83. 85: Sunday

85

Space.

He asked for space.

She respects the need for space.

She will respect his too. His request for space.

She owes it to him.

Kate loads the dish washer with the past week's clutter - dinner a few night's ago, the snack Alexis made, the popcorn bowl that he melted M&Ms into - and then pops in a powder and gel packet, runs it. The gentle chugging of the machine fills her too-quiet, too-empty apartment and Kate stands in the kitchen, trying to keep it together.

Twenty-two hours without a word from him. He asked for space; he needed to take a walk.

It's been a long walk.

Was she keeping secrets? No. She was just - living her life. She doesn't understand-

Kate takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, dissipating her anxiety as the air leaves her lungs. She scrapes her hair back, plucks the rubber band from her wrist, makes a pony tail. Already in leggings and a running shirt - her zombie run was oddly comforting this morning - she heads into the living room and starts up the yoga dvd.

Deep breathing, clear her mind, find her center.

He needs some space.

Sweat slides into her eyebrow, lingers for a hesitating moment, then drops into her eye. She blinks furiously, maintains Warrior pose, and keeps her breathing even. When she draws back for Tree, she swipes her forehead against her bare shoulder, smears more sweat along her skin, grimy with it.

Her shirt is plastered to her chest, her thighs tremble as she lifts her foot to her opposite knee, keeping a tight reign over her core muscles. Sweat slips down her neck, pools between her breasts, clings to her stomach.

She breathes out, lowers her foot, breathes in to switch to the other foot. She has to cheat and glance to the television, her concentration scattered tonight, to see what comes next.

Toe stand pose. Damn. How many times has she done this video and she couldn't remember that?

Kate squats slowly as she breathes out, palms pressed together, shifts her weight to only one trembling foot, the other tucked in tight against her body. When she has her balance, she flexes her calf and goes en pointe for half a second, falls back to regular tiptoe, her body one continuous cramp of exertion.

Sweat pours down her body, her breathing ragged, and she makes herself hold it until she's trembling so badly she pitches to one side.

Her knee hits first and she collapses, rolls onto her back, bringing a sweat-slick arm across her eyes. Kate sucks in her breath, again and again, and finally can't stop it.

She cries into her elbow, on the floor, great gulping gasps that choke her breath, the tears rolling back and collecting in her ears, pooling with her sweat.

He needs space.

She had three months. She had all year. She was given that time like a gift, and she will at least give him the same respect.

Even if it kills her.

He didn't contact her father last summer, trying to sneak around behind her back for information; she won't call his daughter to find out if he's okay. If he's coming back. If he can't take her anymore and-

She has to get out of here.

Kate picks herself up off the floor and swipes at her eyes, her head thick with it, her throat clogged. She rips the shirt over her head and stalks into her bedroom, flings it towards the dirty clothes hamper in the closet. Misses.

Bending over to snag it off the floor, she feels the choke of tears and has to stand up quickly, blink it back. She leaves the shirt where it fell, skins off her leggings, dumps the underwear.

She turns for her bathroom but she doesn't have the energy for a shower, doesn't think she can keep it in long enough. All that water, all that forgiving noise - if she goes in there, she'll never come out.

No. Enough.

This is her choice, to have him, however long she can make it last, however long he'll take it, and this is what happens.

This is life.

Enough.

Beckett finds clean underwear, yoga pants, pulls them on one after another without thinking. A hot pink sports bra, an oversized purple shirt that does nothing to improve her mood, and then she shoves on shoes.

She has to sit down to tie her laces, her fingers trembling over the fine motor work. Then she stands again, swiping at her cheeks for the renegade drops, and heads for her front door.

She manages to grab her keys and then she's gone.

She has her subway card but not much else. She forgot her phone, wallet - she looks a holy mess. Her hair snakes out from the rubber band, curled haphazardly with sweat and a day's worth of I can't even begin to care, and she knows she has whatever remains of her make-up smeared under her eyes.

Did she even put on make-up this morning?

Not sure. Probably not. She might have wanted to, a confidence booster, but after the zombie run in Central Park where she came breathlessly back from a sprint to her starting place and he wasn't there-

She really thought he'd be back by now.

How long a walk did-

Okay, no. Enough.

It's not over, for goodness sake. It's just some damn space. She made him wait three months with nothing; she knew this isn't it. Lots of life left in them yet.

She ignores the petulant voice in her head that said But last summer you weren't sleeping with him.

She ignores it fervently.

When she realizes she's staring into space, her hand loose on the metal bar in the subway car, she decides to get off, start walking and see where she ends up.

She always deals with problems, anxiety, issues with exertion. Physicality makes her stop going crazy. Running keeps her from running in circles. It works if she works out.

All those nice word plays; Castle would-

Enough.

