AU after 2x24; what if Castle never stumbled over the case in 3x01 and never had the courage to call or come back with each passing day. And we have to pretend that season 3 also didn't happen because … uh, probably everybody would be dead if Castle and Beckett wouldn't have worked together in that season?! XD
It's official now, his life is offically over. Sighing, he tosses the letter on his desk. He knew it would come to this. He has known for months that his biggest fear would come true. His ellbows hit the mahogany wood of his desk hard, it should've hurt really bad but he doesn't even wince instead drops his head in his hands and closes his eyes. This is going to change everything. Going to change him. He can't go on like this.
Who is he going to be now? It feels like he lost everything in the last two years. He lost his muse, the woman he really loved. And with her the best friends he ever had, a family. People that liked him for who he was not what he was. Then he lost his mother. Then his daughter. And his girlfriend after that. One by one fell like dominos. And now, he is finally going to lose himself.
He huffs contemptiously. Now he's being overly dramatic, his mother would be proud. Slowly, he gets up, slightly swaying from the half bottle of scotch he already emptied, slightly weaving as he wanders through his empty loft. Damn, he's really losing it. But he has no idea what to do about it. He just feels so lost and confused. Has been for two years now and it's only getting worse.
Maybe he should eat something. When was the last time he ate? What day is today? Oh, god, it's really bad, isn't it? No wonder that nobody wants something to do with him. He's a mess. A full-grown forty-something mess. Shouldn't he be living his best life? According to the press, he does. Why doesn't it feel like it, then?
Somewhere nearby a phone rings, his phone. And he hates how still, even after two years, his heart starts to be excited, hopeful, that it might be her name as the caller id but it never is. Despite himself he hurries to find it, finally pulls it out between the cushions of his couch, and of course, it's not her. Marty is calling. Marty? He hasn't heard from him in ages.
"Marty, old chap! How are you? Haven't heard from you in ages!", he laughs cheerily in to the speaker, listening to the voice of an old college friend of his. "Oh, you're in town and meeting with the guys? Wow, that's amazing. No, I'm totally free this evening. Yeah, of course I know that club. It's gorgeous. Yeah, I'll meet you there in … uh … I think I can make it in twenty?" The moment he hangs up, his smile falls his phone from his face. He likes Marty and the guys, hasn't seen them in ages but it's odd that they call him just because they met and thought of him and wondered if he'd come. To one of the most exclusive clubs in the city, too.
He sinks into the cushions, rubs his face. He's so tired of it. So tired of being used for his name or money. So tired of being him.
But he promised to come. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe they really called just for old times sake. Maybe they really missed him. They did some cool stuff back then. No time to wallow now, Rick! He has to get ready to be there on time. Quickly, he shoots his latest fling a short message, asking her to meet him at the club if she's up for it and she'd definitely will be. Bimbo, that's what Beckett would've called her. God, how much he misses her. Even after two years. Maybe he never should've left. But he also couldn't watch how she fell in love with Demming, it was way too painful.
Club, yeah, right, he needs to get ready.
When his car service pulls up before the Club exactly twenty minutes later like he promised Marty, the guys are already there, standing on the side next to the way too long line. His heart sinks. Yeah, he knows how this will go. It's all his life has to offer right now.
He pats the knee of this week's arm candy, Mandy – yup, that's rhyming –, a gorgeous blonde, all long legs, fake boobs, fake lashes and way too much makeup. But she's kinda funny, not that dumb and he thinks, she actually read and liked his books. Her dress is a bit too short, her neckline a bit too deep, but who is he to judge? It's all he has right now, and yes, that's damn depressing. But he has her attention and helps her out of the car like the gentleman he still is.
"Hey guys," Rick shouts in a fake cheery tone, pats the guys on the back, introduces them to Mandy, they share some laughs, some short stories but the conversation dies pretty quickly, so with a suppressed sigh Rick leads them to the VIP entrance and – of course –, they let them in instantly.
"Oh, wow, I'm so excited to be here!", Mandy exclaims and Rick softens by the sparkle in her eyes. At least she's going to have fun tonight. Slowly he takes in his surroundings. He hasn't been here in years, but it still looks pretty much the same, still the gorgeous and original 20s look so typical for etablissments like that. A busboy in an original 20s uniform guides them through several round tables with velvet table cloths and old table lamps until they reach one with an gorgeous view of the stage.
After they were seated, Rick engulfs them in a story about Burlesque and the Moulin Rouge, captivates their attention, relishes for a moment the fact that he can still hold the attention of his audience. But the moment is fleeting, not giving him as much as it used to do. "A few decades ago, there were some indicidents with the stars of the show. Some guys stalked them afterwards, being turned on by their performance, their art of seduction and slow strip teasing, really teasing in that case, and demanding more, so they decided to hide the identites with masks. Oddly reminds him of him. Isn't he doing the same to protect himself? Hiding behind a mask of someone he's not?
"So, how's your little girl, Rick? What's her name again? Cassandra? Cassi? No, Alexandra?" Marty asks him, showing him exactly how much they care.
"Alexis. She's studying at Stanford", Rick says, a proud smile dancing on his lips even if his heart is aching for her.
"Alexis, of course! What, she's already studying? Holy crap, we're getting old man." Marty laughs and claps Castle on the shoulder so hard that it hurts. Yeah, he is getting old. What is he doing here?
