even our shadows flinch
She doesn't want to need him like this.
She tries to stick to the usual routine she follows on her days off. Long soak in the tub, read a novel, watch some trashy TV whilst eating ice cream, call her Dad, order takeout for dinner, watch more trashy TV. But by the time lunchtime rolls around and she's tired of reality shows, Kate's mind has already wandered to Esposito, to how he might be spending his day off and to how they could spend it together. If he wants. If she wants.
Sure enough she ends up at his door, staring at the brushed wood and slightly askew number seventy-three that he keeps saying he's going to fix but never does. She hesitates a long time before knocking, because they only saw each other yesterday, only talked on the phone last night. If there's one thing that Kate hates, it's feeling vulnerable – open, like she needs somebody to lift the weight off her shoulders. She used to carry it around on her own just fine. She is terrified that this thing – whatever it is – is weakening her.
Nevertheless, she knocks.
He opens the door in sweatpants, a black t-shirt and bare feet. He looks surprised to see her, but pleasantly so.
"Hey, Kit-Kat."
Smiling just a little, she says, "Hey, Espo," and reaches to tuck a wave of hair behind her ear. She feels small in her leggings and flats and she can see the questions in his eyes as he looks at her: what is she doing here? They can usually bear to spend a couple of days out of touch. Isn't that how she likes this thing of theirs – casual, now and again, no strings attached?
"Um, I…" She clears her throat and brings her hands in front of her chest, toying with her nails as she looks up at him. "I wondered if you might wanna go out for a walk, maybe…grab something to eat? You know, if you want. If you're not busy."
Esposito looks at her for a moment, at her bare face scrubbed clean of makeup, at the leggings and sweater combination that make her look even younger than she already does. Not for the first time, he wishes he couldn't see the shadow of fear that is always in her eyes every time she comes to him, as though seeking out human comfort and companionship is a sign of some kind of weakness. He wishes she'd start taking all these things she thinks are weaknesses and turn them into strengths. She needs some fun, some light-hearted nothingness.
He leans back into his apartment for a second to look out of the window. It's overcast and grey outside, but not raining yet. He looks back at her. "Grim day for a walk, Kit-Kat. How are you at video games?"
Kate smiles a little wryly. She was the video game champion of her college halls, but she keeps that quiet. "I'm alright. But wouldn't you rather – "
"Nope." Esposito grins and takes her arm, tugging her inside his flat and pushing her toward the sofa. "Me. You. First to beat my current high score gets to choose dinner. And that, of course," he pauses to look at her appraisingly, "is going to be me."
Laughing, she drops down onto the sofa beside him and takes the controller tossed her way. This is going to be so much better than watching trashy television until midnight.
She whoops his ass. Bad.
Mainly because his high score isn't a patch on hers and partly because he keeps losing concentration to glance over at her. He knows he's ruining his chances of takeaway kebab for dinner but he can't help himself. The sight of Kate Beckett sitting cross-legged in leggings on his couch, torso leant forward excitedly as she grits her teeth and blows his little animated figures to smithereens, muttering curses under her breath every few minutes, isn't one he expects to see every day.
As she finishes off his main character and the screen flashes up their scores, declaring her the winner, Kate finally throws down her controller with a triumphant grin, and catches him looking at her.
"What?" she asks, wide smile still dazzling on her face. "Don't worry, I won't tell the guys at work that I just totally wiped the floor with you."
Esposito laughs. "Nah, it's not that." He checks himself. "Well, that too. Yeah. Don't do that." His face softens though and he smiles at her, affection muted in his eyes. When he next speaks, his words are gentler – more serious.
"You just keep on surprising me, Kit-Kat."
There's a lull of quiet in the room after that. Kate smiles at him and ducks her head, tucking her hair behind her ear again on one side. She knows he doesn't mean the game. He means her – exposing herself to him, in all her smallness, all her childlike indulgences and vulnerabilities. And she knows she will never be able to tell him how he makes her feel both small but not small at the same time, broken yet pieced together in the same instant. She hopes he knows anyway. She suspects that somewhere, he does.
"So, what are we getting for dinner then?" he asks, nudging her back to the present. "Victor's choice."
Looking up at him, Kate bites her lip, eyebrows creased slightly in deliberation. Then she draws closer to him, shifts to slide a leg over his as his arms wrap around her. She puts a hand at the side of his neck, fingertips just toying with the hollow behind his ear and the hair just above.
