Fic--Ashes Part Two
Last part for now. Thanks for reading!
Title: Ashes Part Two
Author: foreverwriting9
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Spoilers: For Watershed
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,435
Summary: All she can think as she stands there, hundreds of miles from everything she loves, is that this man has no idea what she’s given up.
-
Your heart beats for another day,
I still believe you love me,
But in a different way.
Hey Marseilles, ‘Heart Beats’
Castle doesn't know what he expects when he opens his apartment door to slip out for a quick lunch, but it's certainly not Beckett, eyes wide, her fist half-poised to knock. He can feel the ice that catches in his chest at the sight of her. “Beckett?”
She’s lovely and untouchable and oh God he’s missed her. (But she left him.) She bites her lip and something weary sparks through his veins. “Hey, Castle.”
He folds his arms, a frown already tugging at his mouth. “Why are you here?” he asks, words sharp. “Doesn’t DC need you?”
Beckett flinches. “I just-I thought...” She sucks in a quick breath. “DC wasn’t right for me, but that job was such a great opportunity and I felt ridiculous thinking about turning it down, because some people would kill for that job. And I didn’t know what to do, and everybody kept telling me what a perfect fit it would be and...”
He’s thought about this moment a lot over the summer, crafted well-worded arguments and whispered them against his pillow, slowly letting them drift into the empty spaces she left in his loft (bed, life, heart). His hands are shaking. There’s so much to say. “You shouldn’t have let other people make that decision for you,” he remarks, wrapping his fingers around the door handle so tightly that it hurts. “You should have chosen. Not Gates or your dad or even me. You, Beckett.”
She rakes her fingers through her hair, gaze dropping to Castle’s shoes. He can see her fumbling for the right thing to say. “I know that, and I thought I knew that at the time, but I was scared-”
A weight settles somewhere in his stomach. “You don’t think I was scared too? Every second I was with you, once I realized that-”
“DC wasn’t home.” It tumbles out, and there’s a desperation in her voice that he hasn’t heard for a long time. “Home is New York and the Twelfth and Ryan and Esposito and crime scene tape and coffee and you.”
The last word is a whisper, soft and certain.
The admission throws him, crashing through his train of thought, and leaving him gaping at her. If she's so sure of it now, then why did she leave? Why- Castle cuts the rest of the question off, swallows around the sorrow and the want, and shakes his head slowly at her. "I can't do this."
For a moment, she looks utterly broken, and Castle can see the weight of everything lining her face, smudging dark shadows just beneath her eyes. Then she sighs, pulls the pieces of herself back together, and asks the question she's terrified of voicing. "Not now or not ever?"
He takes a long look at her, remembers the first time he saw her, all short hair and procedure. He chokes on the words. "I don't know."
She nods, staring just over his shoulder and into the loft. They used to be happy here. “I’ll be at the precinct,” she says. "I'm not going back to DC.” She seems relieved that she’s gotten that weight off her chest, stands up a little straighter and waits expectantly. When he doesn’t say anything in response, she nods again, spins on her heel, and walks back toward the elevator. Castle watches her go, eyes wandering down to her hips against his permission, before he turns around sharply and slams the door behind him.
(He wants to chase after her, pin her against the wall, and kiss her senseless. But that is not how they work anymore, and the engagement ring is heavy in his pocket, mocking and useless.)
She's been back at the Twelfth for three weeks when he finally shows up, and it's a complete accident that they see each other.
He's perched on Ryan's desk, his back to her, when she returns from questioning a suspect.
"Castle?"
He almost falls off the desk at her voice, quickly shoving his hands behind his back and turning to face her. After a few seconds of just staring at her blankly, his mouth falls open, and Beckett can see him struggling for something to say. They used to be so in sync, their conversations seamless, words bouncing off one another and falling into place perfectly. Now everything is long, drawn out pauses and careful sentences, and she hates it. (But it is all her fault.)
His voice finally seems to start working. “Ryan called me.”
“Oh.” It was too much to wish that he had come back because he missed her.
