Learn to Have Been
February 2015
X
Rick Castle shows up at the 12th.
He knows better, but he's tired of sitting at home forgetting that he needs to write. He wants to know what's happening on the case - his case, he knows it's his case still; she hasn't dropped it - and there's been an anxiety growing in him all winter.
It's like he knew. Somehow, he knew this was the day, this was the break, this was going to happen. He thinks it's fate. The universe - which owes him big time - conspiring to put him here, two to-go coffees in his hands that he didn't make, his forward movement arrested at the bullpen.
He hasn't even gotten to her desk.
"Is that him?" he croaks, staring at the grainy photo Kate's just slammed up on the murder board. It's blurry and he can't really see anything at all, just a sharp nose. A man, definitely, but that's all.
She whirls around, a choking noise in her throat. "Castle. What are you doing here?" Kate jerks forward, comes swiftly to his side, bearing down on him and driving him back towards the break room, her eyes both furious and heartbroken.
He still has those coffees, and she takes them out of his hands, puts them on the cafe table as if they're nothing.
"Castle," she starts, eyes closing.
"I needed to hear your voice," he admits, entirely involuntarily. "Is that him?"
"You're not - you shouldn't have the left loft. God, Castle. You still forget-"
"I forget what I'm doing. Not where I live," he hisses back. "And not who I am. Not what matters to me. Was that him?"
She swallows and turns her head as if to look through the closed blinds and the bullpen to that one cropped photo. "That was the driver of the black Mercedes. We finally got a shot of him."
Castle flinches, finds his balance has completely deserted him, and he has to throw out a hand to grip the cafe table, keep himself upright. Kate lets out a breath and catches his elbow, the back of his jacket.
"Whoa, Castle. Hey, what's wrong? Babe, you should sit-"
"I'm fine," he grits out. He shakes his head. "The black Mercedes."
"That day Campbell picked you up," she offers. "Not the accident, but that day. It could be absolutely nothing."
They know it's a black Mercedes that day from the accident because of the paint scraped against the front and side of his car. The paint was traced to GL550s made the year before, thought it could be one of thousands sold on the eastern seaboard.
"You think it's the same?" he asks, finally looking at Kate. "Same as the accident. Was he following me? Scouring the neighborhood?"
She's biting her bottom lip, her elbows pressed into her sides, hands clasped together just under her sternum. It's that protective gesture he remembers from the time right after she was shot, when she used to press her thumb into the scar when she thought no one was looking.
It's her sign of distress.
He shouldn't have come. This was a mistake. She's not in a good place, and for sure he's not either.
"I don't know if it's the same," she whispers. Her heads turns away from him. "It's a wild goose chase, and I know it, Castle. I know it. I - this is the most important case of our lives and I can't even-"
He straightens up and crushes her in his embrace, one arm around her shoulders to catch the back of her head and hold her against him. "No, don't. Don't make this into another black hole, Kate."
She stiffens, but she doesn't pull away from him. Not at first. She takes a moment, and he can feel her deep breathing, and only when he loosens his arms does she duck out of them.
"I'm okay," she says finally, knuckle pushed under her eye. No tears that he can see, but she's close.
"You're not okay. Knock off for today, Kate. Take me back home in case I lose my way."
She chokes on a little laugh and squeezes his hand, and he realizes with a sharp and fierce triumph that he did it.
He was exactly who she needed, the man she's missed, and her eyes are on his, desperately grateful for his comic relief - for him. He made an inappropriate joke at an appropriate time and she's looking at him like he's exactly what she wants. More than anything.
"Okay," she says finally. "I'll take you home. I should. You're right."
She laces her fingers with his and tugs him after her towards the door.
He can't help but look at the board as they go.
X
In her unmarked, the sunlight comes flaring through the gaps in the buildings, hitting his eyes and blinding him. He has a headache; there's a dryness in his throat he can't swallow down.
Light sears, suddenly on.
Blinding him.
Fades to black.
"Castle."
Blinds him.
Black.
Blinds him-
"Rick?"
Fades - fades. Fades.
"Rick, hey. Hey, talk to me."
Tell me about her.
He groans and rocks forward, burying his head between his knees as everything tilts sickeningly off its axis.
We're supposed to get married. She's surrounded with people. She's a cop.
"Castle? Castle, I need you to look at me."
I need you to concentrate, Mr Castle. These are not hard questions.
"Look at me. Please, just-"
He jerks upright, sucking in a breath that won't make it, scrabbles at his chest to yank the seatbelt away, off, he needs it off.
"Rick, stop-"
Just tell us about her.
"No," he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut and shoving a hand for the door, slamming his knuckles into the handle and yelping as the pain pops violently up his arm and into his shoulder.
She's gripping him fiercely, leaning over the console, her eyes boring into his, words strong and demanding and calling to him. He gasps, breathing again, realizes one of them is crying.
Both of them are crying.
"Sorry," he croaks out, blinking hard.
She doesn't even correct him; she presses her palm to his neck and her thumb braces his chin and they both try to breathe, just breathe even as wetness slicks his cheeks.
"What was that?" she says finally. Soft.
"I don't know," he says, staring back at her.
"Castle, you're crying."
"So are you," he says inanely. It's dark, it was dark, but fiercely bright, and all of it is sinks below the surface. "The light hurt my eyes."
"The light hurt your eyes."
He nods, shying a look towards the passenger window, wincing as the sunlight hits him. The light on his face, the thing waiting below the surface, the darkness and the sweat and don't tell them, don't say it, she's a cop, she has protection, don't tell them.
She's pulled over, he realizes then. She pulled the car over and they're parked crazily near the curb in a no parking zone and there are horns honking and he has to bow his head and press his fingers into his temples. His head hurts. Maybe this is a migraine.
"Okay, okay, a headache?" she says then. "I know they're bad. I'll get you home." Did he say it out loud or does she just know?
Either way, it's clear that she's not going to ask.
He can't bear for her to ask.
Don't say it.
Don't tell them.
But she's a cop; she has a gun - they can't hurt her.