The light dims to indicate that the show is about to start and Castle is glad to not have to participate in any forced conversation anymore. Is this how he's going to spend his last days? Dying alone inside while feigning to have the best life he can imagine? He quickly orders some drinks, feeling like his buzz is already far too gone to endure being used this evening. He can at least enjoy it then, can't he?
Mandy is curling her arm around his, bedding her head on his shoulder. He kinda likes it that she's so cuddly, it gives him at least the feeling that he's more to her than a walking purse and door opener. But right now, it feels like it's suffocating him.
The show starts and his world stops turning. His gaze magically drawn to a tall blonde, dressed like the other girls in murderous high heels and mesh stockings, dancing on the stage as if it were nothing. Way too quickly, his heartrate is picking up, troubling him to catch his breath. He closes his eyes, tries to shake the feeling away. Damn, not again. He calls them Beckett-flashes. They always hit him with so much force, it feels like a near panic attack. No matter where, no matter when, his subconcious picks up on something from someone in his immediate environment that reminds him of her. And instantly he gets this rush, heat flooding his body, his heart almost jumping out of his chest, big lump in his throat. He ran to so many women, calling her name, but it was never her. His mind was only playing tricks on him.
Like now, when he can't avert his gaze from the beautiful dancer. He can't even pinpoint what reminds him of her. It's definitely not the short, curly, blonde hair or the way she fluidly moves. Beckett was all brisk and confident strides, probably to make a stand against the male dominated space in her line of work. But this woman is all feminine, soft and sexy, seducing, liquid sex.
Her lips. She's biting her lip while dancing. Oh, god damn. All that because a beautiful dancer roughly Beckett's build bits her lips. But even knowing, he can't keep her eyes off of her, follows her every move, tries to catch her dark eyes … Just … Just in case.
He's pathetic. Completely pathetic. He can't keep doing this. His logical mind completely shut off, his aching, longing heart is in full control. And then her performance ends and she vanishes in the dark. He's still reeling, his heart still beating too fast. It's going to take a while to calm down again, he knows it, he's had moments like this way too often. He quickly downs the third whiskey he ordered, relishing the dampening effect the alcohol has.
The hushed conversation between the performances happens without him, they're not even trying to include him and he's grateful for that. He's still kinda zoned out, on the verge of being seriously drunk just to get rid of the lingering feeling of missing his muse. If he'd only be triggered when he goes out he'd just lock himself up for the rest of his life, but it's the most random things that remind him of her. A scene in a movie, a song, a sentence in a book. She's everywhere and no matter how hard he tries, he can't get rid of her.
Mandy lies her hand on his when he wants to down another whiskey, softly shaking her head, causing anger bubbling up hot and searing in his veins. Who is she to forbid him his drink? But he quickly manages to suppress it again being not an angry man by nature and she might be right, everything is already starting to turn and he doesn't want to read an article the next day of how Richard Castle got wasted again. It only happened three times in the last two years and he's proud of that. He's not yet entitled as a drunk, just as someone who enjoys the company of beautiful women and is high on life. Hah, if they knew.
The minute he said goodbye and nudges Mandy to go, she's on the stage again, alone. In the spotlight. And in his very drunken state, everything about her reminds him of Beckett this time. The way she walks on stage, sits right between the band, the way she walks around on the stage, her long legs and fingers, her smooth skin, the ridiculous high heels, her whole demeanor. The first notes by the band of the song already tell him how well he knows that song. Etta James, of course. She is going to sing "I'd rather be blind."
He wants to leave right now, but he's frozen to his spot, not able to avert his gaze. This is going to end badly, he knows it.
The minute, she starts singing he can't breathe anymore. Her voice is so crystal clear it goes right through him. Her voice and the way she sings kills him, once and for all, he's sure of it, so rich of emotions.
Something told me it was over
When I saw you and her talkin'
Something deep down in my soul said, 'Cry, girl'
When I saw you and that girl walkin' around
Whoo, I would rather, I would rather go blind, boy
Then to see you walk away from me, child, no
Whoo, so you see, I love you so much
That I don't wanna watch you leave me, baby
Most of all, I just don't, I just don't wanna be free, no
Whoo, whoo, I was just, I was just, I was just
Sittin here thinkin', of your kiss and your warm embrace, yeah
When the reflection in the glass that I held to my lips now, baby
Revealed the tears that was on my face, yeah
Whoo and baby, baby, I'd rather, I'd rather be blind, boy
Then to see you walk away, see you walk away from me, yeah
Whoo, baby, baby, baby, I'd rather be blind...
Her voice takes him back to Beckett, to all the moments they shared, to the feeling of having to watch her fall in love with another guy just because he wasn't able to admit to his feelings. He was seeing her walk away with Demming, rips his heart right open again and again. As if the wound ever healed, as if he ever got over her.
The sadness and loneliness, the deep longing and pain in her voice strangles him, resonates with him so deep he has no idea how he can ever leave now. He really is pathethic, fixating on some random woman and shared emotions.
"Oh, muffin, you're crying!" Mandys voice sounds so piercing, so wrong, almost hurting his ears after he just listened to the most beautiful voice he ever heard. "Oh, that's so sweet. I love it when men show emotions." He barely gets what she's saying, is too caught up in the woman on the stage taking several bows before she's gone again and the spell is broken. And he does what he has been doing for two years and runs away.