"Let's think about food later," she murmurs, and he recognises her next smile all too easily.
She kisses him, luring his lips down to hers as they stretch out more comfortably on the sofa, his body curling over hers as though protecting it from the grey clouds outside, the rain that threatens to invade their safe space. They allow themselves this – another night of play pretend, in which they make believe that this thing they have going is just like any other relationship, just as healthy and whole and easy as a million others. Her slim fingers inch his black t-shirt up over his ribs, his toy with the hem of her sweater and they both ignore the grey water lashing now on the window pane, drizzling down the glass and obscuring the city beyond.
An alley.
Crime scene tape.
Blood.
Brown hair.
Slumping figure.
Stab wounds.
They were called to the scene at 5am that morning. Kate had smiled at him when he'd lifted the crime scene tape for her. He'd watched as she'd absorbed the crime scene before her with steel in her eyes, ice in her heart. It had taken him a while to fit the puzzle pieces together, to connect it all back to her mother's murder, and by the time he had she'd already become so deeply involved that he didn't know how to confront her.
It's been 18 hours and they've exhausted two leads and he's standing outside her door.
Kate opens her door with files in her hands and fatigue written into the crevices of her mask. That mask has been building since he's met her, perhaps he's taught her how to hide her pain too easily. Perhaps he shouldn't have done that.
"Javi," she says in surprise, not letting him in. "What're you doin' here?"
"You need to sleep."
It's all he says before he pushes past into her apartment, finding files and photographs and empty takeout cartons littering her front room. Every inch of personal space has been consumed, eaten away by this – Her life. It's always this. Every day.
Sometimes it's easier to forget that she has to live with this.
"Like Hell you tell me when I need to sleep," Kate tells him lividly, shutting the door and following him into her front room.
"Somebody's gotta look out for you, Kit-Kat," he tells her, like it's as simple as that.
"I don't need looking out for."
"Oh yeah? Is that why I'm the only one?"
The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, before he can fully comprehend their meaning. It's true – he's the only one. He thinks he may be the only one who's been there for her for years, and her loneliness frightens him, even as she stares at him with a clenched jaw and defiant eyes. She shouldn't have to be alone.
"Get out," she says icily. "Get the Hell out of my apartment, Esposito. Who do you think you are?"
"I don't know, Kate. I don't know what I am, what we are – I don't care," he tells her, stepping closer. "Kate, I don't care about the mess we are. As your friend,your colleague, as a good person… Kate, get some rest. Sleep. Relax. Take some time off. You shouldn't have to work this case."
Kate shakes her head at him in disbelief, shoving past him viciously and he catches her wrist to pull her to him, their bodies aligning even as she glares.
"Stop."
"No."
He tugs on her lower lip between his teeth, feels rather than hears her growl as she pinches his arms so hard it's a surprise she doesn't draw blood. Their teeth clash together and it's savage, and the next thing he knows they're stumbling, heat coursing through him and it's making him forget what he'd come here to say in the first place.
He pulls away when her back hits the wall and she grunts in mild pain, and every part of him aches as she glares at him with swollen lips and mussed hair because she's so angry and they're both so broken and inside he can still see the terrified nineteen year old girl she pretends not to be.
"No. No, we're not going to forget this with sex," he says, pushing away from her. "You've got to stop."
She stares at him with arousal hooded eyes, reaching for him and trying to curl her body around him like she always does. "Javi, please."
Her lips barely brush his when he pushes her away again, this time with a little more force and she stumbles over documents forming a second carpet over the floor.
"Fuck you," she spits out. "Get out."
"Stop this."
"You don't get to tell me what to do – "
"Who else is gonna? You've pushed everyone out!" He cries. "Do you even want your life, Kate? Or do you want this?" He gestures to the files that consume her. "You want this every day for as long as you live?"
Kate clenches her jaw, stares up at him with no regret lacing in her eyes. "That doesn't make me a bad person."
"No, but it makes you a bad decision maker. Shit, Kate, you need help – "
"You're my help, Javi."
"Not that kind of help," he tells her, watching anger flare in her eyes. "Professional help. You need to let this go, Kate."
"Are you – Is this about my mother?"
"When isn't it?"
