3 days ago | 58
Anonymous:
"can you PLEASSSEEE write a caskett fight with a happy ending? (not about jelousy)"

The moment she opens the door and walks in she knows she’s in for one of the hardest fights of her life. Her and Castle might have had a lot of spats in the past- it had never been easy- but this was probably going to be a bitter, hard fight to win. And she would win. She would. 

It had been coming to this for a while now, to be honest. It was inevitable. He’d found out about one her little guilty secrets and now… well. It was Castle after all. He’d done his research, got the answers out of her, prepared himself. It was only a matter of time before it would come to this. 

She pulls off her coat and stashed it in the closet, keeping a careful eye on the room around her. He was nowhere in sight which was worrying. She’d probably have to go to him, far from ideal. It was so much easier to just play it out face to face from the beginning.

She walks to the dining room table, eyes still open for her elusive husband  and grabs the note lying on top of the spread before her.

"Prepare for battle, soldier. You have thirty seconds."

With a small smile she pulls on the vest hurriedly and adjusts the gun so she has it held just so, ducking behind the kitchen counter quickly before her thirty seconds are up. She hears the pew of her gun’s twin, a near miss, and peeks around the corner carefully. It seemed as empty as it had earlier, but he was out there somewhere. He might have the experience, but she had the training. She scans the room, spotting the edge of a blue glowing vest peeking out from behind the couch. Damn. She didn’t have many options here- she’d put herself too out in the open if she went through that no man’s land. 

"This is just unfair," she calls out to him, "You placed that vest in one of the least advantageous spots in this loft."

"All’s fair in love and war," he responds, from the couch as anticipated, "And you’re the trained one here, detective. You should be able to figure-"

She runs out while he was distracted to duck behind the dining table, a belated shot missing her by far. Trust it to him to be too distracted by talking to pay attention to the game at hand. 

"That was unfair," he whines, "You didn’t let me finish!"

"All’s fair," she parrots, "Can you not handle this?"

"I can so handle this!"

"Well then prove it."

"I will!"

She smiles, now having an excellent line of sight to her husband, who she can see is smiling too. She stealthily moves forward, hiding beneath the table and lining up her shot between the rungs of the chair. You’d think he’d have seen the light of her vest by now. He pokes his head around the opposite corner of the couch, seeming to be trying to decide whether or not he should make a move, and she fires. His vest blinks and makes the noise of her victory and he drops his gun and huffs. She crawls out from underneath the table and grins at him, blowing slightly sweaty hair out from her face.

"Looks like I win this time, soldier," she says as he pouts at her, "Better luck next time."

"You still have to win over nine hundred more times," he grumbles, "I will so beat you."

"Based off of the track record thus far I don’t think that’s likely."

"We’ve only done battle ten times."

"Yes, and I’ve won nine out of ten. And you only won because you played dirty with sugar!"

"Hey, bribery is completely within the rules!" he insists, taking off his vest and placing it on the table along with his gun. He walks towards her.

"Bribed victories shouldn’t count. There is no skill there!"

"There is too. Knowing your opponent’s weaknesses is a key skill, is it not?"

She throws her hands up, “Yes, but knowing that your opponent has a slow aim or something isn’t the same as using cronuts to snare your wife like some sort of animal.”

"You are no animal, Katherine Beckett," he says, smiling as he draws closer, helping her out of her vest, "Though sometimes in there…" he says with a grin, gesturing towards the shelves that acted as the wall between his office and the living room.

She lightly slaps him on the chest with a glare, “This is not the way to try to convince your wife that your blatant laser tag cheating is valid, Mr. Castle.”

"I could try to convince you using other methods if you so desire," he says, his eyes darkening as he drew closer and closer to her, blue eyes staring down at her. She swallows hard as he looms over her, and arm reaching around to pull her against his body. She doesn’t notice him grabbing something  with his other hand. "Would you like that?’

"I doubt you could."

"Just you wait and see."

He takes her hand and leads her towards the shelves, the laser tag vests seemingly forgotten until he takes the gun he had taken in his hand and shoots, her vest blinking and releasing its death sound.

She stops in her tracks, staring up at her husband, with his shit-eating grin and all. She stares at him in a mixture of disbelief and challenge, turning to look at the shelves he had been leading him to and then to the vests. 

"Now that was cheating," she says, "Don’t even try to defend that."

"That was not cheating," he says anyway, still grinning like the child he is. She turns to walk back to the vests.

"It so was," she says over her shoulder, grabbing hers to put it on again, "Suit up, soldier. We’ll settle this dispute with a trial by combat."

"Bring it on."

1 week ago | 8
Anonymous:
"can you write an angsty ficlet with a sad ending. Prompt: fight."

"I can’t believe you did this to me," she snaps, whirling around violently after he finished his explanation, "I thought we said never again. Never again. You promised me that you’d never lie to me like this, that you’d never betray me like this. Especially when it comes to my mom’s case. And yet somehow you think that you can just do it anyway!" 

"I was just protecting you!" he retorts, "I don’t want you to get hurt, Kate. He has too much power now he’d’ve-"

"I don’t need protecting, Rick. I can take care of myself. I’m not some little girl who needs you to make her decisions for her about what she can handle."

"Yeah we saw how well that ended the last time," he says bitterly, "If I remember correctly three years ago that ended with you getting shot. Two years ago with you almost falling off a building."

"Oh, so now it’s my fault that I got shot?" she says, "I cannot believe you."

"I’m not saying-"

"That’s exactly what you were saying. You’re saying that I was too stupid to realize that I was putting my life in danger when I pursued my mom’s case, even though that was all on you. If it wasn’t for you I’d never have looked back into that rabbit hole again."

"So now it’s my fault?" he hisses, "You were as trapped by your mom’s case when I met you as you were after I brought it back into your life. You were trapped in the work, doing anything you could to distract yourself from the drug that was your mom’s case. You might’ve been alive, but you weren’t living. If I had never brought it up you would still be trapped no matter what."

"Yes, because you were the knight in shining armor who swooped in and saved me?" she snapped, "I don’t need you to save me. I can live my own life perfectly fine. It’s my life."

"That’s where this always ends up, isn’t it?" he says darkly, "How it’s your life, your choices. You still don’t know how to let people in. You don’t know how to open up. Part of you is still trapped in there behind walls you thought you’d broken down, still locked up by the case. That’s the part always egging you to fall back down that rabbit hole, and you won’t let anyone near enough to help pull you back from the edge." 

"I can keep my head above water, Rick." she says, voice wavering with anger, "Now get out."

He opens his mouth to retort but turns away sharply, leaving the half-moved out apartment to the lone woman standing between the boxes and the to-be-packed areas of the loft. Standing in the dim light given by the windows above the stairs, she stares down at the weakly sparkling engagement ring on her finger, decisively removing it and throwing it down onto the nearby counter before storming off to the bedroom.

The ring settles, teetering on the edge of the sink, lonely on the bare marble countertop. It barely catches the little light given by the gray sky outside, weakly reflecting the light. And as night falls, the sparkle has completely left the ring to darkness. 

