beckett what do you want

i-prefer-west-side  asked:

prompt #2 from post-breakup au: listen i know i can’t just show up at your apartment at six in the morning but i need coffee and no one makes it like you do (because nothing says Caskett like coffee)

A/N: AU where after 4x22, Castle really does fail to return to the precinct. 

-

She tries for days to emulate his skills, to mix the correct blend of ingredients, to create the perfect cup of coffee as he always did so effortlessly. But all she comes away with is the scalding kiss of steam on her skin from the biased espresso machine that works for everyone but her and the bitter taste of failure on her tongue. With an added bonus of worried looks from Ryan and Esposito each time they catch her tossing the revolting brew from her cup into the sink before storming out of the break room with frustration simmering in her veins. Nothing else, not the faint but ever present throb of heartache that is settling in to become a permanent resident within her chest, not longing for the man who caused it.

She resorts to practicing in her own apartment after a week of poor results in the precinct break room, but after countless cups of disappointment, Kate gives up. It’s five in the morning and she hasn’t received any calls from dispatch yet, but she hasn’t slept in weeks, arriving at the Twelfth before the sun can even breach the skyline for too many days straight. And she’s been fine, making it, but standing in her kitchen now in the light of daybreak, the exhaustion finally seems to hit her, striking her relentlessly. Normally, she’d bite it back, push it down, but god, she’s just so tired, so sick of missing him and his damn coffee.

Every morning I bring you a cup of coffee just so I can see a smile on your face.

She can’t remember the last time she’s smiled, can’t even fathom the once familiar split of her lips. He’d taken that with him too when he’d left.

Kate doesn’t think, doesn’t try to reason with herself as she strides for her front door, grabbing her keys, her badge, her gun, and stuffing it all into her purse while she exits her apartment. It takes all of her focus to ignore the protests echoing from her brain, to walk without stopping from Tribeca to SoHo with the company of the rising sun at her side, to follow the tug of her heart in the direction of his loft and feeling some of the tightness in her chest loosen the closer she gets.

Until she’s walking into his building, riding the elevator to his floor, and knocking on his door at 6 a.m.

Her chest is so tight, she can barely breathe. Oh god, what is she doing?

Kate turns swiftly back towards the elevator, maybe she can escape before he realizes she was even hear, maybe he hadn’t even heard the rap of her knuckles, spending his Saturday morning sleeping in like he always-

“Beckett?” She pauses only a step away from his now open door, unable to stop herself from turning back at the call of her name, the sound of his voice.

And it’s such a bad idea to see him again, but especially at six in the morning when he’s still rumpled with sleep, the strands of his hair askew, his eyes a cloudy blue still hazy from slumber, but it’s the stains of purple beneath his eyes that have her heart clenching painfully, the pale, waxy quality to his skin and the lines carved deep into his face that were never there before. Frown lines.

“Morning, Castle,” she murmurs, her fingers knotting nervously in front of her.

Castle glances past her, as if he expects to see company at her back, before returning his gaze to her in confusion.

“Morning?” he answers, assessing her next, his eyes filling with concern at whatever he sees, but he quickly blinks it away, swallows it down. “I - did something happen? Are you okay?”

Her mouth goes unexpectedly dry at the question, the fact that he’d ask at all.

“Yeah, I’m… no, Castle, I’m really not.”

His brow creases deep, his irises shining a bright cerulean in the morning light bleeding into the hallway, illuminated with worry.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she sighs, raking her fingers through her hair, wincing when they snag in a tangle. “I’m truly sorry, Castle, I should go-”

“Beckett, what do you want?” he demands, his voice firmer than she’s ever heard, and her eyes startle back to his, surprised by the intense shade of dark blue boring into her.

“Coffee,” she blurts, slicing over the first word that had risen to her tongue with the second. “I haven’t had a good cup of coffee since you left.”

“You showed up at my apartment at 6 a.m. for coffee?” he questions, not offended, not amused, and not believing her either.

Kate shrugs. “No one makes it like you do.”

She expects for him to slam the door on her, not take a step back, hold the door open in invitation for her. Castle heads to his kitchen without waiting for her, though, and Kate eases the front door shut, scans the room before she follows after him.

“Are Martha and Alexis home?” she inquires while he digs through drawers, disappears into the pantry and returns with an unopened bag of coffee beans.

“No, they left for a month long tour of Europe last week,” he informs her, clipped, cold, none of the pouting or dramatics he would normally display, and her heart sinks to her stomach. “Come here, Beckett. I’m going to teach you how to make it like I do.”

Kate approaches warily, the preferred use of her surname not lost on her. “Teach me?”

Castle nods, arranging all of the necessities out atop the counter beside an expensive coffee machine. “So you won’t need me to do it for you anymore.”

Her heart finally shatters at the knowledge. This was his last goodbye to her.

“No, she argues, causing his hands to go still atop the granite. “That’s not - not what I want.”

Castle shifts to face her in exasperation.

“But you said-”

“You,” she breathes out, staring up at him as a mixture of bewildered hope ripples through his eyes. “I don’t want it without you, Castle.”

