A/N: This story was inspired by/written for the #SaveCaskett campaign. Mostly, it's a thank you for all who have sent their sleeves to ABC, sent emails/letters, and dedicated their time to this cause.
Despite it being ten a.m. on a Tuesday, Richard Castle felt wildly unmotivated to get out of bed. He lay on his back, hands tucked behind his head, staring up at the ceiling with nothing in particular on his mind. He should have been up; he should have been writing. He needed to finish Nikki's story; he owed her that much but each time he sat at his computer, the blinking cursor on the screen felt like an anvil slamming into his chest with every blink, its message the same on repeat.
Kate's gone. Kate's gone. Kate's gone.
For forty-seven days he'd been going through the motions of life, not really caring out they turned out. He knew his unkempt hair, unshaven beard, and stain-covered clothes were upsetting his mother and daughter, but he couldn't bring himself to worry about those things. The concept of standing in front of the mirror long enough to shave seemed too difficult to complete, so he didn't bother to try. He felt the same about doing laundry, making a meal healthier than potato chips or Pop Tarts or even leaving the loft. He was…stuck.
Forty-eight days earlier Castle's life hadn't been much better, but it had a key element his present life lacked: hope. Yes, he and Kate had a fight over her stubborn need to keep going down a path that would surely end in her demise and she had ended their partnership, but he knew her words to be that of anger in the moment. He had been certain she would come around and apologize for him; they'd been through too much for it to end that way.
He'd spent the night sulking with a tumbler of scotch clutched in his hand. He sat in his office staring at the shelves of the two Nikki Heat novels wondering if he'd made a mistake getting so deeply involved with the lady detective. Deep down, he knew their time together had changed his life and he would never go back and undo it even if given the chance, but when angry and a little drunk, his mind wondered.
He dozed off on the office couch, though he wasn't sure what time, possibly around one or two in the morning, only to be woken at five by the shrill ring of his cell phone. He only answered because he saw Esposito's name on the ID and generally the detective only called him at odd hours if it was something important.
Javier's voice was clipped, to the point. "Something's happened; you should be here. Come as soon as you can."
When the line cut off sharply so did the beating of Castle's heart. Something's happened. Kate. In his gut he knew it was Kate. As he rinsed off in the shower and pulled on his jeans and button-down he cursed her for being so foolish; so stubborn. Why hadn't she listened to him? To all of them—the captain, her father, her partners. They begged her to see reason and now she'd gone and gotten herself…injured—or so he thought at the time.
At the Twelfth, a cold sweat formed on Castle's brow the moment he stepped off the elevator. Something was wrong—very wrong. The expressions on the faces of those usually greeting him cheerfully were anything but. The entire room had a tension about it—an unexplained silence. Neither Ryan nor Esposito would look him in the eye, but instead directed him to the captain's office where Montgomery said the sentence that would change the course of his life from that point forward.
"Last night Kate Beckett was killed in the line of duty."
Castle cried out and fell to his knees, begging for it not to be true. He barely heard the stoic man say that they had been ambushed by a group of mercenaries. It had all happened so quickly, there was nothing he could do. When Montgomery walked closer to express his condolences, Castle took vague notice of a cane; evidently the captain had taken a bullet to the leg during the scuffle.
While the captain made an official announcement to their team, Castle sat dutifully in his seat beside the now-vacant desk. Tracks of tears marked his cheeks and he didn't care who saw. They were the visual representation of his now shattered heart.
He asked to see her—to look at her face one last time—but Montgomery refused. The bullet she had taken had been to the head and he did not want Castle to see her that way. Castle argued, insisting that he see her anyway, but Montgomery simply wouldn't allow it. Her body was being held in a secure area at the morgue and he was not to seek her out. As was his nature, he continued to protest until Ryan stepped in and said in a raspy voice, "Really, man, you don't want to see her like that." Though it pained him, he knew Ryan was right.
Her funeral, for which he was a pallbearer, was by far the hardest. By that point, he was numb, so the heartfelt speeches from her captain and colleagues did not affect him as much as it did his mother and daughter. No, for him, the moment of breaking was coming face to face with Kate's father. The man he had met but five days earlier when he showed up at Castle's apartment pleading with him to save his daughter's life. At that task, Castle had failed.
