In most cases, running solves the problem. There had always been something soothing about tying on a pair of sneakers and beating out her frustration on the streets of New York and, usually, by the time Kate had returned home, soaked her tired body in a steaming hot shower, she would emerge from the bathroom feeling that whatever had been knotted up inside and overwhelming her wasn't as insurmountable as it initially seemed.
Today proves the exception, her mind and her heart still as heavy as they were when she'd hurried to dress for a run in her hotel room, eager to escape to the noise and the bustle of the run mapped in her head that carried her through the park and away from anyone that might be looking for her. She isn't surprised to see Will waiting when she emerges from the shower, wrapped in one of the fluffy hotel robes and her hair still dripping with water.
He's on his feet the moment he sees her, the face that she always had found so handsome looking stricken and on the verge of panic. "Kate, if you would just let me explain….."
The last thing she wants to do is hear more explanations, to listen to Will attempt to justify what he's done in the past two days. She wants to yell at him, to lash into him exactly as she had done with Castle at the precinct, and maybe getting a few shots in at the two men that have given her nothing but a constant headache and a gnawing, squirming pit of worry in her stomach since Saturday afternoon will ease her inner turmoil.
But the truth is that she just doesn't have the energy to fight, far too wrung out from everything that has happened and the punishing nine miles she'd forced her body to run. And then there is the part of her that loves Will, the portion that believes him incapable of killing Sophie despite the way the evidence is currently stacked. A part of herself that she once would have ignored come hell or high water.
Once upon a time, Kate had never looked at the whole story. She had been a believer in evidence, evidence provided the motive, evidence found the killer and brought justice. And obtaining justice, at that time, had been the sum total of her life.
Castle had been the one to teach her to look deeper, to crave for something that was more than just solving murders and, eventually, to hope that she might find it for herself.
Taking a seat at the end of the bed, she gives a sigh, discarding the towel that she had been using to remove the excess water from her hair. It should be simple, she thinks, there shouldn't be any lingering doubt or mistrust with Will if she believes the best of him but it's there all the same, whispering in her ear, taunting her with the reality that his lie has shaken something inside her, worked a crack into the foundation of their relationship.
Swallowing against that realization, Kate lifts her head, meeting Will's eyes. "Okay. Explain to me why you lied."
"I didn't want you to think that I had cheated on you with Sophie, so when the cops asked when I last saw her…."
"No," she cuts across his explanation softly, watching as Will's eyebrows furrow in confusion at her meaning, "Why did you lie about having a relationship with Sophie. Because I distinctly remember a long conversation about our past relationships one night at your apartment, and I was very honest with you. I told you all about Rick and Rogan and all the other guys that I had a decently long relationship with, and you just never thought to mention that you'd dated the girl that you always made it a point to stop and see when you were in Los Angeles for work."
"I didn't tell you because it didn't mean anything! Sophie and I dated for a few months, and we slept together a few times, but it was never right. She and I were always just meant to be friends…."
She's on her feet before she's really realized it, the burn of tears pricking at the back of her eyes. Kate can feel them building, demanding to be released in tandem with the flare of hurt that starts deep in her abdomen and she spins on her heels, putting her back to Will under the pretense of shuffling through her open suitcase until she's managed to get a handle on herself.
"Some friend," she mutters, unearthing a purple turtleneck and a pair of jeans that she tosses onto the bed behind her, hating the way that her voice still shakes with emotion. "I've never known such a short-lived relationship with a bit of casual sex to still be going strong years down the road, especially when the guy is engaged to another woman and the girl is friends with her. And you are kidding yourself if you honestly think that's all that this was, Will."
"What are you saying?"
Kate takes her time to get to her feet, a set of black underwear fisted in one hand when she turns back to look at him. She can still feel the press of tears clogging her throat, but she pushes forward anyway, "I'm saying that Sophie risked a hell of a lot. She drugged someone to get into your room, she came into your room to seduce you, but you think it was casual for her? That it didn't mean anything? Maybe it didn't to you, but you meant something to Sophie."
It's clear from the look that he gives her that he has no idea where she's going with her explanation, but it doesn't stop Will from crossing the room and eliminating most of the distance between them. "Even if that's true, it doesn't change anything. I never saw Sophie as more than a friend, and I certainly didn't invite her to my room. I didn't cheat on you, Kate. I'd never do that."
It's how he says it, the way that his hands lift to lightly grasp at her biceps and give the slightest squeeze of reassurance that eases the worst of the tension. This guy in front of her, the reassuring one that can stay so calm in a crisis and only wants the best for her, that's the Will that she knows, the one that she could be content with and agreed to marry.