1 month ago | 439
They gave him the paper on the way out. 
Esposito said that CSU found it squirreled away in a grate, at the end of a trail of blood. Blood that was probably Kate’s. He moved to unfold the paper but Kate had stopped him, told to wait. He’d pocketed it, stifling his incessant curiosity, and they made their way home.
On the way home she collapsed. 
She just… broke.
That shaken, but still stoic Detective Beckett faded away to the vulnerable Kate underneath, the one he’d seen a glimpse of when they’d spoken after she explained the situation to the higher ups. The tears were sudden. She curled up into him on the car ride back all the way to the loft, stifling her tears only for the public walk through the lobby. Fell again when it was just the two of them, collapsed like she was marionette whose strings had been snipped. He scooped her up bridal style in his arms and she burrowed into his neck, shivering noticeably. Didn’t even protest. 
God, Kate.
She needed some of those sinfully fluffy throws on his couch, her favorite cocoa (caffeine would not be a good idea), and some rest. That was definitely in order. Needed to get her clean too.
He shoved his way through the door of his loft, the door clicking behind him as he charged towards his sofa. He gently put her down, snatching up a furry blanket and wrapping it around her. She gave him a smile as she tried to reregulate her breathing, each of her gasps feeling like a stab to the chest. 
She shouldn’t have had to have gone through that.
Those turkeys in Narcotics should have done their research, taken more precautions, known more. They should’ve acted earlier, should have had more contingency plans, not underestimated their opponents. And in the end, though his fiancée was a badass who was capable of taking the weight of the world on her shoulders, she shouldn’t have had to. Nobody should be subjected to that.
He fetched her a white mug of cocoa with a chocolate syrup heart on the top and asked if she wanted him to run her a bath. She declined quickly. He managed to get her through a stiff, perfunctory shower to clean all the grime off of her but got her out of it as soon as he can. The water is clearly not a positive for her right now. No surprise, considering her ordeal. 
She’s settled in front of the screen now, clean and in fresh pajamas. That son of a bitch Bracken’s on there announcing his run for president. The internalized rage on her face is unmistakable, pervasive. He asked her why Bracken would’ve spared her. She said he owed her, but next time they’ll be on even ground. One of them won’t be so lucky.
“Come to bed,” he said, her hand finally taking his after pausing the video on Bracken’s smug face. They’d conquer the Dragon someday. But not today.
When they’re curled up in bed is when he finally takes out the slip of paper. She’s half-asleep and huddled against him, one of his arms slung over her as if to protect her from the horrors of that day as it had been ever since he got her back. He opened it and started to read.
"Dear Rick, 
I don’t know how much time I have, even to write this letter. What I do know now is that I’m in this and the only way I’m gonna make it out alive is to see this through. I’m sure everyone is looking for me and if they figure out I was here, CSU is gonna search this house. They’re gonna look for blood and they will find it. Which will lead them to this letter. Babe, it’s your letter and I hope you never have to read this and I can tell you all of these things in person. But if something happens and I don’t make it, I need you to know that our partnership, our relationship is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You’re an amazing man and I love you with all of my heart. 
Always.”
Oh God, Kate.
He might be a writer but he found himself without words in the moment. There’s nothing to say in response to that. What do you say? Their partnership was the best thing that ever happened to him too. Without her he’d have lived a shallow, empty life and she was the light, the color that brought meaning and complexity to a monotone existence. She was his third time’s the charm, his partner in crime and in life. And thank God this extraordinary woman hadn’t been taken away. If she had… if she had, he isn’t sure what the hell he’d have done.
He doesn’t say it in words but instead in kisses, kissing the top of her head and anywhere he can reach. He edged the white bandage on her head in kisses, those brilliant eyes, the bruising on her neck, that area behind her ear that makes her squirm. After a long reverence of her existence, her presence, her life in his, they find themselves much in the same position as before. They lay curled up against one another, his fluffy down quilt covering them both with his arms wrapped around her. 
“I meant it you know,” she said.
“Meant what?” he asked.
“The letter. Wasn’t just some mission’s-going-wrong, I’m probably going to die, I’m in crisis sorta thing.”
“I know it wasn’t,” he said, “Believe me.”
She nodded and curled tight into his embrace, sinking further into his cloud of a bed. He moved a moment away from the embrace to turn off the lamp next to them before curling back into her. 
“I love you,” she whispered, a hand coming up to brush his cheek in the darkness.
He pulled her closer into him, and whispered a response.
“Always, Kate. Always.”

They gave him the paper on the way out. 

Esposito said that CSU found it squirreled away in a grate, at the end of a trail of blood. Blood that was probably Kate’s. He moved to unfold the paper but Kate had stopped him, told to wait. He’d pocketed it, stifling his incessant curiosity, and they made their way home.

On the way home she collapsed. 

She just… broke.

That shaken, but still stoic Detective Beckett faded away to the vulnerable Kate underneath, the one he’d seen a glimpse of when they’d spoken after she explained the situation to the higher ups. The tears were sudden. She curled up into him on the car ride back all the way to the loft, stifling her tears only for the public walk through the lobby. Fell again when it was just the two of them, collapsed like she was marionette whose strings had been snipped. He scooped her up bridal style in his arms and she burrowed into his neck, shivering noticeably. Didn’t even protest. 

God, Kate.

She needed some of those sinfully fluffy throws on his couch, her favorite cocoa (caffeine would not be a good idea), and some rest. That was definitely in order. Needed to get her clean too.

He shoved his way through the door of his loft, the door clicking behind him as he charged towards his sofa. He gently put her down, snatching up a furry blanket and wrapping it around her. She gave him a smile as she tried to reregulate her breathing, each of her gasps feeling like a stab to the chest. 

She shouldn’t have had to have gone through that.

Those turkeys in Narcotics should have done their research, taken more precautions, known more. They should’ve acted earlier, should have had more contingency plans, not underestimated their opponents. And in the end, though his fiancée was a badass who was capable of taking the weight of the world on her shoulders, she shouldn’t have had to. Nobody should be subjected to that.

He fetched her a white mug of cocoa with a chocolate syrup heart on the top and asked if she wanted him to run her a bath. She declined quickly. He managed to get her through a stiff, perfunctory shower to clean all the grime off of her but got her out of it as soon as he can. The water is clearly not a positive for her right now. No surprise, considering her ordeal. 

She’s settled in front of the screen now, clean and in fresh pajamas. That son of a bitch Bracken’s on there announcing his run for president. The internalized rage on her face is unmistakable, pervasive. He asked her why Bracken would’ve spared her. She said he owed her, but next time they’ll be on even ground. One of them won’t be so lucky.

“Come to bed,” he said, her hand finally taking his after pausing the video on Bracken’s smug face. They’d conquer the Dragon someday. But not today.

When they’re curled up in bed is when he finally takes out the slip of paper. She’s half-asleep and huddled against him, one of his arms slung over her as if to protect her from the horrors of that day as it had been ever since he got her back. He opened it and started to read.