Part 2 of the prompt could be pre or post CB. They’re in the middle of a huge argument when she suddenly- almost or completely- passes out. She tells him she’s pregnant 

Part 1 here

The harrowing cry echoed throughout her apartment as she paced back andforth. The baby in her embrace showed no signs of settling down anytime soon, and she was walking a hole in the floor. Singing hadn’t helped, feeding hadn’t helped, rocking hadn’t helped, changing diapers didn’t help, and neither had undressing, nor redressing.

“What do you want?” Beckett wasn’t too far away from crying herself. Motherhood had never appeared easy to her, in fact there had been a reason why she’d intended on postponing motherhood until later in life, but she hadn’t anticipated just how hard it could be. It had been over a week since the last time she slept more than consecutive three hours, and she guessed that it was four days since she managed to squeeze in a shower. She had intended to shower the day before, but then she had noticed the laundry pile, and the low supply of clothes.

“I don’t know what you want,” Beckett said, holding the baby up in front of her and looking at the scrunched up red face, and arms that were waving. She placed the baby in the crook of her arm again, and picked up her phone, pressing the number four for speed dial.

“Cassle,” he said as he picked up the phone.

“Castle, she won’t stop crying, I don’t know what to do!” She bounced the baby in her arms which only seemed to anger her further, and her wails grew louder.

“I’ll be right there Beckett.”

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Fic Prompt Continued

anonymous asked:

They slept together after Ryan’s wedding but never talked about it. Kate finds out she is pregnant but doesn’t know how to tell him, especially after the events of 47 seconds.

—–

post 47 Seconds and The Limey

—–

Fun.

And uncomplicated.

That is really not Kate Beckett, is it? He has run as far from her as he possibly can. Sprinted.

And in her most delirious, pain-med-induced hallucinations after being shot, Richard Castle walking away from her with a blonde on his arm and his child foraging like a hungry mouth inside her - while, yes, accurate to his persona on Page Six - is nothing she ever saw coming.

Little incubus, she murmurs, not sure who she’s talking about. Or to.

Damn. Succubus if it’s a girl.

Beckett rubs briskly at her face and scrapes her hair back, lets out a fortifying breath.

All right, well. She’s an adult; they are both adults, contrary to his recent behavior. He loves his daughter and he would be - hurt - if she says nothing.

Three months. Three of nine, a third of the way over already, and she’s not fun and she’s so complicated, and this is just - worse.

This is why a couple of vodka martinis and that dance floor at the Ryans’ wedding (and the shoes that tipped her forward and forced her to take them off so that she fit exactly right against him during the slow ones) were all very bad ideas.

They were waiting; there’s that wall, and she’s bricked up, walled off, except three months later, she’s going to have to do some renovation to let this kid out in six more months.

Her hands are trembling.

But she has to do this.

Kate raises her fist and knocks like a cop on his door.

When he opens, the scowl deepens, the shadows cluster at the corners of his mouth. “What do you want, Beckett?”

Alimony.

No. God, that nearly came out of her mouth.

Instead, she folds the ultrasound into her palm, tucks it up close as if to protect it, and she goes entirely off-script.

“I had to be sure before I wrote this off,” she says, voice firm. “If not for me, then…”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve already heard the ending.”

“Perhaps. But there’s something you deserve to know.”

“You think?” he snarls. She’s not even inside his door yet, but he finally steps back and gestures brusquely with a hand. The sarcasm evident in that sweep of his arm is acidic. “I already heard, Beckett. Secondhand, I might add, which is pretty low of you-”

She freezes. “Secondhand?” Who could possible have told? No one knows - no one. But three months, three months is a long time and he watches her so closely, so observant, has always pulled out that trick and pummeled her with it. “I don’t know how you could have-”

“I heard, all right? I heard you in the interrogation room. You told a suspect before breathing a word of this to me.”

She frowns, palm sweating where it touches the ultrasound photo; the paper clings to her skin. It all feels a little depserate, so she tries to slow this down. “I don’t recall ever mentioning-”

“As if fleeing the hotel room like it’s the scene of a crime that morning doesn’t speak volumes, you’re right. I should have known. Stupid of me, optimistic of me, thinking maybe I just jumped the gun and you’d come back to me given time.”

“Come… back to you?” she says faintly. “When was I gone?”

Castle’s face looks struck.

She shakes her head and tries to make sense. “I’m not sure we’re talking about the same things here. What suspect? The interrogation-”

Her stomach drops.

Kate presses the heel of her hand to her stomach, blinking. “Oh. Oh, I…”

“I got the message, Kate. Loud and clear. I should have that morning after Ryan’s wedding, and that’s on me.”

He got the message? “But. This woman you…”

“What?” he snarls. “I can’t have a little fun?”

While he waits. “I never thought you were that kind of man.” She frowns, curls her fingers down over her stomach, realizes what she’s doing and drops her hand. The ultrasound is in the other hand, secret and safe, and if she thought she could get away with never seeing him again and just - doing this on her own - she would leave now.

Leave with her dignity intact, if not her heart.

“Everything has to be your way, is that it? Because you got shot, you get to dictate all the rules. Well, I’m done, Kate.”

