corpora lente augescent cito extinguuntur
(English translation: bodies grow slowly and die quickly)
Disclaimer: If KT and I owned Castle, everyone would be dead.
Richard Castle is a writer but he has no words.
On a crumpled sheet of paper, marred with lines from where he's folded it time and time again, he has a simple paragraph written. A eulogy, he supposes. It's been through several different rewrites, time and time again, and yet nothing seems right. He cannot honour his mother with his words. But he likes to think that she'll understand, wherever she is now.
His hands are trembling as he grips the paper, and he only manages to stutter one word out before he stops. Breathes. But the tears are heavy in his eyes so he lets them drop until he cannot see a thing.
Hands brush against his, soft, and cherries invade his senses. He doesn't need to see to be able to tell who has come to his rescue. Especially since then her voice, so strong, is reading his words, and suddenly they are enough. They are enough and he presses his forehead against her shoulder, one hand on her pregnant stomach, a new life beneath his palm and kicking lightly. Like some sort of reminder that not everything ends. He almost smiles, remembering how ecstatically his mother had responded to the news of Kate's pregnancy. Of course, it makes tears burn brighter in his eyes because she'll never know this child. But at least she knew he was happy. He knows she would never rest peacefully if he wasn't happy.
Kate is the moon and he is the tide, and once she is done she pulls him away from this and back amongst the crowd, where he can simply blend in.
He still doesn't think he's accepted it.
Kate's by his side, cheek pressed against his shoulder, her hands tangled with his. Comforting.
But it still doesn't feel real.
Everything is in black. As it should be. Morose faces, blurred shadows to his eyes. The world is darkness.
This is not what his mother's funeral should be. They should be celebrating her life. It should be as flamboyant, as fantastical as she is- was. It should be an abundance of vivid colours, drinking until they couldn't possibly drink anymore, story after story of The Wonderful Martha Rodgers.
He thinks that would be easier to handle than this.
On his other side, Alexis is tucked into his chest, his arm around her shoulders and hand stroking the curve of her arm as she shakes with tears. He presses his nose to her hair, finding more tears stinging his eyes as the red of her hair almost makes him believe, for one moment, that his mother is right here. She is not gone. Not yet. This is all a dream.
And then Alexis trembles again and he remembers that he must be strong for his daughter.
(Throughout that night, Kate stays wide awake for him, listening to every story of his mother he'll ever be able to tell.)
There's something about sitting in a graveyard, surrounded by military men that unnerves Castle. You would have that he'd be used to it, a life spent in police precincts and going on stings and walking around with a writer's vest, years surrounded by guns and tactics and strong minded people. But they were cops, and these people, these men and women, in their army uniforms, faces stoic, it feels wrong. Sure, army personal are trained to not show any emotion, to stay cool, calm and collected no matter what the situation is. But this… this is Javier Esposito's funeral. This is their brother, their friend, their colleague. A man who should be celebrated. Mourned. Not sent off with a bunch of seemingly blank faces staring at his coffin.
He died, from a bullet. It was quick, painless, instant. The doctors say he was dead before he hit the ground, which is some mercy, he supposes. Kevin Ryan doesn't see it that way. As far as he is concerned, the bullet that Esposito took had his name on it. It was made for him. He was the one supposed to be dead, and no amount of talking will convince him otherwise. They all know why Javi did it. Ryan, he has a family. Twin girls, a boy on the way. Sweet little Jenny. No, of course, Javi wouldn't let some asshole with a gun take a father and a husband away from his family.
Right now, Kate is up there at the podium, looking down on them all with beautiful, magnificent words coming out of her mouth. He applauds her. Less than four years ago she was standing there and laying her captain to rest, four years since she'd taken her own bullet and lived. And now she's up there, strong and tall and looking for all the world that she wasn't shaking so hard that morning she couldn't put her shoes on. He, on the other hand, is itching and fidgeting and trying to restrain himself from getting up there and dragging her down. But he won't, because she'll get angry at him. And he can take her being angry at him, he can, just not today. Today of all days, he doesn't want anger. But he's scared, and he's terrified and he knows she is too. She may seem okay, she may not need therapy any more or freeze when looking down the barrel of a gun, but he knows. He knows that the pain never leaves you, the fear never truly goes away. It just hides, waiting. And here, now, at this place. He doesn't like it.
She steps off, and she's only been up there maybe five minutes, but it feels like a lifetime and he's so utterly grateful when she takes her seat next to him. Not that it eases the worry in his chest. Just because she's not up on the podium doesn't mean she isn't in danger. He'll stop worrying… when, exactly? When they're home and safely living behind a locked door? Maybe, maybe not. Tomorrow, the day after.
