Beckett's thoughts during L.A.
I really had no idea what he thought of me the first time he met me…a part of me thought he saw dollar signs because he could loosely base some slutty female cop on the career I worked my ass off for. So as I sat in his hotel suite that was thrust upon me, feeling small in the overstuffed couch cushions, I held my breath to see what followed his statement.
You know what I thought when I first met you?
I certainly wasn't prepared for him to call me a mystery. I remember with sickening clarity the moment he looked right through me and summarized my whole pathetic, revenge-driven life story with just a few, well-constructed prose. We were rummaging through his fan mail; I was fairly confident that I had never actually sent one of my own to him, but I couldn't be sure. Regardless, he was not so subtly watching me from behind his letter when I challenged him as to why he was even there, and he let me have it. I don't think he meant to wound me, in fact I know now that he has never meant to wound me, but in that moment I felt so naked and exposed before him. Without a single shred of evidence this author had broken through my defenses and read my life story. He humbled me that day. As crazy as it sounds, Castle's desire to follow me as his inspiration did not puff me up, or give me false vanity, but it made me realize that I was a broken woman striving to be whole again…just like millions who read his books. I was appealing because I was real. Sure I had a back story, but when Castle began to write for a fictional version of me, I realized that the real me had a few chapters still to go. There was no reason why I couldn't allow myself the simple pleasures of a real life: perhaps great coffee in the mornings, perhaps a good friend to share it with.
Not only was I no longer on auto-pilot, but my life became a little bit lighter with his presence. The depth of my strength and heart that he apparently so admires are because he is in my life, helping me to uncover what I had shut down. When I stopped working on my mom's case it was to save myself, when I started working on it again it was because something, no someone, had stepped in to save me. So that night in LA I was flattered by Castle's praise, but also embarrassed because I felt I owed so much of who I had become, to him.
It didn't take long for him to pull me out of my gratitude with a comment on my looks. Par for the course, he calls me hot so out of habit I took the opportunity to play with him...
"You're not so bad yourself, Castle"
It was a harmless bone that I pride myself on supplying to the appreciative buddy.
But well after the harmless flirtation is over, I can't look away. All I can think about is that I had so undersold him. The man was here with me now so I wouldn't be alone. Hell, he was always with me when I shouldn't be alone. He was a rock for me and I just couldn't pull my eyes from his glance no matter how badly I wanted to pretend, pretend that there was nothing there. "Not so bad" is just the beginning of what he is to me!
I know that I am crossing a line and he must too because suddenly I see his face change. I see the desire and hope gleam in his eyes and I know I have to stop this. My heart was racing as I excused myself. I refused to hear his call from the couch.
I was so afraid of what was going to come next. I cut him off with a "Good night, Castle" and I scurried behind the door. I felt sort of wicked in the way I was treating him, it was so wrong of me to take away his voice…but I felt relief wash over me as soon as I shut the door…and then regret.
I was a wreck. I ran my hands through my hair and over my body to be sure I wasn't dreaming and I clasped them together to keep them from shaking or making a rash choice to open that door…
But then I took a breath and it still felt like a good idea to open that door! I could hear the pleas of my heart shouting to know what he wanted to say to me…I felt nauseous at the thought of him feeling less for me than I did for him. In so many ways he was a foundation for me, a place where I could feel secure and supported. When I went back through that door, I could find myself on very shaky ground and I wasn't sure I could handle it. I decided…what the hell…let's write a new chapter. I opened the door because I wanted to give him the chance to speak. The chance that I could tell he was begging for with just my name.
My eyes danced over the room eager with curiosity and wonder, even hope, but he was gone. I know it is silly for me to think that Richard Castle will wait for me forever, and I got the message loud and clear that night. He deserves so much more than a second chance to speak his mind; he doesn't deserve to have someone talk themselves into listening to him.
As I again close the door to my room, I decide that at some point I need to make a change…I need to start listening. I don't want to be his mystery forever…I want to tell him that he is the one who solved the case.
Too much? I don't know? Let me know. Thanks.