"Dear Rick, 

I don’t know how much time I have, even to write this letter. What I do know now is that I’m in this and the only way I’m gonna make it out alive is to see this through. I’m sure everyone is looking for me and if they figure out I was here, CSU is gonna search this house. They’re gonna look for blood and they will find it. Which will lead them to this letter. Babe, it’s your letter and I hope you never have to read this and I can tell you all of these things in person. But if something happens and I don’t make it, I need you to know that our partnership, our relationship is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You’re an amazing man and I love you with all of my heart. 

Always.”

Oh God, Kate.

He might be a writer but he found himself without words in the moment. There’s nothing to say in response to that. What do you say? Their partnership was the best thing that ever happened to him too. Without her he’d have lived a shallow, empty life and she was the light, the color that brought meaning and complexity to a monotone existence. She was his third time’s the charm, his partner in crime and in life. And thank God this extraordinary woman hadn’t been taken away. If she had… if she had, he isn’t sure what the hell he’d have done.

He doesn’t say it in words but instead in kisses, kissing the top of her head and anywhere he can reach. He edged the white bandage on her head in kisses, those brilliant eyes, the bruising on her neck, that area behind her ear that makes her squirm. After a long reverence of her existence, her presence, her life in his, they find themselves much in the same position as before. They lay curled up against one another, his fluffy down quilt covering them both with his arms wrapped around her. 

“I meant it you know,” she said.

“Meant what?” he asked.

“The letter. Wasn’t just some mission’s-going-wrong, I’m probably going to die, I’m in crisis sorta thing.”

“I know it wasn’t,” he said, “Believe me.”

She nodded and curled tight into his embrace, sinking further into his cloud of a bed. He moved a moment away from the embrace to turn off the lamp next to them before curling back into her. 

“I love you,” she whispered, a hand coming up to brush his cheek in the darkness.

He pulled her closer into him, and whispered a response.

“Always, Kate. Always.”

(Source: drinkingcastleskoolaid, via detective-castle-npyd)

1 month ago | 800
random-ship:

a safe place to fall
by E
just trying to prepare myself for the angstyness to come… full size here

Your wish is my command.
(a continuation of this but you don’t need to read that to get this~! I’ll edit and tack this on as chapter two there later.)
WARNING: Spoilers for sneaks and promos!
——
After drying off and applying fresh bandages to her cuts and arnica to her bruises, he leads her back into their bedroom, sitting her down onto the bed. Against the expanse of grays and whites and neutrals of his bed she looks beaten and small. Everything that she’s not. Damn those bastards who did this to her. Damn them.
He drags himself away from the painful sight and moves to get her something to put on but she pulls on his arm, drawing him back towards her. 
"No," she says, "Stay."
"Okay," he says, sitting down next to her and drawing the blankets up around them both. He stares at her, the white bandage over her head wound all too apparent against her brown mane of hair. The purple bruising on her makes him visibly wince. Kate. Oh God Kate. 
Why did he ever let her go? Why didn’t he just insist she stay with him so they would have spent the day in bed as they had wanted to? She wouldn’t have listened, he knew that, but… but still. He should’ve tried. He should’ve tried to tell her that it was too dangerous even if it did get him snapped at. Those narcotics guys should’ve known more before just throwing her in there.They should’ve pulled her out. They shouldn’t have let it go so far with her having next to no way with her to communicate. They should’ve, they should’ve, they should’ve.
"Rick," she says quietly, "I can hear you thinking from here." 
"Sorry," he says, "I just…"
"I know. I get it. Trust me. You know how many times something’s happened to you that  I felt I could stop? The bank heist, the tiger, you nearly getting blown up by that bomb, the toxin this past fall, that crazed fan almost shooting you. Hell, anything that’s happened during our partnership. If it weren’t for you shadowing me you wouldn’t have ever been in any of the terrible situations we’ve been through together."
"Yes but those involved my choices too-"
"That doesn’t mean I didn’t blame myself for putting you through it," she says, shaking her head, "What happened to me today is done. And as bad as it was, it is done. It’s past. There’s nothing to be done now that could stop it, nothing to reverse the damage. We can’t turn back the clock. All that’s in your power to do about it now is comfort me,” she smiles, “I think you can do that.”
"I can totally do that," he says, a weak smile coming over his face. Her injuries make him nervous but he pulls her in carefully for a hug. She burrows into his neck with a small contented sigh. He breathes her in, the cherries from their bath, the lingering sweat and blood, the antiseptic smell of the stuff he used to clean her wounds. He knows she’s right. But she still shouldn’t have had to go through with that. It wasn’t her division, Narcotics. But that was Kate. She had to do what was right for justice. That was who she was. She couldn’t just be a bystander. Not when she could do something. 
They stay like that for a long while, the blanket wrapped around the two of them as they take each other in. He could stay like that all night. Just having her here, in his arms, alive and safe and well considering what had happened… that was enough. That was so enough.
"You know I wrote you a letter," she says, pulling away from her spot in his neck to face him, "When I was on my way to the hit."
"You what?"
"I… I thought it was over then," she says with a hollow laugh, "I knew I couldn’t just kill a guy even if it was for the mission, you know? Even with having just gone into that whole finish the mission mentality I knew that it wasn’t going to happen. I got a piece of paper and a pen and well… wrote my goodbyes considering the next time you’d see me I’d probably be in Lanie’s morgue. And things hadn’t even gone to total hell yet for me."
Oh god, Kate.
"I stashed it away somewhere one of their thugs wouldn’t find it in unless they were ridiculously thorough, and then… well, you know what happened then."
He nods gravely. He wishes he didn’t. He wishes he could just take Simon’s time machine and change it all. Hitch a ride with the Doctor (Esposito does watch Doctor WHo, Lanie got them proof) on his TARDIS. Build H.G. Wells’s Time Traveller’s machine and go back. But he can’t. 
"I still have it," she says with a breathy laugh, "It summed things up pretty well considering my fear at the time."
"Kate," he groans.
"I thought you deserved some sort of closure if things went where I thought they inevitably were," she says, "I’m glad you didn’t need it in the end."
He tugs her tighter into him, “So am I.” 
"I’m glad I do get to see our wedding, and whether or not Simon Doyle was right about the future, and make up our interrupted day of… fun," she says, raising her eyebrow, "Which we will, right?"
"Of course," he says, nodding, "Once you’re okay."
"I’m okay now," she huffs.
"Once you can use your right arm without pain," he corrects. She sighs, leaning in for a quick kiss before shifting out of his embrace to lean back against the pillows. He moves over her, keeping his weight carefully on one arm. He leans in to kiss her more thoroughly and she sighs into it, her left hand moving into his hair to draw him closer. 
It’s slow, and languid, and gentle, but that’s what they both need right now. They don’t need the blazing passion they had expected to spend the day lost in. They don’t need that primal roughness. What they need is just to be with each other in this moment. This moment where all is calm, where all is bright instead of being full of danger and darkness. To just know that the other is here, and alive, and well. 
And this is more than enough. 

random-ship:

a safe place to fall

by E

just trying to prepare myself for the angstyness to come… full size here

Your wish is my command.

(a continuation of this but you don’t need to read that to get this~! I’ll edit and tack this on as chapter two there later.)