She nods slowly, mind racing. He’s such a good father, but if he - if he hates her this much, how can he filter that out when confronted with this child?

This is such a mess.

Kate presses her lips into a line and takes a breath, surprised that it still comes, that her lungs haven’t collapsed just like her heart.

“Right,” she says, nodding again. “Well, that’s it, then. I had to be sure, I guess, before I said anything.”

“You always do. Can’t possibly step out on blind faith, can you? Can’t possibly just believe for once.”

All right, well, this is getting confusing and he’s angry - and does a three-month-old fetus have ears? Probably so.

She drags her eyes back to him, finally looking, finally ready to face it. And yes, he’s terribly hurt, and angry, and he doesn’t want to listen to her; she can see that.

I left you a note, she thinks. But obviously, that wasn’t enough. She can never find adequate words, now or then. Obviously, he’s done with waiting. He got her out of his system and that’s really all it was good for. She knows now, too. She won’t keep after him.

Kate opens her hand with the ultrasound, unfolds it, smooths it out, her heart catching at the little blurs of digital limbs. “Well, this is your copy. I won’t - expect you. But I’m done shutting everyone out. Can’t really, anymore, can I?” She nods to herself and then lifts her eyes, presses the ultrasound into his hand. “Just - um…” Shit, her heart is breaking. This is a lot harder than she thought. “Just don’t take this one out of school for a Paris field trip, and we’ll be good, okay?”

She tries to laugh, and she leaves the sweat-curled photo in his palm, and turns to leave. Quickly. She needs out of here before the knot in her throat wells up in her eyes.

What the hell is this?”

—–

—–

Rick Castle stares down at the photo in his hand, realizing a too-long moment later that he’s snagged Beckett by the wrist to keep her from leaving.

“No,” he says raggedly. “No, I am not doing this again.”

Her face twists, lips crooked and eyes closing, and he hears it - too late - hears what that sounded like.

“No, I’m not letting you walk out on the best night of my life. You stay, Beckett.”

She swallows, and her eyes cast off, desperately, as if she can’t bear to look at him. “You don’t - it’s not required-”

“Did you not hear me?” he gowls, jerking on her arm. He’s being too rough, losing his cool; he’s losing it, but there is just so much to lose. “Best nights of my life - and both you seem to think are mistakes.”

Her chin jerks around, eyes snapping to his - there’s that fire, that flint and tinder coming together. He feels a fraction of relief, realizes he was having trouble breathing.

He releases her wrist, but he shifts to put his body between her and the door. “You don’t love me, that’s fine. But you don’t get to drop a bomb like that, some melodramatic garbage, and then leave.”

Her whole face goes comically, hilariously blank. Like a cartoon, like it’s just been wiped right off and redrawn before his eyes.

Her eyes reanimate first. Like bubbles of air rising up in muddy river water, proof of life lurking below the surface. “I don’t - I don’t what?” And then she laughs, something giddy - no, not that - something hysterical in it.

Hysteria - (Latin) of the uterus.

Oh, God.

“You’re pregnant,” he says, dumbly, ice water slapping him cold and shocking.

“I don’t love you?” she croaks, claps a hand over her mouth, shakes her head. “Of all the ridiculous - and yes, I’m pregnant, and yes, it’s yours, so don’t even ask.”

“I wasn’t. I didn’t.” He frowns, shoots her a glare. “Of course it’s mine.”

That sharp stain of pink drains out of her face just that fast. “Why would you say that?”

He presses the ultrasound against his chest. He recognizes the gesture as claiming, protective, but it’s all he has, all she’ll give him. “I’m - what? I’m not dismissing your - your claim. No need for a paternity test, I fully-”

“No, why would you say I don’t love you?”

His mouth opens, empty, closes again, staring at her.

“Wait,” she murmurs, pressing a hand to her eyes. “Oh, God, the interrogation. That’s what you - that’s what you’ve been talking - yelling at me about?”

His tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth.

“Because I used my getting shot to work a suspect? How is that news to you? Interogation 101, Castle. Anything to connect-”

“You said you knew,” he blurts out, interrupting with the awful acid thing that’s been burning a hole in his heart for weeks now. “You remembered every moment.”

“I re-” Her mouth snaps shut.

“If you didn’t know how to tell me, I - would have left you alone, you know. No need to pity fuck me for-”

“God, you are such a moron,” she groans, spinning on her heel and stalking away from him. He moves, helplessly orienting to her true north, but she jerks back around and thrusts an accusing finger at him. “You. Are. Such. A moron. Rick Castle. Do I look like I give out pity fucks?”

He jerks back, stung.

“No,” she hisses. “I do not. I-”

You left me.” His nostrils flare in the effort it takes to not break, himself or her or something. “I woke up and you were gone. And then I hear you - confessing everything to a murder suspect - and what do I get? Nothing. Not a word.”

“I left you a note,” she says, a strange bewildered hurt tumbling in her eyes.

