Enjoy the Silence

A/N: Having a beta is such a blessing. And when she is this good, it's almost too much. Thank you, dear.

Chapter 35

He has no idea just how jumbled his mind is until he tries to sift through all of his thoughts and feelings. His butt goes stiff sitting on the hard park bench but he's nowhere near reaching any kind of conclusion.

So much for months of therapy. It appears his mind is still one big clusterfuck.

At least he's being responsible. Sort of.

One short text message sent to Kate's phone: I'm okay. Sorry I left so abruptly. Just need some time to think. No worries, though. I have a pitbull with me for protection.

The answer that arrives seconds after he hits the send button only confirms what he already suspected. His family is sitting at home, tied up in knots, worried about his impromptu departure, waiting for any kind of signal from him.

No harm done, babe. Take all the time you need. Just be safe. Love you.

That's actually more leeway than he expected, elation flooding his veins. For a moment, he was worried they would pressure him for his whereabouts, only to come running to fetch him. "Just for company, Dad," he can picture Alexis saying, but he can't face them just yet.

Kate seems to understand, though, granting him time despite their obvious unease. Thank God for his wife.

Next, he calls Burke to make an appointment.

The man doesn't sound the least bit surprised when Castle tells him about his newfound ability to speak, which leaves Castle to draw three possible conclusions: the man is either one hell of a professional to sound so unfazed, or he is that fucking good to have anticipated such a development, or last and most likely, he already knows.

Fuck, of course he must know, Castle concludes with embarrassment. Everybody knows by now. Everybody but him. All of them have probably been in on it, directing his progress without his knowledge or consent.

Which is part of the problem. At first, it was possibly the right thing to do. It probably was, but that was weeks ago, and now—

It isn't that he begrudges them, how they try to shield him. He wasn't in the state to make any kind of decisions at the beginning, and not even later on, not with the way he reacted to his own sneeze in the Hamptons.

Yeah. Fuck. No wonder they didn't tell him.

But that needs to stop. He needs to be involved, needs to take control over his own life, over all the ugliness, as well as the great aspects of it. To take back that power again.

Sitting on the bench, rain drizzles down on Castle, his frame shuddering when a few prickly drops make it past the collar of his shirt. He watches Buttercup's lonely figure roam the park, sniffing the ground. The weather isn't ideal, so only a couple of other dog owners are present, scattered over the grounds of the large park, the exact reason he chose this one, so that he feels nicely left alone but still secure in case anything should happen.

What is even that supposed to mean…what could happen? he chastises himself even as his eyes nervously roam the park searching for lurking shadows.

Fuck. His mind is still messed up. But that's not the main issue here.

He forces his mind back to the issue at hand. His voice. His ability to speak.

He opens his mouth, tries to force something, anything, past his lips.

Not a squeak.

He sighs at his own ability to resist the temptation. He knows it, knew from the start that things usually don't work like that, but he still couldn't help but try. He opens his mouth again, several times in fact, and tries to speak.

But the words aren't there, not on his tongue, even if they are on his mind, and he can't will them to go free.

It frustrates and yet amazes him on some level, how irrational the mind can be, how he can talk without being aware of it but his mind will lock down when he tries to command it directly.

It's totally fucked up, but also more than a little fascinating.

He tries a couple more times, sitting in the rain and gaping like a fish out of water, watching the ginger-colored blur of his dog dashing about the grounds, catching scents.

Nobody would hear him here even if he did speak, the rain now pounding, water running down his spine and his shivers growing violent as the wind picks up, pressing the chill deep under his skin.

It's still late summer, so the rain isn't cold per se, but he didn't take a jacket with him and he's starting to regret that.

One more time he opens his mouth, tries to push words past his lips, but after a couple of fruitless attempts, he gives up with a disappointed sigh.

Another day then.

Whistling loudly – at least there's that – Buttercup comes bounding back, drenched in water and with paws covered in mud, but a foolishly happy expression on her face, one Castle can't help but smile at. Smile at how easy life is for her, how it's all about the small things for her.

Of course, she immediately ruins his philosophical moment by shaking herself from head to toe, spattering his shirt with specks of dirt and muddy water.

Oh, that's just great.

He clicks the leash to her collar and walks her back to the gate, wanting to be grumpy but still somewhat amused by her happy trot.

Goofball.

