FIC: "My Life Without Me," Beckett/Castle (UST), PG
Title: My Life Without Me
Author: geonncannon
Fandom: Castle
Pairing: Kate Beckett/Richard Castle UST
Word Count: 2,471
Category: Missing scene, Angst
Spoilers: Nikki Heat, Knockout, Rise, Heroes & Villains (very small)
Disclaimer: The TV series belongs to ABC and some other people. The Nikki Heat novels are owned by Richard Castle and the shadowy organization of which he is a member.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: There's discussion of some things from the novel Heat Rises, but it's not overly spoilery to the plot. Still, be aware!
Summary: Kate spends a few months at her cabin recovering from more than physical wounds.
Her father used to say he was teaching her a lesson by bringing her to this place. "There is such a thing as silence, Kate. Wide open spaces. Fresh air. And if you get there enough, you can hear yourself think. Things you'd never, ever be able to hear in the city. Places like New York, you can forget you even have thoughts. You're surrounded by noise. Noises you don't even know you're hearing eventually. But here... you can listen."
Kate stood on the front porch and listened. She was barefoot and wearing jeans two sizes too big for her. She was wearing the plaid shirt her mother had always worn when they came up here. The old wood of the porch felt weathered under her bare feet. She was sore. Sometimes she wondered if she would always be sore. Would she actually heal, or would the pain just be something she got used to, like the city noise?
The trees to her right were spaced far enough apart that she could see the sun shining off the water of the lake. She wanted to strip down to her underwear, run through the trees without a care in the world, and dive off the end of the old dock like the old days. She touched her wound carefully, felt the bandage through her shirts, and knew that she wouldn't be diving into any water deeper than a bathtub for the foreseeable future.
She still kept all her scars bandaged, even though most of them were pretty much healed. She figured she would see the bullet scar every morning in the mirror for the rest of her life; no need to start seeing it until absolutely necessary. The bandage was like a lifeline back to the way things used to be. She would eventually sever it, but for now it was a comfort.
An old dirt road emerged from the woods and almost immediately curved away from the property to disappear back into the trees. She heard the truck before she saw it, and she was watching when it appeared around the curve. She smiled at the old man behind the wheel, waving when he tapped on the pedal and brought the truck to a shuddering stop. He leaned across the front seat and she rested her arms on the lowered passenger side window.
"Hey, Curtis. I told you, you don't have to do this. I could have picked it up next time I'm in town for groceries."
"I love drivin' 'round these woods. This just gives me an excuse." He picked up the newspapers and held them out to her. "Hope there's some good news in one of those."
"Not likely. Thanks, though."
He waved goodbye as she carried the papers back up to the porch. She was supposed to be entirely cut off from real life, but she couldn't resist this. She left the door open for the fresh air and sunlight, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and taking a seat. She slipped off the rubber band of the first paper and folded it out in front of her. She skimmed the political news, the analysis and rehashing of debate performances that only convinced her that no one was fit to hold any office.
She turned the page and held her breath. She let it out slowly as she read about murders, suspicious deaths, accidents, and so forth. Information she had grown used to reading in a case file, not typed up for the masses. She skimmed information and addresses, ignoring neighborhoods that were well outside her jurisdiction. Finally she spotted a street she recognized and focused on it.
A firefighter was found in his living room, in his bunking gear, holding a shotgun. His skin was burnt to charcoal, but his uniform was untouched by the flames. A voice so clear it could have come from right behind her said, "Spontaneous human combustion," in a dramatic, child-like way that told her he didn't really believe it for a minute. Anne Hastings was the first officer at the scene, and Kate knew the name from a number of crime scenes over the past year. Anne was a good cop. She would have made sure everything was preserved. Detective Javier Esposito was quoted by the reporter as saying they were tracking down all leads.
"Good luck, Esposito," she whispered. "Hope you get 'em."
If things were normal, she would have been standing in the fireman's apartment trying to ignore the smell of brisket. Even if she had been able to, Castle would have been right there next to her pointing it out. After the spontaneous human combustion theory, what would he have gone for next? Human Torch references?
A shiver ran down her spine and she was forced to turn away from the paper. There was a distinct feel of walking over her own grave, watching her own funeral, haunting her own life. The newspaper was showing her what was happening back in the real world, how it kept turning even without her. If Josh hadn't found the bleed in her chest, if the other doctors hadn't done their jobs equally as well... if just one insignificant thing happened differently, she would be dead.
