A/N: Thanks so much for all the support thus far! I've been blown away by the number of people who have put this on their story alert list, favorited, and reviewed. I know this isn't an easy fic to read, so I appreciate that people have been willing to slog through the darkness with me.
Now if only the characters themselves would be willing to cooperate with me...
Chapter Three
Castle makes it to about five thirty the next morning before he can't take it anymore.
He has to see her.
He regrets leaving her the moment he stepped out of her apartment, but there isn't another choice. Yes, he could push it, could refuse to leave until Lanie as her fearsome self-appointed guardian caves in, but he doesn't.
He has to think about Alexis and the tremors of shock that had her shaking the entire taxi ride back home. He has to think about how traumatizing it was for her to see a woman she looked up to, a woman who was such a prime example of a strong, modern woman, break down so completely. He has to think about the big picture.
But more than that, he has to think about Kate. Lanie is right in that the stubborn detective would hate to be seen at her weakest by him of all people. Who knows what kind of unnecessary emotional upheaval that might create? It tears him up inside to even think it, but the truth is that she was too broken last night to face him.
And so he left, for his daughter's sake, for her sake, and yes, for his own as well.
He needs time to regroup, to think and figure out just what he is going to do.
Once he tucks Alexis in to bed (something he hasn't done for years, but proves necessary in light of the night they've had), he returns to his study to just sit and think. He needs to stop avoiding the issue even—especially—in his own head.
It's easy determining why he'd been angry with her. Lies and cowardice.
It is also easy, in hindsight, to see that he'd possibly jumped to conclusions in his hurt. He'd thought her embarrassed by his unwanted feelings, but now that he forces himself to think about this without the lens of heartache shading everything black, he can see that the extremity of his reaction is a defense mechanism. He can't handle the all-too realistic possibility that she doesn't love him, could never love him. And so he hides behind his anger.
It doesn't soften the ache of knowing she knew but chose to deny it, but he can see now that he never gave her a chance to explain. He can see now that he has his own part to play in this mess.
Despite all the pain and anger and confusion of the past month and half, understanding and accepting those premises makes it frighteningly easy to acknowledge that what he wants now is no different from what he's wanted all along.
He wants her. He wants to stand with her and by her. He wants to build a future with her.
He loves her; he never could find that switch no matter what he did to dull his feelings these past weeks, and he's a fool for not understanding earlier that he can't give up on her. It's not so much that he doesn't want to give up (which a part of him never wanted, even when the hurt was at its sharpest), but more so that he really, truly can't.
He needs her. But maybe even more than that, he needs them.
The only question is whether he's willing to risk his heart again for it.
It surprises him that he doesn't have to search his soul long for the answer.
Yes.
…
When he shows up at her door just after six, he almost kicks himself for forgetting about her broken door. How could he have left her helpless when he knew—he knew—there is still a seemingly omniscient Dragon out there biding his time to take out the threat that is Beckett's tenacity? When he could have legions of contract killers at his every beck and call? And sure, the blackmail is supposed to keep her safe, but what if he decides that she is still too much of a threat?
They are never truly safe, and Castle of all people should know that the best.
Even if he were to disregard that all-too terrifying possibility, he knows firsthand the astronomical number of random break-ins gone wrong that happen on a daily basis in Manhattan, so how could he be so thoughtless? Lanie is alarmingly adept with a scalpel, yes, but if something were to truly happen, she is just one woman.
He shouldn't have left last night.
Panic tightens his chest and narrows his vision, but he forces himself to knock on the poorly fixed door that's sitting at a slight angle instead of bursting into the apartment like he had last night.
With all the worst case scenarios running through his head, he taps his feet impatiently against the floor. This is taking too long. It shouldn't take this long for Lanie to answer the door.
Something must be wrong. He needs to be inside. He needs to see. He needs to—
The chaos of his inner thoughts screeches to a halt when he sees the person at the other side of the door.
"Jim." The name pops from Castle's lips in surprise.
"Rick."
"I, uh…Hi. Good to see you. Sir." He presses his hand forward to shake Jim's hand and he feels ridiculously foolish for acting like a teenager unexpectedly faced with his date's dad. Completely inappropriate, considering the circumstances. "I just wanted to check on Bec—on Kate."
Jim opens the door fully to let him in. "I'm sure Katie will appreciate the thought."
Castle isn't so sure about that, but his words do tell him one thing: Jim knows nothing about the near breakup of their partnership. Should he feel reassured by that? Or disappointed that he doesn't even rate coming up in a conversation between Kate and her father?
Stupid, selfish thoughts to be having right now.