The trouble is that being content might not be enough; not anymore.
"I believe you," she says, reaching up to brush the hair back from his forehead, "I don't think you cheated on me, and I don't think you killed Sophie."
"But..."
"But," Kate continues, giving him a strained smile because he can read her well, "You lied to me for years. Even if it meant nothing, even if you thought it wasn't important, you lied and I can't just pretend that didn't happen or that it doesn't leave me questioning everything else that you've ever told me."
Will looks as if he's in pain, dropping his hands so that they hand limply at his sides, "I love you, I've never lied about that."
The nod of acknowledgment that she gives him is perfunctory, that same strained smile on her face though she extends her hand to brush her fingers against his cheek, "I know, but loving someone doesn't necessarily mean that you trust them, and I'm going to need some time before I'm ready to do that again."
The disappointment is palpable, though Will gives her a nod of understanding before he retreats back to his chair, settling into it with a quiet sigh. Normally, Kate wouldn't think twice about untying her robe and getting dressed in front of him, but given the scope of their conversation, she hesitates, the hand not grasping her underwear hovering above the tie of her robe while she wrestles with the decision that ultimately sends her back into the bathroom, disrobing behind the door and slipping into the black lace set. She covers herself with the robe again, holding the two pieces of fabric together when she steps out of the bathroom, aware that Will's eyes are tracking her movements towards the jeans and purple shirt lying on the bed.
Her intentions are to ask him about dinner plans as she finishes getting dressed, and Kate's halfway into her jeans, the task made a bit awkward thanks to the bulk of the robe, before she can manage to form a word. Will doesn't seem to hear the start of her question, too busy forming his own. She immediately wishes that she'd never heard it, that she had cut him off and kept the conversation on trivial things like if they wanted to eat Chinese or Italian.
"Does this have anything to do with Rick?"
It repeats inside her head on a loop, each new pass serving to stoke the fire that is her anger at Will's jealousy. That one question, a single sentence, confirms what a part of her has already known but refused to admit ever since Will and Castle were formally introduced to one another; Will doesn't trust her anymore than she currently trusts him.
Her jaw is tight when she opens her mouth to speak, shrugging off the robe once her jeans are zipped and buttoned, a hand reaching out to snatch the turtleneck. "What sort of question is that?" she asks Will, flinging her arms into the proper holes. She holds her glare until the shirt has gone over her head, sliding over her small frame and settling against her skin with little more than a tug of adjustment at the hemline.
To his credit, Will doesn't shirk away from the look she gives him, he's too busy tossing out his own narrowed glance, "One that you need to answer," he responds, his voice cool and detached, an implication in the words that makes her blood burn with heat.
"You think I cheated on you with Castle?" Kate asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I didn't say that….."
"Then what are you trying to say, Will? That I'm asking for time to trust you again because I want to run off with him?"
She knows by the way his eyes drop to the carpet for the space of a heartbeat that she's grasped the heart of the problem, and just like that the guilt surges up, stealing her breath at the same time that the flood of hurt that Will would assume such a thing pours in.
"I think you care about him more than you let on," he says softly, and though Kate tries to keep eye contact with him, she finds that she can't do it when he's looking at her with such heartbreak in his eyes. Now she's the one looking at the floor, watching her bare toes curl into the carpet, the dark purple polish almost an exact match to the sweater she's wearing, "Or maybe just more than you'll let yourself admit."
"I'm not engaged to Rick," she replies, aware how pathetic and unconvincing of an answer it is. Neither she or Will seem to miss the fact that minutes ago he was the one trying to defend himself by insisting that a past relationship meant nothing.
"Maybe not, but he means something to you, and you and I both know it." Will tells her, and she's surprised that his voice is so matter of fact. In a lot of ways, she's standing in the room and waiting for what is left of their relationship to unravel, and Kate holds her breath, almost expecting for the final blow to come as he climbs to his feet. "I love you, Kate. I still want to marry you, but not if you're still harboring feelings for someone else."
He's slipped out of the room before she manages to find her words, his tall frame gone from the hallway when Kate follows his footsteps to go looking for him. Even as she curses herself for hesitating in chasing after Will, she accepts that maybe it's for the best, wholly unable to lie to herself and pretend that the words he'd left her with had been the result of jealousy or an overactive imagination.