When speaking to the man who had lost the two women he'd loved most in the world, Castle broke down into tears, apologizing for failing at his task, saying he would do anything to change what had happened. Jim placed a heavy hand on Castle's shoulder and squeezed it gently, saying, "This isn't your fault, son; it was her choice."
Castle nodded, though he knew he'd carry that burden for the remainder of his days. Brushing some tears from the tip of his nose he said, "I-I loved her."
Jim nodded solemnly. "I know you did."
From that moment forward his daze had been a haze of sleeping at random hours, eating a little, drinking more. Sitting at his computer wondering how the hell he could finish Nikki Heat's story in a way that would satisfy him and do justice to her, the woman who inspired so much in him. Every time he started to type, the ache in his gut became too much to take, so he'd retreat to his bed and the pattern would begin again.
Castle would lay awake wondering what would be best. Should he kill Nikki? Have her die a hero in the line of duty, just like her inspiration. Or, should he have her live on, continue to seek the justice that Kate never could. Should Nikki marry Rook and have the family he never would? He wanted that for Nikki, but wasn't sure he had the heart to write it.
Castle wasn't sure he had the heart to write anything at all; not anymore.
"Dad?" Alexis's voice was followed by a gentle tapping against the bedroom door. "Dad are you awake? Can I come in?"
"Ye-yeah Alexis, c'mon in." He grunted. Pushing himself upright in bed he blinked over at the clock. 12:05. Wait, what day was it again?
"Dad…have you been here all morning?" Alexis asked when she walked into the room, large box braced against her hip with her left arm looped over the top.
"Uh….yes. Wha-what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"
The red-head dropped the box at the foot of the bed and gazed down at him. "Today was a half day—teacher in-service meetings this afternoon."
"Ah."
"I stopped at the post office on the way home and got you your fan mail. Why don't you look at some of it? That usually makes you feel better."
Castle looked over at his daughter, her smile hopeful and encouraging, though her bright blue eyes were clouded over with no small amount of concern. He forced a small smile. "Maybe later, sweetheart, but thanks for getting that stuff for me."
Alexis huffed and took a step closer to the bed. "Are you wearing pants?"
"Boxers…"
"Then you're getting up." With that, she flipped back the sheets and blankets and pulled them all the way off the bed, letting them pile onto the floor.
"Alexis." He grumbled.
"No, Dad, I'm sick of this. You can't just spend your life in your bed or on the couch. I get it—you miss Beckett and I'm so sorry about what happened to her. We all are. But would she want you to waste your life like this?"
Castle looked away from his daughter as they both knew the answer to be a definitive, "No."
"Dad, please." She reached out and placed her hand against his shoulder. "Just start with some baby steps, okay? Get up, take a shower, put on clean clothes and I'll make you lunch. Then, we'll read some of your fan letters together, okay?"
He eyed her skeptically. "Don't you have homework?"
She smiled. "It can wait a few hours."
Castle observed his daughter with a full heart. God, he loved her. She was undoubtedly the best thing he'd ever done in his life and she was one hundred percent correct about everything she'd said—which, given her nature to be smarter than him at almost everything, wasn't surprising. "You really don't need to make me lunch."
Alexis shrugged. "I'm making some for myself anyway. Thanks Dad." With that, she kissed his temple and left the room so he could get ready.
"Dad, look at this one—it came with a drawing."
Castle looked up from the letter he held and saw his daughter displayed a sheet of paper with a face drawn in what appeared to be crayon. Despite it looking more like a Picasso-inspired face than a real one, the blue eyes and brown hair led him to deduce it was meant to be a picture of himself. In the bottom left corner the drawing was signed by Joe, age seven.
"Here's a question." Castle began. "Is that seven year old reading my books?"
"I kind of hope not," Alexis said, examining the picture once more. "The letter it came with was clearly written by an adult, so hopefully the parent asked him to draw it?"
"Hopefully." Castle echoed. Though he hesitated to turn away any reader, seven seemed too young to be exposed to such gruesome topics. Then again, his own child had been around that age when she began reading his works. He hadn't encouraged it, of course, but it had been difficult to stop Alexis from wanting to read what Daddy wrote. At least they'd talked about it a lot while she read.
