Castle sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for his pulse to slow down.
She had reached out towards him, and almost touched him. He couldn't bear it, and he'd reacted by instinct, telling her to stop. He saw the tear on her cheek a few seconds later. He couldn't bear that, either.
He hoped she'd left. It was almost ten minutes ago that he'd retreated from the office, but surely she'd take the hint and just leave quietly.
It's still OK, he thought. He could still pass this all off as the result of tiredness, or whatever bug was going around. After all, that's what they did – they avoided awkward subjects. They pretended that things had never happened.
Sometimes for months, he thought, and his shoulders sagged.
It had been torture to see her standing there in front of his desk, looking concerned, speaking to him softly. She said they'd figure out how to fix it, together. It was too much. Too soon.
Just let me be, Kate, he thought. Just… give me time to get past this.
He felt like he was drowning, and most of the time he didn't even care. Occasionally, though, he'd realise just how far he'd slid down towards… whatever this was. How much time he was spending on his own, or asleep. It was dangerous.
Got to get it together.
He'd take a few days off from the precinct. Do his best to reassure Alexis and his mother. Put the pieces back together.
Then he'd go back into the 12th, take Beckett aside and apologise for his absence, tell her he felt better, and get on with the work.
He'd smile, and laugh, and bring her coffee. He wouldn't flirt with her, or invite her over. He'd be her partner, and in time, he hoped he could find a way to continue being her friend too.
Simple. That was the plan, and having a plan is always the first step.
A soft knock on the bedroom door pulled him from his train of thought.
Dinner. He wasn't hungry, but he also wasn't going to disappoint or further worry his daughter.
"I'll be right there, pumpkin," he called.
He was about to get up when he heard the door-handle turning, and he glanced over just in time to see the door being pushed slowly open.
Beckett stood there.
She stood motionless in his office for long minutes after he had left the room.
Oh god.
He couldn't bear for her to touch him. Castle, the man who was forever staring at her, and flirting with her, and finding excuses to invade her personal space. But that had all changed now.
She looked over at the door to his bedroom, feeling a familiar shiver, but this was no time for arousal. Inside that room, there was a broken man. Her partner. Her friend. Her… what?
Everything, she thought.
She swiped at the wetness on her cheeks, hoping that Alexis wouldn't come through to check on them. She could hear vague sounds from the main part of the loft, and knew that dinner preparations were underway.
She should go. She should leave, and give him his few days. That's what he said he wanted.
She turned and walked halfway across to the door that led back into the living room area, but then she stopped.
I can't.
She was breathing too quickly, and she forced herself to slow down. Her hand came up automatically to press her fingers over the scar on her chest.
"No," she said, almost inaudibly. It was practically a sob.
She had no idea how to deal with this. He wouldn't tell her what was wrong. He wouldn't tell his mother, or his daughter. He couldn't bear to be around her, and she wasn't getting through to him.
It wasn't meant to be like this. It was never meant to be like this. They had been almost there.
More tears spilled out, and she swiped them away angrily before they could roll past her cheekbones.
The frustration and fear and jitteriness she was feeling all solidified into determination. It was how she had always handled those paralysing feelings. Use them as fuel. Turn them into a source of strength.
She had to at least know. Then she'd decide what to do.
She crossed to the closed door of his bedroom, and knocked lightly on it.
His voice came from inside, so heartbreakingly normal-sounding.
"I'll be right there, pumpkin."
Her mouth fell open. He thought she was Alexis. Doubt surged through her, but she fiercely pushed it away.
No. Losing all the progress they'd made wasn't an option. She wasn't going to let this happen.
She gripped the door-handle, twisted it, and pushed the door open.
He was sitting on the edge of the room's enormous bed, looking over at her. She saw the surprise and dread register on his face, and she pushed aside the stab of hurt she felt.
She stayed in the doorway, not stepping across the threshold.
"First time you've called me 'pumpkin'," she said, knowing it was a lame joke but not knowing what else to say.
He didn't smile. Instead, he looked at her for several seconds, then he closed his eyes briefly and shook his head before looking at her again.