Closing the door on the empty hallway, Kate leans against the white panel as the first hot rush of tears spills over onto her cheeks. She feels hollowed out; a shell that is constructed of nothing more than conflicted feelings, regret and guilt. Right now, standing with what feels like her whole life on the brink of being ruined, she'd give anything to talk to her mother, anything to have Johanna Beckett smile at her and give that slow, calm assurance that it will all work out.
The hole that absence has left in her life, the shadow that her mother's death has cast on practically everything for the past 12 years is the worst of it all. A gaping, endless wound that never seems to heal and the thing that she's never been able to reconcile or outrun. She'd pushed Castle away over it, had clung to Will to avoid it, but it's always been lurking as an ever present and inescapable companion.
Sinking down onto the plush carpeting, she gives up on fighting the tears, drawing her knees up towards her chest and covering her head with her arms as the first sob breaks free.
He knows exactly where to go in his office, brushing past a stack of news articles that pertain to information he needs for the case in his next book and discarding the pile of long forgotten junk mail that is unearthed at the bottom of the jumble.
The bottom layer of the drawer is nothing but notebooks. Varying in size, thickness and the color of the cover, they all have one thing in common: his early novels are contained in these books. Prose, plot ideas, diagrams and doodles all filling the pages in his scrawling, slanted writing.
It doesn't take long to spot the one he's looking for, the memory of when he was given that particular notebook practically burned onto his brain. Kate had given it to him on their fourth date, the date of which had coincided with his thirty-first birthday. She had been blushing as he unwrapped the leather bound book, explaining quickly that she figured a writer would always need a place to write, stammering and so sure that he would hate her gift until he had captured her mouth with his and convinced her that he loved it with something more than words.
The entirety of his third Derrick Storm novel is contained in the notebook, penned during the first year of a relationship where he'd thought nothing would ever break them apart. Kate working as a uniform and, shortly after Christmas, getting her first stab at a big time case with a stint in Vice. She'd been advancing in her career, practically living in the loft with he and Alexis, all of them happy with the unconventional family they seemed to be creating.
Even now, years later, Rick can't quite pinpoint where it all had changed. Hours usually spent at home with him were now spent locked in her own apartment, phone calls largely unanswered. Whenever he had asked what she had been doing, Kate had always remained evasive, and for a couple of horrific weeks he had been convinced she was seeing someone else.
He hadn't been wrong, not really. Something had gotten her attention, had pulled her away from their relationship and whatever they were attempting to build together, but it hadn't been a man, just a file folder full of witness accounts, interviews, and a trail of evidence gone cold with a death attributed to random gang violence.
Johanna Beckett's murder had become Kate's bedfellow and companion, her determination to find some kernel that the initial detectives missed an obsession that he had been unable to compete with. But even through it all, even when Alexis began asked over the summer for Rick to convince Kate to go to the park with them or take a weekend trip to the Hamptons, even when he had left his daughter in his mother's care to go over and bang on her apartment door, food in hand, and demand that she let him in and let him help, she had remained locked in her own stubborn need to do it alone.
Frowning at the memories, and making a choice to halt them there, Rick picks up the notebook, flipping through pages at random. The photo that flutters down to his desktop is one he's long forgotten about; the sort snapped with the sort of disposable, one time use cameras that the invention of smartphones made irrelevant.
Kate's laughing in the photo, her eyes twinkling with delight as they look into the camera lense. The backdrop of New York is behind them, the sparkle of the skyline filling the background that's visible above their heads. She'd snapped the photo before they'd left the rooftop restaurant he'd picked for his birthday date, sneaking a sloppy, wet kiss at the apple of one grinning cheek in the second before the flash had gone off. One silly, loving moment frozen in time and, weeks later, stuck in his book to serve as both a marker and a writing inspiration.
"What's that, kiddo?"
His mother is dressed in a sapphire blue evening gown, standing in his office at 8 p.m. looking for the world as if she's preparing to go to the Tonys or some other big time awards show. For a moment the sight of the dress, and the cascading string of pearls that decorate her neck, distracts Rick, leaving him blinking in surprise and eager to ask just what Martha Rodgers is planning to do with her evening.
He holds off with the question as she approaches the desk, extending the photo out so his mother can see who is in it. The look she gives to him is loaded when she passes it back, the blue eyes that she passed on to him soft and yet somehow full of caution. "You need to be careful, Richard."
"Of what? It's just a photo," or at least that's all he's willing to admit that it is. A photo of his past.
"Sure," Martha replies, one hand landing at her hip while the other stabs at the air with her usual theatrical flare, "A photo of a girl that you were madly in love with, one that just happened to step back into your life a couple of days ago, and who you've been talking about nonstop since you've been home."
