catko

The challenge was to write an alternate ending for gameofcards. This will probably be unpopular, but I'd have liked to see something like this.

Title: Two Steps Back
Fandom: Castle
Book/Movie/Episode: Set down the road mid Season 6, but the different road taken happened at the end of Season 4. Alternate ending fic.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 533
Note: Drawn from a bit of dialogue in Suicide Squeeze (2.15) between Castle and Alexis:( slight spoiler for the fic to follow )

Castle crunched along the gravel path. In one hand he balanced a coffee holder carrying two tall cups; with the other hand he fingered a small, square cube of a velvet-covered box in his pocket. When he almost tripped stepping off the path onto the grass, he forced himself to stop, take a few deep breaths, then proceed with more measured steps across the lawn toward the play area, where he could see Beckett idly swaying on one of the swings. As she came more into view, he found himself smiling, his step more buoyant. He strode over to her, calling out, “Grande skim latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla! Let’s hope you haven’t changed THAT in your time in our nation’s capital!”

At the sound of his voice, Beckett turned, and beamed a beautiful smile. Standing up, she headed toward him, reaching out for her coffee and tossing her hair. “It’s only been three weeks, Castle. You don’t think I’m gonna change the habits of a decade just because I’m chasing international criminals with the Feds?”

With a flourish, Castle proffered the coffee, then leaned in for a quick hug and kiss on the head. Pulling back, he gazed into her eyes. “You look good,” he said softly. “I’ve missed you.”

She gazed back. “Ditto on both, Rick,” she murmured. Castle shook himself slightly and gestured toward the swing set. “Step into my office?” he offered.

Kate rolled her eyes with a grin, and, linking her arm through his, led them to a seat on the swings. “Is that why you wanted to meet here after all these weeks?” she teased lightly. “To break it to me that you’ve started running your detective business al fresco? I figured that it meant you had some big news. After all, this is always where we talked about big stuff, right?” Sipping her coffee, she looked around with affection at their surroundings.

He swayed his swing closer to her. “Ah, the great detective; can’t put anything past you.” He felt a sudden clutch of nervousness, but decided to forge on. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the small box. “I—uh—it’s—dammit. I’ll just say it. I’m doing something…and there’s no-one’s opinion I value more than yours.” He showed her the box. Her eyes widened, moving from surprise to delight.

“Richard Castle!” she breathed. “I don’t believe it….” She reached out to touch the box with her finger. “Alison?”

Castle grinned and twitched the box. “Yup. At least, I hope so. I just feel like….the time is right. I love her and I want to make a life with her. But someone like her—I just don’t know, I’m scared about what she would like. I mean, I’ve never proposed to a social worker before. Actresses, agents, gold-diggers, yes. But someone with values and ethics? Not so much.” He started looking a little scared again.

Beckett plucked the box from his fingers and opened it. “Castle, it’s wonderful. And perfect for Alison.” Snapping the box shut, she reached over to embrace him. “I’m just so happy for you!” she sang out, as they hugged and swayed and laughed on the swings.

Alternate Series Ending: Newhart Finale
If you don't know the story behind this, considered one of the best series finales ever, check it out here. Anyway, this is another way the story might have ended. I don't know why both of my alternate endings ended up in the same, er, place.

Dick can't believe it. What happened to his idyllic, though sometimes aggravating, life as a Vermont innkeeper? What once seemed eccentric has become downright insufferable, with golf balls pinging everywhere, inexperienced help, and the sheer lack of control over the inn and life in general. At least he still has Joanna, he thinks, as he looks at the blonde figure at the counter. But still. He's had enough! The frustration boils inside him; he has to get it out or explode. He strides to the front door, flings it open, and cries "You're all CRAZY!"

He hears a shout and sees a blur of white heading toward him. He is struck in the head by a wayward golf ball and collapses. All goes black.

Suddenly, he is struggling up through the dark in tangled sheets. A light glares on, he blinks to his right, and sees a dark-haired woman leaning back from turning on the lamp. It's all coming back. He's a psychologist. In Chicago. This is his wife Emily. Looking at her concerned and slightly annoyed eyes, he says, "Honey, you won't believe the dream I just had. I-I-...I was an innkeeper in Vermont, and there were these oddball characters, and it was okay, but then the inn was bought by a conglomerate and....." He shudders and catches Emily's sardonic expression. "And I had a wife. A beautiful blonde wife. Anyway, let's go to sleep." He turns to lie down, when he hears a toilet flush, water run, and a door open. He looks with alarm to Emily, now grinning openly, and into view behind her pads that beautiful blonde wife, yawning and stretching in a fluffy pink robe. He gapes between them, as Emily growls lovingly, "Bob. That was no dream. This is your life." She taps his shoulder as Joanna sheds the robe and moves toward the bed. "Shove over, honey. I want to sleep in the middle tonight."

THE END