"Beckett, will you please just leave me alone?" he asked, wearily. "Don't make me ask you to leave."
She sniffed, willing herself not to turn around and do exactly as he wanted. Instead, she put one foot inside the doorway.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, and she saw his jaw tighten. "For pushing. But I know… something's gone wrong. It's something I did, isn't it?"
His jaw twitched, but he didn't respond, so she kept talking.
"If you could just tell me what it was, I can try to… fix this. Please, Rick."
His eyes widened at her very rare use of his first name. She took another half-step, so that she was now standing just inside the doorway, in his bedroom. Despite the circumstances, she felt a flush in her cheeks.
He still hadn't said anything, but he hadn't thrown her out, either.
"I'm confused," she said quietly. "I don't know what changed. I thought we were…"
She tailed off, and she saw that his eyes were fixed on her, deep blue and turbulent.
"We were what, Beckett?" he asked, in a small, flat voice that sounded defeated more than anything else.
She shrugged one shoulder, her eyes flicking down to the floor then back up again.
"Going somewhere," she replied. "Getting somewhere."
He snorted, and somehow that hurt more than his obvious discomfort at her presence. She felt a chill run up her spine, and her breath caught in her throat.
"But you… you don't want… that. Anymore," she said, half to herself, the realisation cutting straight through her.
Oh god.
Tears rolled down her cheeks again, and she swiped them away. She looked at him, and he seemed surprised.
(110 seconds)
"I don't?" he asked, but she couldn't understand what he meant. She couldn't understand much of anything right now. She wanted to turn and run.
It happened, her mind chattered, again and again. He finally stopped waiting. Oh god it actually happened.
She reached out for the door frame and grasped it with one hand. She was vaguely aware that he had risen to his feet, but he was still standing by the bed.
(103)
"I…" she began, but she had no words. It was the scenario she never allowed herself to think about. The one that had been inevitable all along.
Of course he was going to realise one day that he could be with anyone he wanted. Of course he was going to finally decide that she was more trouble than she was worth. Of course he was going to see how she took and took and took, but didn't give back.
We were so close, she thought, feeling panic and loss rising up around her throat. No. No no no!
(90)
She almost missed his words when he spoke, because they were so quiet.
"What don't I want anymore, Beckett?"
His tone was flat, and deadly. His eyes were fiery now. A distant part of her was actually glad to see the emotion back in him. Now it was him who took a step towards her, drawing himself up to his full height.
"Where exactly where we going?"
(75)
The words were bitter. Acidic. She didn't understand any of this. But he stood there, his gaze boring into her, clearly expecting an answer.
"I…"
"Yes?"
(58)
What was he asking? "I thought we were… we were…"
He took a step towards her. "We were what? What exactly is it that you think we were doing?"
There was fire in him now, suddenly awakened. Heat chased through her, and she cursed herself for the reaction. He towered over her even with the distance between them.
(39)
"You stopped waiting!" she cried, immediately shocked at herself for actually saying it.
He froze for a moment, looking like a wild animal about to pounce. She instinctively took a half-step backwards.
(28)
When he spoke, his voice was ice, and barely louder than a whisper.
"Waiting for what?"
She didn't even try to catch the tears now.
(21)
"We were… we talked about this. You said you'd wait," she said, and she didn't know how to interpret the flash of light in his eyes. "We talked. On the swings. You can't tell me you don't know what I mean. You can't tell me you don't remem–"
He was in front of her in an instant, closing several feet of distance in the blink of an eye. She felt a dark thrill surge through her body, and her lips parted. His eyes were glittering like diamonds in coal.
(1o)
"Oh, I do, Detective," he said, his tone immediately lowering the temperature of the air by several degrees.
(5)
She felt it. In the moment as he inhaled before speaking again. Something building up; cycling up to full power. Like a weapon, charging to readiness. Her brow barely had time to crease.
(4)
His mouth opened, one corner curling into a grimace.
(3)
"I remember
(2)
every
(1)
second of it."
(Zero)