No. She doesn’t get to be hurt. He’s the one wounded, stripped bare, left naked on the morning after to wake alone (thinking, stupidly, she went to get us coffee, she’ll be right back, she didn’t, couldn’t possibly, have thought that meant nothing). “You left me a note? What are you talking about? I said, call me, and you said you would and I got nothing all summer, and then-”

“No, that - after the wedding. At the hotel. I left you a note, Castle.”

“What?” He scrubs a hand down his face, hard. “A note. No. There was no note. There was no note!”

She stares at him. “There was too.”

“Then what did it say?”

She answers immediately, and with such clear precision that he knows the truth of it before she even finishes speaking. “‘Now we both know what we’re waiting for.’”

A terrible kind of grief clutches him and his hands curl into fists - but his fingers catch on the ultrasoun and his eyes drop, inexorably, to the biege-gold and yellow-white on black that is-

“A baby,” he says.

She lets out a breath. “That was not what I meant.”

He chokes on a laugh and his eyes jerk up to see her - see her - really look. She’s not looking back; she’s definitely not happy, but it’s not just latent anger and frustration. Her eyes are smudged, as if inexpertly drawn, and her mouth in a tight line; her fingrers knot and smooth, over and over.

She’s unhappy.

She’s terribly unhappy.

“Beckett.”

She reluctantly looks at him.

“I won’t take the kid out of school for field trips to Paris, promise.” Her shoulders go up, defensive, but he is holding onto that flippant remark of hers like it too is a promise. A promise that the baby is happening, that she’s already made her choice. “Not unless you’re coming with us, that is.”

“I don’t have the vacation time,” she murmurs, aimless, still miserable-looking. Twisting and knotting her fingers at her sides.

He wonders if that’s his answer. No, Castle, I don’t have the vacation time. My life won’t accommodate yours. We don’t fit. This will never work.

He ducks his head to look at the ultrasound photo, wonders if this is as close as he’s going to get. Will she let him be there for the birth? Meredith had a c-section and no and he didn’t know how to force the issue, and then Alexis was in his arms and what did he care at all?

He cares. “I can keep this?” At all, at all can he keep this?

She clears her throat. “You’re not willing to wait, I get it; you’ve made that abundantly clear. But you’re a good dad, and you - no, not you - this baby deserves a good dad, no matter how I, how difficult it is for me to see you with-”

“What are you talking about?” he says, horror spilling through his chest. He grabs for her wrist because he see her slipping away from him; in her eyes, she’s setting herself adrift, his light going out in her.

And then it dawns in him, like knowledge itself can be transferred from one person to another, skin to skin.

“You think I could stop loving you? It’s not a switch. I have tried, I have tried to walk away from you, Kate Beckett, more than once, but you make it impossible to get anywhere without you.”

—–

Prompt: Pre-Caskett: Castle is woken up by a call from a sick Beckett asking him to take her to the emergency room.  From castlefanficprompts.  Sometime between 47 Seconds and Always.

By the time Beckett gets home, her head feels like it’s about to split open, and her whole body aches.  She all but staggers to the bathroom and fumbles with the childproof top of the ibuprofen bottle, briefly considers taking three rather than two of the extra-strength capsules, and finally swallows the recommended dose instead.  She doesn’t think it’s that easy to overdose on ibuprofen, but it’s one more thing she doesn’t need right now.  Along with the annoying lack of leads in her current case, Dr. Burke’s uncomfortably perceptive questions, and Castle bringing fun, uncomplicated blondes to her crime scenes.

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anonymous asked:

Fic prompt: Aunt Teresa is visting New York and has to stay with the Castles for a few days. Hilarity ensues as Rick tries his best to win her over and Martha and A.Teresa interact, with Kate stuck in the middle. I'm sure you can make it better ;)

A Bonding Experience

Caskett

Future!Fic


She’s buttering him up.

He still hasn’t figured out exactly what it is she’s after, but he knows his wife. She’s up to something. Definitely up to something.

It isn’t like last year, when they were forced to work apart on the same case and she tried to ply him with good wine and the hypnotic, seductive slide of her hand through his hair to find out what he knew. No, this time she’s all smiles and sweet kisses. Family dinners and comforting neck rubs. Letting him choose the movie and adding his favorite caramel drizzle to a bowl of popcorn she then shares with him.

Not to say his wife isn’t normally attentive and loving – she is, absolutely she is – but she abhors caramel popcorn. Anything else and he wouldn’t say a word, but the popcorn is the thing that truly clues him in.

“What’s up?” he asks finally, after she’s the one to stand and stretch, returning with more snacks and two glasses of wine at the completion of the first movie. The first movie, he adds in his head, when she has work in the morning.

“Hmm?” Her eyebrows lift over the rim of her glass. She curls back into his side, lifting her knees to nudge his thigh. “What do you mean ‘what’s up?’”

“The popcorn, Beckett. Unless there’s something you want to tell me that’s making you love foods you normally hate,” he pauses, slipping a hand under her shirt to caress her side. “What’s up?”

She laughs softly, dusting his jaw with soft lips. “Nothing to tell on that front this month, babe.”

He ignores the little nudge of disappointment at that; they aren’t exactly trying for a baby, but with Beckett off her birth control, they’re not exactly not trying either. “So there’s something to tell on another front, then.”

