Gravity:
Chapter 1:
Kate stares out of the window, mesmerised by the raindrops trickling down in unmapped streaks through the condensation. She shifts on the window seat, wincing as her scar pulls, the slightest movements enough to send jolts of pain down through her nerve endings. Sitting here on the threadbare cushions, the velvety frilled edges worn with age, it's too late to even fathom being able to move without help. She curses herself quietly for being so caught up in the soothing sounds of raindrops hitting the wood of the porch just outside the window, the ripples in the lake next to her father's cabin lulling her into a trance that has kept her sitting here for hours.
It's been a few of weeks since she was released from the hospital and sought refuge up here, to get away from the hassle and noise of the city. At least, that's what she's telling herself, trying not to think about all the people she's left behind whilst licking her wounds in private, just the woods surrounding her father's cabin to witness how far she's fallen.
Heaving out a sigh, she closes her eyes against the pain throbbing in her chest and the dull ache at her side. She can't be thinking about the others right now, not when she's barely even holding herself together at the moment.
She knows that she needs to get up and eat something, but she won't call her dad over to help, won't allow herself the luxury of aid when it's her own damn fault that she's aching so much in the first place. Her dad had warned that the threadbare cushioning of the window seat at the front of the cabin wouldn't be good for her to sit on right now, the lack of padding causing the constant aches to be bone deep, but this is the only place she feels she can get some peace.
It's the same window she'd spent hours staring out of as a little girl, watching the wildlife come and go; squirrels and rabbits, even some young fawns hesitantly following their mothers out into the open, before hurrying back to the cover of the trees at the slightest sound. She doesn't imagine she'd react differently herself right now.
More recently though, after her mother's death, she's taken to leaning back against the pillows here and reading books, comforted by the pattering of rain or the warmth of the sun streaming through the glass, bathing her in light as she curls up and loses herself amongst the words on the pages. It's the only place she can feel calm now, and she pretends that it isn't because this window is the only one where visitors, or snipers, can be seen coming up the gravelled driveway, out of the surrounding trees.
She can't be caught off guard if she sits here.
Eventually, her dad finds her gripping the edges of the window seat with both hands, a sheen of sweat coating her skin from her efforts to shift forwards and try to stand up alone, only to fail miserably.
"Oh, Katie," he sighs, placing a tray of food down on the coffee table. Pieces of toast with jam and assortments of fruit, which is all her uncooperative stomach can handle right now anyway.
Her dad makes his way over, helping her to stand up with as little pain as possible, but getting upright still has her clenching her teeth, squeezing back the tears threatening to fall at the shooting pain coursing through her.
He leads her over to the small couch, more like a love-seat really, and she lowers herself precariously down onto the much softer cushions, sighing in relief as her muscles ease up when she sinks into them.
Her father sits himself down on the dark green armchair next to her, and she reaches for a couple of grapes, mindful of his watchful gaze.
"I need to know that you're going to be okay while I'm gone, Katie," he begins, pushing the mug of herbal tea towards her. No coffee, of course. As if recovering from a gunshot wound isn't unpleasant enough without taking away one of her few pleasures in life. "If there was any way could get off this case-"
"No, Dad," she interrupts, her voice croaking from disuse. "I won't let you risk your job because of me. I'll be fine." She won't, but he's better off not knowing that.
"Won't you let me call someone?" he pushes, leaning forwards, his elbows resting on top of his knees. "What about Rick?"
"No."
"Katie, I'm sure he's worried sick about you."
Oh God, she can't think about this right now. She can't deal with the images that assault her just from hearing his name, the echoes of gunshots and searing pain blending against a cloudless sky and eyes so blue she just wants to drown in them, his voice whispering an 'I love you' she doesn't deserve and is too broken to say back.
Breath starting to escape in short gasps, her pulse starts beating hard enough that she can hear it pounding in her ears. She can't have another panic attack thinking about him, she won't allow it.
Her father must be able to read the alarm in her eyes, her unwillingness to drag anyone else down this abyss of darkness she's sinking into, because he lets out a resigned sigh, pushing himself up off the chair and pats her shoulder gently as he leaves the room.
