Where a Lie Leads - Chapter 3
AN: Once again, thank you for all of the reviews and follows.
DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, but they are memorable. Thank you Mr. Marlowe.
"Hello Detective."
"Hey Castle."
The greetings sound familiar. The tones are anything but familiar. They both notice this right away.
He sees her deep green eyes, but he notices the lively sparkle is missing. Something has replaced it – something that he can't quite place. He quickly puts this line of thinking out of his mind. He cannot go there again.
She sees his blue eyes, but she notices that the sizzle, the dance that was always there – it's gone. The nine year old boy on a sugar rush – he is gone. She is immediately saddened. She feels whatever hope, whatever excitement that she had, anticipating this face-to-face, is rapidly slipping away.
The few seconds ticking by seem like minutes. The pause takes forever in both of their minds. Yeah, this is anything but familiar. They are on uncertain ground now, with neither comfortable with where to go next. Finally, Castle interrupts the silence by reaching his hand out for the book she holds in her hands. She extends the book to him, and turns away as he lowers his eyes and writes something for her. For a moment, her excitement struggles to crawl back to the surface. She knows he is a writer. Perhaps he has no voice to express his thoughts, but she is confident that the words from his pen will ring true for her. She didn't call or text, but she's taken this first step – a big step in her mind – to come to him. She hopes that this quick encounter becomes a step forward, toward normalizing their relationship.
No, not normalizing. She quickly realizes that a return to 'normal', a return to what they had is far from what she wants. That's not what she broke up with Josh for, and it's not what he deserves. Her thoughts are interrupted by his voice, speaking to her from the chair below.
"Goodbye, Detective. It was good to see you again."
He is handing the book back to her. Without another glance, he looks beyond her to the middle-aged Hispanic woman standing behind her, a smile on her face, eager to step forward for a few words with the outgoing author.
Feeling dismissed, Kate takes the book and gives Castle a last look. He's not noticing her. He has moved on to the next 'fan' in line. Her heart sinks as she steps away. She doesn't hear or see anything for those first few steps. She gets to the door leading out of the store, and walks through as a young man opens the door for her, and steps in line with his girlfriend.
Leaning against the outside wall, she ignores the sun in her eyes forcing her to squint. She takes a deep breath and offers a silent "please" upwards. She opens the book cover and stares at the words written by the man who has no idea of her continually growing love. The words don't leap off the page this time. The words sit there, and offer a slow rumble in her chest.
From ordinary to extraordinary – I remember everything, always. Rick.
Her head lowers toward her chest, as she stands leaning against the wall. She drops her sunglasses off the top of her head in place on her face. The tears are coming quickly now. The words from his pen are no less dull than the surgeon's knife. The meaning, though veiled, could not be any clearer to her. He has no idea that she lied to him – or so she thinks. He just knows that she doesn't remember – although she does.
And then it hits finally hits home for her exactly what it is that – in his mind, by her own admission – she doesn't remember.
She doesn't remember him diving in front of her – a mere fraction too late – ready to sacrifice himself for her without a second thought.
She doesn't remember him cradling her head, her body, praying to God that she doesn't leave him.
She doesn't remember him finally – finally – expressing the deep love for her that she always knew – hell, they all knew – he carried for her.
It is finally hitting her – the lightning rod moment of destiny that should have cemented their fairy tale – and she told him that the moment never happened. She doesn't remember. She had come to this book event to correct her mistake, to admit that she lied. She had come to this book event hoping for a chance to explain why she lied. But with a simple stroke of the pen and a glance beyond her, he had blown her off.
He was telling her that no matter what – from ordinary to extraordinary – he remembered every detail, every moment, every touch, every argument, every smile. No matter what, the full package was all he had ever wanted. Always.
She stands there, trying to catch her breath. She's hurt and she's getting angry. But what did she expect? She'd come all this way, knowing it wasn't going to be easy. The words of her dad come back to her.
If you want something that you have never had, you have to do something that you've never done.
How badly does she want this? How badly does she want him? Is she willing – is she ready – to break the mold, to crack through her self-constructed walls for him? Because clearly, he has put the chisel down. He's done striking the wall. His Don Quixote role is squarely behind him – and she knows it.
Then – in a moment of crystal clarity – her knees buckle and a slow sob crashes past her lips. She realizes now exactly how difficult this journey for her is going to be. She realizes he has no right – absolutely no right to be angry with her simply because she can't remember anything. These things happen in moments of trauma. He's a writer, for crying out loud, he gets this! What right does he have to be angry with her, unless . . .
He didn't believe me.
He doesn't believe me.
He knows I lied.
But how, she wonders. The answer is there for her as quickly as the question forms in her head.
Because he knows me. He's followed me around for three years, he's stared at me, he's watched me. He knows me.
Dear God, He knows I lied to him.
Another bullet has ripped into her chest – at least that is what it feels like. Three months have passed. Three long months. So much can happen in three months. One can only stay angry for so long before you erect walls to protect oneself. She's a master at this, and now she recognizes it in Castle. He's pulling a Beckett, erecting walls for safety. Walls to keep her out.
She knew this was a difficult path but now it has just become infinitely more difficult. The utter exasperation in her chest seems ready to explode. She can't let another day, much less weeks or months, go by without fixing this. Without at least trying.
So she waits. Occasionally she wipes a tear away, as she rehearses in her head what she needs to say, what words he needs to hear – immediately – to stop this train headed away from her. The line has dwindled down and she knows he should be coming through the door soon.
You can do this, Kate. You want to do this.
Her thoughts are interrupted by the door swinging open and the still ruggedly-handsome face of Richard Castle walks through. His eyes spot her and for a brief second, he considers a greeting. But his heart just isn't into this at this time. It's been a good day, a positive step forward, and he can't afford to get sucked back into the beautiful, hypnotic maelstrom that is Kate Beckett. And so he turns and begins walking away.
"Castle…"
He hears her call his name. There's a saddening, sickening cry in her voice with just that one word. Damn, he's got to move past this.
C'mon, one foot in front of the other, Rick. Move!
But it's too late. Her next words stop him in his tracks.
"Castle – I remember everything, too."