Ryan takes her place, and the easy going nature, the bright blue eyes so often filled with humour, that Irish spark, it's gone. Replaced with the grim set of his jaw, the worry lines around his eyes, the way he holds himself up, a man who has lost his best friend. His partner. His back-up. Javier Esposito is gone. He's lying in a hole in the ground, peaceful. At rest.
Only, he took whatever made Kevin Ryan with him too.
He remembers, the night before Jim's funeral, he couldn't sleep. He spent hours lying in bed, watching Kate sleep, listening out for Kaiya if she needed anything. He'd thought that Kate would be the one unable to drift off, the one lying awake all night thinking and over-thinking, but it seems that being pregnant with twin boys, carrying them around for twenty four hours a day really knocks you out. And coupled with a three year old who's terrible twos have carried over and show no signs of stopping… well, she can pretend that she's not tired and worn down all she wants, he knows her well enough to know when she's just masking the pain. Though he's not entirely sure how she's dealing with her father's death. It's not that they were surprised, not at all. Kate's probably been preparing for it ever since that cold January night, the events that happened filling her life with so much unnecessary darkness. But now, now there's light. So much light. Whether it's him, or Kaiya. Or the two tiny human beings that are a few months away from being brought into the world. So much light he sometimes thinks it's going to blind them all.
The funeral itself is quiet. Castle can hear his own breathing where he's sat in the pew, and it feels wrong. He's sat here, breathing, oxygen flooding into his lungs, carbon dioxide leaking back out, his heart beat strong and powerful in his chest. It feels too loud. In this place of worship, of sacrifice and peace, it's too loud.
Kaiya is looking around with interest, kneeling up on the polished oak, shiny black shoes scuffing the wood. It's not exactly proper etiquette for a funeral but almost everyone here has met Kaiya before, or knows a small child, they all know how hard it is for children her age to keep their attention on one thing for very long. Castle would rather she do her own thing, as long as she stays in her seat, than cause a scene by disciplining her for something she can't really help. Today is hard enough on them as it is. It's not like she can properly understand a lot of what the reverend is saying, he remembers being bored out of his brain when he was made to go to church as a child.
"Da?" Kaiya whispers, shuffling across the seat towards him. "Da, why Momma crying?"
Castle hooks his hands under his daughters armpits and pulls her into his lap, arms loose around her. She smells like the raspberry yoghurt she had with her lunch. "We've got to be quiet, penguin."
"But… Momma."
"She's sad. She's got to say goodbye to her daddy, and she won't see him again."
Kaiya frowns, little mouth puckered. "Ever again?"
"No, Kaiya. He's gone."
She's silent again for a couple of seconds before she's shifting sideways and lands on the opposite side of him. Kate picks her up this time, lets Kaiya wipe away the tears with her sleeve. She dusts butterfly kisses all along Kaiya's hairline, the crown of her head, arms wrapped tight around her torso.
Later, they're tucking Kaiya into bed, Kate perching on the edge of the bed, he in the chair next to it (his knees are not what they were). Kaiya's been quiet ever since they got back home but they haven't questioned it, both of them too exhausted for temper tantrums today.
"Da?"
"Yeah, Kaiya?"
"Why goodbyes sad?"
"Not all goodbyes are sad. We say goodbye to Momma when she has to go to work, and she always comes back, and then we get to say hello again. Give her cuddles, and kisses."
Neither of them say anything about the very real fact that there is the very real chance that Kate might never come home one day.
"I won't say goodbye. Can't leave if I don't say goodbye."
It's the most painful, grown-up, beautiful thing his three year old has ever said.
He knows that his father is alive, until he isn't.
Throughout the years, he has collected a variety of reminders that alert him to the fact that his father is alive. The James Bond books, another range of spy books, children's toys that function as spy gear.
And then they stop coming.
At first, he thinks perhaps his father is simply on some sort of top secret mission that doesn't allow him to have contact with them. He watches their Kaiya wander around the house with a pair of fake night goggles in her hands, her younger brothers Jay and Monty crawling after her giggling, rolling behind the sofa and out of sight when she turns to find them. All the while, there's an ache in his chest that won't go away.
But then one month turns to six and six months turn to a year and Kate cradles his cheeks in her palms when she whispers, "I don't think he's still out there, Castle."
So two days later, on the 365th day since he last received anything from his father, Kate sits down with him and they light a candle in remembrance.
"I know I never knew him." Castle says quietly. "I know he wasn't ever really part of our family. But it hurts."
Kate wipes his tears away with her thumbs. Forces him to meet her eyes.
"You're allowed to miss him, Castle."
Castle presses his forehead to hers, lets the feel of her soft skin against his soothe him.