"Kate was someone important to me, I'm allowed to reminisce, aren't I?"
"She's getting married, Richard," his mother deadpans, leaving him no room for misdirects or dancing around subtext, "And you aren't reminiscing, you are pining. Pining for a woman that is engaged to another man."
He catches a flash of red hair between the bookshelves that separate his office from the living room when his mother steps away from his desk. Rick knows his daughter well enough to gather from the narrowed curve of her eyes that she's heard most if not all of the conversation between he and her grandmother, and Rick sighs, eyebrows lifting towards his hairline in an exasperated invitation for his teenager to join the party.
"Gran, I thought these earrings might go with the necklace," Alexis begins once she's entered the office, passing two teardrop pearl earrings to her grandmother with a frostiness that there is really no room to misinterpret, especially when Alexis' eyes rove across the photo of he and Kate and linger for just a moment too long.
"Let me guess," he says, not even sorry for putting his daughter on the spot as he is, "You also think that I need to stay away from Kate."
Even when she's angry at him, it's rare that Alexis is rude, but his kid unleashes a stern roll of her eyes and a glare that would make the woman they're all discussing proud. "I think you should stop thinking with your hormones and consider that this is someone that walked out on you without a second glance," she snaps, "And if it happened once, I wouldn't be so eager to put myself through that heartbreak a second time."
Alexis is out of the room before the surprise has given way to let him say anything, the thud of angry footsteps filtering through the open shelving as she stomps up the stairs. There's a beat of silence, nothing but his mother's knowing look and the echo of street traffic five stories below, and then the slam of door that's following closely by the pursing of lips by the elder redhead.
"And that, my boy, is yet another reason you need to leave Katherine Beckett be."
"Because Alexis doesn't want me to get hurt?"
"Richard," Martha groans, rolling her eyes at him with a long suffering sigh, "I did not raise you to be so obtuse. Alexis is trying to protect herself as much as she's trying to protect you. She adored Kate, she loved her, and I think she thought the two of you were going to get married, that Kate would be her mother, and instead she just packed her things and left. Are you really surprised that she isn't eager to see you go down this road again?"
He gives his own sigh, heaving himself out of the leather chair that stands behind his desk, "It's not that simple, Kate's leaving was never because she didn't care... "
"Be that as it may, your sixteen year old daughter just remembers that someone she loved walked out on her and her father, and he was very sad for a long time," she speaks softly over him, her words interrupted by a knock on the front door, "And, now, she's doing her best to keep the both of you from being hurt again, because she loves you."
The shawl that Martha picks up from the armchair behind her is emerald green, and he watches his mother drape it carefully around her shoulders before she picks up the small beaded evening bag. "And your kid has a point, darling. What assurance do you have that if something were to happen with Katherine that she wouldn't pack up and leave again? I know, I know," she hurries to add over his protests, "You are an adult, you can take care of yourself, but it's still something to think about."
The second knock comes through and Martha gives a little cringe, hurrying towards the sound, "I'm off to the opera, don't wait up for me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Rick mutters in reply, lost in thought as his mother greets her date and slips from the loft with a quiet close of the front door.
She picks herself up off the floor once the tears have stopped, that hollowed out feeling so much stronger than it had been before her argument with Will. The room is stifling now, an expanse of space that only serves to remind Kate that this hotel suite is meant for lovers; everything from the two matching bathrobes in the enormous bathroom to the two champagne flutes and unopened bottle on ice that is complementary with booking the bridal suite.
Right now she should be on her honeymoon, just hours away from catching a plane at JFK and jetting off for two weeks of leisure in Paris and the Amalfi Coast in Italy. Instead, she's standing in the room, face swollen and blotchy and staring at a reality that entails no Will and no wedding.
Her dress is still hanging in the open closet, the jacket of Will's tux still draped on the back of a chair where he had left it yesterday, and it's too much. The guilt, the worry, the gnawing whisper that he's right and that she does have some residual feelings for another man; a man that had seen her through some of the worst spots of her life and only ever supported her and made her feel safe.
Kate's picked up her coat before she's really thought it through, slipping the camel colored wool onto her shoulders and unearthing a pair of brown gloves from the pocket. She drops the key card for the room into her pocket, scooping up her phone and her wallet with one hand and tugging open the door with the other.
The hotel hallway is empty, light sounds of televisions or the murmur of voices filtering from under doors as she passes, but no one steps out from their room, no one exits the elevator on her walk to the bank of them. With one touch, one of the double doors slides open with a chime, almost as if it has been sitting, waiting for her to come to the decision that she knows fully well might spell trouble for her life and all that it's been meant to be for months now.