Castle watches her face fall, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. He can't do this, not with Beckett. (Their story was supposed to end differently than this.) “He said that you guys found a puzzle box at the crime scene, and he wanted to know if I could stop by and take a quick look.”
"We did, yeah." Her gaze drifts away from him, searching the bullpen. "I can get it for you. It should be around here somewhere."
He pulls his hands out from behind his back with a sheepish look. "Actually, I already have it."
She wants to make a joke about his inability to wait, his constant need for stimulation that rivals that of a cocker spaniel puppy. Instead, she bites her lip, fists her hands so she won’t be tempted to touch him. “Did you figure it out?” she asks.
He leans in toward her, eyes lighting up with the thrill of a problem to solve. “I think I got everything except this part,” he says, pointing to one of the corners.
Beckett can feel herself being drawn in closer to him, breath catching when her elbow bumps his. He doesn’t move away, too focused on the puzzle to notice much of anything. “Here.” She reaches over, catching the corner, and twisting it experimentally. After a few seconds of nothing, there is a small click. The smile that stretches across Castle’s face is blinding and wonderful, and as he turns to look at her, it feels just like old times. (A mystery tangled between them and puzzle pieces sliding together and everything diamond bright and impossibly simple.)
She can see the moment he remembers.
"Here," he says, shoving the box into her hands. "I probably shouldn't be allowed to see inside, because-"
Because he's not working this case. Because he's not her partner anymore. Because she told him no.
"Oh, yeah." Beckett wraps her fingers around the wooden box tightly, trying to ignore the way his fingers trail fire as they bump into hers.
Castle won’t look at her now. “I need to go,” he says, voice tight, and all she can do is nod in response. He turns away too quickly, moving toward the elevator, and see you tomorrow catches itself on her tongue, but she is foolish and far too late and he is gone.
She doesn't find out about his signing at her favorite bookstore until it is much, much too late.
It takes her five seconds to pick him out of the crowd of fans gathered around the small table, and as he slides into view, plaid shirt and perfectly styled hair, her heart skips a beat. Then she realizes that he’s seen her.
(She wants to run.)
Castle stands up from the table. “I’m going to take a little break, ladies. Don’t worry though, I’ll be back.” He hasn’t really taken his eyes off Beckett since he first noticed her, and the women around him inevitably start to notice. Someone whispers Nikki Heat almost reverently, and she can feel the blush starting to burn its way across her cheeks. She backs away, ducking her head.
“Beckett?” Castle calls, maneuvering around the table and the crowd, and moving toward her before she can even begin to think up a plan of escape. Then suddenly he’s right in front of her, face concerned and handsome, and why didn’t she give him the chance he deserved?
“I should go,” she breathes out in a rush, the words bumping into one another.
He realizes what she’s doing and frowns. “Beckett.” It’s an admonishment.
“Castle,” she pleads, “I don’t want to do this, not here.”
His fingers slide hotly around her wrist, and before she can do anything, he’s tugging her back toward the storeroom. He pushes the door open roughly, pausing mid-step to make sure they don't have an unexpected audience. Once he's sure they're alone, he releases his grip on her, and starts pacing, puffs of dust billowing around his ankles. Beckett just stands and watches him. She doesn't know what to do with this Castle, his shoulders up at sharp angles and his eyes unreadable in the dim lighting, and it scares her.
It’s when he finally stops moving that she sees how tired he looks, how the shadows slant across the planes of his face and make him look years older. “Now, what don’t you want to do here?” he asks, the words heavy in his mouth when they would have once been light and sparkling with innuendo. (But that was months ago.)
She doesn't mean to sigh. “Argue. I don’t want to argue with you here, in public, at a book signing of all places. I don’t want to end up in the tabloids as another one of your girlfriends who's willing to live out her life on page six." She's always hated those people, and Castle has probably had enough of them to last a lifetime.
The realization flashes across his face so quickly that she almost misses it. Then he shakes his head wearily. “I wasn’t going to argue with you, Kate.”
“Oh.”
