"What does your five year plan look like?"
"In five years we can discuss having a baby."
"You're not getting any younger," he points out.
"You're not getting more patient," she counters.
"I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."
She looks him in the eyes, "So why do you sound, so damn, disappointed?"
"Because I know you."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"When you're scared you run. You avoid dealing with things."
"Castle what are you trying to say?"
"In five years you'll ask for another year, or two. When you're finally ready it will be too late."
"I just want to be settled."
"Settled? That is an excuse."
"An excuse?"
"Here is the thing about having a kid, you are never going to be settled enough, or prepared enough. No matter how old you are, or what you do. You just have to go for it. Do you think I had any idea what I was doing with Alexis."
"No."
"Because I didn't. I just figured it out as I went along."
"And?"
"She is amazing. She makes me so proud. I can't imagine not having her. I love being her dad. I love being a dad period."
"I never said we couldn't have a baby."
"You're just saying it is going to be way in the future."
"Is that a deal breaker for you? You're willing to move across state lines for me, but you're not willing to wait until I'm ready to have a baby? We have waited so long. I just can't understand why you can't wait a little longer."
"Because as you already stated, I am not patient."
"I know. I have met you."
"Can't we reach some sort of compromise?" he begs.
"Like what?" she wonders.
"Two years? That is between now, and five years from now."
"Two years?"
"I mean I would be perfectly happy if we had a shotgun wedding..."
She rolls her eyes, "That is so white trash."
"The point is I'm ready," he tells her in a reassuring tone.
"And, I'm not."
"When will you be?"
She shrugs, "I don't know. I can assure you that you will be the first person that I tell when I am."
"I think I should go," he says turning away from her.
"Go? Where?"
"Home."
"Rick why would you go home? We are just having a discussion. You don't have to leave. I want you to be here. I haven't seen you since last weekend. I miss you."
"I don't want to say something that I will regret. I certainly don't want to say something that I can't take back. I think the best thing for me to do is go home, and cool off. I'll see you next weekend," he vows, reaching for his jacket.
She sits at the counter, on her stool, and watches as he walks out the door. She stares at the door, waiting for him to return. He doesn't. She vacates her seat, and carries her plate to the sink. She reaches inside of the pocket of her jeans. She pulls out her phone, and dials his number.
He answers after two rings, "Hello?"
"Come back. We need to talk about this. I want to figure this out."
"Kate I can't. I just need some space. We can talk about this when I come back next weekend."
"Rick..."
"I love you. I'll see you next weekend," he hangs up.
She angrily shoves the phone back into her pocket. She grabs her keys, and leaves the apartment. She hops into her vehicle, with the intention of heading to the airport. She turns on the car, and suddenly is overwhelmed by a feeling of nausea. She pushes the car door open just in time. She climbs out of the vehicle, barely making it to the curb before she loses her breakfast. She remains there, on the side of the street, in front of her car for the next ten minutes, on her hands, and knees. Finally she feeling subsides, and she locks the car doors.
She returns to her apartment, and slams the door. She drops her keys on the kitchen counter, and races towards the bathroom for her toothbrush. She's in the middle of swishing, for the third time, when she gets the overpowering feeling again. She spits the scope into the sink, and spins around. She ends up in front of the toilet. After it's all over she slams the lid of the toilet closed. She slowly rises to her feet, and returns to the sink. She restarts her meticulous oral care routine. Finally she finishes.
She looks at herself in the mirror, as she grips the sink. She tries to choke back the feeling of nausea that threatens to strangle her. She takes several slow deep breaths. She looks in her mirror, and then at her watch. She stares at the date, and then leaves the room. She heads into her bedroom, taking a seat on the end of her bed. She pulls her phone out of her pocket. She unlocks the screen. The date stares up at her.
Half an hour later she is sitting in her bathroom, on the edge of the bathtub. She looks at her watch as she second hands move. Her leg jiggles, nervously as she waits for her fate. She chews on her nail, trying to distract herself. The timer on her phone goes off.
She slowly rises from her seat on the bathtub. She makes her way to the counter. She looks at her phone. It lies, face up, staring at her. She turns the alarm off, and takes a deep breath.
She looks at the evidence lying before her. Answers to her question lie right in front of her. Three answers. They are all the same. The white plastic sticks lie on the bathroom counter with a barrier of a tissue between them, and the cold surface of the countertop. She looks in the mirror for a brief second, but her eyes flit back to the plastic sticks on the counter. They stare up at her, blatantly mocking her. Each one of them stares at her, as if to taunt her. Each one of them glows brightly, with a sign.
She reaches for one of them. She lifts it off the counter, for closer examination. The bright pink plus sign is as plain as day. The bright color might as well be glowing from a source of radiation, for the way that it makes her feel. She stares at the positive test, feeling completely defeated.
"Son of a bitch!" she curses him, alone, in the privacy of her own bathroom.