Enough, Beckett.

When she lifts her head, she realizes where she is. The playground. The scene of so many pivotal moments for her - cracks in the wall, breaks, wholesale destruction.

She thought. She really did think it was gone, the whole thing, just - in a wreck at her feet. She would never have come to him that night if she didn't think they had a chance.

The thing about the job interview - it didn't occur to her to share. She was a little ashamed of her laziness, if she's honest, and she wanted to get out there again, get moving. She talked to him about the job search; they had conversations about it. She doesn't understand why-

Kate drops her head, crosses her arms against it. She's sweating again; the day is heavy with the humidity of oncoming storms. Above her, the sky is dull, the same color as the skyscrapers. She trails her eyes from the city and back towards the trees, the grass, the expanse of playground equipment sprawled before her.

Oh, it's - there's so many kids, families. The swings are full, no more room.

She stands awkwardly at the edge of the playground, swipes at the errant hair waving in the slow tug of a breeze. Heat lightning flashes from far off and a few parents are wrangling their kids, taking them home, but the majority stay.

A dark-skinned boy with a fierce scowl catches her attention; he swings from the monkey bars, hanging a moment at the next to last one, gathering his strength. He rocks back and then lunges for it, but misses, his body dropping like a stone.

She tilts forward, lightning flickers across the still-light sky, but the kid is fine. He pushes up with a stubbornness that impresses her, climbs back up the monkey bars, starts it all over again. From the beginning.

She lets out a breath, glances once more to the swings longingly-

Castle.

Just past the swings.

Castle.

"Rick."

No, her voice did not hitch. She is fine.

He watches her approach; his eyes are hungry on hers, but he doesn't move. His hands flex, fist at his sides. She doesn't know what that means.

She stands in front of him, lightning flickering at the edges of her vision, and it just comes out.

"Why wouldn't you be in my life? What else is there? What more can I-"

He crushes her into an embrace so fierce it flattens her words, steals her breath. She presses her face into his neck and wraps her arms at his back, trying to keep it together.

It's useless. Shit. Useless. Her relief is so great it washes over her like a flash flood and she drowns in it, happily, without a fight.

Kate snakes an arm between them and swipes at her cheeks; she's not going to do this now, not now, not with him right here.

"Long - long walk," she says, clearing her throat.

"You didn't call me," he murmurs.

What?

"I didn't call you?" she says, incredulous with it, pulling back to look at him. "You said - you left, Castle. What-"

"You - I thought you would - follow."

She stares at him, bewildered for the second time in just over a day, and can't fathom where this man even came from. "Follow?"

Her astonishment is so great that it actually makes him chuckle, a dry thing with no life in it, and she sees actual hurt behind his eyes. She hurt him by not chasing after him? She hurt him by doing exactly what he asked of her?

"Are you serious?" she hisses, then shoves on his shoulder, not at all dislodging him. "Follow you?"

"I guess you - you wanted some space," he says quietly, his eyes dark pools in the dimming light.

"Me? I wanted space?" She presses both heels of her hands into her eyes and tries to keep from losing it. Just. Losing it. "Castle."

His hands tighten on her elbows, tugging, and she's forced to look at him. He takes a rocking step back, like he's received a blow, and his mouth drops open.

"Kate."

She's going to cry. Shit. She does not want to cry.

"Kate," he says, cradling her now, a hand palming the back of her neck, another at her hips, pressing her in close. She puts her face to his chest, growling at him to get rid of the ugly sting of tears, and her mouth opens, bites his collarbone.

He grunts and squeezes the back of her neck, taking it, and she feels his head drop closer, his breath at her shoulder. When she thinks she can speak, she pulls away a little, lips soothing the spot she marked with her teeth as she glances at his face.

"You said you needed to be alone."

He opens his mouth, closes it, something like understanding dawning in his eyes. "I - I did. I see how you would - that's important to you."

What? What the hell? Why does she always feel blind-sided by him? "Castle, this isn't good. I don't understand half of our arguments. I don't get why a phone call I didn't elaborate on somehow turned into you disappearing on me for a whole day-"

"Wait. Just-" He shakes his head at her. "Hold off on that for a second. I think we need to-"

She clenches her fists at his back and remembers to breathe, her brain still circling around and around on You didn't call me.

"I guess I thought. . .that you would come find me when you were ready to apologize," he says finally.

Apologize?

"You said you needed to take a walk, to be alone."

"I see now - I get that those words have a particular meaning for you that they don't for me-"

"What the hell else do they mean?" she cries, feeling it pressing tightly in her chest again, a great choking that makes her hands clench tighter.

"Yeah. See. Last summer, I expected - for at least a month there - I really thought you were going to call me."

"Are you trying to make me cry?" she grits out.