WARNING: Spoilers for sneaks and promos!

——

After drying off and applying fresh bandages to her cuts and arnica to her bruises, he leads her back into their bedroom, sitting her down onto the bed. Against the expanse of grays and whites and neutrals of his bed she looks beaten and small. Everything that she’s not. Damn those bastards who did this to her. Damn them.

He drags himself away from the painful sight and moves to get her something to put on but she pulls on his arm, drawing him back towards her. 

"No," she says, "Stay."

"Okay," he says, sitting down next to her and drawing the blankets up around them both. He stares at her, the white bandage over her head wound all too apparent against her brown mane of hair. The purple bruising on her makes him visibly wince. Kate. Oh God Kate. 

Why did he ever let her go? Why didn’t he just insist she stay with him so they would have spent the day in bed as they had wanted to? She wouldn’t have listened, he knew that, but… but still. He should’ve tried. He should’ve tried to tell her that it was too dangerous even if it did get him snapped at. Those narcotics guys should’ve known more before just throwing her in there.They should’ve pulled her out. They shouldn’t have let it go so far with her having next to no way with her to communicate. They should’ve, they should’ve, they should’ve.

"Rick," she says quietly, "I can hear you thinking from here." 

"Sorry," he says, "I just…"

"I know. I get it. Trust me. You know how many times something’s happened to you that  I felt I could stop? The bank heist, the tiger, you nearly getting blown up by that bomb, the toxin this past fall, that crazed fan almost shooting you. Hell, anything that’s happened during our partnership. If it weren’t for you shadowing me you wouldn’t have ever been in any of the terrible situations we’ve been through together."

"Yes but those involved my choices too-"

"That doesn’t mean I didn’t blame myself for putting you through it," she says, shaking her head, "What happened to me today is done. And as bad as it was, it is done. It’s past. There’s nothing to be done now that could stop it, nothing to reverse the damage. We can’t turn back the clock. All that’s in your power to do about it now is comfort me,” she smiles, “I think you can do that.”

"I can totally do that," he says, a weak smile coming over his face. Her injuries make him nervous but he pulls her in carefully for a hug. She burrows into his neck with a small contented sigh. He breathes her in, the cherries from their bath, the lingering sweat and blood, the antiseptic smell of the stuff he used to clean her wounds. He knows she’s right. But she still shouldn’t have had to go through with that. It wasn’t her division, Narcotics. But that was Kate. She had to do what was right for justice. That was who she was. She couldn’t just be a bystander. Not when she could do something. 

They stay like that for a long while, the blanket wrapped around the two of them as they take each other in. He could stay like that all night. Just having her here, in his arms, alive and safe and well considering what had happened… that was enough. That was so enough.

"You know I wrote you a letter," she says, pulling away from her spot in his neck to face him, "When I was on my way to the hit."

"You what?"

"I… I thought it was over then," she says with a hollow laugh, "I knew I couldn’t just kill a guy even if it was for the mission, you know? Even with having just gone into that whole finish the mission mentality I knew that it wasn’t going to happen. I got a piece of paper and a pen and well… wrote my goodbyes considering the next time you’d see me I’d probably be in Lanie’s morgue. And things hadn’t even gone to total hell yet for me."

Oh god, Kate.

"I stashed it away somewhere one of their thugs wouldn’t find it in unless they were ridiculously thorough, and then… well, you know what happened then."

He nods gravely. He wishes he didn’t. He wishes he could just take Simon’s time machine and change it all. Hitch a ride with the Doctor (Esposito does watch Doctor WHo, Lanie got them proof) on his TARDIS. Build H.G. Wells’s Time Traveller’s machine and go back. But he can’t. 

"I still have it," she says with a breathy laugh, "It summed things up pretty well considering my fear at the time."

"Kate," he groans.

"I thought you deserved some sort of closure if things went where I thought they inevitably were," she says, "I’m glad you didn’t need it in the end."

He tugs her tighter into him, “So am I.” 

"I’m glad I do get to see our wedding, and whether or not Simon Doyle was right about the future, and make up our interrupted day of… fun," she says, raising her eyebrow, "Which we will, right?"

"Of course," he says, nodding, "Once you’re okay."

"I’m okay now," she huffs.

"Once you can use your right arm without pain," he corrects. She sighs, leaning in for a quick kiss before shifting out of his embrace to lean back against the pillows. He moves over her, keeping his weight carefully on one arm. He leans in to kiss her more thoroughly and she sighs into it, her left hand moving into his hair to draw him closer. 

It’s slow, and languid, and gentle, but that’s what they both need right now. They don’t need the blazing passion they had expected to spend the day lost in. They don’t need that primal roughness. What they need is just to be with each other in this moment. This moment where all is calm, where all is bright instead of being full of danger and darkness. To just know that the other is here, and alive, and well. 

And this is more than enough. 

(via soulsinstarlight)

1 month ago | 498
caskett12:

i-blindside:

Castle had better do one of the following in this episode:
help ease her into a soothing bath after her ordeal
kiss her into oblivion when he gets her back in his arms
wash her wounds and kiss every single one of them
Or ideally, all three.

Can someone please right a fan fic about this?

