Richard Castle worms his way into her life again like a damn parasite.
He begins breaking rules after only the second week of their deal, showing up four - sometimes five - times a week with coffee in hand for her. Somewhere around the sixth day of appearing, he even begins bringing an extra for Ryan, who's come to appreciate his presence. Esposito remains wary, she knows, but even the more suspicious of her two boys is starting to regard their morning exchanges with curiosity instead of scrutiny.
"You know, if your bestie is going to be supplying you and Ryan with coffee dates," he began in her office doorway one morning. "I wouldn't take offense-"
"Just get his number from Ryan, Espo," she replied, not lifting her eyes from her computer. "And they aren't dates."
"I just don't want to get too attached is all," Esposito added, waiting for her to look up at him before narrowing his eyes on her. "I wouldn't want to miss it once it's gone."
"Do you have something to say to me, Detective?" she inquired, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest.
Esposito shrugged. "Nah, just looking out for you, Captain. You know you're uh, you're like family to me and Kevin. We just don't want you hurt."
He shifted awkwardly in the doorway and she sighed, running a hand through her hair.
"Nothing's going on between us, Javi. He's an old friend going through a hard time. Once he gets past it, we'll never see him again," she assured him, even though the words alone caused her heart to constrict a little.
Esposito had raised an eyebrow at her. "Has anyone told writer boy that?"
She had rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her work, not pausing until she heard Esposito shut her door a few moments later.
After she was sure she was alone, she pressed her fingers to her temples, hoping to quell the building headache there. Esposito always saw right through her, knew she was lying to him and herself about the situation with Castle.
But she refused to let it go further, to see him outside of the safe space of her precinct.
Until he started following them to crime scenes.
"Hey, no, you are not coming," she tells him the first time he attempts to slide into her cruiser to meet the boys. She usually didn't accompany her detectives to murder scenes, but Ryan insisted this case was different, "Beckett-flavored".
"I'm a mystery writer," he whined from the opposite side of the car, reaching for the passenger handle.
She hit the lock button on her keys.
"Beckett, I am suffering from a severe case of writer's block since I can't remember what I was even writing before," he pleaded with her over the hood of the car. "But, I have a new idea, a new character."
"Oh, yeah? Well, why don't you go home and work on writing him?"
"Her," he corrected, eyes glittering.
The look sent terror flooding through her system.
"Richard Castle-"
"I'm thinking Nikki Heat, a super smart and sexy homicide detective."
"Nikki Heat?" she echoed with disdain. "Oh my god, that's so tacky."
"Excuse me? I believe I am the best-selling author here. Think of all the titles-"
"Castle, that is a stripper name," she growled, her phone vibrating impatiently in her pocket. She groaned and unlocked the car. "Get in."
He immediately tugged the passenger door open and slipped into her car. "Summer Heat, Heat Wave. In Heat."
"You are not basing some slutty cop off of me," she muttered, the engine revving to life.
"She's going to be super smart, very savvy, with haunting good looks, and really good at her job," he mused. "And only kind of slutty."
She pulled into the street with a little too much force, slamming his body into the door.
"You know, most women would be flattered," he muttered, rubbing at his shoulder.
The crime scene of a double murder, a severed hand, and talk of an ancient artifact stolen hooks him. She struggles to deny Castle from accompanying their team after that, not when he's actually helpful. Much to her chagrin.
She doesn't want to allow Castle so deep into her world like this, infiltrating every nook and cranny, becoming important to her again. Their history is too complicated for this, for them to just start over.
Not to mention, there was Tom to consider.
They were on again off again, nothing serious, but… over the last year, she has begun to soften to the idea.
"Come on, Kate," he told her over dinner a few weeks ago. His hand covered hers across the table, cradling her fingers and stroking her knuckles. "I could make you happy."
"I know," she conceded, giving his fingers a squeeze. But she still went home alone that night, just like every night.
