5Author's Notes: First fic for Castle, which makes me giddy because I'm obsessed with this show. Only a bit. Err, possibly a lot more than that, but I'm sure I'm in good company, so all is well, right? Right. Anyhow, spoilers for "47 Seconds."
Disclaimer: I'm a poor college student - I do not own Castle. I also don't own "Piano Man," for that matter.
Play Me a Memory, Write to Me of Your Love
Kate Becket sat on her couch with a cup of tea and a book. It was Friday night, the conclusion to a taxing and tiresome week; this evening was her attempt at escaping from it all for a bit. She had declined going out for drinks with the Ryan and Esposito. Instead, she was trying to get a quiet and peaceful night of relaxation in and had been fairly successful at this endeavor until her neighbors had interrupted her.
"He said son can you play me a memory," the radio in the next apartment over sang, "I'm not really sure how it goes."
Kate frowned at the sound. Moments past floated into her memory, invading before she can push them away. She hated feeling as full of emotion as she did now. It had been a week since she had last tried to write to him. The attempt had been another failure – another failure. Since then, she'd refused to let any thought of Rick Castle enter her mind, and she'd been fairly successful, until now.
She was slightly annoyed. Considering Billy Joel's lengthy recording career, why did her neighbors have to feel such an affinity for "Piano Man?"
Before she could stop herself, she began to recall her last letter to Castle, which was currently crumpled up in a ball at the bottom of her waste basket.
Dear Rick,
This letter probably comes as a surprise. We haven't communicated in a while, and I don't blame you for cutting off ties with me.
She blushed at the thought of it, of him reading that. Its two sentence entirety had been completely and wholly wrong. It wasn't how she wanted to reach out to him again.
The problem was that she didn't know how to formulate what she wanted to say. In actuality, that has been an issue for a long time. She had known very well exactly how she felt about him, but she didn't know how to tell him. There had always been some sort of roadblock that prevented her from telling him everything. And then she had complicated things between them even further four months ago.
Four months ago. She wasn't quite sure where she should even begin to explain that one. It had been four months and six days since she'd seen him. It felt almost middle school-esque to have such a precise knowledge of the time since they'd been together, but she couldn't help it – she'd been such a significant part of her life, and his absence of his presence had left an overwhelming sense of emptiness in her heart. All of a sudden, her life had become completely empty of all things Rick Castle. It had been quite the change.
It had been her own fault that she lost him. One lie – I don't remember anything – had led to a cycle of continuous ones. Months later, she had let her secret slip – I was shot in the chest and I remember every second of it – and had caused him heartbreak – I can't…stop waiting for me. I said stop waiting, Rick! Why did she always do that? She had such a bad habit of pushing people away, and now she had done it to him. He was the one who, quite possibly, mattered the most to her.
She wiped her eyes and tried to steady her breathing.
She glanced at her desk, where the pad of paper seemed to be taunting her. She had been trying to write to him. She wanted to write a letter that expressed everything – everything she felt for him and how sorry she was for pushing him away. In spite of many attempts, she had not had much success yet.
Just give it one more try, the pad egged her on.
She acquired, because she couldn't get the thought out of her mind and the idea of making peace with him was so tempting.
Dear Rick,
I don't know how to start this. I have so much that I need to tell you and that you deserve to hear from me, but beginning to actually do so is a very daunting task. I hope this attempt proves itself to be at least somewhat coherent. Writing has always been your forte rather than mine, but doing so now feels meaningful. I want to give you something tangible with my feelings, and writing to you has a strong, permanent quality to it.
To begin, I'm sorry. I am so sorry for shoving you away as I did – not just that last evening, but all the times during our four years together when you put yourself on the line emotionally for me and I did not respond. I apologize for the pain I caused you, Rick. Though my actions might have indicated otherwise, I never wanted to hurt you.
I love you. You were my partner, and I still think of you as my best friend. I knew that I could always count on you to make me smile or laugh, especially during difficult times. When I was with you, even in darker hours, I always felt at least the slightest sense of possibility – for the case we were working on, my own life, anything. You and your pulling of my pigtails made me feel stronger, capable. And you made my life brighter.
Again, I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I told you I didn't remember. To be honest, you telling me you loved me caused a weird combination of feelings. It was what I held onto when things got really difficult in the days right after the shooting. It gave me strength, and I held firmly onto it. But it also scared me, because I didn't know how to proceed with that knowledge. I didn't know if I was ready for a relationship, and I was terrified that I'd somehow screw things with you up. That was the last thing I ever wanted to do. I didn't want to lose you. (And the irony that I did exactly what I set out not to is not lost on me.) So because it seemed like the safest option at the time, I lied. And I regret that very much right now.
I think that's everything. There's more – there's always been more in my head that I haven't quite been able to articulate when it comes to you – but this is the basic gist of it and I don't want this to turn into some nonsensical would-be novel.
You mean more to me than I could ever really say.
Kate
Finally satisfied, she slid the letter into an envelope. She would send it on its way to his loft tomorrow and hope for the best.
There was a knock on her door the next evening.
He was standing right in front of her, and she wanted to say everything all at once but settled for "Hi."
He was red-eyed but smiling. It was a looked that promised possibility.
"You never told me that you could write so flawlessly."