And then the last thing she would ever have heard would be--
She closed her eyes to block out that thought. Some days it seemed like that was all she did. Castle's face above hers, the look of fear and loss in his eyes as he begged her to hold on. And then those words. She hated him for saying them out loud, for ruining the delicate balance they'd carefully crafted for themselves. But she loved him for it as well. Because if she had died, if they were the last words she'd ever hear, well... she could hardly do better than a declaration of love.
But she needed time before she could face him. Time to develop a game face. She needed to figure out a way to look at him every day like she didn't remember his heartfelt admission. Time to heal, and not just from the wound in her side. She desperately needed to go back to the way things were before. It was bad enough Montgomery wouldn't be there when she got back. That was enough of a world-changer.
If she admitted that she remembered, then they would have to do something about it. A relationship formed under these circumstances would be doomed to failure. She had to retreat. She had to take a breath. And one day, when things were calmer and she had a chance to think things through... well, she was holding all the cards. She would deal them as she saw fit.
A knock on the door startled her, and she spun around with one hand going to the bare waistband of her jeans. Curtis held his hands up in surrender, smiling warily. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'm sorry. I thought you heard me pull up."
Kate was surprised she'd missed the noise of his truck rattling back to park in front of the cabin. Not only that, but she also hadn't heard the door closing and, knowing Curtis, he probably called out to her before he even stepped on the porch. She shook her head and smoothed her hand down her thigh. "Sorry, Curtis. Just lost in my thoughts, I guess."
"Well, we all have moments like that. As a matter of fact, I had one when I gave you the papers." He held up a package wrapped in brown paper. It's size and shape left little doubt as to its contents, and she felt a bit terrified of it. "This came in the mail for you. Thought you might want the distraction."
"Thanks, Curtis." She took the package from him.
"I'll leave you alone. Sorry again 'bout scarin' you."
Kate smiled. "It's okay. Drive carefully."
He saluted her with two fingers and stepped off the porch, shuffling back to his truck. The door hinges screeched when he opened it, and the engine came to life with a cough and a shudder. Amazing that she could have just ignored that racket out here with nothing to drown it out. I guess given enough of a distraction, you can drown out anything.
"Stay with me, Kate. I love you."
The voice echoed through the silence of the cabin, so she ripped open the package to block it out. The outer package was addressed in her father's hand, and an inner package bore Richard Castle's handwriting. She inhaled sharply, as if Castle had somehow planned for her to be thinking about him when it was delivered, but she shook off her paranoia.
Her father had left a note on the front of the original envelope: "I thought if you wanted this, you should have it and if not, you could ignore it." She smiled and whispered a near-silent thanks before she opened the envelope and took out the latest Nikki Heat novel. She saw the back first, the author's photo of Castle smiling out at her, and it felt as if her chest was closed in a vice. Not yet. Not yet.
She turned the book over in her hands to look at the cover. Heat Rises. She thumbed through it to the dedication and tears came to her eyes. "To Captain Roy Montgomery, NYPD. He made a stand and taught me all I need to know about bravery and character." Richard Castle could be a manchild, he could be a dolt, but sometimes he got everything exactly right. Sometimes he knew the exact right thing to say and just how to say it.
"I'm a wise ass. Not a jackass."
She put the book down and searched the cabin. Part of her just wanted to put off actually reading it, part of her wanted to see if Castle really was lurking somewhere and whispering things through the vents to her. When she felt ready, she picked up the book and went to the living room. She settled on the couch and stared at the silhouette on the cover that was supposed to be her. Or maybe it was supposed to be Natalie Rhodes now. Mystery novels helped get her through her mother's death, so she hoped she wasn't too close to the source material to get catharsis now. She flipped open the book and began to read.
The plot hit close to him almost immediately. She could see herself, Esposito, Ryan, Lanie all under the dreadfully thin pseudonyms. Sometimes her fingers shook as they waited to turn the pages, and her eyes darkened as the plot became darker and deeper than the past Nikki Heat novels. The scenes between Heat and her captain, Montrose, physically hurt to read to the point where she had to put down the book and stare out the window until she was ready to proceed.
When Jameson Rook finally appeared on the scene, Kate couldn't help but think it was wish fulfillment. In real life, Richard Castle had to keep his distance when she was hurting. His avatar, however, could gather Nikki Heat in his arms and kiss her, make love to her, help her forget everything that was going on. Her cheeks burned as she read the non-graphic depictions of their fantasy lovemaking. She felt like she was violating Castle, peeking into his fantasies albeit with his permission.