It never felt right - the timing or the relationship. Tom Demming was captain of his own precinct, successful and well-loved by the community. He needed a sweet woman with a gentle smile and a nine to five job - someone he could come home to. Not a damaged workaholic who was all sharp edges and harsh words and could not imagine sharing her space with anyone, not with that kind of permanence.
The only space she's currently willing to compromise is her office. Castle has been shadowing her team, and her, for nearly a month now. He shows up nearly every day, he attends crime scenes with the boys and sits in her office with a notebook writing quietly while she does her paperwork.
Too many nights, she ends up staying late, sitting on the opposite end of the couch in an office that she's only ever used for stealing naps on long nights at the Twelfth, talking with him.
Tiny pieces of the life he claims is not his are gradually filling his mind, like a slow leaking faucet filling a sink. He remembers his ex-wives, one of which is currently his editor. He tells her about the child he almost had before Meredith terminated the pregnancy without informing him, allowing her to witness the dark grief etching into the lines around his mouth as he speaks. He recalls the tales of Derrick Storm and the process of writing the famous character, which has come back to him as he's reread his own novels over and over again in hopes of learning as much about himself as possible. But mostly, he just wants to listen to her, to learn about her life.
So, little by little, she tells him. About her brief couple of semesters at Stanford, her time in the police academy, her dad's alcoholism and how it almost killed him. He vows to call Jim upon hearing his, shushing her opposition with the mollification that he only wants to reconnect with her dad again. They talk about her mom, their childhoods, her exes, and even Tom.
"He sounds like a great guy," Castle reasoned, putting on a brave face, she knew. "I mean, an FBI agent, a stellar robbery detective turned captain, and a world-saving doctor. You've got great taste, Beckett."
She scoffed, but he only grinned at her.
"So, what's keeping you from just diving in with the captain guy? I mean, maybe he's back in your life for a reason."
"Maybe," Kate mused, but she couldn't help chewing on her lip. "It's so funny, Castle. You know, I get involved with these guys who stay as busy as I do and it just... it gives me an opportunity to keep one foot out the door. Just in case."
"But with one foot out the door," he began, brow crinkling. "It's hard to know where you stand."
She nodded, pulling her knees to her chest and propping her chin on her patella. "Part of me thinks that maybe I just wasn't meant to pair off with someone."
Rick had shifted forward, looking at her intently. "Yeah, but is that what you want?"
"No, but you know what The Rolling Stones say," she tried to joke, but he'd only smiled at her a little too sadly.
"The Kate Beckett I know, both in this world and the one I came from, deserves everything she wants. At the very least, you deserve to be happy."
She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, Castle."
"No, seriously," he pressed, his voice earnest and his eyes fierce. "From the time we were kids, you have been extraordinary. Remember when you were six and you were scared of the dark? But you refused to sleep with a nightlight?"
"Yes," she deadpans. "My dad loves to remind me."
"Yeah, you never flinched. Always ready to stare down whatever was in your path. That - that tenacity, that fire, that unwillingness to ever give up - it's still here."
"I think that's what drives most people crazy about me," she pointed out, but he adamantly shook his head.
"No, it's what makes you extraordinary."
She worries then that she may be falling in love with him again.
About a month into being stuck in this new world, he's grown to hate it a little less. Much of his softening to this alternate universe has come from the fact that he believes Kate definitely hates him a little less.
After that day on the swings, when she agreed to let him come by the precinct in the mornings, he went back to the loft he shares with his mother and dove into research. He learned everything he could about himself, cringing through every article and interview, recovering some of his pride upon reading some of the book reviews. The Derrick Storm series was certainly a hit, up until he decided to kill off his starring character.
Gina - his second ex-wife - had not taken the news of his 'amnesia' well, but had granted him leniency. She spoke with Black Pawn and apparently, they offered him a three month extension to churn out something new. He resisted at first, believing that writing a story was the least important thing he needed to do - he had another life to get back to for Christ's sake.
