Castle stared at her, forgetting all about the fact that they were in the break room and her hand was on top of his. There were goosebumps all along his arms.
Stop making up stories.
His own thought from a few minutes ago, and now she'd said it aloud. He looked at her warily, unsure what to think.
"I think Gina would have something to say about that," he said, but his tone was uncertain, not reflecting the potential humour of the remark. He gently pulled his arm back until she lifted her hand away from his.
Beckett sighed, then opened her mouth to reply, but he spoke over her, dipping his head slightly and talking in a low voice.
"I don't want to talk about this, Ka– … Beckett," he said, with a warning in his tone. "I get it. I understand. And I'm fine."
Damn it, Rick, no you're not, she thought. And you don't get it at all.
Again she tried to speak, but he held up his hand for a moment to silence her before he continued.
"We're partners, and we do damned good work. Important work. And you're my friend." He paused, and another flash of pain passed across his face. "Actually, you're… my best friend."
Her heart thudded in her chest. It was wonderful and painful at the same time.
How did everything get so–
"This is all messed up," he said, looking down at his own hands, then back up at her. "But I can't lose… this. The work, and our friendship."
She blinked away the moisture in her eyes. Friendship.
"I'm trying to stop making up stories – believe me. It's going to take a while. I'm not going to hide, but you've got to… you've got to give me exactly what I gave you. You asked me for time, and I always gave it."
He's looking at her now – really looking. His eyes are open and unshuttered. There's so much confusion there, and despair, and she knows that he truly can't understand why he's found himself in this position.
"But you've got it wrong," she said, beginning to reach towards him again, and he immediately shook his head, sitting back a little but keeping his voice quiet.
"I said I don't want to talk about it," he replied, his voice once again laced with warning. "If I'd… if I hadn't heard you, nothing would have changed. We'd be sitting here right now just like we always have."
She swallowed, and didn't say anything. He was right. The worst part was that he was right.
Coward, she thought. I'm such a coward.
He watched her for a moment, and then nodded, mostly to himself.
"So don't tell me I got it wrong," he said at last. "You don't get to just… wave a magic wand. Put yourself in my shoes, and ask yourself what you'd do."
He gave her one last look, then he reached for his coffee and took a large gulp of it, before returning his attention to his lunch.
The paperwork was finished ahead of schedule, and besides a few administrative loose ends there was little else to do, so Gates had told them they could all leave a early if nothing else came up before 4PM.
Ryan and Esposito were happily marking time at their own desks, deep in a lively conversation about whether or not cops should have catchphrases, and what they should be.
Beckett was half-listening while she was organising her desk, but mostly she was sneaking the occasional glance at the man sitting a few feet to her left.
Castle was ostensibly playing with his phone, but she knew that he was tuned into the banter further down the bullpen. His lips occasionally curled into a smile, and she knew that he was itching to get involved in the debate.
"So what would yours be?" she asked quietly, watching out of the corner of her eye as he suddenly looked up.
"Hmm?"
"Your catchphrase," she replied, glancing over at him briefly before opening another drawer.
"Huh," he said, his face becoming thoughtful. There was a moment of silence before he continued. "I dunno. Everything I come up with is from an action movie. I'd have to think about it. And, I'm not a cop."
She closed the drawer and turned to look at him, exasperated. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He blinked. "Just that… I'm not actually a cop."
"So you don't get a catchphrase?" she asked, folding her arms.
Castle frowned, confused. "Uh… I guess… it's just hypothetical."
They looked at each other for several seconds, then he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"So, what about you?" he asked. "What would your catchphrase be? It'd be something kick-ass, I bet."
She looked down at the surface of her desk for a moment before meeting his eyes again.
"I wouldn't have one," she said quietly.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly about to object, but she spoke first.
"I can never find the right words when it really matters."
She held his gaze until he finally looked back down at his phone, and she saw the fine creases appear on his brow.
4PM finally rolled around, and Ryan and Esposito were quick to spring up from their desks, grab their coats, and stride over to where Beckett and Castle sat in silence.
"We're calling it a night, boss," Esposito said, also nodding at Castle. Beckett looked up at the two detectives, and gave them a tight-lipped smile.
"OK. Good work today. Enjoy the weekend," she said.
They said their farewells, and less than half a minute later they were gone.
"You about done too?" Castle asked, and she nodded, then locked her computer and stood up.
He considered picking up her coat and helping her into it, but it was too… what? Soon? Late? Something. Instead, he just straightened his blazer, not seeing the way she looked towards him with large eyes for just a moment.
She pulled her coat on and fastened it, then picked up her purse and looked over at him.
He was staring into the middle distance, lost in thought, and it took him a moment to realise that she was observing him.
"Sorry," he said, gesturing with one hand towards the hallway that led to the elevator. "After you."
A minute or so later, the elevator doors slid closed, and they began to descend.
"Any plans for the weekend?" she asked, and he shrugged.
"Writing. The usual."
"Mm."
