Sleeping Bag, ch. 2-A short Caskett WIP set between seasons 5 & 6
Title: Sleeping Bag, Ch. 2
WC: ~1800 this chapter, ~3200 total
Rating: T in chapters 1 and 2, M in chapter 3
Summary: "It's another thing they're not talking about, and that wasn't part of the agreement. Worse than that, she's only just noticed. It's gotten lost somehow. The fact that they never talk about him anymore. It's slipped through the cracks, because everyone else does. Everyone's eager to talk about him. To tell her he's ok. That he's doing just fine."
A/N: turns out to be AU after Watershed. Set between seasons 5 & 6
The wind kicks up. The cold and a brief spatter of rain have a few more knots of people giving up on the line. A few more see those few and the idea catches on. There's an exodus to the tune of good-natured grumbling about July and what hemisphere this is anyway? People flow together and apart. They almost make eye contact. They connect in sideways smiles and parallel conversations. She remembers this from college. From her Nebula-9 days. The anarchy of wallflowers in bloom.
She keeps her head down, though. She peels herself off the brick at her back. She doesn't engage as she moves a few more squares of sidewalk forward. She wonders if he's watching. If he's close. She wants to look for him, but she's afraid it'll call attention just when the worst offenders are drifting away. This was such a bad idea.
She shuffles forward again as a sizable group peels off together in search of warmth and bigger things. They're muttering, and she thinks she catches his name. She watches them go and tries not to be obvious. She's eager, though. She thinks that's all of them. She turns the corner and lets her gaze sweep along the line. Reassures herself that everyone who might have been a problem is gone and that's good. It's good.
The line bunches up again here. It hugs a jog inward, a sheltered space outside the glass doors to the building. The brick cuts down on the wind and the alcove itself feels paradoxically less crowded. The small knot of people here are lower key. They survey the scene through the doors and seem to conclude that any major shifts are done for now. They spread blankets and settle down to a card game.
One guy regards her curiously. She has at least ten years on anyone in his group. She can tell he wants to ask what she's doing here. She's wondering herself when he gives her a tentative smile and offers a corner of blanket and a seat in the game. She shakes her head and thanks him. He gives a good-natured shrug and turns back to his friends.
It's pleasant here, relatively speaking, through she worries he won't be able to find her when he comes back.
If he comes back.
The though lingers for half a second. It's sour in her mouth and trickling down her throat to make her chest feel tight. It leaves her feeling foolish. Feeling mean.
He'll always come back. He'll always find her.
She sinks down the wall to sit again on a cold square of sidewalk.
He'll come back.
It should be comforting. It should feel solid and sure and something she can hold on to while everything else shifts around her. That was the idea. The plan. Even though they're not talking about it, that's what it was supposed to mean: Whatever you decide.
She wishes it were comforting, but right now it just adds to the weight. Even though she misses him. Even though she wants him back beside her right now. Even though she hates all the ways this is turning out to be a bad idea. She hates all the time they're losing to this-and it's so little already, really. Three days is hardly enough time to get used to one another all over again, and here they are wasting it because she didn't think it through.
But he didn't say anything, either. Even when they got here. When it was obvious it was going to to be a problem. He's famous. Kind of famous, and he can't just go to something like this. She should have realized, but he should have said, and he didn't. He didn't say a thing until he was pushing her into a dark corner. Kissing her hard and apologizing.
Sorry. Kate. Sorry. They won't . . . I know the type. They're not going to leave us alone. Sorry. I'll be back as soon as I can.
And then he was gone and here she is.
He should have said something, though. She's irritated. A sharp slice of it, clean through the guilt. For one second, she's irritated and can't believe he didn't say anything. The next, she can't believe she thought he would.
Him.
It's another thing they're not talking about, and that wasn't part of the agreement. Worse than that, she's only just noticed.
It's gotten lost somehow. The fact that they never talk about him anymore. It's slipped through the cracks, because everyone else does. Everyone's eager to talk about him. To tell her he's ok. That he's doing just fine.
Ryan does. He texts her funny pictures and sends cheery emails every few days. Castle still stops by the precinct, but Gates won't let him do any work. Not really. He's not allowed on the other side of the tape or on canvases or take downs. He has to give the murder board wide berth. But shes been looking the other way when he drops by to visit now and then. She feels sorry for him. That's the subtext: Gates feels sorry him.