But, as the days passed and he became rooted deeper and deeper in this life and the people within it, he began to consider the possibility that maybe… maybe he could stay here. Maybe he could make it work.
So he wrote. He wrote about Kate, altering her current position back to one of a homicide detective with a tragic backstory, and a hotshot journalist intent on weaseling his way into her crime scenes and her life.
Within the month, he nearly has a full manuscript prepared to send over to Gina.
"Darling, I'm proud of you," his mother tells him on one of the many mornings she finds him still awake when the sun rises. The fluff of her robe flutters against his cheek as she leans down to kiss the top of his head. "I know it's been a difficult few years for you, but I knew you had so much more left in you."
He touches the hand at his shoulder, squeezing her bony fingers and diamond rings. "Thank you, Mother."
"And please, send my thanks to your inspiration." She winks at him. "I knew you two would circle back to each other one day."
"Really?" he asks, watching an indulgent smile spread across her pink lips.
"Well, one can never be certain, but what a marvelous story it would make, yes? You were both so young when you parted ways, so immature and careless with each other, but now?" She waves her hand through the air. "The timing finally feels right, especially when I look at it all in hindsight. I mean, I still remember the day of Johanna's funeral, wishing you were there."
A cold nausea swirls through his stomach. "I didn't go?"
His mother sighs, squeezing his shoulder. "No, honey. Listen, I know what she was to you. She was the mother you wish I would have been."
"Mother," he protests, but she shushes him.
"No, it's okay. I was grateful to her and Jim, I still am." She smiles sadly, memory dulling the blue of her eyes, tugging at the lines of her mouth. "When she died, I don't think you could face it. You got ready to attend the funeral that morning, I recall, but when the time came to go… I couldn't convince you to leave your room."
"That's inexcusable," he mutters, but Martha shakes her head.
"No, darling. It's grief."
"But Kate-"
"Katherine was barely there," she tells him softly. "She was present, of course, but she was like a ghost. You know better than I what Johanna meant to her. That woman was her hero. I think her murder killed a part of Katherine and dulled the rest of her."
Castle swallows hard. "I think you're right. She buries herself in her work, in bringing others the justice that she never had."
"The poor dear." Martha lifts a hand to her chest. "I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been, but I'm so glad she stopped looking into that case."
A spark of concern and intrigue trickles through him. "She looked into it?"
"Well, yes. I mean, I don't know the details or anything, but when the article of her shooting was published in the paper, it was said to be in connection to her mother's-"
"Shooting?" Castle jerks back from the desk, the word document on his screen forgotten. "When?"
Martha covers her mouth. "Oh, Richard, I'm sorry. Your condition has been so spotty… I'm never sure what you remember-"
"No, no, it's fine," he promises her. "When?"
"Uh, it was… oh, I can't - back when you went on that book tour across Europe. It's been so long." She places a hand to her head, eyes squinting. "Six, maybe seven, years ago, I believe?"
"Did I know?"
His mother nods slowly. "I did tell you when you came back. You were… stricken, but you reacted almost similarly to as you had when Johanna died." Martha purses her lips and reaches for one of his shaking hands, cradling it between both of hers. "Richard, over time, you've developed a way of coping by simply shutting down, almost pretending it never happened. We never spoke of the past, your childhood here in New York, or anything about Kate ever again after we moved. Definitely not after Johanna was killed and Kate was shot. You made a large, anonymous donation to the NYPD in honor of her and that was the end of it. And I - I am so sorry, son."
Castle blinks, attempting to take all of this in, but is utterly confused by her apology.
"What? Why?"
"If I would have been there more," Martha begins, but her eyes are shimmering with tears and her hands tighten around his. "Perhaps if I would have been more of a mother and less of a... of a diva when you were young, things would have been different. We would be different. You were thriving here when you were a child and I just selfishly ripped you away from it all, dragged you all around the country-"
"Mother," he sighs, slipping his hand from hers to reel her into a hug.
