mean by–"
"Don't do that!" she cried, and he flinched. "You can't just walk away. Just… please let me try and fix this."
His mind whirled with thoughts, all of them incomplete, but he couldn't help feeling a powerful need to comfort her.
"Hey, it's OK," he said gently. "We're OK. We will be OK."
There was another moment of silence before she answered timidly. "What do you mean by that?"
He opened his mouth to respond and then exhaled loudly in frustration and confusion.
"I… don't even know! I don't know what you mean, but I really wish you weren't upset. I mean that. I know it's kind of my fault, and… honestly, I sort of did this to myself. You shouldn't be… feeling sorry for me, or whatever. We don't have to–"
"What?" she asked, in a gasp, then there was absolute silence.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled again, and he scrambled to work out what he had said to provoke the reaction, but he could barely remember his own words. He rubbed his free hand on the knee of his jeans.
"That's what you think?" she asked, and her voice was stunned and suddenly quiet.
"Uh…"
"This is always what happens," she said, and he knew she was partly talking to herself now. "This is always what we do. And I can't even see you. Look, I'm coming over."
"Woah," he said. "Wait a minute. That's not a good idea. Let's just… talk. You wanted to talk, and we're talking."
"We should be having this talk face to face, Rick," she said, with tension in her voice. "I know what I need to say, and I don't want it to be over the phone. Please."
He felt a bead of sweat appear on his brow. Why do I feel like I'm cheating on you?
"Uh, well, maybe we could… get coffee or something. This afternoon. Later on, maybe three-thirty? What about that little place near your apartment?"
She sighed. She knew that he was stalling, and she could only assume it was because he didn't want her at the loft right now, and he'd feel uncomfortable at her apartment.
At least he's willing to meet me, she thought. But the afternoon was hours away, and she didn't want to wait.
"Well how about lunch instead?" she asked.
He froze. Crap.
"I'm buying," she said, trying to inject some levity into her voice, but he remained completely silent.
"Are you there?" she asked, and he grimaced before speaking.
"I've actually got a… thing, at lunch. A lunch. I'm meeting somebody for lunch, that's all. But later would be fine."
Her stomach twisted as her intuition and her own fears met.
"Oh," she said, in a barely audible voice. "Somebody?"
"A friend," he said, a little too quickly.
Faces flickered through her mind. Gina. Meredith. The actress who was playing Nikki Heat. The talk show host. Any of a hundred blonde fans. She swallowed.
"Anybody I know?" she asked, trying and completely failing to sound casual.
Crap, crap, crap, he thought, scratching his ear nervously. He exhaled.
She held her phone in a death grip.
"Actually, yeah, I guess you do," he said. "It's… Kyra Blaine."
The name fell like a stone into the silence.
He pressed his phone painfully close to his ear, listening for any sound, then he flinched again when she spoke.
"Oh god," she said, in what was almost a sob.
His heart clenched, and he was babbling before he was even aware he was going to speak.
"She called last night, after I got home. She wanted to come over, and I said no, but she wanted to talk. Apparently her and Greg are having some problems. She just wants to talk to somebody about–"
"This is a nightmare," Beckett replied, and the peculiar tone of her voice scared him. "I knew this would happen."
He opened his mouth to speak, but she spoke first.
"Is she coming to the loft?"
"What? No. No way. That'd be crazy."
"I'm sorry. I've got no right to ask. This is just… so totally… us."
He frowned, warring against himself. Her behaviour was completely out of character, but a picture was beginning to come into focus. He felt off-balance, and he desperately wanted to ask her a dozen questions, but he couldn't keep hold of them long enough to work out which words to use. He felt like he'd been on the phone for hours.
"I think we do need to talk," he said. "But I have to go and meet her – she asked. She called me at night, out of the blue. And… I know what you're thinking. I know what she's like too. She's a part of my past. She's married now."
"You've been married before," Beckett replied, and he blinked.
"It's just lunch," he said, with a sigh, then he heard her sniff.
Are you crying? he thought, feeling his pulse accelerate abruptly.
"Will you come to my apartment after you have lunch with her?" she asked. Her voice was small, and he felt guilt tear through him, then he felt angry at himself for feeling guilty.
"Beck– Kate…"
"Just tell me you'll come to my apartment. Don't text me or call me to cancel. Just–" she stopped, and this time he could clearly hear the tears in her voice.
"OK," he said quickly, trying to put a smile in his tone. "I'll be there, I promise. I'll even bring coffee. OK? I should be done before three. And we can talk."
"Thank you," she said.
"Three times in two days," he replied, and he heard her sniff again.
"I guess you should go," she said, taking a deep breath, and he nodded even though she couldn't see him.
"I'll be done by three," he repeated, and he wasn't surprised to realise that he meant it. Even if he had to leave Kyra in the restaurant.
Because that chapter has been over for a long time, he thought.
Which chapter are we on right now? his mind asked, and he only frowned.
"Rick?" she asked, bringing his attention back to the call.
"Yeah?"
There was a long pause; almost long enough to make him wonder if they'd been cut off.
"Please don't kiss her," she whispered, and then the line went dead.