Life is simple for Buttercup – go outside, have some fun, chase other dog's butts, catch the scent of a squirrel on a good day, roll in mud the next. He admires it. Kind of envies it, wishing his life could be that simple too.

But he knows – even as the thought enters his mind – that the only thing stopping him from having that is himself.

He feels tired when he pushes the door to his lobby over an hour later, a drenched Buttercup at his heel. He waves to Eduardo, dismissing the man's concern over the sorry state he and the dog are in and hoping nobody will complain over the puddles of mud and water they're leaving on the floor.

He supports his back against the wall of the elevator, exhaustion suddenly getting the better of him.

He closes his eyes, sighing heavily. He's an old man. Fuck. When did that happen?

But even though his body is tired, his mind - maybe for the first time in months - feels clear, organized even, with a sense of purpose. He likes that. He didn't know he was missing it until he rediscovered it.

He is physically tired, but feels strangely invigorated. Hopeful.

Okay, so he can't yet will himself speak any time he wants. So what? It's still there, somewhere. It's locked away but it's still there, and now there's proof of it, if only his wife and family can attest to it so far.

But it is attainable. It might take time, but hell, look at where he was only a couple of months ago.

Cowering on the floor in the kitchen of your mansion like a little child, scared shitless at the sound of your own sneeze, a nasty voice in his head sneers. But that's okay too, because the nasty voice proves his point – he's made so much progress since then. That has to count for something. He decides it counts.

He stops short at his front door, realizing he doesn't have his keys with him since he left with his phone only, but before he can raise his fist to knock on his own door, it flies open, his arms suddenly full of red, his daughter clinging to his frame.

"Oh dad, finally! We were so scared."

Behind her, he can see his mother and wife, sporting more moderate, reserved postures near the kitchen island, but he can see that they were as nervous as his frantic daughter.

"Richard, honestly," his mother admonishes, "It's pouring outside," and that's when he realizes he's still soaking wet, dropping water and dirt on his perfectly polished hardwood floors, but he'll be damned if he lets his worried daughter go.

His amazing, gentle-hearted girl, a woman already. His child, who was forced to grow up and mature far too soon for his liking by the events of the past year.

So he squeezes his little girl – in his eyes, she'll always be his little girl – one more time super tight, before breaking the moment by cuddling close and blowing a raspberry against her neck, making Alexis squeal and jump back from him, her chest heaving with outraged laugher.

"Dad, I am not five!" she grouses, but he merely gives her one of his trademark smirks before he signs, Pumpkin, you'll always be five to me.

As expected, Alexis huffs, rolling her eyes at him, and the gesture instantly reminds him of another stubborn woman that he adores.

He eyes seek out Kate, still at the island, but her figure is now crouched down, rubbing a wriggling Buttercup dry with a towel. Once she's satisfied with the outcome, she lets the beast go and rises to her feet again before her eyes seek out his, intent and studying.

There's a gentle smile playing across her face, but it's too reserved, her obvious apprehension seeping into her posture as she stands there, twisting her hands together in front of her, as if she's afraid to close the gap between them. As if she shouldn't, for some reason. As if her company - her nearness - is not wanted. That's when it clicks.

It wasn't, before he left. It wasn't.

I'm so sorry, he quickly signs, the apology less about something he did or said and more about the way his leaving must have made her feel, left behind and wondering if he was all right.

He understands it all too well, was in the receiving end of those feelings once upon a time that now feels like such an incredibly long time ago. Lonely, worried, ever wondering. It wasn't a pretty state of mind.

She shakes her head, quickly dismissing his apology, but it does the trick and unglues her hesitant feet from the floor, something like relief in her expression as she quickly makes her way towards him, crashing against his chest.

He catches a glimpse of guilt just before she sinks into his embrace, but before he can do anything about that, her mouth comes to his ear, her voice grazing its shell in a whisper.

"I'm sorry we lied to you."

Well, technically, they didn't. It was lying by omission, because he never really asked (Why would he? He had no idea.), but he doesn't feel like arguing over semantics right now, so he merely shakes his head, presses against her back to fit her more firmly against his shoulder, his lips finding her temple to press a wet, cold kiss against the warm skin there.

"I'm just glad you're okay," she murmurs, burrowing deeper into him, despite the sorry state he's in, despite the wetness and cold than must be transferring to her as well.