She sinks into his embrace, her thin frame shaking against him. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," he whispers, rubbing at her back. "We're okay."
For a few minutes, he holds onto his mom as the horizon bleeds with the ascending sun, and then he is letting her go, offering her a reassuring smile, and looking to the door.
"I need to talk to Kate."
"Of course," she whispers, reaching up to pat his cheek. "Of course. I'll see you this evening."
He hears the worried breath of his mother's exhale at his back, but he's already walking through the office to his bedroom. He steadies his own breathing as he changes into a clean set of clothes and brushes his teeth before making his way out the front door.
He arrives at the Twelfth in record time, paying the cabbie extra to speed through the beginnings of early morning traffic. His heart is beating so frantically in his ribs, he has to take the stairs to the homicide floor, unable to stand still in an elevator.
Rick exhales in relief when he catches sight of her already in her office, just settling in from the looks of it. The rest of the floor is quiet, only a few officers left from the night shift still milling around the bullpen.
He knocks only once before entering her office.
"You were shot?"
Her head snaps up. Taken off guard, her hand reflexively rises to her chest, where she must have been hit.
"Kate," he breathes, closing the door behind him and pacing toward her. He looks her up and down, reassuring himself that she survived, that she's fine. "What happened?"
She purses her lips and averts her gaze to the floor.
"It was only a matter of time before you found out, I guess," she mumbles, the knuckles of her fist easing from their shining ivory to relax against her chest, but failing to leave the spot.
Her eyes close and he watches her take a breath.
"It was almost ten years ago." Her lashes flutter open, but her gaze is locked on the surface of her desk. "I had been looking into my mom's case since I was a rookie, kept it open on the side even once I made detective. I guess I ended up on someone's radar eventually, because one day, I get a call from a Detective Raglan."
"The one who delivered the news about your mom," he fills in.
She nods. "Yeah, him. We met at a diner. They shot him first, got me after. I made it, he didn't."
He has to lean his hip against the corner of her desk.
"They missed on purpose, you know." Her fingers curl into a fist between her breasts, her hand shifting slightly to the right. "It was a warning - to stop digging. So, after a year of intense physical and mental therapy, I did." She eases her fingers up to her throat, touching the chain of gold worn habitually around her neck and tugging it from the cover of her blouse. She catches the ring between two fingers and casts her eyes down to the band of gold and glittering stone. "Because if I didn't, they were going to kill me too."
"I - I should have been there," he whispers, watching the caress of her fingers around the ring that looks familiar to him for some reason. "I never would have let you go alone."
"I never would have let you come with me." Her eyes flicker back to him. "Remember our talk the other night, about being alone?" He nods dumbly. "There are other reasons it might be for the best."
"Kate-"
"I can't hurt like that again," she says solemnly, but the ache in her eyes betrays the even tone of her voice. "So, I have my own walls to keep me safe, and it just so happens, they may benefit others as well."
"Beckett, that isn't fair to you," he argues. "Letting them rob you of your life like that."
"I haven't," she says, pointedly glancing around the room.
"Your personal life," he clarifies.
But she's already turning her head, attempting to end this conversation.
"Look, it's still early," she murmurs, pulling out her desk chair. "Why don't you go back home, sleep a little? You look like you've been up writing all night."
"So I can close my eyes and imagine you dead?"
She startles and lets go of the chair to face him instead.
"Castle-"
"My mother's the one who told me about your shooting, how she saw it in the paper. Apparently, she told me about it once I got home from a damn book tour." Kate's brows are furrowed, but she's listening to him, probably wondering what the point is. "She also told me about your mom's funeral, how I wasn't there for that either."
Her jaw tightens, the tendons in her neck flexing.
"Every single time you could have used someone, I wasn't there."
"It wasn't your responsibility to be there," she murmurs, her voice attempting comfort, but her response is more automatic than genuine.