Kate spends the next half an hour picking at the toast, tearing off small pieces with her fingers and popping them into her mouth, relishing in the sweetness of the strawberry jam bursting on her taste buds. She's exhausted now, even though she's been sitting down all day, slipping in and out of consciousness as her medication takes its toll on her energy levels. She needs to regain her strength so that she can get back to work though, so that she can hunt down the son of a bitch that killed her mother, her captain, and the sniper who almost killed her.
Brushing the crumbs off her fingers and onto a napkin, she sinks back further into the couch cushions. She can hear her dad shuffling around the bedroom he used to share with her mother, and comforted by the sound, mixing with the white noise of the raindrops rhythmically hitting the ground outside, she finds herself slipping under again, helpless against the wave of darkness crashing over her, dragging her beneath the surface to fall into slumber.
It's only hours later when she bolts upright, pain flaring in the pits of her chest, burning through her veins like fire. The sheets from her bed are tangled, twisting around her legs in ropes, and she heaves out panicked gasps into the dark, her dream still flashing behind her eyelids in vivid technicolour.
Images of Castle carrying her from the aircraft hangar, lifting her with decisive ease as he uses his strength against her for the first time, pressing her against the car. Holding her up, his eyes boring into hers with such sorrow, complete and utter devotion shining back at her.
The gunshots ringing off the walls of the hangar, each shot tearing through her and wracking her with sobs. She relives it every time she closes her eyes, only this time, with the last fatal gunshot, she's thrown backwards, connecting with the solid ground.
The bleak night sky is replaced by a brilliant blue, sun shining so bright that it makes her eyes water, before she notices the solid weight above her, the instant agonising pain sharp in her sternum.
Don't leave me, please.
Castle's voice, pleading with her, the only sound she can hear over the furious rushing in her ears.
Stay with me, okay?
God, Castle. It hurts.
I love you. I love you, Kate.
She presses a palm firmly against her sternum, feels the racing of her broken heart inside of her chest. Trying to breathe through the panic, she can feel tears cascading down her cheeks as she grinds her teeth against the agonising sting of pain pulsing through her. A sudden bang of thunder from the rainstorm still raging outside has her cowering in her bed, ducking away from the window as she keens out sobbing gasps, reaching out a hand out towards her nightstand for a gun that isn't there.
She grabs something else, her phone, and before she realises what she's doing, she can hear the droning of the dial tone pressed against her ear.
"Castle."
Everything stills. Her breath freezes in her lungs, and everything fades away from her but his voice and the heavy thump of her heart.
"…Hello?" Fresh tears spring to her eyes, and she lifts a quivering hand up to her mouth at the surge of emotion just hearing his voice brings to her, dulling the pain more effectively than any painkillers seem to. He sounds tired, muffled with sleep, and she imagines him picking up the phone with his face half smashed in a pillow, just like when she calls for a body drop.
He must have pulled away to check the caller ID though, because she hears a sudden gasp and he starts speaking louder, urgency lacing his words. "Beckett? Beckett, is that you?"
She squeezes her eyes shut against the tragic hope in his voice.
"Are you there?" Oh God, she can't take this. "Kate, please."
A broken sob breaks free from her, and she hastily tries to wipe away the wet from her cheeks.
"Hey, it's okay," he soothes into the phone. "You're okay, don't cry."
"Castle," she chokes out, voice clogged with tears.
"Shh, I'm here. God, Kate, I'm here." He sound like he's crying himself, the desperate quality to his voice giving it away. "It's going to be alright, you've got this."
She needed to hear that. God, she's been needing to hear that. That he's still there, that he still thinks she's strong enough to get through this.
He continues to whisper nonsensical reassurances in her ears, lulling her breathing and easing her pain, and she doesn't know when she falls asleep, but hanging onto the edge of consciousness, she realises how
hearing his voice has made her feel more whole than she has since a bullet broke her into pieces weeks ago.
As a writer, Richard Castle considers himself to be well acquainted with the night. Dark hours spent hostage to his overactive imagination, keeping him in a state of insomnia until he can transcribe the words engraved in his mind onto the page.
But the sleeplessness he's experienced over the past few weeks is something he's unfamiliar with.
Slumping against his elbows and resting on the kitchen counter, an untouched bowl of cereal in front of him, he heaves out a weighted sigh, covering his eyes with one palm as the other searches around the counter blindly for his phone, the screen flaring too brightly for the grey of the early morning.