Beckett sighs, twisting just enough to slide her wine glass onto the end table.

“Well… you know my aunt…”

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All This Time...

Based on the prompt from castlefanficprompts “ To Love and Die in LA happens at some point between 47 Seconds and Always.

Also on ff.net ‘All This Time’


He sighed, scrubbing his hands down his face.

This was a bad idea.

When Ryan had told him that Beckett was flying to LA in search of Royce’s killer, he had acted first and thought later. Regret hadn’t wormed its way into his mind until after he had already been seated on the plane. Even though he was hurting and even though she didn’t want him in the way he wanted her; it had always been his instinct to help her.

Still it probably had been his dumbest idea to date, because now after all day of polite small talk as they investigated throughout Los Angeles, they were sitting together on the couch back at the hotel.

Alone.

And the awkward tension of the day had finally made itself so palpable that the air was thick with it.

“Beckett, I think I’m going to go to bed. Long day ahead of us tomorrow,” he said, trying to hold in the frown he felt his lips itching to form.

“Wait,” Kate sighed. “Why did you even come here, Castle?” The pain of the day etched in the worry lines her eyes formed. He knew she felt guilty about Royce’s death and the fact that they had never had the chance to make amends after his arrest made it worse. By finding his killer, it would be her way of making peace with her former friend.

Looking over at her as he considered her question, his heart ached, seeing the pain on her face. The type of pain he couldn’t do anything about, as much as he dreamed of the day he could pull her into his arms and tell her it would all be alright.

He knew better now. She would never want him that way.

“I figured you could use your partner, one last time—” he muttered. He needed to go to bed, being with her like this wasn’t helping anyone or anything. This was a mistake.

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Fic Prompt Continued

anonymous asked:

They slept together after Ryan’s wedding but never talked about it. Kate finds out she is pregnant but doesn’t know how to tell him, especially after the events of 47 seconds.

——-

post 47 Seconds and The Limey

——-

Fun.

And uncomplicated.

That is really not Kate Beckett, is it? He has run as far from her as he possibly can. Sprinted.

And in her most delirious, pain-med-induced hallucinations after being shot, Richard Castle walking away from her with a blonde on his arm and his child foraging like a hungry mouth inside her - while, yes, accurate to his persona on Page Six - is nothing she ever saw coming.

Little incubus, she murmurs, not sure who she’s talking about. Or to.

Damn. Succubus if it’s a girl.

Beckett rubs briskly at her face and scrapes her hair back, lets out a fortifying breath.

All right, well. She’s an adult; they are both adults, contrary to his recent behavior. He loves his daughter and he would be - hurt - if she says nothing.

Three months. Three of nine, a third of the way over already, and she’s not fun and she’s so complicated, and this is just - worse.

This is why a couple of vodka martinis and that dance floor at the Ryans’ wedding (and the shoes that tipped her forward and forced her to take them off so that she fit exactly right against him during the slow ones) were all very bad ideas.

They were waiting; there’s that wall, and she’s bricked up, walled off, except three months later, she’s going to have to do some renovation to let this kid outin six more months.

Her hands are trembling.

But she has to do this.

Kate raises her fist and knocks like a cop on his door.

—-

When he opens, the scowl deepens, the shadows cluster at the corners of his mouth. “What do you want, Beckett?”

Alimony.

No. God, that nearly came out of her mouth.

Instead, she folds the ultrasound into her palm, tucks it up close as if to protect it, and she goes entirely off-script.

“I had to be sure before I wrote this off,” she says, voice firm. “If not for me, then…”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve already heard the ending.”

“Perhaps. But there’s something you deserve to know.”

“You think?” he snarls. She’s not even inside his door yet, but he finally steps back and gestures brusquely with a hand. The sarcasm evident in that sweep of his arm is acidic. “I already heard, Beckett. Secondhand, I might add, which is pretty low of you-”

She freezes. “Secondhand?” Who could possible have told? No one knows -no one. But three months, three months is a long time and he watches her so closely, so observant, has always pulled out that trick and pummeled her with it. “I don’t know how you could have-”

“I heard, all right? I heard you in the interrogation room. You told a suspectbefore breathing a word of this to me.”

She frowns, palm sweating where it touches the ultrasound photo; the paper clings to her skin. It all feels a little depserate, so she tries to slow this down. “I don’t recall ever mentioning-”

“As if fleeing the hotel room like it’s the scene of a crime that morning doesn’t speak volumes, you’re right. I should have known. Stupid of me, optimistic of me, thinking maybe I just jumped the gun and you’d come back to me given time.”

“Come… back to you?” she says faintly. “When was I gone?”

Castle’s face looks struck.

She shakes her head and tries to make sense. “I’m not sure we’re talking about the same things here. What suspect? The interrogation-”

Her stomach drops.

Kate presses the heel of her hand to her stomach, blinking. “Oh. Oh, I…”

“I got the message, Kate. Loud and clear. I should have that morning after Ryan’s wedding, and that’s on me.”

He got the message? “But. This woman you…”

“What?” he snarls. “I can’t have a little fun?”