"I- I miss those moments we won't ever get. I- I- I miss that we won't ever have a chance to have a relationship. All my life I'd thought that my father didn't want me but really he had no choice. And- I- I- Kate-"
A kiss against his lips. Whispering. "I know, Castle. I know."
She does. She knows how it feels to be orphaned. She knows how it feels to miss out on so many opportunities that their childish hearts secretly desire.
Kate refuses to let go even once the candle melts to nothing.
Kaiya won't let go of his hand.
In the corner of his eye, Castle can see Alexis with her arms wrapped tight around her children, Jay doing the same. His face buried in his eldest son's hair. On the other side of Kaiya is her daughter, clutching desperately to her mother's hand as well as her father's. Lastly, Montgomery is almost apart from the crowd, freshly flown in from Seattle with tired eyes. Regret. Last night he had told his father he regretted not being around so often. But Castle knows that his mother was always proud of him. Kate couldn't ever not be.
He can feel the eyes of Lanie on him as they lower the coffin into the ground. He knows that the Ryan's are probably watching him too. Others from her past in the precinct come to pay their respects. He knows that he ought to at least spare them a smile. But he doesn't think he could.
There are no eulogies. There are no words. He did not have words for her in life, he will never have words for her in death. Not that anyone needs them. It's well-known that Katherine Beckett was an extraordinary woman who touched a lot of lives and fixed a lot of people and didn't seek any reward for it.
Kaiya squeezes his hand, eyes just like her mother's watering as the casket finally enters the ground, and he squeezes back. Presses his lips against her ear and whispers: "Don't cry, penguin. Your mother wouldn't want you to cry."
Kaiya's chest rises and falls in time with her measured breathing, eyes closing. "I know, Daddy."
And then she lets go of his hand.
She turns to her daughter instead, peppering kisses in her daughter's hair as she cradles her, thinking of her daughter's pain before her own. Just like her mother.
And everyone has someone to lean on but him.
Castle thinks he should feel sad. But he… doesn't.
Of course, he's grieving his wife. Hell, he wants her here, by his side, twisting his ear and telling him to smile. If he could still have her in his arms, he would. If he could be granted just one more day with her, he would take it in an instant. Just one more day to show her how much he loves her, even in death.
But at least she had died peacefully. At least she had lead some sort of life, she hadn't been taken early. 75 years on Earth. A huge portion of that with him, so many he often loses count. Four children. Five grandchildren. A fantastic career. A series of books based on her. A long and somewhat healthy life- definitely happy. He'd made sure of that.
Even on her last day she had laughed so much her wrinkled eyes had watered, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips as she did. That same love buzzing through them even after such a long time as it did the first time their lips had connected. Whispered: "I love you, you big child" against his lips. And then three hours later she had died, old and grey, warm and comfortable in her sleep, wrapped up in his arms.
It had been strange, waking up to that. Out of the pair of them, he'd always assumed she'd outlive him. Not only was she younger, but her spirit was strong. She still had the same thirst for life she always had done. That light in her eyes that never diminished. And then suddenly, that light was not there anymore, and neither was a pulse, and the body that he woke up to was not his wife but a shell of what had housed her.
He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realise that everyone has left until he feels a hand on his arm. He jerks back, turns to find Montgomery staring at him with sad eyes.
"Where is everyone?" He asks, voice rough, looking around to find they're alone.
Montgomery smiles, but it's forced. "They left for the reception. They didn't want to disturb you."
Castle nods slowly, jamming his hands in the pocket of his suit. "Right. Of course."
They're silent, staring at her grave, before Montgomery speaks up again.
"I know I wasn't around a lot. Even though I knew she was getting weaker as the days went by. Sometimes I regret moving." Montgomery says, staring at his mother's grave as he speaks. "But she knows I loved her, right Dad?"
"Oh, Monty." Castle says, pulling his son in for a hug. "Monty, she never doubted you. And she was always so proud of you, as am I. Okay?"
Montgomery melts into his father's hug for a moment, sighing. And then he pulls away. "You want me to give you a lift to The Old Haunt? But you don't have to come to the reception if you don't want to. Nobody's pushing you."
"No, no, I'll be there. Just… Give me a moment?"
Montgomery squeezes his shoulders. "Of course, Dad."
He leaves him alone with his wife.
Castle reaches down and traces the words etched on the headstone. Lux in tenebris lucet. Light shines in darkness. Her life summarised in one phrase.
She was the light in his life. She always has been. She still is, she always will be.
His heart is weeping because he wants her back. He wants her here. He didn't ever want to bury her. He didn't ever want to see her dead body.
Richard Castle has never truly believed in the afterlife. He doesn't know what he believes now. He just knows that there must be something out there. Because there is no way that vibrant, extraordinary Kate Beckett has been reduced to nothing. There is no way that she isn't out there, someway, somehow, waiting for him like he waited for her.
