A/N: Firstly, I want to apologize for not updating sooner. Work and family matters (not to mention Carnaval!) got in the way, but now here's the new chapter!
Now, I got a bit carried away with what I wanted to write here, so I decided it was best to have this chapter as a shorter one, dealing with the immediate aftermath of last chapter's ending. Next chapter (which I promise to post ASAP) will have more of what I actually want this story to be like LOL
Once again, thanks to BURN3 for all the help.
Kate waited until she had locked the door to her apartment behind her to let her tears silently fall.
Standing alone in the middle of her living room, the young brunette couldn't fully comprehend at first how her now ex-boyfriend, who had claimed he loved her, could so easily choose to move away from her without discussing the matter in detail first. Replaying their conversation of not an hour before in her head, sentences like 'I couldn't let this pass' and 'it's a great opportunity' still didn't make much sense to Kate. No matter what she tried to tell herself, though, the dead giveaway for his reasons was apparent when he had confronted her about her hesitation to come with him.
"Why can't you choose us, Kate?", Will had asked. Of course, the meaning behind his phrasing had been why couldn't she choose him over her dead mother.
And that was all that really mattered. In the end, it didn't matter that she had gone through three years of therapy before she had met Will and sticked with it for these past six months to try to accept what happened to her mother, to her family, to herself that evening in January, 1999; it didn't matter that her relationship with him had been the only functional adult relationship she had had in her entire life; the fact remained that Kate wouldn't choose Will. She still couldn't commit to him completely.
Indeed, despite how many times Will had told her he loved her and how much she believed it and wanted to still believe it, Kate hadn't been fully invested in her relationship to Will throughout the two years they had been together. She knew that, although she had confided in him about her mother's murder and how it had affected her (still affected her), she had never actually let him know exactly how much it had affected her. Kate's level of commitment so far had been connected to her level of comfort with the relationship – Will had made her feel safe and loved without causing her that sense of overwhelming passion and fear of being hurt. Only now that he had asked her to step out of her comfort zone, she couldn't step up to face such an emotional challenge. Regardless of her best efforts over the years, she had still kept a foot out of the door.
Will had asked her to move to Boston with him. Kate couldn't do that. She couldn't leave New York. This was her life. Her work was in New York, her father – what remained of her family – was in New York. Her mother's memory was in New York.
She sobbed for what it felt like hours once she realized what a mess she still was after all these years.
Realizing she was still crying silently in her living room, Kate dried her cheeks as best as she could with the side of each of her thumbs while she mechanically wandered toward her bedroom, in hopes that carrying out her familiar evening routine at home would be enough to get her through her grief. Instinctively, the detective bent over a few inches to remove the boots she was wearing, then gently undressed herself, numb fingers at work until she was standing in her black cotton bra and panties in front of her full body mirror. Kate's eyes roamed over the image of her own body in the mirror, from her toes up to her neck, noticing on the way her long toned legs, her shapely hips, her flat stomach and full natural breasts, all in proportion to form a slender and feminine figure wrapped up by smooth white skin. She knew she was a beautiful woman and was aware of how her sexy lean body caught the attention of more than a few gentlemen (and even a few ladies) everywhere she went.
Nevertheless, she didn't feel sexy now. As she stared at her own vision in the mirror, she noticed how her lips still quivered and her face was still stained in the aftermath of her tears. Above all, she noticed that her own eyes betrayed her, portraying all the pain she was feeling – due to her breakup, her mother's murder, her sense of loneliness.
Feeling her eyes watering again, Kate quickly stepped away from the full body mirror next to her dresser and walked in the bathroom, where she put her dirty clothes in the hamper, brushed her teeth and combed her hair, all without glancing at her own reflection in the smaller mirror above the sink. Quickly dressing in her pajamas when she returned to her bedroom, the detective turned out the lights and settled in her bed.
Before succumbing to sleep, Kate wondered yet again if she would ever let herself move on from this tragedy and truly live her own life.
Meanwhile, Rick was once again sitting alone in his darkened office, staring at the blank page on his laptop screen.
After Beckett had left him standing in the middle of the crime scene, he had spent a few minutes talking to Ryan, Esposito and some of the officers before parting ways with them all. Then he had gone back to his loft, where he dined with his mother and daughter while he recounted the events of the case as excitedly as he could manage; his heart hadn't been wholly set on it, though. To this moment, Rick's mind was still filled with thoughts regarding the wonder that was Detective Kate Beckett.