While he waits. “I never thought you were that kind of man.” She frowns, curls her fingers down over her stomach, realizes what she’s doing and drops her hand. The ultrasound is in the other hand, secret and safe, and if she thought she could get away with never seeing him again and just - doing this on her own - she would leave now.

Leave with her dignity intact, if not her heart.

“Everything has to be your way, is that it? Because you got shot, you get to dictate all the rules. Well, I’m done, Kate.”

She nods slowly, mind racing. He’s such a good father, but if he - if he hatesher this much, how can he filter that out when confronted with this child?

This is such a mess.

Kate presses her lips into a line and takes a breath, surprised that it still comes, that her lungs haven’t collapsed just like her heart.

“Right,” she says, nodding again. “Well, that’s it, then. I had to be sure, I guess, before I said anything.”

“You always do. Can’t possibly step out on blind faith, can you? Can’t possibly just believe for once.”

All right, well, this is getting confusing and he’s angry - and does a three-month-old fetus have ears? Probably so.

She drags her eyes back to him, finally looking, finally ready to face it. And yes, he’s terribly hurt, and angry, and he doesn’t want to listen to her; she can see that.

I left you a note, she thinks. But obviously, that wasn’t enough. She can never find adequate words, now or then. Obviously, he’s done with waiting. He got her out of his system and that’s really all it was good for. She knows now, too. She won’t keep after him.

Kate opens her hand with the ultrasound, unfolds it, smooths it out, her heart catching at the little blurs of digital limbs. “Well, this is your copy. I won’t - expect you. But I’m done shutting everyone out. Can’t really, anymore, can I?” She nods to herself and then lifts her eyes, presses the ultrasound into his hand. “Just - um…” Shit, her heart is breaking. This is a lot harder than she thought. “Just don’t take this one out of school for a Paris field trip, and we’ll be good, okay?”

She tries to laugh, and she leaves the sweat-curled photo in his palm, and turns to leave. Quickly. She needs out of here before the knot in her throat wells up in her eyes.

What the hell is this?”

——-

——-

Rick Castle stares down at the photo in his hand, realizing a too-long moment later that he’s snagged Beckett by the wrist to keep her from leaving.

“No,” he says raggedly. “No, I am not doing this again.”

Her face twists, lips crooked and eyes closing, and he hears it - too late - hears what that sounded like.

“No, I’m not letting you walk out on the best night of my life. You stay, Beckett.”

She swallows, and her eyes cast off, desperately, as if she can’t bear to look at him. “You don’t - it’s not required-”

“Did you not hear me?” he gowls, jerking on her arm. He’s being too rough, losing his cool; he’s losing it, but there is just so much to lose. “Best nights of my life - and both you seem to think are mistakes.”

Her chin jerks around, eyes snapping to his - there’s that fire, that flint and tinder coming together. He feels a fraction of relief, realizes he was having trouble breathing.

He releases her wrist, but he shifts to put his body between her and the door. “You don’t love me, that’s fine. But you don’t get to drop a bomb like that, some melodramatic garbage, and then leave.”

Her whole face goes comically, hilariously blank. Like a cartoon, like it’s just been wiped right off and redrawn before his eyes.

Her eyes reanimate first. Like bubbles of air rising up in muddy river water, proof of life lurking below the surface. “I don’t - I don’t what?” And then she laughs, something giddy - no, not that - something hysterical in it.

Hysteria - (Latin) of the uterus.

Oh, God.

“You’re pregnant,” he says, dumbly, ice water slapping him cold and shocking.

“I don’t love you?” she croaks, claps a hand over her mouth, shakes her head. “Of all the ridiculous - and yes, I’m pregnant, and yes, it’s yours, so don’t even ask.”

“I wasn’t. I didn’t.” He frowns, shoots her a glare. “Of course it’s mine.”

That sharp stain of pink drains out of her face just that fast. “Why would you say that?”

He presses the ultrasound against his chest. He recognizes the gesture as claiming, protective, but it’s all he has, all she’ll give him. “I’m - what? I’m not dismissing your - your claim. No need for a paternity test, I fully-”

“No, why would you say I don’t love you?”

His mouth opens, empty, closes again, staring at her.

“Wait,” she murmurs, pressing a hand to her eyes. “Oh, God, the interrogation. That’s what you - that’s what you’ve been talking - yelling at me about?”

His tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth.

“Because I used my getting shot to work a suspect? How is that news to you? Interogation 101, Castle. Anything to connect-”

“You said you knew,” he blurts out, interrupting with the awful acid thing that’s been burning a hole in his heart for weeks now. “You remembered every moment.”

“I re-” Her mouth snaps shut.

“If you didn’t know how to tell me, I - would have left you alone, you know. No need to pity fuck me for-”

“God, you are such a moron,” she groans, spinning on her heel and stalking away from him. He moves, helplessly orienting to her true north, but she jerks back around and thrusts an accusing finger at him. “You. Are. Such. A moron.Rick Castle. Do I look like I give out pity fucks?”

He jerks back, stung.