so I heard someone wanted fanfic
—
It’s during the ride home that she breaks.
She’d kept up a strong front, kept up that strong, undaunted Detective Kate Beckett who even after such an ordeal will finish the job. Finish what needs to be done. But now that nobody’s seeing it but him, she lets it all go. 
"I’m so tired, Rick," she says, her eyes bleak in the dim light in the car as they stare out into the dark city. 
"You have the right to be," he says, kissing her gently on the forehead, dodging the bandage carefully.
She curls into him, burrowing into his jacket.
Oh Kate.
They remain silent for the rest of the ride and he helps her through the lobby of his building. Eduardo, the night shift doorman, gives the battered Beckett a worried look and opens his mouth to ask to help but he shakes his head.
She remains quiet up the elevator, still seeming pretty shocked from the experience. From what she told Esposito she’d been through an ordeal. Waterboarding, being trapped in that truck, having to essentially blow her cover to not murder a man… it was Kate. Of course she didn’t kill him. She must’ve been scared. 
He sets her up on the sofa with a warm blanket and a mug of her favorite cocoa (she wasn’t much of a tea fan and Mother filled the kitchen with the weirdest teas, it was like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. You either got a good one or one so terribly awful you basically drank poison.), kissing her gently. She gives him a small smile, going in for a second kiss, wincing as she jostled her shoulder (the medic had had to put it back into place)
He doesn’t want to leave her but one of the things she could use right now is a bath. She could definitely use a bath. The doctor had recommended a bath. 
"I’m going to go run you a bath, okay?" he says. 
She nods, smiling, “Thanks, Rick.”
He walks to his office, glancing back at her frequently, before making his way into the master bathroom. Never was he happier to have such a nice, and such a big bathtub. He turned on the water and threw in some epsom salts for good measure. This was her favorite scent of them and it wouldn’t hurt for her battered body. After it was full, he turned it off and made his way back out to the living room. 
"Kate?" he says, walking over to his fiancee, curled up in the blanket still but barefoot, "It’s ready." 
She nods and takes his hand, hoisting herself up with a grunt. He watches her carefully, perhaps, okay, maybe he’s a bit paranoid-
"I’m not going to break, Castle," she chastises, a hint of that sassy smile coming back onto her face, "i’m bruised, not broken."
"Right," he says, walking into the bathroom with her hand tightly gripped in his. 
He aids her in getting her battered turtleneck off and tries not to wince at her state. There are still rope impressions from being tied up in the truck for so long and numerous purpling bruises blooming along her body, some creeping around her neck. Various small cuts and scrapes act as the foreground to that background of purple bruises. In the middle, as always, sits her bullet scar. The symbol of her survival. How she’ll always survive no matter what the odds. She works her own bra off one-handedly, using the arm that hadn’t been dislocated. His hand brushes over the scar, and he leans down, kissing it. Her hand squeezes his.
He helps her out of her pants and underwear, and he quickly strips down. Helping her into the bath, he settles into the warm water and brings her back so that she’s cradled against him, his arms wrapped around her gently. For a while, that’s how they stay, just breathing each other in. She traces patterns on his arms and he revels in her breathing, her heartbeat, her life. 
"We should get you clean," he says quietly. He feels her nod against him and he reaches for a loofa, quickly preparing it with the least irritating body wash he owns. It’s hers, actually. The cherry one that haunted him from the beginning.
"It was so hard," she says, as he starts with her arms, lifting up the undislocated one and gently scrubbing away the dirt and the grime from it.
"Once I realized who Elena Markov really was I… I fell into auto-drive. All that stuff I learned with the CIA, with Agent McCord. Finish the mission. Finish the mission. No matter what."
The grime falls away in the water he pours over it, leaving only the angry red marks and the blossoming purple bruises.
"But then I had to do something about the hit. I couldn’t refuse it without making it incredibly obvious that I was an impostor. I had to go through with it, at least most of it. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to kill someone to keep my cover. That’s why I couldn’t be CIA I guess,” she says, laughing darkly, “I can’t turn off my morality for the sake of the mission.”
"That’s a good thing though," he interrupts, "That’s who you are. You never stand down when it comes to what’s right."
She nods again, “And that’s when it all fell apart. He knew. He guessed that I was a faker- maybe I was too obvious, maybe I was too different from Elena to truly pass as her, maybe I was too nosy. But he knew. And then it was all over. I got bound, gagged, and the next thing I knew I was thrown into a white truck.” 
He leans in to kiss the cuts on her wrists, gently working his way around where it had so bitterly cut into her. Next he kisses the scrape on her elbow, her bicep, her shoulder. So many rope burns.
"I was banged around like crazy. I could barely get that last message out to you guys. Lucky I did, huh." 
He makes his away across the purpling of her back, tracing each wound with feathering kisses.
"Next thing I know I’m in a dingy room facing a trough of ice water with a man behind me, a fistful of my hair in his hands, sometimes just my neck, yelling questions about who I was, what I was after, who did I work for. Each punctuated with a dive into that ice." 
He gently ran the loofa over the purpling bruises on her neck, kissing around those brutal handprints left behind by the interrogator. Goddamnit. If only they’d gotten to her sooner they should’ve just pulled her out-
"They decided they weren’t getting anything out of me that way. Some higher up said to just shoot me. Don’t know why they didn’t try other torture first, guess I’m lucky in that sense. There was some argument in some Slavic language. Think it was over that. Ended in me getting hauled out by the arm- thus the shoulder- into the green you guys found me in." 
Gently he lifts the injured arm, diligently getting away the dirt from the wounds and giving it the same treatment. If only kisses could fix all of this for her. If only.
"He tried one last time to get me to tell him everything but I refused. I told him that my people would hunt him, kill him if he killed me. He didn’t care. I was on my knees and had basically accepted that this was where it ended. No miracle was going to happen this time. I was well and truly alone in this one."
She lifted up her right leg, mostly unharmed save a few bruises, and he helped wash off the accumulated grime from it as well. Her left soon followed afterwards. Thank God, thank God they had figured it out. Thank God she had been able to leave those clues, thank god they had been able to find her in time.
"But then I wasn’t. I wasn’t alone. You guys found me, and I almost got shot in the head. And now it’s all wrapped up. It’s over."
He turns her around to face him, very carefully cleaning the cut to her head of dirt, kissing around it diligently before just capturing her lips with his. He pretended not to notice the tears. 
It’s over.
It’s over.

caskett12:

i-blindside:

Castle had better do one of the following in this episode:

  • help ease her into a soothing bath after her ordeal
  • kiss her into oblivion when he gets her back in his arms
  • wash her wounds and kiss every single one of them

Or ideally, all three.

Can someone please right a fan fic about this?

so I heard someone wanted fanfic

It’s during the ride home that she breaks.

She’d kept up a strong front, kept up that strong, undaunted Detective Kate Beckett who even after such an ordeal will finish the job. Finish what needs to be done. But now that nobody’s seeing it but him, she lets it all go. 

"I’m so tired, Rick," she says, her eyes bleak in the dim light in the car as they stare out into the dark city. 

"You have the right to be," he says, kissing her gently on the forehead, dodging the bandage carefully.

She curls into him, burrowing into his jacket.

Oh Kate.

They remain silent for the rest of the ride and he helps her through the lobby of his building. Eduardo, the night shift doorman, gives the battered Beckett a worried look and opens his mouth to ask to help but he shakes his head.

She remains quiet up the elevator, still seeming pretty shocked from the experience. From what she told Esposito she’d been through an ordeal. Waterboarding, being trapped in that truck, having to essentially blow her cover to not murder a man… it was Kate. Of course she didn’t kill him. She must’ve been scared. 

He sets her up on the sofa with a warm blanket and a mug of her favorite cocoa (she wasn’t much of a tea fan and Mother filled the kitchen with the weirdest teas, it was like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. You either got a good one or one so terribly awful you basically drank poison.), kissing her gently. She gives him a small smile, going in for a second kiss, wincing as she jostled her shoulder (the medic had had to put it back into place)

He doesn’t want to leave her but one of the things she could use right now is a bath. She could definitely use a bath. The doctor had recommended a bath. 

"I’m going to go run you a bath, okay?" he says. 

She nods, smiling, “Thanks, Rick.”

He walks to his office, glancing back at her frequently, before making his way into the master bathroom. Never was he happier to have such a nice, and such a big bathtub. He turned on the water and threw in some epsom salts for good measure. This was her favorite scent of them and it wouldn’t hurt for her battered body. After it was full, he turned it off and made his way back out to the living room. 

"Kate?" he says, walking over to his fiancee, curled up in the blanket still but barefoot, "It’s ready." 

She nods and takes his hand, hoisting herself up with a grunt. He watches her carefully, perhaps, okay, maybe he’s a bit paranoid-

"I’m not going to break, Castle," she chastises, a hint of that sassy smile coming back onto her face, "i’m bruised, not broken."

"Right," he says, walking into the bathroom with her hand tightly gripped in his. 