"She told me when I learned you were shot, I just - shut down, almost pretended it never happened," he reveals, shame flushing through him like slick, oiled water. "She said that's how I've dealt with all of it, by shutting all the hard stuff out, refusing to talk about anything real since I was eighteen."
She purses her lips, seeming to sense where he was going with this.
"So maybe there is only one world and it's this one. Maybe what's actually made up is my memory of being struck by lightning and, instead, my tendency to ignore reality finally caught up with me and I woke up with the curse of a lost memory, but I'm here now." He takes a tentative step towards her and for once, she doesn't back away. "And I don't care anymore about getting back to an old world where I was eighteen and blameless. I don't care about getting a redo. I care about the now. I care about you."
Rick reaches for one of the limp hands at her side, taking her slim, cold fingers in his, and squeezing.
"Best friends, partners, acquaintances - whatever. I don't care what we are, I just want to be a part of your life," he gets out, watching her bottom lip tremble for a split second before she pierces it with her teeth. "We've both spent the last twenty years alone and I - I don't want you to be alone, Kate. I'm sorry my stupid pride kept me from figuring this out way sooner, memory intact or not."
"I'm sorry too," she rasps, hooking her pinky in his. "I'm just as responsible, Rick. It's not all on you."
He smiles at her, grateful but sad. For all they went through separately, for the lost time, for all they could have been.
"Can I hug you?"
She rolls her eyes, but nods, chuckling softly as he wraps his arms around her shoulders and envelopes her snug against his chest. Kate tucks her head under his chin, places her palms at his shoulder blades, and lets her cheek rest against his sternum.
"Did you heal okay?" he murmurs after a moment of silence passes between them.
"Once I stopped being stubborn." He smirks at that, able to picture it all too clearly. "My dad took me out to his cabin, let me stay there while I recovered. It helped, allowed me to gain some perspective."
"I bet, that place was so peaceful."
"You remember?" she asks, her voice brightening as she withdraws her head from his chest to look up at him.
He loosens his grip on her, allows an inch of space to appear between their bodies even though he doesn't want to. But he wants even less to risk making her uncomfortable.
"Oh yeah," he grins, letting her drift from the circle of his arms to lean into the safety of her desk. "That summer was one of the best of my entire life. All those days on the lake-"
"You got the worst sunburn I've ever seen," she laughs, her eyes alight with memory, shining bright like the summer sun once did over them.
But then her laughter is quieting, her gaze softening as it roams his face, as if allowing herself a clear look for the first time.
"You sure you're okay?" she inquires, a furrow of worry appearing between her brows.
"Yeah, of course. Just… a lot to take in," he manages, helplessly stealing a glance at her chest, the imagined wound beneath.
"Hey," she murmurs, stealing one of his hands and boldly lifting it to her chest, laying his palm flat above her right breast, his fingertips skimming her collarbone. He inhales a sharp breath, but feels the steady beat of her heart echoing through her chest. Kate uses her other hand to touch his chin, her gaze steadfast as she forces him to meet it. "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."
Castle realizes with dismay that his eyes are burning, the threat of tears imminent, and quickly blinks them away.
"I know." He flips his hand from the resounding thrum of her heartbeat and seals his palm to hers. "There's just a lot I wish I could do differently. So many ways I wish I was different."
Kate offers him a waning smile, a small shrug. "I think that's just part of being human. But for the record, I like this version of you, Rick. That might not be true if you were able to turn back time and do everything all over again in some attempt at perfection."
Those damn butterflies that have existed for her and her alone since they were just kids skate along his ribs, perching pleasantly across his bones.
"Wow, Beckett," he appraises. "And here I thought I was the writer."
She smirks up at him, swiping her thumb along the bone of his before drawing her hand free.
"Either go get some sleep or grab me a coffee, Castle."
"Yep, that's more like it," he mutters, relishing in the wink she shoots him before slipping into her chair and dragging her briefcase onto the desk.