“No,” she hisses. “I do not. I-”

You left me.” His nostrils flare in the effort it takes to not break, himself or her or something. “I woke up and you were gone. And then I hear you - confessing everything to a murder suspect - and what do I get? Nothing. Not a word.”

“I left you a note,” she says, a strange bewildered hurt tumbling in her eyes.

No. She doesn’t get to be hurt. He’s the one wounded, stripped bare, left naked on the morning after to wake alone (thinking, stupidly, she went to get us coffee, she’ll be right back, she didn’t, couldn’t possibly, have thought that meant nothing). “You left me a note? What are you talking about? I said, call me, and you said you would and I got nothing all summer, and then-”

“No, that - after the wedding. At the hotel. I left you a note, Castle.”

“What?” He scrubs a hand down his face, hard. “A note. No. There was nonote. There was no note!”

She stares at him. “There was too.”

“Then what did it say?”

She answers immediately, and with such clear precision that he knows the truth of it before she even finishes speaking. “‘Now we both know what we’re waiting for.’”

A terrible kind of grief clutches him and his hands curl into fists - but his fingers catch on the ultrasoun and his eyes drop, inexorably, to the biege-gold and yellow-white on black that is-

“A baby,” he says.

She lets out a breath. “That was not what I meant.”

He chokes on a laugh and his eyes jerk up to see her - see her - really look. She’s not looking back; she’s definitely not happy, but it’s not just latent anger and frustration. Her eyes are smudged, as if inexpertly drawn, and her mouth in a tight line; her fingrers knot and smooth, over and over.

She’s unhappy.

She’s terribly unhappy.

“Beckett.”

She reluctantly looks at him.

“I won’t take the kid out of school for field trips to Paris, promise.” Her shoulders go up, defensive, but he is holding onto that flippant remark of hers like it too is a promise. A promise that the baby is happening, that she’s already made her choice. “Not unless you’re coming with us, that is.”

“I don’t have the vacation time,” she murmurs, aimless, still miserable-looking. Twisting and knotting her fingers at her sides.

He wonders if that’s his answer. No, Castle, I don’t have the vacation time. My life won’t accommodate yours. We don’t fit. This will never work.

He ducks his head to look at the ultrasound photo, wonders if this is as close as he’s going to get. Will she let him be there for the birth? Meredith had a c-section and no and he didn’t know how to force the issue, and then Alexis was in his arms and what did he care at all?

He cares. “I can keep this?” At all, at all can he keep this?

She clears her throat. “You’re not willing to wait, I get it; you’ve made that abundantly clear. But you’re a good dad, and you - no, not you - this babydeserves a good dad, no matter how I, how difficult it is for me to see you with-”

“What are you talking about?” he says, horror spilling through his chest. He grabs for her wrist because he see her slipping away from him; in her eyes, she’s setting herself adrift, his light going out in her.

And then it dawns in him, like knowledge itself can be transferred from one person to another, skin to skin.

“You think I could stop loving you? It’s not a switch. I have tried, I have tried to walk away from you, Kate Beckett, more than once, but you make it impossible to get anywhere without you.”

——-

—–

“Oh.”

It pops out of her mouth so stupidly, a breath really, astonishment suffusing the sound. She stares at him, captivated by the hard-edged frustration carved into his face.

He slides the ultrasound into the pocket of his shirt, over his heart, and her own flutters strangely.

“So how about we start this conversation over?” he says carefully. He reaches out, slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, and he circles his fingers around her wrist.

Her bones feel bruised, but his touch is light this time, gentle. He tugs.

She stumbles forward, still mentally tripped up more than anything. He’s barely hanging on to her. Barely.

“The couch, come sit,” he says. His voice is low and even, soothing; she feels patronized but grateful for it too, for the way he’s taken over, extending an olive branch. Peace, peace, and that must make her the dove.

She’s jumbled; this doesn’t make sense. What she thought, what her heart knew, is not what she sees before her now. She’s completely at a loss. She didn’t come to his loft expecting to - to win him back (did she ever have him?). She came to confront his anger, to acknowledge the wounded air, and to simply fulfill a duty.

She thinks that if it’s possible, a baby deserves to know two parents, even if those two can’t ever seem to find the same page.

“Kate? Please. Please, sit. Start over?”

He’s hovering. She glances down and sinks into the couch behind her, perching on the edge, her hands tucked between her knees. “I’m not sure how.”

“Okay, you’re right. Maybe starting over isn’t possible. But - can you tell me - why?”

She blinks and glances up at him. “Castle, if I have to explain how babies are made-”

He laughs. God, it’s been entirely too long since she’s seen him laugh and it breaks something open inside her. Spills warmth down through her limbs and makes her fingers awake, as if parts of her have been asleep.

“Not necessary,” he says, smile lopsided, eyes lightening. “Though if you want to, I bet that lesson would be hot.”

She bites the corner of her lip and slants her eyes over at him, but she knows she’s still smiling back. She can’t help it. She’s not even scared any more, though it might come later. There’s just too much relief.

He’s laughing; they can talk. He’s laughing; this isn’t broken beyond repair.

“Why did you lie?” he says.

Her relief sinks like lead.

