Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Warner
Juliette. Not Shakespeare's Juliet. His.
Skin that couldn't be touched for pleasure, only for tragedy, more woe. Yet...he could brush her cheek and survive. He didn't know why and, actually, he didn't care. He didn't care how it was possible - that wasn't the hard part. It wasn't the miracle, like Castle said it was. It was a one-time thing. And it's been impossible to touch her again because she hated him. She didn't want him to.
She didn't want him underneath her, or above.
She wanted him six feet under the ground.
Her skin, and his hands and fingers, connected peacefully not because they were meant to, but because something was wrong with him. Another Anderson error. Not getting electrocuted after contact with a live wire said more about you than the hot wire. Touching Juliette, that was high voltage for everyone else. Even Kent, his...brother, the only Anderson she loved. And that knowledge, it hit him. That was the electric shock he actually felt.
Yeah, she hated him to hell.
But...unlucky for her, her skin was a dangerous Capulet that killed everyone it touched. And he was the only Montague who could ever, physically, hold her.
‘Answer me,’ she said now.
He shook himself back to the present. She was waiting for him to talk. But he didn’t have any response. He only had four walls – a concrete cell. He was a hostage, had been trapped in here for days. He had a single mattress on the floor and a fresh bottle of water. He was escorted to the bathroom and back. That was it - Oh, and he had these visits. From Castle. Kenji. Castle. Kent. And her.
And when she came, it was a sonnet that saved his day.
‘Answer me, Anderson.’
‘It’s Warner.’
‘I don’t care. You’re a murderer.’
He crossed his arms over his chest. He was leaning against the wall. She was on the other side. All the way on the other side. As if she thought by accidently touching him she would kill him. She still wouldn’t let herself believe it. That little bit of something good in her life – that little bit of something good that might be him. There was someone who could touch her, even if it was him. He wished she would accidently fucking touch him. He’d purposely accidently touch her.
She laughed. ‘So you don’t have anything to say for yourself?’
He sighed. ‘I think these walls talk, love. They say it all. I’m in prison. Omega Point finds me guilty.’
‘The whole world finds you guilty!’
‘Because I am.’
She took a careful step forward. ‘I’m here again because Castle thinks you can help us.’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t help you, love.’
‘Stop calling me that.’
‘I can’t help you, lover.’
‘We’re not lovers.’
‘Not yet. But where Kent failed, I’ll succeed.’
She blushed. ‘Adam didn’t f-fail me – I failed him. I hurt him.’ She paused, and a look of disgust came on her face. ‘Why are you smiling? You think it’s funny your brother almost died? You think it’s funny that I almost had another death on my conscience? You-you don’t care about me at all! How dare you keep saying you do. It should’ve been you!’
He took a step forward, then another. Another. ‘Finally, you see sense. If it had been me, you would never have to be petrified someone will soon be lifeless, or gasping for air.’ He stopped, then put up a quick hand. ‘Wait, I take that back – you will be gasping for air, but I promise you’ll be enjoying it.’
‘You’re sick. More twisted than Castle or Adam could ever understand.’
He felt his smile vanish. So did the short-lived lightness in his heart. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I think your Castle is pretty twisted. And your Kent.’
He thought he sounded nonchalant, but something in his voice caught her curiosity. ‘What do you mean by that?’
He shook his head, said ‘Nothing,’ and then leaned back again against the wall. He closed his eyes. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a perfect vision, even in sadness, standing there in disgust at him, but it was hard to talk to her, hard to look at her, when he couldn’t touch her and make her feel OK. She was so infuriatingly stubborn. He had the remedy, he had the antidote, but she still insisted on crying on the floor, surrounded by her kryptonite. Everyone she’d ever hurt or almost killed with her own skin. But with him, she didn’t have to sin. He was the sinner.
‘Why would you say that, Anderson?’
He kept his eyes shut. He was tired. He wouldn’t tell her, or anyone there, but he felt claustrophobic every minute of being there underground in the cold tunnels. He missed fresh air. Daylight. The touch of grass. Blue sky. Grey sky. He was starting to feel like a zombie. Lying awake on the floor all night. He had to keep thinking of her. Now, she was his air. Daylight. The touch of grass. Blue sky. Grey sky. His only hope.
‘Warner.’
He opened his eyes.
She’d crept closer. Her voice was warmer.
She looked at him not like how his father, Paris, watched him – like surveying a gun, and not like how Castle looked at him, like inspecting a horse; no, Juliette was eyeing him like she almost, genuinely, cared. And he felt that fresh air. He felt like he could breathe. And he understood, of course he did, why it was so hard for Adam to let her go. She’d broken up with him. He couldn’t touch her. But Kent still kept trying, as if the next time might be different. He’d touched her, and he’d ended up in the ICU.
Kent had lied to her, had said it felt fine touching her, taking off her clothes, uncovering more and more of her wicked, beautiful skin. He’d tried to cup her breasts, to plant kisses in the inside of her thighs...and he’d paid a price. For him, Warner, the price would only be her. Heaven. Adam didn’t understand. And she still didn’t get it either.
He hoped she would.
Soon.
Because his time was running out.
‘What are you not telling me?’ she asked, and her voice was laced with fear.
Everything, he thought. He could see it in her eyes, too. She was getting a glimpse into the truth: that without her, he was lifeless.
No air.