Damn, he really needs a shower. And a change of clothes.

"You're soaking wet," Kate remarks, their minds synced once more. Untangling from him, she takes a couple of steps back to give him a quick glance over.

The loss of her body heat causes a sudden chill to run through him, and he visibly shudders when the cold reaches deep to touch his bones.

"C'mon, Rick." She grabs his hand, their fingers intertwining. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes."

Something flashes in her eyes, hot and dangerous as she regards him from underneath her long lashes, impossibly dark, but illuminated with liquid warmth. Breathtaking.

She pulls on his hand to set him in motion, pulling him after her, leading him towards their bedroom and suddenly it all comes rushing back to him. The memory is so sudden, so rich, it steals his breath away; the feel and taste of her that night, wet and liquid and cold and hot both, supple under his fingers as he pressed her against his front door, a phantom taste of her still lingering on his tongue, even after all this time, forever seared into his brain.

He follows her, of course he does, the way he always did, the way he always will.

He blindly follows because he knows, wherever she takes him, he'll be safe.

In the bathroom, she throws the soaked, dirty towel she used on Buttercup in the hamper before she hands him another one wordlessly, one of the fluffy ones they normally don't use because they are so huge and heavy. He takes it from her, noticing for the first time how his fingers have gone slightly numb from the cold. Huh, that's weird, he felt fine just a couple of minutes ago.

Kate is quiet, has yet to utter a single word, but Castle finds himself wishing she doesn't, their combined silence creating a strange but comfortable intimacy around them. One he's unwilling to break yet with any kind of heavy conversation or meaningless chatter.

She's bent into the shower stall now, playing with the taps to adjust the temperature, so of course instead of drying off, he's standing there staring first at her ass like a creep, then simply watching her, mesmerized by her every movement.

Finally satisfied with the result, she turns back towards him, a burst of laughter escaping her lips when she catches him still standing there, clutching the big fluffy towel uselessly in his fingers.

She crosses the room to stand right in front of him, pulling the towel from his hands. He lets her have it, his eyes glued to her face now, to that warm, gentle look she's giving him.

It still gets to him, to see her so open and brave, comfortable in her vulnerability with and around him.

She spreads the towel in both of her hands, starts to dry his hair with it, his face, the sides of his neck, even though they both know its pointless, he will be wet from the shower in a couple of moments again anyway.

But she takes her time, is gentle with him, seeking contact and taking comfort in the simple act, and he lets her, because for once, he thinks she needs it more badly than he does.

His head and neck moderately dry, the towel is discarded to the ground, her fingers now skillfully sliding the buttons of his shirt from their holes, and he can't help it, he cants into her, his lips pressed to the side of her head, her closeness along with the hot steam from the shower bringing on a heady feeling.

Join me, he signs- says- thinks- whatever, he just wants her close.

She gives him a beaming smile, her lips catching his and before he knows it, his fingers are fumbling at her clothes, undressing her, loving her.

They make it to their bed eventually, huddling under the covers and giggling like teenagers. They've even put some clothes on – it'll be dinnertime soon and he doesn't want to scar his kid for life should she come inquiring for their food orders. Although to be fair, Alexis has been nothing but respectful of his private space since Kate started to spend the nights, never appearing in his bedroom unannounced the way she used to do when she was a little girl.

Unlike Pi, that is, he thinks, able to see more humor in the situation now that Pi is long gone from the picture.

His mind wanders back to Alexis, to those times when she would crawl into the bed with him on a lazy Sunday morning. He misses those times, misses the way her little feet would pad on the wooden floors, her bunny dragging behind her, a thumb in her mouth. Those big blue eyes silently asking him to lift her up and cuddle with her under the covers.

His little girl, all grown up now. It makes him equal parts proud and sad.

He sighs, presses Kate's body closer against him, even though she's practically draped over him now.

Kate Beckett is a pretty fantastic cuddler. Who'd have known?

He's sure she's dozing, the contented silence enveloping them once more, until-

"Tell me what you're thinking." He hears her soft voice and yeah, well, no dozing then.

He wants to tell her, tell her that it's just his little girl is all grown up, and that has him suddenly morose and melancholy, but of course the words aren't there, not when he really needs them, and that frustrates him even further, causing another sigh to escape his lips.

