Learn to Have Been
February 2015
Kate won't let him come to the precinct this morning.
But he's cracked some jokes lately that make him feel more like his old self, so the Rick Castle Haunting must be working, and he feels pretty good about that. Reclaiming her smile for himself, the new man, even without the requisite coffee.
He kisses her at the front door as she leaves for work, and his fingers trail at her neck as she steps away. She looks reluctant to go, as she has every day since June, but now he tells himself he sees a little more heat in her eyes, a little less worry.
That does it for him. He feels pretty good.
And, anyway, it's time to try something.
He's been putting it off because Richard Castle is - at his heart - a writer. And what if it doesn't come? He's been afraid, yes, and he's always procrastinated as part of his writing process, so he told himself it was just fine, all part of the deal.
Well, time to sit down and do it.
Castle drains the last of his Kate-made coffee, noting that she did actually sprinkle cinnamon in it again - not nutmeg, never, kitten - and then he refills his mug and takes it with him into the office. He's still in just his robe and a dark t-shirt, plaid pajama pants, but he doesn't want to get lost in morning routines and forget his intentions.
Rick sits down in his desk chair, touches the arms as he eases into position. The chair feels comfortable, familiar, though that could be due to Beckett last November. She was the one who pushed him down in it and persuaded him into a December wedding, rather than wait until spring again. She wanted to avoid the spring.
He smiles at the memory, the way she kept asking about his font, but before he can get lost in the past, Castle sits up straight, clears his throat.
He finds his coffee still in his hand, abashed at the realization, and he sets his mug on the desk blotter. The power cord is plugged into his laptop, so he tugs the computer towards his chest, confident it's ready for him. He opens the lid and sees that the battery reads 100%, so Castle pulls out the cord and drops it to the floor. He cradles the laptop against him, pushing back in the chair, his fingers resting on the keys.
Okay, so far, so good.
Castle clears his throat, fingers on the home row for a second longer, then he pushes the cursor across the screen, hovering at the application.
He lifts his head and reaches for his mug of coffee, takes a long drink, burning the back of his throat with it.
Coffee. He's going to learn to make Kate's coffee. Shit, he nearly forgot that. Near thing. His mind wandered a moment with the familiar weight of the laptop, but he's got it now.
Castle winces and double clicks the application, surprised when the blank document comes up instead of his browser.
But it's important that he figure out the French press as well as the espresso machine, and so Castle opens his browser and does a google search for an instruction video on youtube. Maybe there's something on wikiHow?
Ever since they got married, he's wanted to give her back something of the old Rick. He really needs to do this, fix this.
Fix her coffee, fix some of the tension still rippling between them.
He wants to go to the precinct again, but he knows he still needs the therapy, the associational puzzles, the mental training. The OT was the one who encouraged him to figure out the espresso machine, actually, said it would be a good idea.
He can do it. French press. He can do this.
His daughter has shown up in the doorway of the office, arms crossed over her chest. "What have you been doing?"
"Okay, true confession time," he says. He hopes, fervently, that he wasn't supposed to have met Alexis for lunch. That's happened before. "I've been playing candy crush on my phone."
Alexis winces at him but she doesn't say anything about another missed appointment - she never does. Castle only grins and stands up from the desk, moving around it to embrace his daughter.
"What?" he teases, hugging her a little harder so that he picks her up off her feet. "You're the one who got me addicted. Your own fault."
"No, Dad. That was all you," she mutters. But she kisses his cheek and he finally drops her, making her huff at him. "And you downloaded the app on my phone so you can log in and play extra lives. Don't you remember?"
He's been practicing for this very moment; he really has. Not even a lie. So the next thing out of his mouth comes smoothly, without a hitch. "If I can't remember that, then something really is wrong. Hand over your phone. I get five extra lives."
Alexis narrows her eyes. "You rehearsed that one, didn't you?"
"Come on. That was a good one. That's funny stuff."
Alexis huffs. "Dad, this whole obsession with your sense of humor is getting kinda old. You should let it come naturally."
Castle drops down in his chair and waves her off, but some of the shiny fun has worn off the afternoon. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's for Kate, though. She misses my amazing wit."
Alexis lifts a slim eyebrow. "I'm not so sure about that, exactly. I think humor is the last thing on her mind."
Well, something is missing in his head, his personality, and the times he's been a little more acerbic, mordant even - that gallows humor - Kate has responded with a pressed-lips smile. Like she doesn't want to, but she loves it. He is the master of the macabre. Or he was.