Castle leans back against a stack of boxes, watching her steadily, his fingers drifting lazily over the spines of some nearby books. The silence stretches uncomfortably between them, and Beckett has no clue how to fix it. She says the first thing that comes to mind. “I read the dedication.” It’s a stupid thing to say, because it’s not an apology, and it’s not really an explanation either. (Not unless he digs beneath the words and searches, but he’s so tired of scratching away at every little thing she says.)
He thinks about it for awhile. "I wrote it before," he says eventually, "and I couldn't bring myself to change it."
Before. Before everything was in tatters around them, razor-edged and unfixable.
She swallows. “Thank you,” she says, wincing. It’s not enough, will never be enough. When he flinches, she adds, “It brought me home.”
His eyes slip closed. "Beckett, I-"
A loud knock reverberates off the storeroom door. "Mr. Castle? There are some people waiting out here for you.”
“Of course,” he mutters, frustrated. He clears his throat. “Of course,” he repeats louder, sounding more amenable this time. “I’ll be right there.” Castle turns to Beckett. “I’m sorry, but I should probably go.”
She nods, trying to hide the disappointment pulling at her mouth. “Yeah, of course. Your fans are waiting.”
He starts to walk toward the door, then stops suddenly and turns to face her. For a moment, he looks like he’s thinking about shaking her hand, and it breaks her heart. (They used to be so much more.) He seems to decide against it though, and instead, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Goodbye, Beckett.”
“Goodbye, Castle,” she replies softly as he slips out the door, leaving her in the hazy darkness, surrounded by dust and books.
He can't come up with a new character. His first draft is due in two weeks, and his laptop has been flashing You should be writing for three days straight. He's stuck on Nikki Heat, is constantly thinking and breathing Heat and Rook. But that story is supposed to be over, not still living intoxicatingly close beneath his skin.
He needs something new and painless.
Eric Winter. Matthew Night. Simon-
On the desk next to him, his phone starts ringing. He ignores it.
Simon...Star? What a horrible name. Castle groans, barely restraining himself from hitting his head against his desk. Maybe this is it. The ultimate writer's block. All of his narrative skills simply gone, vanished-
His phone won't stop ringing.
Annoyed, he grabs it. The caller ID makes his heart stop. Twelfth Precinct. His mouth suddenly goes very dry. "Hello?"
"Hey, Castle." Even on the other end of the line she sounds awkward, like she'd rather be doing anything but this.
“Beckett? Is everything okay?” He’s imagining worst-case scenarios now. Ryan shot. Esposito missing. The too vivid events kaleidoscope in front of his eyes dizzyingly.
She must hear the panic in his voice, because her tone changes to soothing. “Everyone’s fine.” She gives him time for that to sink in, and then says, “I just need your help.”
“My help,” Castle echoes woodenly.
“On a case.” He’s about to say no, remind her that they don’t do this anymore, and throw his phone across the room, but then she continues. “We found a John Doe in a locked room, shot in the head.”
He can feel the pull deep in his gut, can’t stop the question from falling out of his mouth, because really, this was inevitable. “Suicide?”
“That’s what we thought at first.” He imagines her leaning over her desk to study the file in front of her, curls falling forward and casting shadows across her face. Even in the dim light of the precinct she has always been beautiful. “But Lanie determined from the angle of the shot that the wound couldn’t have been self-inflicted.”
He’s given up any pretense of even thinking about hanging up. “So someone got into the room-”
She picks up the thread of his thought like they haven’t been separated for months, and it feels just like coming home. “Shot our John Doe-”
“And then locked the door-”
“From the inside.”
Castle steeples his fingers beneath his chin, can see her expression so clearly that he can’t stop himself. “Teleporting killer?”
Beckett only just manages to smother her laugh. “Clearly the only explanation.”
When he doesn’t seem to be giving any sign of hanging up, she starts elaborating on what they found at the crime scene, but he doesn’t hear a word. He’s too busy smiling, adrenaline and warmth buzzing through his veins, and he hasn’t felt like this in so long. “Kate?”
She pauses mid-sentence, sounding worried. “Yeah?”
He made this decision a long time ago, somewhere between his first call to the mayor and the moment everything became about more than just the books. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”