She wondered if she should have felt violated as well. This was an author writing a character based on her, and he was using a character based on himself to have sex with her. It was like walking in on him masturbating to a picture of her. It didn't feel creepy. It didn't make her angry. She kept her thumb on the page where "Nikki" and "Rook" played a strip interview game and ended up naked on the couch. Her mouth was dry as she imagined sitting with Castle so vulnerable, and she realized that was the fantasy.
It wasn't about fucking Kate through a proxy; it was about opening her up. The sex scenes were just fan service. Castle's real fantasy was a version of Kate who would sit naked - completely unprotected and vulnerable - revealing her innermost thoughts to him. She remembered him asking her seemingly innocuous questions one day on their way to a crime scene. "Who is your favorite poet, song, personal motto..." He hadn't even taken notes, so she never assumed it would end up in a book.
Somehow seeing him list her favorite poet in black and white seemed more intimate than the scene where he described the sweat on her breast.
It was dark out when she finished the book. Odd how she could get so exasperated by Castle in person, but reading his words put her into a trance. Time flew when she read a Nikki Heat book. She put it down on the table, shocked and shattered and ripped apart by the final scenes. At some point in the final chapters, Nikki became Castle and Kate became Rook. His experiences, his feelings, his horrible isolation came through in the words.
She once read that writing was like telepathy. It was a way for an author to transmit feelings, images, thoughts to a second party. She now felt like she had spent a few traumatic hours inside of Castle's head during the hours and days after the shooting. She stared at the book, then stood up and went to the porch.
The woods really weren't that quiet. There were animals, birdsong, the sounds of nature. You could get used to anything, forget it was ever there, move through life oblivious to it. If she could ignore the sirens and honking horns and shouting and voices of the city and get to sleep, then she could certainly forget three little words spoken in a whisper. She could put them in a box, tuck them away so they weren't always echoing in her mind.
But just because she was choosing not to hear them didn't mean they weren't there.
She hugged herself against the cold of the night and looked up at the moon. In the morning she would pack her things. She would pay the balance of what she owed to the general store down the road, and she would go back to New York and the life that had waited so patiently for her to come back.
Kate closed her eyes. The sounds of the woods faded and silence pressed around her from all sides. It was easy to shut out the sounds she couldn't face hearing. They would still be there when she was ready to open her ears again.
She turned away from nature and went back inside to get some rest.
Author: geonncannon
Fandom: Castle
Pairing: Kate Beckett/Richard Castle UST
Word Count: 2,471
Category: Missing scene, Angst
Spoilers: Nikki Heat, Knockout, Rise, Heroes & Villains (very small)
Disclaimer: The TV series belongs to ABC and some other people. The Nikki Heat novels are owned by Richard Castle and the shadowy organization of which he is a member.
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: There's discussion of some things from the novel Heat Rises, but it's not overly spoilery to the plot. Still, be aware!
Summary: Kate spends a few months at her cabin recovering from more than physical wounds.
Her father used to say he was teaching her a lesson by bringing her to this place. "There is such a thing as silence, Kate. Wide open spaces. Fresh air. And if you get there enough, you can hear yourself think. Things you'd never, ever be able to hear in the city. Places like New York, you can forget you even have thoughts. You're surrounded by noise. Noises you don't even know you're hearing eventually. But here... you can listen."
Kate stood on the front porch and listened. She was barefoot and wearing jeans two sizes too big for her. She was wearing the plaid shirt her mother had always worn when they came up here. The old wood of the porch felt weathered under her bare feet. She was sore. Sometimes she wondered if she would always be sore. Would she actually heal, or would the pain just be something she got used to, like the city noise?
The trees to her right were spaced far enough apart that she could see the sun shining off the water of the lake. She wanted to strip down to her underwear, run through the trees without a care in the world, and dive off the end of the old dock like the old days. She touched her wound carefully, felt the bandage through her shirts, and knew that she wouldn't be diving into any water deeper than a bathtub for the foreseeable future.
She still kept all her scars bandaged, even though most of them were pretty much healed. She figured she would see the bullet scar every morning in the mirror for the rest of her life; no need to start seeing it until absolutely necessary. The bandage was like a lifeline back to the way things used to be. She would eventually sever it, but for now it was a comfort.
An old dirt road emerged from the woods and almost immediately curved away from the property to disappear back into the trees. She heard the truck before she saw it, and she was watching when it appeared around the curve. She smiled at the old man behind the wheel, waving when he tapped on the pedal and brought the truck to a shuddering stop. He leaned across the front seat and she rested her arms on the lowered passenger side window.