"Can we just forget about the comedy routine?" Alexis says. She shifts forward and leans a hip against his desk, glancing not-at-all-casually to the laptop. "What are you writing?"
"My comedy routine," he mutters, then shakes his head. "Nothing. Looking at how-to videos online."
He spent all afternoon researching espresso, going down a veritable rabbit hole of caffeine-related links, and then he spent the next few hours concocting the perfect set-up for his joke to be unleashed upon whomever walked in the room first. In between playing Candy Crush, of course. That's how he got the idea for that line in the first place.
"How-to videos?"
"Yeah, you know. Tying a Windsor knot is next on my list."
Alexis sighs, turning from the laptop to look at him. He thinks she sees too much - they all do. He's been doing a better job of it lately, hiding the newness, the rough edges of the non-polished Rick, but it's harder than he thought to don the old Castle. It's not a good graft; he keeps splitting seams.
Like his joke when Alexis arrived. Pretty lame, he can admit it. He doesn't know how to do better. Writing jokes isn't like writing a novel-
Oh, the novel. He meant to do that today. He meant to write today.
"God damn it," he snaps.
Alexis startles so hard that her foot slips and she has to catch herself on the edge of his desk. "Dad?"
Rick growls and rubs two fingers at his forehead. "Sorry, I'm sorry. I meant to write - I forgot again. I just. I forgot again." Always forgetting, losing his train of thought.
"Hey, it's okay. You know it's okay. You gotta cut yourself some slack," she says, leaning in and awkwardly patting his back. "Dad. Come on. You're doing so much better. Kate says you've been making dinner."
He meant to write today. He sat down at his damn desk and set up his laptop and he even opened the blank word document and still he forgot.
He forgot.
He's never going to get all his pieces back together.
It's dark, but the city presses a blue glow against their bedroom windows. Kate is in moonlight, a still form in the bed at his side, but Castle angles the book light a little more steeply to keep the shine from her face.
He presses his cheek to the pillow and lifts a hand to turn the page, but it's no use. He remembers every detail of Nikki Heat, every last sentence he edited, every plot point, every bit of dialogue he painstakingly crafted.
Rick Castle might not have any idea how to do it again, but he definitely remembers doing it the first time.
Gina was a bitch about this one too; he definitely remembers that. And handing the first copy, hot off the presses, over to one Detective Beckett, amused by her studied nonchalance and her squawking indignation. He remembers autographing the dedication page, the words he wrote for her alone, remembers wrapping it in the box.
And then using the gift to steal police files.
No, wait. Actually. No. He wrapped the final Derrick Storm novel, used that one to steal police files.
Huh. That's not good. He's getting things mixed up.
Castle clicks off the light, lowers the book to his chest, and stares up at the ceiling.
Is it age or brain? This is the first set of memories that have merged like that, flowed one to the other. His holes are usually centered around those missing weeks, how he got out there on the road walking towards town, and then the short term stuff - his immediately previous thoughts - those will leave him.
But that's not to say blending his memories is necessarily abnormal. He remembers getting details of Alexis's childhood out of order or melding one cute saying of hers with another. Once he told Gina an embarrassing story about Meredith, trying to make her feel better, and found out - quite violently - that the story had actually been Gina's all along.
So it's possible he's done that now. Possible it's not a symptom.
"Mm, Castle..."
Rick yelps and slams the book shut, turns over in bed and tries to slide Nikki Heat between the mattress and the side table, but Kate catches him, awake and sliding her hand at his spine.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Reading. Just reading," he says. "Waiting for something to click."
Kate presses her body against his back and reaches over him, snags his fingers. "What are you reading so late at night?" She draws the book up and chuckles softly. "Heat Wave?"
He swallows and allows her to take it; the dark cover is swallowed by the night.
"Castle, page 105, hmm?"
He remembers that. "Yeah," he nods. "Yeah, that's it."
But she's studying him, a careful and tender exactness about her gaze that makes him squirm. She lowers the book to the mattress at his side and lays her cheek against his chest, surprising him entirely.
"Kate?"
"It's the writing," she murmurs. "That's what you're doing."
He shuts his eyes.
"Castle," she starts, but she doesn't go on. How can she? The work is what drew them together - a copycat killer, solving murders, Kate as his muse.
And he's not sure he can get that back. Scares him to death, thinking it might be gone.
"Is it helping?" she whispers.
"No," he admits.
Kate curls her body around his and her hand slides to his neck, her fingers strong and sure like she'll hold him together. She doesn't offer another word.
He doesn't have any words either.