"You think it's a mistake, don't you?"
Startled out of his reverie, Rick looked up to find his teenage daughter standing by the door. Glancing at the platinum watch he was wearing on his left wrist and ignoring her question, he raised his eyebrows curiously. "What are you doing up? Don't you turn into a pumpkin or something if you stay up after midnight on a school night?"
"I was going to get a glass of water when I noticed the light coming off your laptop screen in here," She told him without moving. "So. You think it's a mistake."
Tentatively, Rick addressed the girl's inquiry with a question of his own, "What's a mistake?"
"Profiting from the Storm novels. That's why you can't write."
Castle wasn't expecting the words out of Alexis's mouth, especially because he somehow thought she had been referring to his situation involving the brunette female detective, even if he hadn't mentioned a word of it to his family.
All the same, Rick wasn't sure the teen understood exactly why he hadn't been able to write the past few months, so he tried to explain it to her as best as he could – honesty had always been the policy in the Castle household. "I don't see the point in continuing with a series that has become too predictable. I already know how the story will turn out ten chapters ahead of time, but somehow I still get paid as if these books were a mystery that no one but me was capable of writing." He assessed the look in his daughter's eyes and sighed before admitting what was truly bothering him. "I'm no longer excited about Storm and people shouldn't still be interested in reading these books if they are able to figure out who the killer is before they get to chapter twelve."
Alexis finally moved from the door and walked into her father's office, coming to sit on his lap and winding her arms around his shoulders affectionately. "People still can't figure out the killer by chapter twelve, Dad."
"Yeah, well, people are stupid then," he told her, childishly.
"Dad," The teen admonished him. Then she turned soft. "Your writing is still spectacular."
Rick watched his kid fondly. "You know, I started writing because it felt like a calling to me. The way my imagination worked, the rush I'd get from making the story fall into place in a way that other people couldn't see beforehand. The money turned it all into the ultimate dream job, of course, but sometimes…" He trailed off.
The young redhead recognized what he had been going to say, though. "You'd rather write something that makes you happy than writing something that makes you rich."
He nodded once, still amazed at the depths of his daughter's insight. "Writing used to make me both." He sighed then, running his fingers through Alexis's hair and pulling her head down on his left shoulder. "And don't get me wrong, I'm not about to sell everything I own and go on a spiritual journey. I'm still very happy with the Ferrari and the parties and the fame –"
"You just wished you were writing something that made it all worth it again." She completed, without moving her head off his shoulder.
"Yeah," He acknowledged.
"So what's the big deal? You just have to write something that makes you tingle again."
Rick didn't say a word, but the young lady on his lap felt him stiffen almost imperceptibly.
When almost an entire minute had passed without her father saying a word, Alexis turned to look to him and suddenly realized something. "You think you're never going to find something that motivates you as much as this set of novels once did."
Rick's brain inadvertently reverted to the beautiful and savvy detective he had spend the past few days with. Ignoring the side of him that was intrigued by Kate Beckett, the writer addressed his daughter's comment from a different angle. "I'm thinking about killing him off," Rick admitted, referring to Storm. "But what if I'm stuck with him? What if I can't write about another character that is as good as Derrick Storm once was again?"
Alexis looked into her father's eyes comfortingly. "Then don't kill him yet. Take a little creative detour." She smiled. "Why don't you change things up a bit? Maybe add a different character to the mix. Or even kill off one of the recurring characters instead? If it still doesn't work, you can always just retire him." Her eyes gleamed mischievously. "Ooh, I know – you could cripple him!"
Castle's chuckled lightly, eyes sparkling in acceptance of some of the young redhead's suggestions as he chuckled lightly. "That could work."
Alexis's tone turned a bit more serious once again. "It will work, Dad. I know you – you're good. You just need to find inspiration again."
Rick smiled unreservedly at his daughter's words of wisdom. "You're too wise for your own age, you know that, right?"
"Yeah, I'm still trying to figure out where I got that from," She quipped.
"Funny," he told her before kissing the top of Alexis's head.
"Well, at least we know where I got my sense of humor from."
Father and daughter smiled at each other, both thankful for the special connection they shared.
Once the teen had gone back to bed after saying their good nights, Rick resettled in his chair, his mind already overflowing with ideas.
Richard Castle felt ready to start writing again.
TBC
(All characters and even some of the quotes in this fanfic don't belong to me. This is made available for entertainment only and not for profit. No copyright infringement is intended.)