"You?" He glanced over at her, his gaze barely bouncing off her face before he once again faced the front of the elevator.
"Not much."
"Mm."
Ask him if he wants to do something, her mind whispered, but she knew what his answer would be. I get it. I need time. Let's just focus on the work.
There was a ping as they arrived at the ground level, and as usual he waited, letting her go ahead of him. They reached the street all too quickly for her liking, but her resolve had temporarily deserted her. She belatedly realised that he was looking her, with an unreadable expression on his face.
"Well, see you on Monday," he said at last, then he gave her a small but earnest smile before he turned and walked away.
Such a coward, she thought.
She watched him until he got into a taxi, then she sighed and set off towards her car.
Beckett sat on the edge of her couch, staring at the blank TV screen without seeing it. She'd finished a meagre dinner almost an hour before, but the dishes still sat off to one side on the coffee table. She hadn't moved from her position since.
Her phone was on the couch next to her, but there had been no messages. Three times now she'd picked the device up with the full intention of calling him, but she always put it back down again before doing it. He'd just shut her down, gently but firmly.
She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to think what to do next. He wouldn't listen. He had his own version of events, and the real problem was what he'd said in the precinct earlier: if he hadn't accidentally overheard her, they probably would still be in the same place. Something was changing between them lately, but those words sounded empty now.
He had no context, and that was no surprise – she'd kept it all from him. Only her veiled reference on the swings, so many months ago. No wonder his vision of her was so fragile in the end, that one huge lie shattered it into a thousand pieces.
He was at home right now, she guessed, having a normal evening with his daughter, and maybe Martha too if she wasn't out on the town. He was winding down for a quiet weekend away from her, without contact, because he didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to even hear her try to explain. He wouldn't let her get the first word out before shutting her down with his reminder that he'd always given her time when she'd asked for it.
So he'd spend his days being her partner and her friend, and his evenings and weekends with the one version of her that was still intact; the one called Nikki.
She looked across at her bookshelf, easily spotting the distinctive red and black cover of Heat Wave. The spine included the front cover art in miniature, and she could just make out the silhouette of the feisty female detective he'd created as a tribute. Her avatar in the world of his imagination.
But the Nikki Heat books were more than that, weren't they? Not just a tribute. Not just a re-imagining of her, and the job she did. In a way, they were addressed to her, too. She'd come to realise that over the last year or so.
More subtext and implication, this time tens of thousands of words long. Because in a way, they were a message. They were about what he saw when he looked at her. What he knew she could be. What he wanted her to see when she looked in the mirror.
And then there was Jameson Rook, Castle's own avatar, and just as loyal. Determined. Constant. Her shadow. He was a message too.
They're… love letters, she thought, her pulse thumping in her chest.
Of course they were. From all the times she hadn't let him speak. They were inevitable. They were… what he did. They were the only thing he could do.
She pressed a hand over her mouth, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes. How incredibly short-sighted she'd been when she'd wondered if he'd only said those words because she lay dying in his arms.
He hadn't just told her he loved her twice, in quick succession, that day on the grass under the blue sky; he'd told her thousands of times.
Every description of Nikki's hair, her eyes, her lips. How she moved, with grace and elegance, and purpose. How she faced danger fearlessly, and fought for justice. How there was darkness within her that didn't define her. How she was admired, and respected, and desired.
All of it.
This is the woman I know, the books said. This is you.
"Oh god," she whispered, the tears spilling out over her lashes.
He did the only–
Goosebumps broke out all along her arms.
–thing he could do.
She froze.
Castle frowned and glanced at the clock on the wall of his office when he heard the familiar knock on the front door.
It was after 10PM, and Alexis had decided to get an early night after a particularly exhausting day. She had kissed him on the cheek and went upstairs about half an hour before, and he'd gone through to his office to gather his thoughts. His mother wasn't expected back until morning, which was entirely normal for a Friday night.
He sighed, pushing himself up out of his chair and walking through to the entryway. He composed himself, then opened the door, and he wasn't surprised to see Beckett standing there.
"Do I need to get my coat?" he said wearily, and she shook her head.
He looked at her for a moment, then stepped to one side to allow her to enter. He was puzzled when she once again shook her head.
"You said you didn't want to talk," she said, looking up at him with those large, dark, liquid eyes, and he belatedly realised that she wasn't wearing heels.
He took a breath, keeping his voice even. "I don't."
"OK," she replied.
He was about to tell her that he was too tired for riddles, when she withdrew her hand from one of her coat's deep pockets, and handed something to him. He accepted it automatically, his eyes snapping up to meet hers when she then placed her now empty palm against his chest.
He expected her to say something, but she didn't. She just looked at him for a long moment, then she lifted her hand away, turned, and walked back into the elevator.
He stood motionless for several seconds, frowning, then he slowly pushed the door closed. The loft was silent, and he could hear his own heartbeat.
When his pulse had slowed back down, he raised his hand. In it, he held a sealed white envelope.
Written across the front, in handwriting he'd recognise anywhere, there was a single word.
Rick.