There's a long stretch of silence as Kate absorbs his words before she looks around the mess of her apartment. She stares at the files, the photographs, all of the macabre of murder for a long, long time, until her eyes are watering and she's curling in on herself rather than him, eyes lifting back up to us. One lone tear escapes and in that moment he considers pulling her closer, freeing her of her clothes and fixing it with their bodies as they always do. He knows how to do that.
"How am I supposed to let go?"
He doesn't know. He doesn't know and it terrifies him to the core.
"Javi, how am I supposed to let go?"
"I don't know, Kate. I don't know."
"You must do," she says in a shaky voice, trembling fingers wrapping around her own elbows. "You have to."
"I'm not you. I've never – This isn't…"
Her eyes are wide and terrified as she studies him and he's looking back at her in the same way. And she realises – he was never who she'd thought he was. He's still the man who makes her laugh. But she'd thought, or maybe she'd just pretended, that their unforgiving sufferings made them the same. His mask that she had so adored, the tortured pain that lurked in the taut bow of his spine, they'd made her think he'd had all the answers. He should have all the answers.
Why doesn't he have the answers?
"But you, with your dead partner," she says, wetting her lips. "You've been through something like this before you, Javi. You've got to know how I can let this go."
Esposito stares at her and she's crumbling inside, organs falling into shutdown as hope seems to sink further and further away until it recedes completely and she is left alone in the infinite darkness.
"You've got to know…"
Esposito sighs, rubbing a hand across his eyes.
"I don't know you, Kate," he says. "I know you're a damn good detective. I know you read Richard Castle's books. I know your body. But I don't knowyou. How am I supposed to tell you how to let go?"
"Please, Javi," she whimpers, and she is breaking his heart. "Please tell me."
He sighs, wrapping his hands around her elbows as she crosses her arms across her chest.
"You shouldn't have to need me."
"I don't want to need you," she whispers, voice cracking. "That's not right. That's not love."
He presses his forehead against hers, not daring to wipe her tears away, feeling his own eyes burn.
"It was never love, Kate. It was just – It was unhealthy."
"No, it was more," she insists, hands against his chest. "We're more."
"No," he sighs. "No, Kate, we're both just broken."
She pulls away, staring up at him with heartbreak in her eyes.
"But we said it was enough. We were supposed to be enough."
He shakes his head, cupping the back of her neck and he's not enough. He's never been enough. So he reaches down and kisses her lips softly because this is all he can do. This is all he can give her.
She breaks away with a hitch in her breath. "You were supposed to have the answers. You and everything that you've been through… You were supposed to have the answers."
"You have to find them yourself, Kate. I don't… I have nothing. You don't need me."
"I don't," she admits, and then she kisses him again.
Her kisses are sweet even as her mind is blazing with anger, and he's too caught up in her to notice, until she pulls away. Then he sees the anger in her eyes.
"You were supposed to be my help, Javi. You told me you'd help me."
There are no answers, and so he pulls from her arms, from the sweet torture of her.
It was never supposed to hurt this much.
"I should go."
He turns away, his entire body aching as he prepares to leave her chasing ghosts.
"You're wrong," she says. "Javi, you're wrong. We're more than broken. We're more."
But he's already gone, and as always, she is alone.
She feels everything and nothing all at once. For a long time after the door closes, the long shadow lengthening as the hallway light fades, Kate stands there with her arms wrapped around her torso, a crumbling tower built on sodden foundations from the start. It shouldn't be like this. They shouldn't have fights like this. They are more. He was meant to fix her. She was meant to fix him. They were going to repaint all of their broken puzzle pieces and fit them together so that between the two of them they'd create a new picture.
She slumps to the floor. He's right. That isn't love. It's dependence and it's false and it's unhealthy. But when she is curled around herself in the dark, Kate trembles to think of the alternative. Esposito came into her life like a bolt of lightning; he made her laugh. She doesn't know how not to be on fire. And all she can cling to for hours as the night gains momentum is her desperate preconceptions: they were supposed to be more.
The alphabet is all jumbled up inside her, letters scattered beneath her skin so she can't fathom what they might read. There are hot tears on her cheeks for a long time because she is realising now that Javi's fingertips will never and could never rearrange her words into sentences. She has to do that for herself, somehow. He's right.
He's right.
It thuds in her like a stone dropped in a well. And once dropped, it echoes through the hollows of her bones, the dark spaces in her lungs. He's right. He's right. He's right.
