A/N: If you recognize it, it isn't mine.

A/N: I started writing this oneshot after Cops and Robbers, which finally gave me some inspiration into Beckett's mind. I hope you enjoy this attempt at writing from her POV. It's not set at any specific time, just vaguely in the future-ish.

Thanks to my twin soul for beta'ing.


"Castle!"

He looks up when he hears her call his name and she races toward him. His clothes are rumpled and she's not sure, but she thinks he's been crying. He stands to meet her, his shoulders sagging, obvious bags under his eyes. She searches his grave expression.

"How are they?"

"I – I don't know," he answers shakily as she guides him into one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. She remembers these chairs well, and none of the memories are good ones. In fact they're all ones she wishes she could forget. "They're in surgery. The doctors haven't told me anything new."

She isn't sure what to do, whether to touch him or leave him alone. She knows he wants her here because he called her here, but a phone call isn't an open invitation. She settles for taking his hand and squeezing it gently. He doesn't look at her, but she is heartened when he doesn't pull away.

"I shouldn't have let her drive," he mutters. "Why did I let her drive?"

"Don't blame yourself," she assures him. "Alexis is just-"

"Alexis wasn't driving."

"Oh." She isn't sure what else to say.

"It was just a stupid opera. Who drives to those anyway? Why didn't I insist they call a cab? Why didn't I-?

"Hey." She squeezes his hand again. "Look at me." He raises his eyes to meet hers. "This was not your fault."

She's not sure of the details, but she's sure it had nothing to do with him. What she knows is what he told her frantically over the phone: something to do with Martha and Alexis and a car crash. She remembers soaking in the bathtub, enjoying a quiet evening away from work, when her cell phone rang. And somehow, she knew it was him because she can always tell when it's him, a sixth sense she has developed over the years. But she has never before heard him so scared.

"Have you spoken to the police?" she asks quietly. She doesn't want to ask outright if he knows what happened.

He nods. "Yes." He draws a shaky breath. "They said – uh, they said that they were both wearing their seatbelts and that they think that my mother had a sort of stroke. And then she - I don't know – they think she lost consciousness and lost control of the car or something."

"Castle…" His name falls from her lips, hanging in the air between them. This is worse than she imagined. She had been thinking a drunk driver, perhaps T-boning the car at a stoplight, but now she realizes her hope had been…misplaced. And she knows what he's been imagining for the past hour: Martha, slumped over the wheel; Alexis, terrified and screaming as the car spins out of control and careens into a building.

At once her hand-holding seems like not enough.

She manages to find her voice. "Do they know the extent of the damage?"

He shakes his head. "It's too soon to tell," he says heavily. "I think they're focusing on the other things first."

She takes other things to mean the immediate injuries caused by the car accident.

She doesn't know what to say. I'm sorry, that useless platitude comes to mind – how many times has she used it before? But she isn't sorry, she's more than sorry, she's dying inside watching him grieve for his family, watching him wait for the appearance of the surgeon. She doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing at all. Instead she brings their joined hands to his knee and leans against his shoulder. She feels him relax against her as he rests his head against hers.

She is reminded of the last time they sat together like this, albeit under very different circumstances. Locked in a giant freezer, a promise frozen on her lips before she lost consciousness. She isn't sure she remembers what she wanted to say; it's different things at different times. Sometimes she thinks it was nothing at all — an apology, or an I'm glad to have met you.

But sometime she thinks it was the same three words he once told her.

"Mr. Castle?"

She feels his head leave hers and she sits up. A young man is facing them, surgical cap still on his head, wearing a light blue scrub coat. It's clear the doctor is no more than an intern. She knows – and suspects Castle does too – that this means the surgery isn't over.

"I'm Dr. Blake," he introduces himself. "I'm on the team working on your daughter."

"How is she?"

"She's still in surgery," Dr. Blake informs them. "We had to remove her spleen and they're working on the pulmonary repair right now. It should be a few more hours."

She glances sideways to gauge his expression and she can tell he hasn't heard anything past still in surgery. She wonders if she should say something, ask this Dr. Blake about Martha, knowing that her brain is processing this information faster than his. But she's not sure it's her place, so she doesn't say anything, just nods and follows suit when Castle thanks the doctor. She waits until the surgeon leaves after promising another update soon before she begins to speak.

"This is good," she says bracingly. "She's doing okay."

He turns to her. "They didn't say anything about my mother."

"Oh…" She immediately kicks herself for not deciding not to ask about Martha. "Well, no news is good news, too. And there's probably a different team working on her, so he wouldn't have known anything anyway. We'd know if something…" She catches herself before she says it. "We'd know if there were something to worry about."

A slight nod tells her he heard what she said, even if he doesn't believe a word of it. She feels him slip his hand into hers again and she waits for him to speak, an overwhelming sense of helplessness permeating her body. She hates this, hates not being in control, not knowing what to do, what to say, maybe something is better than nothing at all, but nothing is better than the wrong thing…She hates not being in control.

She knows he feels the same way.

She replays Dr. Blake's report again. They removed her spleen and are working on a pulmonary repair…She wonders if he even heard that last part. She realizes she never asked about her specific injuries and immediately wonders if she should. How did Alexis get a hole in her lung? Did he even know there was a hole, or was that a new complication?

Does it show the appropriate amount of concern to ask, or does it show too much? Not enough?

Just when she's resolved to ask, she finds a different question on her lips. "Have you eaten anything?"

He shakes his head. "Come on," she says, standing. "I'll buy you a coffee."

He remains seated. "I want to be here if…" He meets her eyes and they both know what he won't say.

"It might help if you-"

"Kate."

She relents. "Okay. I'll be back then." She turns to leave, but his voice stops her.

"Please." She looks back at him. He's staring at the floor and she almost misses his next words. "Don't leave."

She can feel her heart breaking. Quickly she walks back to him and retakes her seat at his side. She places her hand on his knee. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looks up, and this time, there is no mistaking the glimmer of tears in his eyes. His hand finds her cheek and he leans forward. She immediately freezes, prepared to pull away. She doesn't want this to happen now. Not here, not this way.

But he doesn't. He continues to close the gap between them until his forehead is resting against hers. She can feel his breath on her lips as he whispers, "Tell me it'll be okay."

She keeps her hand on his knee, but pulls back slightly so she can look at him. His eyes search hers and she knows what he's waiting for, what he needs her to say. His use of the singular does not escape her. He could have asked if they would be okay, but he knows she could never say for sure that Martha and Alexis would be okay, and he's not looking for any more uncertainty. He wants her promise, her word, that whatever happens, it – everything – will all be okay. Today, tomorrow, maybe even years from now, depending on how much time it takes to recover. There is some indefinite point in the future at which some semblance of normalcy will return.

She leans forward again, his forehead resting lightly against hers as she assures him, "Everything will be okay."


A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review if you are so inclined.