But Kate climbs on anyway, punching the button for the glittering, crowded lobby where guests and sitting in small groups or strolling towards the restaurant and bar that looks to be overflowing with people. She ignores it all as she crosses the tiled floor, keeping her head down to avoid eye contact with anyone until she slips out the front door, inhaling the cold air of a late January night in Manhattan.
The taxi is in front of her, depositing a middle-aged couple that are conversing in what sounds like Portuguese to her untrained ears. Judging from their attire, she assumes they've just come from dinner, strolling past her and a waiting line of people that are expecting cabs to take them to their own destinations.
She ignores all of them; forgoing politeness and the unspoken rule of waiting your turn at a pick-up to slide into the backseat before anyone else can take it. The address falls out of her mouth before the driver can ask for it, and if he's surprised at her request he doesn't show it, just merely checks for oncoming traffic before he pulls out onto the street to deliver her to the destination that makes her heart beat just a bit faster in her chest.
There is an absurd notion within her that she needs to get some distance from the hotel before she pulls out of her phone, and Kate waits until the shadow of the building has gotten lost in the reflection of car lights and the glare of the city before she does. Like most things related to Richard Castle, she remembers his phone number by heart, and she dials it from the tiny cell phone clenched in her hand; hoping that he answers and then, in the same breath, praying that he doesn't.
It takes until the fourth ring, the low tenor of his voice curling through the speaker. "Hello?"
She has to take a moment, to swallow back the nerves, the longing, and the need for someone that knows her well to give her just a few words of comfort. Kate gathers herself, sinking back against the cushioning of the cab's backseat, "Hey, Castle."
"Kate." She hears the surprise as he murmurs her name, the slow inhale of breath that sounds not all that different from her own. He's nervous, too; jittery and a bit apprehensive, almost as if he expects her to start yelling at him again.
Understandable, given how they had parted that afternoon at the precinct.
"I shouldn't have yelled at you," she begins immediately, not willing to give Rick the chance to say something or, worse, hang up on her. "I was upset and frustrated, and I took it out on the first person that I saw, and I'm sorry."
Kate wishes she could see his face, that there was some indication of his denial or acceptance of her apology with which to work from, but all she gets is another slow breath, the creak of the phone and what she thinks might be the distant sound of a television. "It's okay," he finally speaks, and she lets out her own breath of relief, "You said it yourself, you were upset. You've had a lot happen the past couple of days, and I had some of it coming anyway."
She isn't sure if he's speaking of his gripping need for Will to be a murderer, a cheater, or both, but she decides to let all of it go. After the turmoil of the day, she has no energy for another fight, especially not one involving a man who had thrown the most recent blow.
Even if Will had the best of intentions, she's still smarting. Her mind and her heart and thrumming with the guilt and the pain of the choices they've both made.
"Are weddings always like this?" she asks it before she's really thought about the repercussions of the question, though the soft chuckle that greets her ear manages to put her at ease. Whatever her intentions were, Castle seems to be taking it in stride, not reading into any subtext.
"No," he speaks, his voice still pitched in that low, lazy rhythm that she remembers from late nights where they'd lain in bed, talking about all the things that mattered and a million others that didn't. His voice would always become slower and softer, the rumble of his speech vibrating through whatever part of her that happened to be curled at his chest. "Usually no one is killed at a wedding."
She can't help but thinking that Sophie's death was merely a side effect, the horrible, unthinkable thing that set a train into motion a bit early, but Kate bites back that thought, her eyes flicking towards the window where Midtown Manhattan flashes past. "I don't imagine the bride and groom spend most of the day fighting, either."
This silence is different, weighted by something that she can't readily define. Rick doesn't answer immediately, though she can hear the puff of air that escapes his mouth, the pregnant pause that follows it while he seems to measure what to say. "...sometimes they do."
Kate immediately understands what he's saying, her mind conjuring up a photo of Meredith as she had seen her the one time they had met just before Christmas during the year she'd been dating Rick and, then, the photo that she had seen in the New York Times of he and Gina on their wedding day. Which one of his ex-wives he's referring to is up for debate, but her heart clenches with pain for him anyway.
And, then, for herself because all she and Will have managed to do is fight or avoid subjects that might send them into one. The only united front they seemed to have left between them were a rally against Eleanor Sorenson and the desire not to be married off immediately.
Neither situation were exactly votes of confidence.
"Do you regret it?"