His agitation rises to the surface, his eyes hooded. “You could have… done anything else. You could have said, I don’t want to talk about it. And I’d have done what I always do, Kate. I’d have waited. I’d have at least hoped. Had hope.”

She nods, head ducking down, but it reminds her of therapy, a posture of defense under revelation. And just as she does in therapy, she sets her jaw and lifts her chin and battles back with sarcasm. “I feel like I need my therapist for this,” she mutters.

(And she’s supposed to be a parent? God, it’s a train wreck; she’s already failing. And now she’s terrified, and she’s not alone in this, and that’s worse somehow, knowing she’s dragged him into her broken, terrible mess, just what she didn’t want to do-)

“Therapist?” he croaks.

She blinks.

“You’re seeing a therapist?”

“Ye-es,” she gets out.

“Oh.” Castle sinks inward, as if collapsing on himself, and she curls her fingers, clasping her own hands.

This was a mistake; she should have gone to Dr Burke first, gotten some advanced training on how to have an adult conversation. Some pointers. Rehearsed it.

“Does it help?”

Kate lifts her gaze to his, and all that on-edge defensiveness just crumbles at the look on his face.

How wounded he is. Has been. I could have had hope. She didn’t even give him that; she hasn’t managed to even give him hope.

“It’s been helping,” she qualifies, picking her words more carefully. “It’s work. And at least now I have guidance where the work should begin.”

He has words back there, words on his tongue he’s not saying; he keeps opening his mouth and closing it again, unable to settle on any of them.

This was her choice, wasn’t it? She chose this path for them (if there’s a them at all). She chose waiting, and the dimming of hope, and then she chose to be selfish one night and take everything he offered even though she knew she wasn’t the kind of woman who could stand up with him, not then, not ready, not even able to stay the morning with him and be reasonable and talk about it.

Well, now she has to talk. “I told you - that day on the swings - I’m not willing to cheat us out of what could be - will be - something great, something amazing. And you said - I thought you said, anyway, that you understood and you would still be here…” Did he really say that? And should she at all hold him to promises made without real knowledge of what the keeping would entail? She hasn’t been fair. And it’s not like they said it in any real words-

“I’m still here,” he says.

“Right,” she nods, and even she can hear the skepticism in her voice.

“I was trying not to be here,” he admits, rubbing both hands on the tops of his thighs. Crushes his hands into fists. His mouth twists and his eyes - oh God, his eyes are terrible with grief. “I was trying to get over you because it looked like I had it all wrong, that I was reading into things. I - have an overactive imagination, you know, and the last few weeks - months - have conspired to prove me, once more, inventing the world I want rather than the world that exists.”

“No,” she cries out, clutching her elbows. “No, it’s not - an invention. Is it?”

He shakes his head. “Is it? A story I wrote to make myself feel better.”

“No.” She clears her throat. “No, you didn’t make it up. I’m in love with you.”

—–

Things i will still never get over, in terms of castle.
  • - she married her favourite fucking author.
  • - from "it was nice meeting you, Mr Castle" to "rick.... i love you"
  • -she married her favourite fucking author.
  • - his book dedications. Lets just imagine her reading them on her advanced copy, because thats one of the perks of marrying your favourite fucking author.
  • - from "he's like a 9 year old on a sugar rush, completely incapable of taking anything serious" to "i love you richard castle, and i wanna spend my life in the warmth of your smile and the strength of your embrace."
  • - "beckett, what do u want?" - "you.."
  • - from "you may not be ready to see it kate, but he cares about you." To "i never could have done this without you"
  • - kate getting shot and castle confessing his love for her and correct me if im wrong but i always saw a hint of a smile before she closed her eyes.
  • - her face when the bomb goes off in cops and robbers aka she thought she would never get to tell him she loved him too.
  • - from "call me a muse again and ill break your legs" to "i thought i lost you"
  • - they went to prom, and made our always song, their song.
  • - your husband may be right...
  • - from "so, how long have u been sleeping together?"
  • "Ehh were not sleeping together".
  • To "you have no idea how much ive missed this."
  • -she may have been stubborn about keeping him around in the first 2 seasons but she actually dumped demming so she could go the hamptons with him because she accepted that she was crazy about this guy.
  • - lying about the bet in 3x01 so he could come back to the precinct.
  • - even in an AU world they were meant for eachother.
  • -castle in the AU world still confessing his love for her even when he took the bullet this time.
  • The guys who write this show are my heros!
  • - kate beckett is his wife, finally.
  • - richard castle is her husband, finally.
Escape (1/2)

link to ffn here

part two 

set post-47 seconds, pre-always (this was a prompt fill from castlefanficprompts but I can’t find it so I’ll list the general idea of it at the end)

Small talk, he drives

She finds herself outside his door a few minutes before midnight and for the first time that night she begins to question whether or not she should even be here.

They’ve been weird lately, well, weirder than usual, but she can feel herself reverting back to how she was in the summer, in the months following her shooting, and she needs to get out, needs to escape the cities tight confines, and soon, but she can’t allow herself to go alone. She knows that Lanie and her father are both busy – or so she tells herself – so she’s left hoping that Castle will still be there for her when she needs him.

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