He aids her in getting her battered turtleneck off and tries not to wince at her state. There are still rope impressions from being tied up in the truck for so long and numerous purpling bruises blooming along her body, some creeping around her neck. Various small cuts and scrapes act as the foreground to that background of purple bruises. In the middle, as always, sits her bullet scar. The symbol of her survival. How she’ll always survive no matter what the odds. She works her own bra off one-handedly, using the arm that hadn’t been dislocated. His hand brushes over the scar, and he leans down, kissing it. Her hand squeezes his.

He helps her out of her pants and underwear, and he quickly strips down. Helping her into the bath, he settles into the warm water and brings her back so that she’s cradled against him, his arms wrapped around her gently. For a while, that’s how they stay, just breathing each other in. She traces patterns on his arms and he revels in her breathing, her heartbeat, her life. 

"We should get you clean," he says quietly. He feels her nod against him and he reaches for a loofa, quickly preparing it with the least irritating body wash he owns. It’s hers, actually. The cherry one that haunted him from the beginning.

"It was so hard," she says, as he starts with her arms, lifting up the undislocated one and gently scrubbing away the dirt and the grime from it.

"Once I realized who Elena Markov really was I… I fell into auto-drive. All that stuff I learned with the CIA, with Agent McCord. Finish the mission. Finish the mission. No matter what."

The grime falls away in the water he pours over it, leaving only the angry red marks and the blossoming purple bruises.

"But then I had to do something about the hit. I couldn’t refuse it without making it incredibly obvious that I was an impostor. I had to go through with it, at least most of it. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to kill someone to keep my cover. That’s why I couldn’t be CIA I guess,” she says, laughing darkly, “I can’t turn off my morality for the sake of the mission.”

"That’s a good thing though," he interrupts, "That’s who you are. You never stand down when it comes to what’s right."

She nods again, “And that’s when it all fell apart. He knew. He guessed that I was a faker- maybe I was too obvious, maybe I was too different from Elena to truly pass as her, maybe I was too nosy. But he knew. And then it was all over. I got bound, gagged, and the next thing I knew I was thrown into a white truck.” 

He leans in to kiss the cuts on her wrists, gently working his way around where it had so bitterly cut into her. Next he kisses the scrape on her elbow, her bicep, her shoulder. So many rope burns.

"I was banged around like crazy. I could barely get that last message out to you guys. Lucky I did, huh." 

He makes his away across the purpling of her back, tracing each wound with feathering kisses.

"Next thing I know I’m in a dingy room facing a trough of ice water with a man behind me, a fistful of my hair in his hands, sometimes just my neck, yelling questions about who I was, what I was after, who did I work for. Each punctuated with a dive into that ice." 

He gently ran the loofa over the purpling bruises on her neck, kissing around those brutal handprints left behind by the interrogator. Goddamnit. If only they’d gotten to her sooner they should’ve just pulled her out-

"They decided they weren’t getting anything out of me that way. Some higher up said to just shoot me. Don’t know why they didn’t try other torture first, guess I’m lucky in that sense. There was some argument in some Slavic language. Think it was over that. Ended in me getting hauled out by the arm- thus the shoulder- into the green you guys found me in." 

Gently he lifts the injured arm, diligently getting away the dirt from the wounds and giving it the same treatment. If only kisses could fix all of this for her. If only.

"He tried one last time to get me to tell him everything but I refused. I told him that my people would hunt him, kill him if he killed me. He didn’t care. I was on my knees and had basically accepted that this was where it ended. No miracle was going to happen this time. I was well and truly alone in this one."

She lifted up her right leg, mostly unharmed save a few bruises, and he helped wash off the accumulated grime from it as well. Her left soon followed afterwards. Thank God, thank God they had figured it out. Thank God she had been able to leave those clues, thank god they had been able to find her in time.

"But then I wasn’t. I wasn’t alone. You guys found me, and I almost got shot in the head. And now it’s all wrapped up. It’s over."

He turns her around to face him, very carefully cleaning the cut to her head of dirt, kissing around it diligently before just capturing her lips with his. He pretended not to notice the tears. 

It’s over.

It’s over.

(via ohthatissoweird)

2 months ago | 6063

beckett-luvs-her-goober:

countessvonboobs:

opheliaboobies:

image

Canon accepted.  The series HAS to end with a picture of them pushing one of their kids on THEIR swingset.

They walked out of the bookstore where he’d just been signing his newest novel, a foray into more serious literature, and smiled at the little girl swinging their hands back and forth. She was chattering on and on about her rather… wild dream from last night. That ability to chatter on forever she’d definitely inherited from her father, no doubt. The child could talk straight for days. Since the day she first started talking she never seemed to stop. 

"Oh! Mama! Mama can we go to the swings?" said their little girl, interrupting her… energetic description and tugging on her arm, "Please?"

"The swings?" she said, turning to see a very familiar sight that almost froze her mid-step. Oh wow. It’s been a long time since she’s seen those swings. It was on those swings where she made the first steps towards apologizing for that summer after the sniper. It was on those swings where she sat in the pouring rain after having lost both her job and her love, where she decided to give into her feelings for Castle. It was on those swings where she said yes to forever. And it was on those swings where she told him she was having his baby five years ago. 

She glanced over at Castle, who seemed as surprised as she was. His eyes met her and she could read the same nostalgia in them that she was feeling. That had really been the same bookstore where she’d gone to try and get his forgiveness all those years ago? And she hadn’t even noticed. Suppose she did see a lot of them these days.

"Of course, sweetie," she said, "Let’s go to the swings."

The child skipped forward, dragging her parents behind her as they smiled. Castle hoisted the little girl up onto the swing, her little feet kicking back and forth some distance off from the ground.

Kate moved around to the back of the swing, moving in close to speak to her baby. 

"Ready to fly, little miss?" she said, met by an enthusiastic nod from the girl, "Then hold on tight."

Pulling her back, she pushed the swing out into the air as Castle leaned against the supports, a smile on his face as his eyes met hers. These swings held their story in the chains that made them and the freedom they embodied. These swings were their story. 

And as their giggling little girl urged her to push her higher and higher, she realized with a pang that this was the close of their tale of the swings. This was the last chapter. 

She glanced over at Rick’s smiling face and the laughter on her little girl’s, and she realized that the last chapter might not be a bad thing.

It was over, but that was okay.

That was okay.

(Source: kevin-ryan, via bonesatic)

3 months ago | 330

theoriginalhorcrux:

IF THE WEDDING IS IN THE SEASON FINALE AND IF 3XK SHOWS UP AND FUCKS UP THE WEDDING AND THE LAST SHOT IS BECKETT TIED UP WITH A NOOSE AROUND HER NECK THAT’S SLOWLY TIGHTENING TO STRANGLE HER THEN I LEGITIMATELY DON’T THINK I WILL LIVE TO SEE THE START OF SEASON 7

When she comes to all she’s aware of is a faint bridal waltz playing, something pressing against her neck, and a gauzy white covering everything in sight. 