And then another as he feels her hand push against his chest to support herself as she rises to a sitting position, her eyes now intent on him.

The time to talk has obviously come, and though he'd rather still stay in the comfortable silence of their denial, he turns to his side and slowly brings his body up to rest against the padded bed frame so he can look at her, use his hands to communicate his thoughts.

Because unfortunately, there continues to be no other way for them.

Just thinking, he signs, About Alexis.

"Yeah?"

How much she's grown. They way she was forced to mature beyond her actual years. How I miss my little girl with her red pigtails and stuffed bunny she dragged behind her anywhere she went.

"Oh."

He wishes she would say something else. More. But she doesn't offer anything else, a strange glint in her eyes, an intensity to them he can't decipher, doesn't have energy to decipher right now, not when he knows they have yet to talk about what happened tonight - what's been happening many nights now, apparently.

He decides to start with the obvious first. Well, obvious for him. Not her. That's why he has to address that now.

I'm not upset that you didn't tell me.

Her eyes fall back down to the covers, but he doesn't want that. He gently tugs at the hem of her loose shirt, waits until she looks at him again before he continues to sign.

I also called Burke. He didn't sound surprised either. Her cheeks flash pink and he knows he's right. He already knew.

It's a statement but she still gives a tiny nod. "I am sor-" she starts to apologize again, but he stops her with a firm shake of his head.

No. I'm not looking for an apology. I understand why you kept this from me. But it made me realize something. I realized that I need to be a bigger part of this- He searches his mind for the right sign, finally settling on -this process. Me.

"But you are, Rick." she protests. One hand rested against the side of his face, her thumb caresses his cheek over and over, the other splayed wide against his chest. "You are the process. We just didn't want to put any more pressure on you."

He shakes his head and her hand falls away. Picking it up from where it had fallen onto the covers, he presses a kiss against her palm before letting go once again so he can use his hands for communication.

I know. And I am thankful to you all, for how you are protecting me. But it's time for me to know exactly where I stand. I need to be able to decide what I can take, and what I cannot.

She looks mildly apprehensive, and it's time to put an end to that.

I need to know these things, Kate. All of it.

She gives a short nod, a deep sigh escaping her lips. "I know. Okay," she confirms with her words, the intensity of her look wreaking havoc on his insides. "No more secrets."

That's a promise, if her ever saw one, and it leaves him strangely relieved.

No more secrets. Open books.

"But Rick," she adds, her hands once again taking his to squeeze tight, "You need to promise me you won't put too much pressure on yourself, okay? It's all touch-and-go, for however long it takes. Don't force it. Let it come naturally. And if it doesn't, it doesn't."

He takes a moment to regard her, the beloved, intense face, so close to him now that he can count the few sun freckles on her nose. How thrilled it makes him he's one of the very few people on this planet to be privy of their mere existence, no makeup now obscuring the cute evidence of the fact that this particular summer, she got so much time off, her skin was actually sun-kissed enough for them to show.

No pressure, he confirms. A pledge of his own.

Then, as an afterthought, I'm sorry I left without a word.

That conjures a wide smile on her face. "Oh, but you didn't…don't you remember? What you said when you were leaving?"

He doesn't remember signing anything, only remembers that his arms felt numb, so he gives her a puzzled look.

Her smile merely blooms. "You told me you were going for a walk. And that you needed a moment."

Well, that makes sense, he remembers that, just that-

Oh. Oh!

He looks at her for confirmation and she gives him an overjoyed nod, her tongue excitedly pressed against the back of her teeth.

He's amazed. So it's true, it's there. He knows it's there, they told him as much, but this feels like he has the first real evidence of it. His first time speaking aloud again that he actually recalls.

Well, sort of.

She's still smiling at him, her eyes playful and warm, illuminated by the dim, soft light of a single bedside lamp.

He loves this, loves her, loves their life together.

"God, I love you," he blurts out on an embarrassing croak, the words just breaking out of him, needing out, and only then does he fully realize, does hear the echo of his own feeble voice in the room.

"I love you, too," she whispers, giving him one of those rare, brilliant smiles of hers as her arms sneak around his shoulders, drawing him close.

"And I think this-" her eyes roll around in her head, indicating the whole of their situation, "deserves a celebration."

Oh, hell yes. It definitely does.

PS: Still working on this story. Always takes me a while, but still there. Hope you guys are too.