"Hey, Curtis. I told you, you don't have to do this. I could have picked it up next time I'm in town for groceries."
"I love drivin' 'round these woods. This just gives me an excuse." He picked up the newspapers and held them out to her. "Hope there's some good news in one of those."
"Not likely. Thanks, though."
He waved goodbye as she carried the papers back up to the porch. She was supposed to be entirely cut off from real life, but she couldn't resist this. She left the door open for the fresh air and sunlight, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and taking a seat. She slipped off the rubber band of the first paper and folded it out in front of her. She skimmed the political news, the analysis and rehashing of debate performances that only convinced her that no one was fit to hold any office.
She turned the page and held her breath. She let it out slowly as she read about murders, suspicious deaths, accidents, and so forth. Information she had grown used to reading in a case file, not typed up for the masses. She skimmed information and addresses, ignoring neighborhoods that were well outside her jurisdiction. Finally she spotted a street she recognized and focused on it.
A firefighter was found in his living room, in his bunking gear, holding a shotgun. His skin was burnt to charcoal, but his uniform was untouched by the flames. A voice so clear it could have come from right behind her said, "Spontaneous human combustion," in a dramatic, child-like way that told her he didn't really believe it for a minute. Anne Hastings was the first officer at the scene, and Kate knew the name from a number of crime scenes over the past year. Anne was a good cop. She would have made sure everything was preserved. Detective Javier Esposito was quoted by the reporter as saying they were tracking down all leads.
"Good luck, Esposito," she whispered. "Hope you get 'em."
If things were normal, she would have been standing in the fireman's apartment trying to ignore the smell of brisket. Even if she had been able to, Castle would have been right there next to her pointing it out. After the spontaneous human combustion theory, what would he have gone for next? Human Torch references?
A shiver ran down her spine and she was forced to turn away from the paper. There was a distinct feel of walking over her own grave, watching her own funeral, haunting her own life. The newspaper was showing her what was happening back in the real world, how it kept turning even without her. If Josh hadn't found the bleed in her chest, if the other doctors hadn't done their jobs equally as well... if just one insignificant thing happened differently, she would be dead.
And then the last thing she would ever have heard would be--
She closed her eyes to block out that thought. Some days it seemed like that was all she did. Castle's face above hers, the look of fear and loss in his eyes as he begged her to hold on. And then those words. She hated him for saying them out loud, for ruining the delicate balance they'd carefully crafted for themselves. But she loved him for it as well. Because if she had died, if they were the last words she'd ever hear, well... she could hardly do better than a declaration of love.
But she needed time before she could face him. Time to develop a game face. She needed to figure out a way to look at him every day like she didn't remember his heartfelt admission. Time to heal, and not just from the wound in her side. She desperately needed to go back to the way things were before. It was bad enough Montgomery wouldn't be there when she got back. That was enough of a world-changer.
If she admitted that she remembered, then they would have to do something about it. A relationship formed under these circumstances would be doomed to failure. She had to retreat. She had to take a breath. And one day, when things were calmer and she had a chance to think things through... well, she was holding all the cards. She would deal them as she saw fit.
A knock on the door startled her, and she spun around with one hand going to the bare waistband of her jeans. Curtis held his hands up in surrender, smiling warily. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'm sorry. I thought you heard me pull up."
Kate was surprised she'd missed the noise of his truck rattling back to park in front of the cabin. Not only that, but she also hadn't heard the door closing and, knowing Curtis, he probably called out to her before he even stepped on the porch. She shook her head and smoothed her hand down her thigh. "Sorry, Curtis. Just lost in my thoughts, I guess."
"Well, we all have moments like that. As a matter of fact, I had one when I gave you the papers." He held up a package wrapped in brown paper. It's size and shape left little doubt as to its contents, and she felt a bit terrified of it. "This came in the mail for you. Thought you might want the distraction."
"Thanks, Curtis." She took the package from him.
"I'll leave you alone. Sorry again 'bout scarin' you."
Kate smiled. "It's okay. Drive carefully."
He saluted her with two fingers and stepped off the porch, shuffling back to his truck. The door hinges screeched when he opened it, and the engine came to life with a cough and a shudder. Amazing that she could have just ignored that racket out here with nothing to drown it out. I guess given enough of a distraction, you can drown out anything.
"Stay with me, Kate. I love you."
The voice echoed through the silence of the cabin, so she ripped open the package to block it out. The outer package was addressed in her father's hand, and an inner package bore Richard Castle's handwriting. She inhaled sharply, as if Castle had somehow planned for her to be thinking about him when it was delivered, but she shook off her paranoia.