Kate answers the emails not so often. She sends a quick thank you now and then. Texts usually. She lets Ryan know she's glad she can count on him to keep her boys in line. To keep Espo in line. But she doesn't answer as often as she should.
It bothers her that Castle hasn't pushed. That she didn't even know about the new rules until Ryan told her. It bothers her that Sure. Yes. Ok. isn't just something he says to her. That he's given up on so much of their everyday life, and it's not fair.
She never wanted that. But it's not like he's saying she did. He's not blaming her. Any guilt she conjures up comes from all the things she can't stop to think about. Because she's exhausted trying to do this. Because she works harder than anyone and falls exhausted into bed at night. There's no day-to-day time to think about it, and when he's there-when she's in New York-the time is just too precious. And it's against the rules. They're not allowed to stop and think.
Lanie talks about him, too, but her news is second hand. That surprises Kate. News travels from Alexis to Lanie to her in the Wednesday night phone calls her friend won't compromise on. But there's not a lot to say, even though Lanie is eager to reassure her. Alexis is fine. She's busier than ever in her second year of college. She's doing well, though, and Castle's behaving himself. He's not hovering or clinging or compensating. He's learned his lesson about dropping by unannounced, and that surprises her, too.
She catches herself wondering who's taking care of him and hates herself for it. She hates that she hasn't wondered before. She hates that it's not her and it's apparently not him because he's slipping into the background of his own life. Their lives. She hates that everyone who tells her he's fine has no idea how he really is.
She misses him. She misses knowing every thought that flickers through his mind. She misses the disjointed dialogue that spills out when he's doing the dishes or reading the paper, because he's always writing. Except she doesn't know if he's writing at all these days. He's quiet. He might not be writing at all.
She misses his touch. The way his busy hands trip over her in passing. The way he unthinkingly sketches sentences on her skin while they're talking about something else entirely.
She misses him all the time. When his hands are on her. When she's closing her teeth around his skin. When he pushes inside and breaks her open. Hot, dirty curses and adjectives in her ear. When she climbs his body in yet another blind airport hallway because neither one of them can wait another second.
She misses him when he's going, and neither of them can live with that. When he drags her into, behind, or around the back of whatever's closest. When he flips the lock or shields her body with his own. When he covers her mouth with a rough palm and does indecent things to her in record time. When he comes hard and she feels the groan against her skin in every cell of her body. She misses him.
She misses the joy he's capable of. She had no idea how much she counted on it-counted on him to carry it for both of them-until he couldn't any more. Until he wasn't
He can't. Not in New York, not in DC, and apparently not in Delaware. He's not built for it.
She isn't either, she realizes. Lightning flash and all that, with her butt frozen to a Delaware sidewalk, it hits her just how unhappy she is. How much she hates this and can't live three days at a time. She can't live with a moratorium on anything real.
She pulls out her phone. Her hands are shaking. Need and worry and determination pushing at her skin and making her clumsy.
She taps out a text. Where are you?
Cowering. Safe?
He fires it back immediately, and there's a picture. Him with a baseball cap pulled low. He's shrinking back against the driver's seat of a car she doesn't know. Something huge he must have rented, and she can't believe they didn't even talk about how he got here. She sees the back crowded with things. The second row of seats folded down. A backpack and canvas bags in a neat row. A tight roll of camouflage print.
Where?
He sends back a single question mark. She curses under her breath and pushes to her feet. She's stumbling out of the line and trying to make her fingers work.
Where? How do I find you?
The kids look up from their game. "Should we save it? We don't mind." It's the guy who invited her earlier.
She shakes her head. "No. Thanks."
She looks down at her phone. A stack of messages. From him. Short. In rapid succession. Worry escalating.
Safe? OMW back.
Or bad? Sorry. Really sorry. OMW.
You ok?
And finally just her name and a question mark.
No!
She manages that. Kicks herself for sending it off alone. It looks curt. Cold and ambiguous and this is what passes for so much of their conversation lately.
I'm fine. Good. Stay.
Kate . . .
There's anguish in that and she's on fire to be with him. She stops. Ignores the irritated tsks of people in costume. People loaded down with bags and boxes skirting around her.
She breathes deep. Steadies herself and takes the time with it.
Miss you. OMW. How do I find you?