Castle nods and looks around for Lanie. He almost expects her to jump out at him like a guard dog. "Is Dr. Parish around?"
"No. They had a busy night at the morgue, and she was barely able to wait for me to arrive before she had to leave."
"Oh, I see."
And Castle does see. He sees that she doesn't trust him.
He considers Lanie a friend, but he could have never expected the sharp sting that this truth plunges in his gut. Lanie trusts him so little that she would rather sacrifice her professional duties to stay with a friend she wasn't sure she could rely on him to take care of in her absence. The knowledge burns.
They take a seat on Kate's couch, and for a while, neither of them says anything.
Castle doesn't like silences. He doesn't know how to handle them. That's probably why he often found himself to be the life of a party. If there's a silence, he always manages to find a way to fill in the bubble.
Go figure that the one time he can't find any words to say, it's with Jim Beckett.
Castle can almost hear the ubiquitous crickets that sound off in the background of all the best (worst) awkward moments, when Jim finally breaks the silence.
"So did Lanie call you too?"
And of course, Jim would do so in grand fashion. The question itself is innocuous and unremarkable.
It's his own reply that Castle hates thinking about.
"Uh, no. I was here last night."
"You didn't stay?" Jim's tone is inscrutable, but the unspoken why resounds loudly between them.
"No." Castle swallows. "My daughter was here too," he offers by means of explanation.
The cloud lifts from Jim's eyes and Castle feels a little guilty for the unintentional misdirection. Jim still thinks that they're partners, friends, and who knows what else.
Jim trusts him, and his stomach flips at the realization.
So few people seem to trust him these days. Not Lanie. Not Esposito or Ryan. Not Gates.
Not Kate.
It's…nice, being trusted. Nice, and just a little terrifying.
"Kate wouldn't have wanted her to see."
Somehow the validation that Castle had done right in a tough situation isn't as comforting as it should have been.
Castle nods, not knowing what else to say in response.
Silence descends over them once again, and this time Castle only sits still for a couple of minutes before he suddenly lurches up off the couch, and momentum propels him into the kitchen.
"Would you like some coffee, Jim?" he asks, and only belatedly realizes how strange it is that he's offering Kate's father coffee from her own apartment. The thought comes unbidden that this is what it would be like if they ever got together. His heart twists with the knowledge that this fantasy of domestic bliss won't ever become reality.
If Jim thinks there's anything presumptuous about Castle's doing so, however, he doesn't show it. "No coffee. A cup of tea would be great, though."
"Coming right up."
"I used to drink a lot of coffee," Jim explains without prompting. "It's probably where Katie gets it from, but after everything with Johanna and the alcoholism…I decided that it was better that I didn't drink anything that I might get addicted to. I know there's still caffeine in tea, but it somehow seems…better. Cleaner, I suppose."
God, this has got to be the most excruciating quasi-conversation he's ever been in. Castle wishes that he had explained to Jim from the start that—that what? That he and his daughter are essentially estranged? That they haven't had a real conversation in nearly two months? That she lied to him, and he lied to her, and now they're just this jumbled mess of untruths?
Anything to stop the older man from what sounds like the beginnings of a soul-baring confession. Castle is in no position to hear this, has no right to be at the receiving end of this.
He tries to force himself to speak, but before anything comes out, Jim is speaking again, this time his voice taking the edge of introspection.
"I used to be afraid that addiction ran in the family. I lost myself in the bottle, but Katie…Katie got lost in obsession itself."
Castle wishes that Jim would stop talking. He shouldn't be listening to this. He really shouldn't.
But then the curiosity-killed-the-cat part of him soaks up these revelations spilling from her father's lips because he knows that he'll never get it from her own. He's treading morally ambiguous lines, he knows, but when it comes to her, he's never really had a firm grasp on boundaries.
"Katie's always been so stubborn. Once she latches onto something, there isn't any way you could force her to let go unless she herself is willing to. And more often than not, she isn't willing. After Johanna…Katie sank her teeth into the case, and over the years, no matter how beaten up and bloody she got over it, she refused to let go. That scared the living daylights out of me, let me tell you."
Jim's eyes lift from their firm fixture on the coffee table, and Castle has to brace himself against the counter for the overwhelming gratitude that spills from those weary depths.
"But then Katie met you, and she let go. She finally let go."
…
The moment awareness filters through her hangover-hazed brain, Kate remembers why she rarely drinks to excess anymore.
Everything hurts.
Her stomach lurches and she tumbles out of bed with a sudden burst of speed. She trips of something plastic sitting by her bedside, and she thanks God for Lanie when she sees that it's her trash bin lined with a plastic bag.
