"moments after, I have dreamed"
Genre: Drama. Romance
Time Frame: 2x24
Summary: For a moment, she let herself want the dream.
Notes: So, my good friend brodiew posed the challenge to expand on Beckett's thoughts and feelings at the end of the finale as Castle left (which, I know, a million people have done) in 300 to 500 words (and lemme tell you, drabbles aside, it is a pain in the butt for me to write that short. ). He tackled it in third person POV, me in first . . . And this is what the muse came up with.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but for the words. (And my e.e. cummings inspired title. )
"moments after, I have dreamed"
I stood still, stuck in place, for a long time after he left. My feet seemed to have become a part of the linoleum floor; scuffed, and trampled, and suddenly so very tired in the wake of him leaving. It took me conscious effort to blink, to breathe, to feel; even when I was feeling so very much already . . .
Dear God, but I had . . .
I had almost . . .
I had almost let him in. I had almost told him. Told him that I cared, that I was willing to throw my heart out there for him (to hold or to trample) . . . Told him that I had cut safe and comfortable for explosive and passionate and right. He was right – my right; or so I had thought.
How could I have misread what I so obviously saw in his eyes? The playful invitations to the Hamptons, and his lines about skinny dipping and swim-suits, and that look, that darkly pained sucker-punch to the stomach look that I know I saw in his eyes when I had told him I was with Tom.
That look meant things – it was his look, for me. My look.
Gina . . . him . . . the Hamptons.
Strange, how his words blistered and burned now, when just hours ago they would have just made me roll my eyes in fond exasperation.
God, but my voice had sounded pathetic. Rasping; maybe even a little pleading; a little insecure. I always seemed to be around him . . .
Yeah. This fall.
Arm in arm with the other woman . . . and he had stepped so easily out of my dreams.
My lip trembled, and something hot and oddly burning built behind my eyes. But I wouldn't let myself cry . . . wouldn't let myself fall apart. Not while there was still a chance of him looking back.
Please, look back . . .
The elevator door closes, and a small part of me – an everything part of me – went so very cold.
Castle . . .
I crossed my arms over my chest, pulling in any remaining body heat to my body.
It had taken me so long to cross the chasm between us; to find that edge to jump. I had taken the deep breath in, had anticipated the wind in my hair and his hand in mine as we fell. (And how I had not feared reaching the bottom if he reached it with me . . .)
Now I found myself alone and shattered on the pavement.
I had . . .
I had loved him.
Now . . .
I felt hands at my shoulder (Kevin's), my back (Javier's). My hands were taken in two warmer ones, slender and cool (Laine's). Words at my ear – (The Captain's). A whole support for a fall that I had taken alone.
But it wasn't enough.
I wanted the dream . . . not the hazy shade of memory upon the morning hour that I now had.
Completely undone, I lowered my head into my hands, and let myself cry.