So he kisses the tips of his fingers the way he cannot kiss her anymore, presses them against her name on the stone. Katherine Houghton Beckett.
His extraordinary muse. Always so extraordinary.
"Until I see you again, detective."
He goes peacefully. In his sleep. There's no family around him, it's the middle of the night, and there were no signs to say that his time was up. Monty flies in from Seattle on a red eye midnight flight his time, tall and proud and just like his father, walking through the airport with the dignity and grace of his mother. A taxi ride later and he's pulling up outside his brother's brownstone. The lower lights are on, and he knows without looking that the key to the door will be stuck to the side of the steps with a piece of sellotape. The hallway is just as he remembered it, cluttered with shoes and coats and toys that have yet to be cleaned away. Homely. He's never regretted not having children, never settling down, he loves his job too much and being a neurosurgeon doesn't tend to leave much time for family. But he doesn't need his own family, not when he has all his family here. Jay, Kaiya, Alexis, all of his nieces and nephews. They may be on the other side of the country, but they're only ever a phone call away. He closes the door behind him quietly, toes off his own shoes and leans against the wall. He's not tired, per se. He's used to late nights and standing for hours at a time, but he's emotionally exhausted. This week feels like it's been one long complicated surgery, and coupled with the news of his father's death… well, he'd just like to stop for a few days. Do nothing.
"Monty? That you?"
He looks up and sees the dark shadow of his brother at the top of the stairs. "Yeah, Jay. It's me. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
"No, it's fine. I was awake." He looks as tired as he feels, dark hair long and shaggy (mom would have insisted he got it cut by now), there's bags under his eyes and he looks like he's got the world on his shoulders. "How was the flight?"
"It was… fine. Jay, you need to go back to bed. You look exhausted."
"I – yeah. Long week. Will you be okay?"
"I'll be fine. I know where my bed is."
Jay smiles at him, worn and tired and sad before raising a hand in farewell. Monty runs a hand through his own unruly curls, decides it can live until he showers tomorrow. He trudges up the stairs, careful to not make much noise and feels his way along the hall to the guest bedroom. He never knows what hazards are lying around on the floor, lego bricks or squeaky toys, piles of laundry that have yet to be returned. He collapses into bed, can't even be bothered to get unchanged, and he's asleep before his head hits the pillow.
Kaiya is the one with the words, the one who stands up there with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face because she knew Dad would have hated for them to be sad. A happy sad. Even Alexis is smiling through her tears, especially when Kaiya brings up the epic boys versus girls game of laser tag at their house in the Hamptons. It was a close match, but the boys just edged it. Or the time when he had the world's largest collection of fireworks for Memorial day, and some say you could see the bangs and flashes from miles and miles away. He's always been one for big and loud, especially when it comes to parties. Dad just loved people. He loved their stories, the way their mind worked, likes and dislikes. They had their quiet moments though, just their family. The movie nights, birthdays, Christmas. Kaiya talks about the trips up to the cabin with Grandpa Jim, the one's Monty doesn't know, but he knows the cabin. Has been there before numerous times. It's still in the family, and they all use it as a getaway place. Somewhere to escape from the hustle and bustle and madness of the city. Quiet. Tranquil. Summer bbq's and swimming in the lake. Staying up way past their bedtime to watch the fireflies. He remembers those. And he sees his father in everything now. Jay's youngest son has inherited his eyes and nose, and Kaiya's daughter definitely has his personality. He reads books (when he has the time) wonders if his father had ever read it, or would read it. Just because he's not physically here, doesn't mean that he's not around. Just like his mother.
They bury him next to their mother, her gravestone slowly become more and more weathered. They all take the chance to place some flowers there, fresh daisies and tulips and roses. He smiles at the phrase engraved in the stone, so reflective of their mothers life. There used to be so much darkness, and now, or there used to be, it's nothing but light. Everywhere. Their father, of course, chose to be slightly more humorous in his choice of words.
The gravestone is put in a couple of days after he is buried, the gold plated words mellita, domi adsum a stark contrast to the black marble. They shine, in the sunlight, in the glow cast by a nearby lamp, an almost every present light, right there, next to his wife.
Honey, I'm home.
closingdoors: KT is the Terri to my Marlowe, the Gatiss to my Moffat. She puts my parts to shame. Everthing about this fic was perfect because she had an influence over everything (no really you should've seen the amount of questions I asked her while writing my parts). It was really fun plotting feels with her, honestly, and I have to admit to weeping a little while reading this through. I think this calls for us doing another co-fic together, don't you?
As always, we'd love to hear what you think.