She asks the question with hesitance, her eyes squeezed closed and her heart in her throat. Kate honestly expects that Castle will decline to answer, to bristle at being asked such a personal question by someone that he's not been in contact with for the better part of a decade.
It would be the least she deserved, prying into a history of which she had no part.
"Occasionally," Rick replies, his voice as soft as she's ever heard it. "I shouldn't have….."
Whatever he intended to say, he seems to think better of it because his words stop, and the silence is so complete over the phone line that Kate brings the phone away from her ear, checking that the connection is still there.
She doesn't press him anymore, though there's another hot prickle of tears straining at her throat, the emotion both for Castle and his two attempts at marriage that failed, and for herself and the uncertainty that has now filled her up regarding her own pending nuptials.
And then there is the history they share; the might-have-beens and what-ifs that seem to shimmer in her mind, taunting and teasing her about the possibilities that could have happened had she not been so afraid and so stubborn.
"Castle….." she murmurs, hoping that he can't hear the strain in her voice over the phone, "Can you meet me somewhere? I'd like to see you."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"No," Kate tells him the truth, gripping the phone just a bit harder with the reality of it, "But I want to see you anyway." She leaves the rest of it unsaid, because while she has a meeting spot ready on her tongue, there is something unspeakably important about allowing Rick to set the terms and to have a say.
"The swings," he mutters, and she can't help the smile that spreads across her face. With two words, it's like a switch has been flipped and she's no longer navigating through the dark on her own.
She's already there; the cab pulling neatly to the curb beside a fenced in area with a small green sign displaying Columbus Park in white letters. The swings are to the left hand side, left to their own devices a bit away from the sprawling, primary colored equipment that makes up the rest of the playground.
"I'll meet you there," Kate agrees, withdrawing her wallet and paying the cab driver with a small smile before she's exiting the vehicle and winding her way down the sidewalk towards their designated meeting place.
It takes the better part of half an hour before he leaves the loft, inordinately preoccupied with picking the right outfit, fixing his hair, and trying to convince Alexis to open her bedroom door so he can inform her that he's going out and doesn't know when he'll be back.
The scowl his daughter gave him when he admitted that he was leaving the loft to go see Kate is still burned in his brain, as is the sound of her door slamming shut in his face as Rick hurries up the block. He's stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them from going numb with cold, and he's glad for the striped scarf around his neck when a fresh gust of bitter January wind scoots down the street.
The sign informing park visitors that the playground closes at dusk flaps slightly with the breeze, the metal of the sign clanging against the wrought iron of the fence in a steady beat. He's known that there are laws in the city that prohibit adults from using playground equipment or hanging in areas designated for children without having a child to look after currently playing among the other kids, but as had been the case in the past, that law isn't enough to stop him from entering, nor is the one proclaiming the space to be closed.
If a Federal Agent will risk it, who is he to say no.
The path leading to the playground is clear, no leaves or flowers blooming in the dead of winter to clutter it up and, by now, park workers will have come by to pick up the more obvious litter and debris of any visitors to prepare the spot for anyone who visits the following day. As he walks, Rick notices the covered pavilion that dominates the center of the park and, beyond that, the field where Alexis had played soccer for one season. Even the basketball court had gotten a bit of use from him over the years, though it had been he and Kate involved in a heated game of H.O.R.S.E. that had culminated in her trouncing him and Rick claiming his own victory of sorts with a bit of aerobatics and one fantastic round of sex once they had gotten back to the loft and he'd managed to drag her into the shower.
The curving sidewalk turns into the playground abruptly, the large set of equipment in primary red, blue and yellow looking a bit off color under the dim glare of the street lamp that glows on the outside of the park fence. This set is new, a different one than Alexis had climbed on as a kid, but his memories are no less fond of watching his daughter and her friends or, later on in her life, of his red haired girl dragging a slender brunette around and insisting that they do everything together.
He bypasses the majority of the playground without stopping, the sidewalk in the beginning of yet another sharp curve to take a pedestrian towards the opposite end of the park. It's here that he steps off the path, feet crunching over frozen ground and dead leaves, and leading him towards the old, battered set of swings where a woman sits in a wool coat, her hair in wild waves as they cascade down her back.
By now, he's grown used to the way she steals his breath when he sees her, how his heart needs to skip a beat and acknowledge her presence. Kate watches him approach, and in the dim light it's hard to read her eyes until he's standing in front of her. They're soft and welcoming, just enough of a smile at her lips that he's tempted to do what he had grown so accustomed to in their time together by leaning down and touching his mouth to hers.