Trembling still, Kate sniffs and brings her hands up to wipe away her tears in the defiant way she always has done. It takes a while for her to get back to her feet – even longer for her to gather her jacket, her shoes. She lingers at her door for a long time, keys cold in her hand. But no. He's right. And she has to stop leaving it to him to apologise every time.
She feels the dull thuds of her knuckles against wood through to the pit of her stomach and when the door is opened, neither of them smile.
It might just be the shadows on his face but Esposito's expression looks hesitant – flickering, neither dark nor light. Kate meets his gaze with open, serious eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but she gets there first.
"I'm sorry."
Once those two words are out, she can't stop. Her eyes are remorseful and dark and inexpressibly sad as she spills out her soul to him there in his building hallway, spills out the parts of herself she has been pretending aren't there, the dark, tumultuous truths that neither of them have been facing. She seeks beneath her skin and manages, just, to rearrange the words for herself.
"I'm so sorry, Javi. I'm sorry for making up this…this fantasy of who you were supposed to be and who I was supposed to be, and how we were going to be… I'm sorry for being angry at you for not conforming to that. I had no right. I had no right to dictate this whole thing, whatever it is, to you and I realised… You're right. I do need to drag myself out from my Mom's murder. I do need to learn how to want my life and how to make it mine and not my Mom's murderer's. And this…us… this isn't good. I – "
Shoulders slumping in defeat, she takes a breath finally and for a moment it looks like she's just floundering, searching for the rest of her sentence and wishing the silence would say it for her. Her eyes soften and her whole body seems to follow suit, the tautness of her spine slackening a little, her legs holding her up less stiffly.
"I love you, Javi, but not… I'm not in love with you. I love you like a friend, maybe one of the best friends I ever had…and maybe as friends we made some mistakes and confused some lines and used each other for the wrong things, but… What I'm trying to say, very badly is…that you're right. We don't work like this and maybe…If you'd like…I understand if you don't want to, I mean, history and everything, not to mention I've been an utter bitch, but… If you're good and we're good…Maybe we can be friends again?" She tries for a smile – it quivers on her lips a little, but stays. "I can have your back, and you can have mine, as friends. We can go back to laughing in the break room over coffee and you can save my ass on take-downs when I take stupid risks and we can…support each other, rather than taking turns trying to carry each other – "
Her words are swallowed this time not by his lips but by his arms. He envelops her close to his chest, strong arms wrapping all the way around her, and the embrace is warm. It feels warmer and more like home than his bed ever did – there is no guilt, no desperation, none of the self-seeking need that always fuelled the fire of their kisses. This is simple and right.
"You're not a bitch, Kit-Kat," he murmurs and she squeezes him tighter. "I love you too, as a friend. I think we just got stuck."
Kate whispers back her thank you against his shoulder, and although half of it is lost in his shirt, he hears her all the same.
Esposito lets her slip out of the hug a few moments later, but his hands still stay on her arms, warm and comforting. She feels as small and breakable as she did on their first night, but there is something innocent between them now, something new and homely humming in the space between their bodies and he feels no desire to consume it.
"Kate?"
Her actual name makes her look up – she meets his gaze, dark now with sincere warmth. "Mhm?"
"Earlier, you asked me how you were supposed to let go, and I didn't have an answer. I still don't. But… I think one day you're gonna meet someone, Kit-Kat, and that someone is going to have the answers I don't. They're gonna know everything I don't and be able to help you without taking anything from you in return like I did. That's who you're looking for, Kate. And I hope you find him. I really do."
Kate kisses him then, on the cheek, her lips pressing innocently to the soft skin close to his jaw. "Thank you, Javi," she whispers, pulling him into a hug again. "For everything. For more than everything."
"Anytime, Kit-Kat. Anytime."
They're wrapped up in each other, two oblivious in-love souls who've nothing but eyes for one another, the white of her dress swishing around her feet as they slowly twirl their way around the dance floor, all smiles and bumping teeth when they kiss. Happy. The kind of light in her eyes that he'd always ached to see.
Soon, her father cuts in and she's all teary eyes and laughter as she towers over him in her heels. He watches from the side-lines as her groom, Castle, graciously backs away and dances with his daughter, until slowly more and more people are filtering onto the dance floor, and after dancing like a clumsy five year old in comparison to Lanie's professional moves, there's Kate – beautiful, enigmatic Katherine Castle – grabbing his hand and laughing as he trips.
