Summer Dark

Summary: Kate stumbles across a secret. No wonder he'd been so angry at her after she'd avoided him all summer.
Rating: K+, pretty tame
Disclaimer: I do not own Castle. I am just borrowing these characters for entertainment.

(I don't really know where this came from. It just did.)

Saturday morning, a day off. With a job that had Kate up by 6 every day, she rarely slept in past 10. So today 9:30 found her sipping coffee and browsing the shelves at her favorite bookstore.

She traced her first finger over the spines of the books. Hmm. She didn't normally look through poetry, but her usual crime novels just weren't looking interesting today. And the poetry volumes were lovely. Rich leather covers, gold-edged pages. The smell of literature.

Kate had walked in from the opposite side, so she followed the authors' names backwards down the shelves. Yeats. Teasdale. Shakespeare, of course. Poe. Keats. Dickinson. Beckett.

Beckett? Huh. She'd never realized she had a distant cousin in poetry.

She couldn't help but chuckle, pulling the book out to take a closer look. So…Alexander Beckett. Cousin Alex. A poet, are you? Hmm. Summer Dark. Pretty title. The book was pretty too, a small, slim volume with a plain cover, deep blue, silver lettering.

Well, she was intrigued now. She found the nearest comfy chair and sat down to read whatever Mr. Beckett had written. Flipping idly, she ended up somewhere in the middle of the book.

Sometimes I wish

you would forget me

(I can never forget you)

you might be happy

your eyes might brighten

even if I couldn't see them

(I'd never forget to remember you)

Sad, but sweet. She flipped a few more pages.

Beside the ocean

They say the horizon never ends

(it's not true)

it disappears every night

and without you

nothing is forever

and there is no always

Her face got solemn as she kept reading. Something wasn't right. This was…something…it felt oddly familiar. But she'd never seen this book before.

She turned the page.

I carry you with me always

in every breeze I hear your sigh

in every star I see your eyes

in every breath I taste your mouth

you fill me to bursting

because

when you took my heart

you gave me so much more

in its place

No…

The moment your heart stopped

was the moment mine bled

and the day you came back to life

was the day life came back to me

(and each day you spend without me

is a day I would give back)

- and the day you learn to love me

will be the only one I will ever, ever need

…Impossible…

You don't remember

but I still think you know, love

Oh. Oh –

I left because you told me to go

but the best of me stayed with you

Her heart started pounding. Her mouth was dry. It couldn't be. It was impossible.

…Alexander Beckett.

(He wouldn't have published this under his own name.)

But Alexander Beckett –

Still unwilling to admit it to herself, she flipped back to the title page, turning it over to find the dedication.

I hope you read this someday

when you're ready to know

that I will love you

always.

Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes stinging. It couldn't be a coincidence. Always. When you're ready to know that I will love you.

Beckett.

Alexander.

It took her a few minutes before she calmed down enough to wipe her eyes, stand up, and take the book to the register.

Back at her apartment, she curled up on the couch, looked over the little book. Examined it like a piece of evidence. Everything fit. It was a new book, just out this fall. Published by a small press called Blue Thorn, the more highbrow literary sister to the mainstream publisher Black Pawn.

It all made sense. A publishing company he had ties to. And it came out just this fall. After summer. The summer when she avoided him, ignored his calls, let him wander the precinct and the city without her, with no word, no clue that she was thinking of him. Missing him. Knowing he loved her.

Oh, Castle.

No wonder he was angry at her that day at the book signing. If this book was any indication, his summer was even more miserable than he'd let on.

Kate stared at the book in her lap, twisting her hands. She couldn't tell him this. Not when she already knew. Not when she was still reeling. Not when every time he walked in and said Good morning, all she could think was he loves me. He loves me. And I don't deserve him.

But she had to know.

There weren't many options.

So she picked up her phone.