What the hell had happened? A second ago,….a second ago she’d been adjusting her mom’s ring where it hung on the brand new sparkling chain Martha had given her to use for her “new”. And now… now she was here. Wherever the hell here is. 

She strains to see past the white (veil?) but can only make out vague dark shapes. Okay, okay don’t panic it’s probably just a joke by the guys right? Right? Kind of a sick joke surely-

The thing around her neck presses tighter as she feels the floor below her drop a little and she freezes. 

This is no joke. 

She glances down as best as she can and can just make out a thin wire pressed against her throat, raring to draw its first blood, a twin to that of the most recent 3XK case where he slipped right through their fingers. The wire was wrapped about in her own veil and she can just see that her hands are tied together with the blue ribbon that accented their whole reception. Trapped between her snared hands is her bouquet which had been next to her on the table before whatever had happened to get her. And that would be her dress still on her body as she had left it. Her feet are on some sort of levered platform of some sort, on the opposite end of which was some foggy object that seemed to keep the balance, and her life it seemed. 

A dark figure she’s unable to make out in detail approaches her. Wouldn’t take much to guess who it was anyway. Only one person would’ve struck in such a way. A hand reaches out and brushes her cheek through the veil and she recoils from the touch.

"Such a pretty little bride too," says the insidious, unmistakable voice of none other than the 3XK himself, Jerry Tyson, "A pity you won’t get to walk down the aisle."

She hears his footsteps walk away again and felt the platform give a little more.

Shit.

(via notyetlostfaith)

3 months ago | 726

drowninginlove:

"I can’t believe this is happening," she says, eyes a maelstrom of emotions from confusion to guilt to anger to fear to grief, "This is like some kind of a dream… I just keep waiting to wake up and it’s like I can’t do anything," she says breathlessly, staring at the ceaseless flames engulfing the building and taking a sharp breath, "It’s like there’s nothing we can do."

Her helplessness just about kills him. Beckett was not one to suffer from that usually. Beckett was the one who was never helpless, who never gave up, who always found a way. To see her like this-

It reminds him of something, actually. The feeling anyway. 

And like that, he’s back there again.

-

The sirens are blaring all around him, lights flashing from every direction in the old red, blue, and white. The bright red, bold letters in front are obvious in the bright sunlight, “AMBULANCE”, but he still can’t believe that this is real. He’s somehow ended up shoved into Esposito and Ryan’s cruiser and they’re racing behind the ambulance, another police car clearing the way in front of it. So, however he got here, here he is, staring at the bright red letters and the blazing lights and noncomprehending it all.

She’d been shot at Montgomery’s funeral. Shot! A goddamn sniper at a funeral. And he’d been too late to stop it. He should’ve been faster. He should’ve acted sooner. He should’ve taken it, not her. She shouldn’t have gotten shot. He’s dreaming. She couldn’t have been shot this couldn’t be happening-

But it is. It is, and she’s behind those opaque black false windows and those antiseptic white doors of the ambulance and there’s nothing he can do. She’s in there, bleeding out with a goddamned bullet in her chest and there’s nothing he can do. Nothing. Nothing but sit here in the crawling traffic (goddamnit do people not understand sirens?) and be there for her when she wakes up. She has to. She can’t die, she can’t. Not now, not after she just learned for sure that he loves her, not when they’ve only kissed once (hell what a kiss) even though it was undercover. Kate Beckett cannot and will not die now. 

But there’s nothing he can do.

All he can do is be there for her. 

-

"All we can do is be here for them," he says, echoing the thought of many years past.

She nods, but the frustration in her eyes is evident, the fury that she is powerless to save her precinct family from the flames. If she could, he’s sure she would jump in there herself and rescue them even if it killed her like one of those mother dogs that’ll run into the burning building to save their puppies regardless of the fire. One does not simply mess with the ones Kate Beckett loves.

But Beckett certainly isn’t a dog, and she can’t just run into a burning building unhindered to save her boys. 

All they can do is be there for them.

(Source: buttonupkitten, via rocklobsterette)

4 months ago | 854

kates-coffee:

How long have I been gone?

#can we just #they still slept #with their heads close to one another #i don’t care #i think that’s cute #good frickin bye #i bet when the baby finally fell asleep #beckett was all sleepy and barely awake #and castle turned towards her #and kisses her super soft #and smiled #because it will be their baby next time #im fine im fine

"Is he ‘sleep?" she slurs, blinking slowly over to where the finally silent baby is lying. Had to have been the tenth time in the past ten hours that baby’s woken up and she can hardly keep her eyes open. Thank god Castle’s more awake or else there’d have been some sort of accident by now. Her plus sleep deprivation plus a baby would not have ended well.

"Yeah, he is," he says, walking over to her from his post next to the baby, "He’s finally out." 

"S’it even worth it to go back to sleep?" she says, yawning, "He’ll jus’ wake up again." 

"If he does, I’ve got it," he says, "Go to sleep, honey." 

She doesn’t want to shove it all on him but her eyes are shutting against her will, the sheer amount of tired washing over her and dragging her down, “You sure?”

"Yes," he says, "Sleep."

"Kay," she says, eyes finally fluttering shut.

He walks over to her, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. Looking down at the exhausted detective, he can’t help but smile a little at the image. The baby, sound asleep to the right, the passed out woman on the couch, everything.

Someday, someday that baby would be a little curly-haired, blue-eyed little girl or a dark brunette boy with the sharp green eyes of his mother in there. Someday they’d be staying up all night with their own little baby. She’s said so herself. Hadn’t even been a question for her.

He pulls the blanket over his out-cold fiancee, smile growing. He’s going to marry her. He’s going to marry her, and they’re going to have kids, and he’s going to live the rest of his life with her. That much he knew. He didn’t know if Cosmo was going to sleep the whole night though.

He settles against the couch to keep watch, leaning against the side, head side by side with hers. That cherry shampoo is just detectable from here, if a bit masked by all the baby. 

And suddenly, suddenly he has a startlingly clear image of his future will look like. 

(Source: caskett-lover-27-11)

5 months ago | 8

—-

We’ll meet again,
Don’t know where,don’t know when,
But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.

—-

She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t sleep and Momma had told her to go to sleep but there wasn’t anything to do in her room and she couldn’t sleep. She’d tried. She’d tried really hard and it wasn’t even the dark anymore keeping her up she just wasn’t sleepy. She’d tried to tell Momma that but Momma just told her little girls needed sleep. Usually she snuck a book into her room with her so that she’d have something to do but she forgot to today and she was bored and-

Was that music?

Daddy would be mad if she got out of bed. But she couldn’t sleep and there was music somewhere and she wanted to know what it was! Not her fault. Gnawing at her lip, she decided to go in-vest-i-gate.

She scurried down a short hallway and poked her head around the bend, seeing her Momma and Daddy dancing. They looked really pretty- Mommy was smiling at Daddy and they were swaying around the room.

"Katie? What are you doing up this late?" asked Daddy, spotting her. He didn’t look mad. Mommy turned to face her too. She didn’t look mad.

"I couldn’t sleep," she said, "And I heard music and saw you dancing which was really pretty and-"

"Can’t sleep huh?" interrupted Momma with a small smile, "Can’t have that, can we? Why not?"

