3x22 To Love and Die in L.A
She sighed " ... If only"
The words from Royce are circling her head. They burn like acid at the back of her throat as though she herself has kept them trapped inside, not read them as the last confession of her dead mentor. Her dead friend.
She loved him once, still does in that far off misty way that lays rose colored hues to steely interactions. His ways and his attention brought her through a dark time in her life, now he's dead and his words have, once again, turned her head in a different direction.
She's not blind to the connection she shares with Castle, never has been, but hearing, reading, seeing the words on paper has opened up a part of her heart that has been barricaded away for a long time. That she loves Castle is ... a question she steadfastly has not asked herself since last summer. That she could have something real with him something she has tried deeply to ignore, too bent on maintaining the normality of their friendship. Too scared to risk her heart. There is truth wrapped up in the hands of a man who knew he was not long for this earth, a truth she has known for a while now, deaf to those around her who knew it too. But the voices of the dead scream loudly.
Her eyes blur, achy with the need for sleep, hot with pain and confusion. The cabin remains dark, the flight calm and uneventful and if it wasn't for the press of his hand on her shoulder drawing her awareness away from the turbulent emotions inside, Kate would have thought Castle had remained asleep. The curl of his thumb is too insistent to be marred by dreams, too gentle to be loose and lax as he comes awake. He's been watching her, as he does, ever vigilant at her side.
Crushing the letter to her chest she turns, finds him closer than she expected, soft eyes far too aware for her to be able to convince herself he'll miss her turmoil. Not that she could hide it from him. If he didn't read it in her face, he'd always find another way. It's just the kindness and concern that no one else had ever shown her that lays his face bare. Adds depth and years to the man himself, brings those laughter lines into new context the longer she finds herself staring back.
The burn intensifies when their eyes meet and he's speaking as she tries to swallow.
"You ok?"
Kate shakes her head, letter tight to her chest. "No," she confesses, almost in surprise. The longer she stares at Castle the more she yearns to confess. Confess she came back into their hotel room looking for him, willing to throw caution to the wind. Confess her intent last summer, and that she knew the truth in the letter long before she read what was written on the page.
"His last words?" Castle asks eyes flickering from her face for the barest second. She knows he's curious, but he doesn't pursue, doesn't pester, just rests a hand on hers and waits. Somehow it helps, his silent knowledge and gentle touch. It allows her to push aside the confusion and she nods.
"Yeah, bossing me around even at the end," she cracks a smile, halfhearted but real, fingers easing in their grip of the paper.
"He -" she pauses, pinches her lips together, searching for where to begin. They crinkle and he reaches for them, eyes never leaving her face.
"Left you with a mission?" He asks, caution and fear, maybe a little anger too.
She laughs, a sad sound even to her own ears, "I guess you could say that."
Her eyes drop and her finger traces the lines of the last two words, if only such a final statement for a man now dead.
She jumps when Castle's hands press over her strength and heat in his palms burns down to her bones, igniting flesh and soothing calm all at once. He strokes over her skin and slides his fingers between her own, every small glance of flesh forcing her to fight shivers and shakes of awareness. He takes the paper from her and she freezes.
"Whatever's in this letter, Beckett, it's for another day."
He's firm as the paper slides from her fingers, neither looking down nor attempting to read it. Whether it be lack of sleep, grief, or just the look on his face, she doesn't know, but she doesn't fight it, finding it weirdly relieving when he removes it from her hands. Now is not the time.
"Whatever confession he gave, whatever sense of duty or decision you think stems from those words -" he folds the paper, slips it back into its envelope as her eyes swim, "- it shouldn't come from a place of grief, Kate."
He hands back the envelope, strokes the slanted curve of her name with his finger the way he did with his voice when he spoke it, repeating the movement on her hand. Tender. Loving.
A tear rolls down her cheek and she tries to wipe it away before he can see.
He sees it anyway.
"You should sleep," he whispers, no more no less, nudging her elbow from the rest, patting his shoulder, offering nothing but comfort when they both know they came close to sharing so much more. She smiles, watery and blurry around the edges, laying her cheek to the warmth of his arm before closing her eyes.
He's not wrong, and if she truly wants something with him, something that will last, it cannot come from this. Cannot come before they are home and she can lay her ghosts to rest.
"Thank you," she hums, aware he won't know why, not truly, not tonight, but grateful nonetheless. Inhaling deeply, she falls asleep as the first light of dawn spears the darkness, feeling the rumble of his response rather than hearing it.
"Always."