"No," he hurries on, gripping her by the elbows, smoothing his thumbs up her biceps. "No, Kate. Please don't - I'm not explaining this well. When I left, I told you I'd have my phone on me-"

"And that meant I should call you?" Why does she feel like the fucking guy in this relationship? She's the one who takes his words at face value and assumes when he says he needs to be alone that he needs to be alone-

Oh. But Castle? Castle needs to be alone? Yeah, when does that happen?

She swallows again, pushes it down, all of it, tries to be logical. Since he's the girl here; she's got to figure this out.

"Right. You're the one who hovers. You'd never need this much time alone. How stupid of me to not see that," she gets out.

He sucks in a breath and drops his hands. "I don't want to fight with you."

"Too late." She glares at him a moment, but it falls flat as well. Everything else swirls back up in a rush and all the words she promised she wouldn't say are pouring out of her. "How are you not in my life? How is three weeks in Belize together not in my life? A day without you, Castle, and I'm a mess, and how is this not you in my life?"

He raises his hands to her again, palms splayed wide at her back, and she stiffens at the pull of him, can't resist it. Heat lightning is ripping apart the darkening sky and the playground is emptying out.

She turns away from him and moves woodenly to the abandoned swings, sinks down with a sigh, trying not to let the tears come. He's followed her over, takes the swing next to hers, his eyes on her.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I think you and I have different ideas about what gets shared."

"You think?" she growls, tilting her head back, keeping her eyes wide open to stare at the dark, ominous sky. Blink faster.

"I think," he murmurs, and her head snaps back down to see him, lonely looking over there, his eyes cast to the ground.

She did this too, didn't she? Put them on separate swings, apart, no longer touching. She was just tired, just felt like if his hands were on her she wouldn't be able to keep it together, but now-

Kate digs her heel into the ruts under her swing, draws closer to him, feeling the tug of gravity backwards. She reaches out and snags his chain with her right hand, hooks her leg around his to hold on. He startles, a laugh popping out of his mouth, and his feet come off the ground to swing with her, back in the middle, the two of them hooked together.

Castle slowly unwraps his hand from his swing and reaches out, catches her other chain, draws her even closer for a kiss.

A crack of thunder makes her jump, her mouth crashing into his, his teeth at her bottom lip and hard. She sucks in a breath and pushes closer, her tongue darting past his, stroking.

Their kiss is heavy, awkward as the swings rock in the wind, with their movements, and she rolls her cheek against his to take a moment, breathing hard.

He sighs along her skin, nuzzles her nose with his own. "I love you."

"I know," she says. "I know. I know." That's not in question here.

He nods against her, but the silence says too much, not enough, and she presses her lips to his jaw, feels the harsh scrape of his unshaven cheek. At least a day's worth. He was just as miserable as she was.

"Castle," she sighs. "I love you too."

He lets out a long breath. "I know."

"Do you?" And she hates the way her voice breaks, but he's curling her closer, the swings jangling harshly, their legs tangled and tense with the effort of keeping them together. "Do you even believe me at all-"

"I do, Kate. I do," he murmurs. "We have things to talk about, serious issues, but I know you do."

They stay like that for a long time, the wind picking up, the scent of burned ozone in every breath, and then she lets her arm straighten, her muscles cramped, and the movement pushes him back far enough that she can look at him. "How'd you know where I was?"

His face blanks and he shakes his head. "I didn't."

"Oh." He didn't come back to her. He just. Kept walking. "Then why are you here?"

"Trying to remind myself," he says with a little shrug that shakes the swings. A scatter of raindrops is sprinkled across her cheeks by the rush of wind, and then nothing more.

"Remind yourself of what?"

"That I could wait," he says finally. "That waiting pays off."

She closes her eyes and tries to breathe, everything breaking. His fingers find her cheek, stroke at her skin, the edge of a loose strand of hair, but he's quiet.

They do have issues. They have serious issues if he still thinks he's waiting on her. Issues she didn't even know about, still can't understand, and the wide gulf of space between them seems darker and deeper than it did that night she came here, soaked to the skin, trying to find a way around not having him.

"Why did you come here?" he whispers.

She lifts her head, looks at him. "Reminding myself."

He tilts his head in question, and she answers because he cut her with the truth first.

"Reminding myself that I chose this. I made the decision to let it hurt so much. Good or bad. Didn't matter, so long as it was you doing the hurting."

And the blank wash of speechlessness that falls over him is answer enough. She lets go of his swing, her fingers cramped, unhooks her leg from his, calms his flicker of panic with a squeeze to his forearm even as she stands.

"It's about to pour," she says, drawing her hand down to his wrist, loosening his fingers. "Let me come home with you, Castle. We'll talk."

He lets go of the swing.