"I… I’m just not sleepy," she sighed, "And now I’m really not sleepy."

Momma and Daddy gave each other a look before Momma stepped away from Daddy, “How about you try your hand at dancing, sweetie? I’m sure your Daddy can teach you a thing or two.”

She bit at her lip again for a second, “Will that really make me sleepy though, Momma?”

"It will," said Momma, "Dancing is very tiring."

"I don’t think I’ll ever get sleepy tonight," she said, "I’m super awake!"

"Well, at least try it out," said Momma. She nodded and ran over to Daddy. He hoisted her up onto his feet and she giggled as he fiddled with their arms to figure out how to make it work.

"You look silly Daddy," she said, "I’m so little and you’re tall!"

He laughed, “Katie, do you want to dance or not?”

"I do!" she huffed, "I do."

"Well then hold on tight," he said. Momma was smiling all big, holding up her big camera to snap a picture or two. They twirled around the living room to the smooth tones of the old song- it was real pretty whatever it was. With the twirling and the sleepy slow song, she soon was very sleepy.

"Looks like you’re ready for bed now," said her Momma, who’d been smiling at them the whole time, "Feeling sleepy enough?"

"Yes Mo-" she said, yawning as her Momma smiled, "Yes Momma."

"I told you you would. Let’s get you back to bed then, Katie."

—-

Keep smiling through,
Just like you always do,
Till the blue skies drive the dark clouds, far away.

—-

She can’t sleep.

Here she is, a day away from shipping off to Stanford to start college and she can’t sleep. You’d think you’d want to you know, sleep before college because you aren’t gonna be getting any for a long time, but here she is. Totally awake.

Stuy’s effect on sleep schedules was a remarkable thing sometimes. The idea of basically binge sleeping school breaks away hadn’t left her and it seemed she was on a permanent teenage schedule. Oh dear.

Why was she awake though? Nerves. Definitely nerves.

She was scared, okay? She was scared and nervous and afraid and just… all of this stuff she’d tried to stuff below the surface. She couldn’t be the nervous one! No way. Maddie would laugh at her for days. The girl who dated Mr. Scary Biker Guy-who-hadn’t-showered-in-weeks, who’d managed to fill her best friend’s locker with the sixth floor gym’s hoard of ping pong balls out of anger over a guy, was afraid of college. But she was. She was terrified.

Flicking on the lamp on her bedside table she pulled her knees up to her chest. Oh god. She was leaving. She was going however many thousands of miles away and leaving her family and the city and just-

Oh god.

Her whole body’s trembling and shaking, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes. She… she does… doesn’t, does? She needs to go. She needs to get away from her family, to be free. But she…. she doesn’t want to. She’ll miss them like crazy, probably. That’s awful far away, Stanford. What was she thinking? It was a fantastic school though and it was far away to boot. But…

The tears break free, much to her distaste, and she doesn’t even notice her mom walking in until a weight falls next to her on the pink bed, another pair of bare feet tucking up underneath it.

"Pre-college nerves, huh?" said her mom, turning to her and giving her a small smile as she tried to pull herself back together, "I had them bad too, I remember. Your grandmother was beside herself with worry- scared I wouldn’t be able to go the next day! And after all that hard work- you know your grandma. She wouldn’t let that work go to waste."

"I was such a mess. I was like you back then- don’t say I wasn’t or I don’t understand because I do- I didn’t listen to anyone, stubborn as a nail, wanting to break out of the nest. You get that from me, Katie," said her mom, chuckling, "It’s okay to be scared. Everyone is when it comes down to it. People might try to hide it behind defiance or apathy or anger or happiness, but everyone’s scared of that. It’s a big step- just know we’ll always be here for you when you come back. It’s okay to be nervous, or scared, or anxious."

"You know what helps pre-day worriers like us?" said her mom after a pause. She looked over at her mom, tears finally slowing, "Music. Music’s always helped you too, even when you were a little girl. And I don’t mean that stuff you listen to these days. The stuff my mom used to play for me when I was down. The stuff I played for you."

Her mom reached over towards something she couldn’t quite make out in the light, and the first strains of that familiar jazz song, the one that her mom always played when she was sad, came on. Her mom was humming to it and she noticed, to her surprise, she was too.

Just keep smiling through, just as you always do, till the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away…

—-

So will you please say hello,
To the folks that I know,
Tell them I won’t be long,
They’ll be happy to know that as you saw me go
I was singing this song.

—-

Even now, siting here in the pew, she was in denial.

No. Her mother was not dead. She was not dead, and she had not been stabbed in an alley left to die in the garbage, and she was certainly not at her mom’s funeral at nineteen right now.

No. Mom was just waiting for them at home. That was all.

Someone’s talking. She isn’t really hearing them.

God, she just wants to get out of here. Another person bemoaning how short mom’s life was and how tragic it was that it was cut off so early when it had so much to give… another apology, another sympathizing person who can’t possibly understand, another person trying to make her feel better with meaningless words-

The someone is announcing something. The pianist is back. A new lady has come to the microphone. Something about a song that meant a lot to Mom and fit perfectly into the funeral. How could something fit perfectly into a funeral? Someone was dead! Her mom was dead and how could they possibly know her well enough to say that?

The lady’s getting ready to sing. Joy.

"We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…"

No.

No. Just no. No.

Anything but that.

They don’t get it. They don’t get it at all. They just think it’s just a funeral song but no. No. It’s so much more than that and-

The tears are back. The tears are back, and people are giving her sympathetic looks, and they think it’s just cause of the “hope” the song gives her but that’s not it at all and oh god she just needs to get out of here but she can’t-

Away from these sympathizing looks, away from these ignorant faces that try to comprehend her, away from these people who try to understand what she’s going through and help her who are so far from doing so that it sickens her-

She struggles to get through the song without throwing something at the singer or running out.

The first chance her and dad get to break away, they run. They run from the memories, from the masses that just could never understand the true loss, from those people who think they get it but just don’t.

She runs from those gray, gray skies, and prays she’ll break out into the blue.

—-

We’ll meet again,
Don’t know where,don’t know when,
But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.

—-

So when she hears that trumpet strike up for the first time since that day, her blood runs cold. No. No, no, no, no, no. How could he… How? How?

With that svelte voice coming on over Rick’s laptop she finds herself back in that dark funeral, back in that bright pink bedroom, back in that warm living room. Back in a thousand fragmented memories of her mother- how could that bastard, that son of a bitch, how could he have known about that song? How could he have possibly have known about that song? Nobody did. Castle hardly knew the details about the song and surely it was a coincidence surely…

But the 3XK.. The 3XK doesn’t do coincidences.

So she stands there, still as a statue, staring back into the eyes of the one man who might understand as the haunting melody drapes over them both. She isn’t quite sure what she’s feeling. Anger, sadness, rage, violated… it’s a mix.

But what she does know is the next time she sees that son of a bitch, there’s no way he’s leaving alive.

—-

We’ll meet again,
Don’t know where,don’t know when,
But I know we’ll meet again, some sunny day.

—-