Instead, she lifts a hand, passing him a familiar cup that's full of hot coffee; the same coffee that he made it a point to bring her every single morning that he could, even if it meant a commute across the city and sneaking up to a piece of crime scene tape to deliver it.
"I thought this was my job," he teases her with a smile, sitting himself on the empty swing at Kate's side before he takes a long drink. It's strong, the roasted beans dark and rich on his tongue and then the slight accent of what he knows to be nutmeg; an extra kick that she had picked up when Meredith had stormed into town, upending their life just before their first Christmas together.
"Consider this a repayment for the hundred plus that I owe you," she replies with her own grin, lifting a cup to her lips for a swallow of her own coffee. From the sweet smell it has, Rick suspects her order is just the same as it was back then, a burst of familiarity that warms him just that much more.
The silence that bounces between them isn't strained as they both sit and sip at their drinks, quiet swallows and the occasional sniffle of a nose gone cold and runny breaking up the sound of traffic along the streets that ring the park. Kate finishes her coffee first, lofting the empty cup into a nearby trashcan, and he takes one more long swig, draining the drink before passing her the cup so that she can repeat the action with another soft swish.
"Does Will know you're here?" he asks once the cup has found its home in the bin.
Her responding laugh is hollow, more bitter than amused. "No," Kate adds once her chuckle has faded, her face strained and the shadow of anxiety creeping into her eyes when she looks his way, "I would guess that Will is currently in a bar with Keith or one of his other friends, drinking as a way to distract himself from the fight we had when he got back to the hotel."
"Over Sophie?"
The way she quickly presses her lips together is enough to let him know that it's not simply the murder that has put Kate and Will on edge, and he doesn't have to look very far to guess what the other source of the trouble is. The guilt at causing her pain is as sharp as a knife, slicing through a conscience that Rick had steadily been ignoring with definite precision.
She doesn't notice how he squirms in his seat, Kate's eyes trained on the ground while she wrestles with what to say.
"Sophie," she agrees, "And you."
Even though he had known, hearing her admit it pushes the breath out of his lungs. Will had made no secret of his dislike, a feeling that is mutual for Rick, but he hadn't really expected that it would spurn the sort of fight between Will and Kate to put such sadness in her eyes.
"Will explained explained why he lied to Ryan and Esposito, tried to explain why he lied to me about his relationship with her. He's sorry he did it….." she continues, twisting her fingers around the chain of the swing with a small grimace.
"Are you sure about that?" He asks it before he can stop himself, wincing at the heated look that Kate lifts her head to give him, those expressive eyes glittering with frustration and narrowed with enough anger that Rick finds himself wiggling around with something other than guilt on his mind.
"Will might have been an idiot about this entire thing, but he isn't a murderer, Castle," she replies quickly, "He's a good man and even if he messed up, I believe that he had good intentions. I can forgive him for lying about Sophie coming into his room and for trying to keep that from me. But lying about his entire relationship with her…"
"You don't trust him anymore," he finishes for her, feeling his heart crack a bit at the nod Kate gives.
"As it turns out, he doesn't trust me either," she adds with a sad smile, glancing back at him so that their eyes meet in the shadowy light of the street lamp.
There it is again; the breath in his lungs escaping with a soft exhale at all the unspoken things that one sentence indicate. If Will doesn't trust her, it has to be because of him, of their history and the connection that's still steady and bright between them. Rick has to pause, to take a couple of breaths and fight against the flutter of hope, the press of nerves and expectation that begin to churn in his gut. It's ridiculous to feel this way, to be so on edge regarding a woman that he has absolutely no claim to, but he can't really fight it.
Nor, if he's completely honest, does he want to.
He hopes his face has arranged itself into a passable representation of curiosity when he speaks next, carefully pitching his voice so that it sounds innocent and casual when he poses his question. "Why?"
The eye roll she gives him is enormous, her lips pursed at him in the way they used to when she couldn't believe what he was saying to her. But, usually where she would tease him or respond vehemently that he was either flat out wrong or completely insane, Kate's voice is soft and shaky, "You know why."
And he does know. With those three words, Rick can no longer pretend he hasn't had a hand in Kate sitting beside him and looking like her world has fallen apart. Even now, sitting inches away from her in the dark, he can feel the electricity that crackles between them; their chemistry still a wonderful, tangible thing that he's always been terrible at denying himself.
He doesn't pretend otherwise, simply accepts the situation with a nod of his head while Kate keeps her eyes focused on her hands, the diamond of her engagement ring twinkling in the hazy light.