Her father had left a note on the front of the original envelope: "I thought if you wanted this, you should have it and if not, you could ignore it." She smiled and whispered a near-silent thanks before she opened the envelope and took out the latest Nikki Heat novel. She saw the back first, the author's photo of Castle smiling out at her, and it felt as if her chest was closed in a vice. Not yet. Not yet.
She turned the book over in her hands to look at the cover. Heat Rises. She thumbed through it to the dedication and tears came to her eyes. "To Captain Roy Montgomery, NYPD. He made a stand and taught me all I need to know about bravery and character." Richard Castle could be a manchild, he could be a dolt, but sometimes he got everything exactly right. Sometimes he knew the exact right thing to say and just how to say it.
"I'm a wise ass. Not a jackass."
She put the book down and searched the cabin. Part of her just wanted to put off actually reading it, part of her wanted to see if Castle really was lurking somewhere and whispering things through the vents to her. When she felt ready, she picked up the book and went to the living room. She settled on the couch and stared at the silhouette on the cover that was supposed to be her. Or maybe it was supposed to be Natalie Rhodes now. Mystery novels helped get her through her mother's death, so she hoped she wasn't too close to the source material to get catharsis now. She flipped open the book and began to read.
The plot hit close to him almost immediately. She could see herself, Esposito, Ryan, Lanie all under the dreadfully thin pseudonyms. Sometimes her fingers shook as they waited to turn the pages, and her eyes darkened as the plot became darker and deeper than the past Nikki Heat novels. The scenes between Heat and her captain, Montrose, physically hurt to read to the point where she had to put down the book and stare out the window until she was ready to proceed.
When Jameson Rook finally appeared on the scene, Kate couldn't help but think it was wish fulfillment. In real life, Richard Castle had to keep his distance when she was hurting. His avatar, however, could gather Nikki Heat in his arms and kiss her, make love to her, help her forget everything that was going on. Her cheeks burned as she read the non-graphic depictions of their fantasy lovemaking. She felt like she was violating Castle, peeking into his fantasies albeit with his permission.
She wondered if she should have felt violated as well. This was an author writing a character based on her, and he was using a character based on himself to have sex with her. It was like walking in on him masturbating to a picture of her. It didn't feel creepy. It didn't make her angry. She kept her thumb on the page where "Nikki" and "Rook" played a strip interview game and ended up naked on the couch. Her mouth was dry as she imagined sitting with Castle so vulnerable, and she realized that was the fantasy.
It wasn't about fucking Kate through a proxy; it was about opening her up. The sex scenes were just fan service. Castle's real fantasy was a version of Kate who would sit naked - completely unprotected and vulnerable - revealing her innermost thoughts to him. She remembered him asking her seemingly innocuous questions one day on their way to a crime scene. "Who is your favorite poet, song, personal motto..." He hadn't even taken notes, so she never assumed it would end up in a book.
Somehow seeing him list her favorite poet in black and white seemed more intimate than the scene where he described the sweat on her breast.
It was dark out when she finished the book. Odd how she could get so exasperated by Castle in person, but reading his words put her into a trance. Time flew when she read a Nikki Heat book. She put it down on the table, shocked and shattered and ripped apart by the final scenes. At some point in the final chapters, Nikki became Castle and Kate became Rook. His experiences, his feelings, his horrible isolation came through in the words.
She once read that writing was like telepathy. It was a way for an author to transmit feelings, images, thoughts to a second party. She now felt like she had spent a few traumatic hours inside of Castle's head during the hours and days after the shooting. She stared at the book, then stood up and went to the porch.
The woods really weren't that quiet. There were animals, birdsong, the sounds of nature. You could get used to anything, forget it was ever there, move through life oblivious to it. If she could ignore the sirens and honking horns and shouting and voices of the city and get to sleep, then she could certainly forget three little words spoken in a whisper. She could put them in a box, tuck them away so they weren't always echoing in her mind.
But just because she was choosing not to hear them didn't mean they weren't there.
She hugged herself against the cold of the night and looked up at the moon. In the morning she would pack her things. She would pay the balance of what she owed to the general store down the road, and she would go back to New York and the life that had waited so patiently for her to come back.
Kate closed her eyes. The sounds of the woods faded and silence pressed around her from all sides. It was easy to shut out the sounds she couldn't face hearing. They would still be there when she was ready to open her ears again.
She turned away from nature and went back inside to get some rest.