She's had little real sustenance in the last twenty-four hours, so what comes back up is mostly liquid and acid that burns her throat and leaves her teeth stinging with its acridity. Then come the dry heaves when the contents of her stomach are emptied, and those are almost worst because her body convulses and jerks and the sudden movements aggravate the consuming throbbing of her head.
Her eyes water from her body's painful betrayal.
God, she's miserable.
"Katie?" booms a whisper.
She groans. Too loud. All her senses are amplified, and she thinks that Castle would appreciate the irony. Last night she'd plied herself with alcohol to dull the overload of sensory input that had her seeing shadows in corners where there were none, but now everything is magnified a hundred-fold, and it just hurts.
Feet shuffle closer, and familiar, calloused hands gently pull her hair away from her face.
"Dad," she manages to croak between the arrhythmic lurching of her stomach.
"Hey, sweetheart," he murmurs at just the right decibel. Years of living in the bottle and dying from the hangovers have taught him well how to handle a rough morning after. He wishes it was knowledge he didn't have; he wishes even more that it was knowledge he wouldn't have to put to use with his baby girl.
"You're here," she says, and it's a question, not a statement. The pull of her insides to force themselves out of her have ceased momentarily and she rests her sweaty forehead against the comfort of her dad's shoulder.
"Of course I am."
"Lanie?"
"She had to take a case. The OCME was busy last night."
"People always dying," she remarks. It's a morbid thing to say, especially to her father, but the fog of her hangover heavily blankets her thought processes.
Jim doesn't say anything for a long time, long enough that even Kate's sloth-like brain catches up. "Dad…"
"Come on, Katie. Let's see if we can get you up."
It takes quite a bit of tugging and pulling—her dad isn't as strong as he used to be and Kate's sense of balance is far worse than it usually is—but they eventually manage to stand. Kate's arm wraps around Jim's waist for balance, and he grips her tight around the torso to help support her weight.
Kate has vague memories of this very same thing happening hundreds of times in the past, only in those dimmed recollections, their positions are reversed.
She banishes the bitter remembrances.
They hobble their way to the door before Jim speaks again. "You have another visitor, by the way."
"Visitor?"
Then she stops dead, almost causing the two of them to topple over, but her mind can't quite process what she's seeing.
"Castle. You're here."
…
Seeing her is a punch to his gut.
Well, seeing her is almost always a punch to his gut because every time he lays eyes on her, he wonders how it's even possible to have one person made up of so much beauty.
This time is different though.
This time, what captures his attention is not her haunting good looks or her kick-ass demeanor or her sly humor or her quick wit or her teasing laughter or any number of other features that attracted him in the past (and present).
This time, all he sees is her vulnerability.
There is only one other time when he's seen her this exposed, and he can't even bring himself to think about it because then memories of blood and terror and guilt and fear and devastation will overwhelm him.
He swallows, gaze flicking to Jim who watches them with well-masked confusion that transforms slowly into slightly narrowed eyes. The older man sees too much and yet nothing at all.
"Hey. I just…wanted to see how you're doing," Castle says, and he almost winces because it sounds stilted even to his own ears.
Her eyes—that mesmerizing blend of brown and green and seriousness and humor and determination—still carry a film of glaze, so it takes her longer than usual to shut down the emotions until they're blank. But it's too late because he's already seen the volatile mixture of pain, embarrassment, anger, and yes, even a quick flash of happiness. It clogs his throat.
"I'm fine, Castle. You don't need to be here."
Castle sees Jim whip his head over to his daughter and back to Castle in quick succession, and Jim's words from earlier that morning resound loudly in his ears.
I know it's not fair that I keep making these requests of you, but I'm her father, and I will do whatever necessary to keep her safe. Rick, don't give up on her. Please.
Castle wonders if her father regrets asking that of Castle now that he knows that Castle has no magical sway over Kate and never really did.
He swallows again, the lump in his throat refusing to go down.
He has a choice to make.
He can back down, and in doing so, wordlessly convey to her father that Castle just isn't the right man for the job. He can't help her. He can't get past her walls. He can't sacrifice himself on the altar of her misgivings. He can't lose any more pieces of himself than the multitude he's already given away to her.
Or…
Or he could choose to love regardless of the pain. He could choose the path of thorns even in the face of knowing that she might not ever love him in the way he loves her. He could choose certain heartache with not even a glimmer of hope to soothe the hurt because his love demands that he do what's best for her.
In the end, there is no choice.
He's always been a masochistic bastard.
"No, Kate. I do need to be here."