She's gorgeous. Yes, the dress is beautiful, and her hair makes her seem like some ethereal creature, but it's the smile on her face, the light in her eyes, the way she shines. It's wonderful to see, makes emotion clog in his throat that he'll never admit to. Because this – all of this – it's what she deserves, what she always had, what he could never give to her, what she could never give to him. They had their moments of happiness, yes, but those were rooted in friendship, not in the times their bodies met. But with Castle –
He shows her how to live her life without carrying the chains of her mother's murder, shows her how to undo them link by link and in return she teaches him responsibility and how to hold more substance than just a millionaire playboy.
It's the kind of thing he thought only existed in movies.
Kate laughs, charming and pleasant, and nods over to where Lanie is twirling a stumbling Castle around the floor. "I knew I should've bought him lessons."
He grins, swaying gently to Kate's timing. Funny how these women around him lead the men.
"Lanie loves it. It was hard to convince her not to bring some of her old dance outfits along."
Kate smiles widely, laughter soft in her chest, before sighing quietly.
He studies her, and yes, she's happy, but she's tired around the edges and her eyes keep flicking back to Castle, and he knows that look – knows from years of friendship that all these hours of dancing and drinking have taken their toll. And the words are tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them, maybe because of the soft ambiance around them or the light in her eyes or how he's not going to see her again for a month while she's on honeymoon. It could be any one of these combinations, he doesn't know.
"I'm glad you found him, Kit-Kat," he says, seeing the way her eyes flick back to his, wide and surprised at the nickname he hasn't used in years. "You deserve him."
Kate hums lightly, biting her bottom lip as they sway. "Yeah," she murmurs, eyes shy but light, "I'm glad I found him too, Javi."
Esposito nods, and they slowly move their way around the dance floor again, passing Jenny and Ryan whose daughter is bouncing along beside them.
"You wanna tell me when I can expect a baby Castle-Beckett so I can win the pool against Ryan?"
Kate laughs, hard, and the music is beginning to change so they're stopping, hands falling from each other but she's still smiling up at him from beneath her hair, and that's enough.
"Give me time to recover from the honeymoon first, huh?"
"Oh – Ew – " He says, frowning. "Didn't need to know that."
Kate rolls her eyes, but says nothing more.
"I don't need to ask, but – You happy, Kate?"
She grins. "I don't even need to answer that, do I?"
There are so many words he could say, but this is enough. They're friends – good friends – and she's happy and that's all he'd wanted for her, just as she'd wanted for him when she'd sidled up to him years ago and murmured you know, Lanie thinks you're pretty hot.
"May I?"
They turn, and Castle's waiting beside them, smiling briefly at Esposito but he only has eyes for Kate. She smiles – that smile he only sees when Castle's around – and takes her husband's hand, stepping into his side and pressing a kiss to the bottom of his jaw. Castle smiles, buries his nose in her soft hair as Kate turns back to him.
"Go dance with your fiancée, Espo, before she kills everyone on the floor with her moves."
He nods. "As you wish."
But he stays, only for a moment, once again on the side-lines as he watches the new Mrs Castle twirling with her husband on the floor, the sun in her eyes, shining brilliantly.
He is irrevocably changed by Kate Beckett – who wouldn't be? – but Kate Castle. Ah, Kate Castle. This is the woman he could never help her be, the woman who loves unashamedly and laughs as though there's no such thing as pain or sadness or tears, and walks into the precinct with all the power in the world.
So he stands on the side-lines for a moment more and makes a toast, alone. For their past, for her future, and for Castle – the man who kept turning up.
The End
Eleantris: It was such an honour to work with Ellie - for a long time I've thought of her as one of the best writers in the Castle fandom so to write with her was just incredible and thank you so much for reading our little foray into Kate and Espo's possible backstory.
closingdoors: Ignore all of the above. Out of the two of us, Eleanor is an infinitely better writer, and has made me cry a crazy amount of times over this fic and these two characters. Writing with her was a pure dream – an early Christmas present – for me. I hope you've all enjoyed this fic as much as we have writing it. Thank you, as always, for keeping open minds and leaving wonderful comments. Until next time, folks.