With a sigh, Castle reached into the box for another envelope. The two of them had been sitting on the rug in his office for almost an hour swapping letters. Though he initially resisted as the idea of reading accolades seemed unappealing, Castle was glad Alexis had made him do it. His sadness seemed to lessen with each letter. One note from an eighty year old woman had even made him smile a little bit.
Feeling around in the box, Castle's hand came in contact with an envelope that seemed oddly firm to have a letter inside. Grasping it, he picked it up with the seal side facing him and saw it was an ordinary white envelope with something hard and rectangular inside. Curious, he slid his finger beneath the seal and ripped it open to find not a letter but a piece of brown cardboard. That was…odd.
Pulling out the object he found it was no ordinary piece of cardboard but instead one in a slightly arched rectangular shape. Someone had evidently written their note to him on a coffee sleeve. That was…unexpected, but certainly unique and a way to draw in his attention.
Castle flipped the sleeve over in his hand to view the message and immediately felt his breath sucked from his chest. The writing; oh god, the writing.
As any good man would of his muse, Castle had memorized every detail of Kate's handwriting from the loops on the bottom of her y's to the way the dots of her eyes looked more like tiny check marks, especially if she was in a hurry. He knew the way she held her pen and skimmed ink across her arrest reports better than anything else in the world, but he hadn't seen her penmanship for forty-seven days—not since the last time he stood from his chair at the Twelfth, took one last look down at her desk and knew he'd never return.
His fingertips trembling as he held the object, he sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself enough to process the words before him.
Dear Mr. Castle: I am writing to you to say thank you for all the books you have written. For some of us, the words you've crafted are far more than just entertainment; they have become a lifeline, an escape from the day. They give hope and reason to an otherwise chaotic world.
I remember the first book of yours I read. I was going through a tough time and looking for a book to read while on the train to visit my father. After ninety minutes I was angry when the train stopped, because I didn't want to stop reading. When I got back home, I bought all your books and have read each new one you've written since. I just wanted you to know how grateful I am for everything you've done. Always.
"Dad? Dad are you okay?"
Castle looked up to Alexis, knowing he was barely breathing, not knowing how long he'd been frozen in position amazed that he held in his hand the most important fan letter he had ever and would ever receive.
"Dad! Say something—please?"
"She's alive." He whispered out.
Alexis's brow furrowed. "Who's alive?"
"Kate; Kate's alive."
He didn't know how and, hell, if it was true he didn't give a damn about the "how" but somehow he just knew. The letter was from Kate; it had to be from Kate.
For forty-seven days he'd gone to bed thinking about her smile, her laugh, his heart breaking all over again because he knew he'd never seen her face or her hear voice again. He would have given anything—all his money and fame—for just one more minute with her. To hold her close and tell her how much he loved her. For forty-seven days he had no hope because he knew that could never be, but now, with one coffee sleeve, hope had been returned to him.
"Dad, what are you talking about?"
Though it pained him to let go of it, he thrust the precious object in her direction. "It's Beckett's writing; I'm sure of it. And the message…it sounds like her."
With a wrinkled brow, Alexis took the sleeve and read over the note. Cautiously, she looked back at her father. "This could have been written by anyone."
"But it's written on a coffee sleeve," he insisted. Coffee was his way of telling Kate he loved her every morning; the way she smiled at him when she took the cup was unquestionably the best part of his day.
"Dad…Beckett's dead. Captain Montgomery saw-"
"Yes, yes he saw." Castle pushed himself up and began to pace the office, the depths of his mind whirring to life for the first time in nearly two months. "But no one else did. No one else saw that body—no one I asked in the ME office; I checked. What if-" Shit! It was so obvious! Why hadn't he seen it before!
Castle dropped back to the ground and fumbled for the envelope that housed the coffee sleeve. Flipping it over, he saw no return address, but the postmark was stamped Denver, Colorado.
"Dad?"
Castle looked up at his daughter, his mind clear for the first time in almost seven weeks. "Witness protection; she's in witness protection."