"How have you been, Kate?" Rick asks her, intent on changing the direction of their conversation, and taking note of the surprise that ripples over her face when she lifts her head. It intrigues him that such a simple question is one that she didn't expect, but there were parts of her that had always remained such a mystery to him. In so many ways, she had been an open book, but in others it had been like chipping away at an iron wall that remained steadfast and never yielded any of her secrets.
"...busy," she supplies after a moment of silence, slowly sending the swing she's sitting on into a gentle rock with the roll of her foot along the hard ground. "I've moved three times in as many years, and I bought the plane ticket for my honeymoon with frequent flyer miles," Kate tells him, wrinkling up her nose.
"Can't be too busy," he challenges lightly, meeting her eyes as he too begins to lightly move back and forth, "You had time to meet Will, fall in love and plan a wedding."
"Oh, I hated Will when I met him," Kate replies, "I thought he was an over confident jackass that thought he was way too important because he was part of the FBI, and I didn't shy away from letting him know it. But he didn't really like me much either, though I expect he'd lie and say otherwise now. Second day of knowing him, he called me a small-time cop and I threatened to shoot him…"
"Did you meet him on a case?"
She gives a nod, her eyebrows drawing together with the memory, "A kidnapping. Second case I pulled after I got my detective's shield. Four year old boy was kidnapped in a playground while his mom sat on a nearby bench."
"So what changed?"
It takes her a moment to answer, a shadow sliding over her face while she weighs the words she want to say. "...the next time I met him, I was in a better place. He wasn't as arrogant as I thought, and I wasn't as wounded or as broken as I had been, and the case we worked had a happy ending. So when he asked me to get a drink after we closed it up, I said yes."
The story has something deep inside burning with hurt, the circumstances in which Will Sorenson had managed to win over Kate not that different from his own. True, she hadn't hated him when they'd first laid eyes on one another, but their first real beginning had started by his asking her out following his arrest by a girl wearing a uniform and doing a routine patrol.
"You were supposed to come back to me," he tells her softly, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment at admitting such a thing even though she had been there when the conversation had taken place in his loft, "Once you got a handle on everything, you were going to come back."
The look she gives him is one that shimmers with a hurt that Rick knows is on his own face, the ghosts of possibility and loss slinking from the shadows to visit each of them, "You got married, Castle." Her reply is soft, and though her voice is steady, she can't quite manage to hold his gaze. "You looked happy in the papers and the news reports, so I moved on. I found someone that I could be happy with, too."
"And are you happy?"
Rick knows it's a loaded question, but he can't help himself in asking. No matter their past, no matter the burgeoning well of hope that's so often sprung to life when they've been together in the past few days, he'd walk away in a heartbeat if that's what she wanted.
"I…." Kate starts, dipping her head until her hair has fallen in a curtain over her face. "I was."
"Was?" He can't help sounding surprised, just like he can't help how his hand darts out to snag the chain of her swing, stopping its movement and twisting his arm so that Kate's now facing him. "What do you mean, 'was'?"
For a moment, he's sure that she won't answer, that their conversation is going to end with her walking away and never looking back. The fear is etched plainly on her face, at war with a longing that flickers in those eyes that are so dark and so wide as they stare back at him. "Before Saturday," she begins, her voice barely more than a whisper, "I was happy. I knew exactly where my life was going and what I expected out of it."
"Kate, Sophie's death shouldn't change that. You can't let someone else's actions rob you of -"
"It's not Sophie," Kate speaks over him, waiting until he's stopped talking to say the thing that has his heart kicking into overdrive, "It's you."
"Me…." It comes out in a whisper, the only sound he can manage when his throat has gone dry and his heart is doing its best to climb out of his ribcage.
"You walked in that hotel suite and my entire life has been a mess ever since," she tells him, the glassy shine of tears now beginning in her eyes. "And now I don't know what I want, or what to do."
"Would it help if I told you that I missed you?" Rick asks, reaching out to catch the tears that have spilled over onto her cheeks. The curve of her skin, the sharp angle of her cheekbone still fit into his palm like it was made for his hand, and he doesn't miss how Kate tilts her face into his touch, how her eyes flutter at the contact of skin on skin.
"I missed you, too," she admits softly, shifting from her spot on the swing to bring herself that much closer, "I had forgotten how much."
Her lips taste like coffee when they meet his, the groan slipping out of his mouth unbidden as he draws Kate towards him, cupping her face with his hands while he kisses her like a man who has spent years drifting and just found an anchor.