No missed calls.
Sighing, he drops the device onto the counter, shifting off his elbows to stand up. He drags his feet away from the kitchen, hissing when he stubs his toe against a pair of shoes he carelessly left lying around, making his way to the office, the rising sun outside casting a blanket of dim light against the room as he settles himself down in front of his laptop.
It hums faintly, coming to life as he opens the lid, the routine familiar to him now after weeks of sleepless nights and early mornings. Exorcizing the demons haunting his sleep the only way he knows how, he begins to type.
He's written it all down a hundred times now, describing the ringing of gunshots echoing in his head as he felt the hot pulse of blood pumping out and staining the grass. Kate Beckett's palm, pale and cold and dead, clasped firmly within his own as she flat lined in the ambulance, leaving him to squeeze her hand tightly as if it might bring back her pulse. Listening to the deafening blare of the alarm and praying to deities that he doesn't even believe in that his unheard whispers of love would be enough to heal her broken heart and make it beat again.
Now, a new memory will be added to the list of things that haunt his mind.
Being woken up by his phone during the early hours of the morning, the heart-wrenching sound of Kate's sobs tearing into his insides, breaking his heart all over again. It's the first sign of life he's had since leaving her alone in her hospital bed. Small, pale, and fragile but alive, and one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen.
He stops typing suddenly, leaning down onto his elbows and runs his hands through his hair. He needs to see her. And if her phone call last night is anything to go by, it's a pretty good bet that she needs him as well.
Mind made up, Castle pushes himself away from his desk, up out of his chair. He picks up his phone, barely sparing a glance at the time reminding him of the unsociably early hour, before searching his contacts and selecting the name just above Kate's.
There's nothing but the dial tone sounding for a few tense moments, leaving just enough time for the nerves to set in, stirring in his stomach.
"Hello?" The voice on the other end sounds worn, emotionally tired, but not as though they had just been woken up.
At least there's that.
"Jim?" he greets, clearing his throat when he hears the ragged projection of his voice. "It's Rick Castle."
"Rick Castle?" he repeats, sounding surprised but not unpleasantly so. "How are you, son?"
Castle tries to ignore the feeling that surges through him at being called 'son', but find he can't help the rush of warmth.
"Uh, not too bad, thanks." It's a lie, but he won't burden Jim Beckett with the knowledge of his poor coping with recent events. "But I was actually calling about Kate."
The older man chuckles softly. "I probably could have guessed that."
"How is she?"
There's a slight pause on the other side of the line, the sound of some shuffling. "Well, I'm not going to lie and tell you she's fine, but she is getting better."
He lets out a rushed breath, feeling a weight being lifted off him knowing that his partner is at least making progress in her recovery. "Are you staying with her?"
"I am."
"Good," he nods, relief seeping through his words. "That's good."
He momentarily debates telling Jim about Kate's call last night. The pain laced sobbing he was greeted with, how he'd spent the rest of the night whispering soothing words through the phone until he could hear her laboured breathing finally lull with sleep. He eventually decides against it though, knowing that he can't risk betraying her trust any more than he already has.
There's silence on both ends for a few moments, and he fights not to bombard Kate's father with the millions of questions that have been swimming around his brain about the detective's current state. He doesn't understand how the man can even talk to him. After promising to protect Beckett, all he did was contribute to getting her shot. If only he had been faster. If only he could have convinced her to drop the case. If only he hadn't pushed her to look into it in the first place.
If someone had done this to Alexis…
"Uh, thanks, Jim," he stutters into the phone, suddenly eager to end this call. "If there's anything at all I can do to help, anything, please just know that I'm here."
Jim is silent for a few seconds.
"Well, actually," he begins, the hesitance in his voice making Castle stand up straighter. "There is something that you can do."
A/N: I would like to mention that this story deals with PTSD, in case that may be a trigger for anyone.
Here it is, my first contribution to the world of multi-chapter fics!
This story actually started out as a one-shot, but then grew a life of its own and a rather big plot, so I just decided to roll with it. The whole fic is completely written already, so I'll try to figure out a regular posting schedule so that you guys know when to expect updates.
Apologies for any mistakes I may have missed, and I hope you enjoy reading the latest edition of my 'brain ramblings'.
