Author's note: This seems like a more believable trajectory for Castle's emotions after he discovers Beckett's secret, given his background and the depth of his feelings. It's necessary for him to move through this stage before he can begin to put himself back together.
I hope you haven't personally had the experience of being consumed by that blackness - going all the way down, into the dark water - but, speaking from my own travels there, it's a surprisingly embracing, seductive, distorting, deadening thing. It brings its own bleak logic to subdue your own, turning certainties into unknowns, and banishing your ability to see where tomorrow might be better than today.
I don't think this is the first time Castle has visited this particular oubliette of the mind.
Castle woke up early again, but managed to fall back asleep until he heard the sounds of breakfast being prepared. He briefly considered just taking a long shower, until he had the loft to himself, but he didn't want to miss seeing Alexis before she went out for the day.
He got out of bed, pulled on a pair of sweatpants, and wandered through towards the kitchen. Martha and Alexis were both bustling around, and they greeted him with identical momentary looks of worried scrutiny, quickly replaced with overly bright smiles. He summoned every ounce of willpower to inject some enthusiasm into his Good morning, and he was glad when Alexis came over to hug him. He pressed a kiss into her hair, and silently told himself to get it together.
Thankfully, breakfast was mostly a quiet affair.
Martha mentioned that Beckett had stopped by the night before, after he'd gone to bed. His mother was circumspect about the topic of conversation, but she made it clear that all three of them were worried about him. Alexis occasionally looked up at him with wide, watchful eyes.
Castle evaded Martha's concern, telling her that he was simply coming down with something, and tired. He'd be back to his usual self in a few days.
He knew that neither woman fully believed him, but they at least let the matter drop, and within half an hour he had the place to himself once again.
When Beckett called him just before lunchtime about a case, he let it go to voicemail, then he texted her saying he was taking a day or two to get over a cold. She replied quickly, asking if there was anything she could bring him, but he had already discarded his phone. He only saw the message hours later, in mid-afternoon, along with another, much shorter one:
How are you feeling?
A simple question, but with a pretty damned complicated answer. He wasn't sure what the length limit on an iMessage was, but he doubted it was enough – not that he felt like getting into it all anyway.
She'll only come over later if I don't reply, he thought, so he wearily tapped out a brief message and sent it.
He made sure the mute switch was activated, set the phone down on a countertop, and went through into his office.
Beckett stood in the break room, watching the coffee machine warily. She'd seen him do this so many times – Hundreds? Thousands? – but she'd never taken the time to fully master the elaborate device. She could make a basic cup of coffee, but trying for foam or hot milk tended to result in a spray across the countertop, and burned fingers.
She sighed.
What happened to us?
One day, everything was fine, and then… this. She felt clumsy, and jittery, and distracted. Like she had one hand tied behind her back. Or like something important was missing. And that was pretty much the truth, wasn't it?
The coffee machine hissed, but she barely glanced at it.
She was about to text Alexis to ask how Castle had been this morning, when her phone suddenly chirped in her pocket. She quickly fished it out and saw his name beside the green notification icon. The unlocked the device to read the message.
Same. Probably best to count me out at the precinct for a bit. I'll be in touch.
She frowned, feeling her chest tighten with that panicky feeling again. That was twice now that he'd dismissed her for a few days with no more than a text message.
I have to see him, she thought. It was as much a compulsion as a decision, but she was in no mood to debate the distinction. The problem was, she couldn't leave the precinct right now – they had a status update with Gates in less than ten minutes.
I could call him.
But he wouldn't answer. She knew that, somehow. She knew it already. When did that happen?
She was torn between her desperation at this abrupt change in him – and her need to get some answers about it – and the realisation that he had always given her time whenever she needed it.
He's given me four years of time, she thought. But they were two different people. And she knew that she was a hypocrite.
"I'm not just going to let you hide from me," she said quietly to herself, typing another message. She tapped the Send button before she could think better of it.
I've been here before, Castle thought.
He was sitting on the couch in the living room area again, looking towards a window, watching the light gradually change as afternoon wore on.
It had a couple of hours since he'd sent the reply to Beckett, then muted the device and set it aside. He tried to work for an hour or so, but his mind kept wandering, and finally he'd given up. If he needed time to process what had happened, then he'd take as much as necessary.
The day was still bright, but the black shadows cast by the afternoon sun had started to lengthen. Every few minutes, they had advanced just a little bit more. He watched patiently, letting his mind take him wherever it wished.
First there was Kyra, he thought.
The great love affair, before he really knew what love was. Something pure, and all-encompassing. He'd thought that they had defied conventional wisdom, and found soul mates in each other at such a young age. But it ended. Ultimately, she chose her parents' approval over his love for her.
Then Meredith.
The adventure. How fascinating and vivacious she'd been. A free spirit, unwilling to play by the rules – and so driven. She'd given him a daughter, even though the event wasn't planned. He'd always felt a little breathless with her; playing catch-up, and trying to hold on. When Alexis was born, he'd tried to believe that the pace would slow down. But it ended. Motherhood didn't suit her. Responsibility didn't suit her. And commitment didn't suit her at all, as he found out when he came home that night, just able to hear the baby crying upstairs as his wife and the casting director scrambled to gather up clothing.
Gina.
The safe choice. Beautiful, intelligent, but grounded. She moved in the same world as he did. He understood her, and she was quite willing to be understood. She even tried to form a bond with Alexis, even though he held his daughter carefully away from her. Gina's life was all about rules, and boundaries, and deadlines. Sane, orderly, and – for the most part – reasonable. But it ended. He supposed he'd set it in motion himself right from the start, by reserving part of himself (and all of his relationship with his daughter), just in case this one didn't last either. She was just too much of an opposite from the other women he'd been close to before. There was no magic, and he'd come to realise that magic was what his heart most wanted to believe in.
He sighed. The shadows were even longer now, creeping steadily across the floor towards him. They hadn't quite reached him yet, but it was only a matter of time.
And then there's… Kate.
The name seemed to settle in his chest like a stone. He hadn't allowed himself to call her anything except Beckett, or Detective, since last week's… what? Event? Plot twist?
He waited a moment to see if there was any sense of humour left in him, but apparently not.
She's different from the others, he thought, then he nodded to himself.
Goddess. Warrior. Little girl lost. The strongest, most determined, most passionate, but also most damaged person he knew. A woman living three lives: the cop, seeking justice; the survivor, seeking vengeance; the young woman, forever frozen in time at the point of her life's greatest tragedy. Terrified of more being taken from her, she accepted nothing. Consumed by love for the mother she had lost, but unable to let herself be truly loved by others.
And hiding in relationships she knows won't last.
She hadn't promised him anything. Even the closest she ever came to it – the conversation on the swings – was just about being able to have the kind of relationship she wanted. It was a beautifully ambiguous phrase, ready for the listener to apply their own meaning to. He'd jumped right in with both feet, hanging his own hope neatly on the offered peg.
He blinked, breathing through the bitterness until some of its sharpness faded.
She owed him nothing. He was the one who had fallen in love with her – how could he not? – and he was the one who should have seen this coming. It was inevitable. Just the fulfilment of an unbroken cycle.
She was different from the others, yes. But not in the most important way. Not in the way that always broke him.
Why don't they love me the way I love them?
The worst part was that, before her, he was never entirely sure he knew what being in love actually meant. Now he did, most definitely.
Kate Beckett was the love of his life.
And we never had a chance.
He sat in perfect stillness for a long moment, then let his gaze fall once again to the floor.
The shadows had finally reached him. In a way, it was a relief. As with so many things in life, the waiting was the worst part.
He closed his eyes.