A/N: You'll have to forgive me, but I had to jump on the bandwagon and write my own post-finale fic. I know I should be working on Chapter 6 of Redemption, but the muse has been nagging me with this since last night and I wouldn't be able to rest if I didn't put it down on paper.
This hasn't been seen by a beta-reader, so all the mistakes are mine. English is not my first language, so count on seeing a few. :p
I hope you like this!
He doesn't really know how long it's been. Maybe an hour, maybe a day, maybe a week. He doesn't care. He's gone home a couple of times, changed his clothes. She's been awake and he's seen her grateful smile, but he knows that there's something underneath that kindness, that newfound will to live. He can still hear everyone else's voices, as if they were in a movie.
It'll be alright.
It had taken a while to get her blood off his hands. Castle had entered the ambulance with her at the request of her father, who followed them in the car that Martha drove. They'd all been there with him, with Ryan and Esposito and Lanie, the entire group stuck in the waiting area.
Lanie had friends in the hospital, but upon seeing her distraught state, they had refused to let her watch the surgery. The fury that came with that denial was stopped only by Esposito's arms around the small woman, as she sobbed against his chest and he pulled her tightly against himself. Castle could see it in Esposito's eyes, as they met the writer's — he was was scared that some day they'd be waiting to hear about Lanie in this same room. None of them were safe.
That fear, that irrational panic that had invaded everyone's senses before attacked Castle for a moment, as he used his arms to brace himself against the window. It hit him hard — the sudden tingling in the back of his neck and in the tips of his fingers; the feeling that he was falling, slowly and steadily, but falling nonetheless. It clouded his vision and made him see stars, bright spots of light which were driving him quietly towards madness.
Martha's hand on his back was enough to make him crumble. He allowed his knees to buckle and felt his mother kneel beside him on the floor, her hands pulling his shoulders closer against her chest. The sobs shook his entire form as Martha cradled her grown son. No one looked away. They were all afraid they'd know that kind of pain, some day.
You'll survive this. I promise, you will, and you'll laugh at me again.
He was the only one by her side when she woke up. It had been almost twelve hours and everyone had gone home to change and get some rest after the news of her full recovery had arrive. She was supposed to sleep soundly until the next morning, but he refused to leave her. He sent everyone else home but stayed behind, entering the room slowly and quietly to feel his chest constrict at the sight of her.
She looked so small, so fragile. Her face was white and her hair was pulled back. She still looked beautiful without makeup, even though her skin took a deadly tone. It was sickening, how a strong, resilient woman could be turned into a tiny creature simply by lying on a hospital bed.
Castle had pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and took one of her hands in his. He'd spoken to her for a while, his words muffled against the skin of her fingers, almost unintelligible. He'd whispered soothing nonsenses, made promises for movies at the Angelika and at his place — and for obeying her when she asked him to stay in the car or to shut up. He'd sung her a couple of lullabies and ended up singing a couple of Beatles' songs simply because he had run out of ideas and the English band was always a must for them. He'd looked at her for hours, barely blinking, as she took breath after breath. He couldn't believe she was alive, sometimes.
At about five in the morning, Castle had moved to the window to see the movement of the city. His back was hurting from sitting in that chair, leaning against the bed, but he didn't care. He stretched out and returned to his previous position as the lights of the city continued to prove its agitated life. It used to be a comfort for him, to know that life went on outside of his circle, but now it meant nothing.
Hell of a scare, sweetie.
When Kate opened her eyes, sleepily, it was like she was still stuck in a dream. She was in a hospital bed, having been shot in the stomach the previous afternoon — that much she had been able to gather from her trips in and out of consciousness as the paramedics worked on her.
Turning her head to the side silently, she saw his silhouette against the large window of the hospital room, his hands hanging at his sides in defeat; the exhaustion showing in the way his shoulders sagged. She had no idea of how long she'd been out; it must have been a long time, for him to look so worn out.
Life went on, and maybe that was what he was searching for in the sight of the city. He had told her that once, when they were talking about her mother's case and she had fallen into a pit of despair; he'd taken her to the window and whispered in her ear .
Life, outside, goes on without us. So it isn't the end of the world.
His heart sunk as her voice filled the room, raspy and dry.
"It would have gone on, you know?" she whispered and he ran to her side, one hand taking hers and the other cradling her face tenderly. He wasn't crying, he wouldn't cry in front of her — partially because he knew she'd never let him live it down — but his hands were shaking as they made their way into the soft waves of her hair.
"Kate." he whispered, and it was all he could say until he felt her own hand coming up to trace the contours of his face. "What does?" he asked, and she smiled sadly.
"Life. Your world wouldn't have ended." she whispered, and he leaned back, maintaining one of her hands between his own. "Life goes on without us."
His sadness prevented him from saying anything else. Instead, he kissed the top of her hand a couple of times.
I'm not leaving you. I promise I won't go anywhere, no one will take away me from you.
He's still in her room, a couple days later. They haven't talked much; her father and Lanie are there almost constantly and she seems to enjoy their presence, a seemingly new will to live seeping from each smile. She insists on having him go home at night so he can be with Alexis, and her father stays with her.
Castle tries not to be hurt at the fact that she hasn't mentioned his words when she first passed out. She's acting like she didn't even hear him, and maybe she didn't. The truth is, he's only been solely with her for a couple of minutes each time, and he isn't one to bring things up suddenly, especially if they might break his heart. But now he's finally alone with her, staying with the woman he loves for the night as her father goes home to rest — and her facial expression is unreadable.
He moves from the chair to the window, where he stands for a couple of minutes, until he moves to the other side of the room, picking up a magazine. Her expression is now ranging from amused to intrigued, and he knows he's driving her as crazy as she is him. That's why she laughs softly and motions for him to sit at her side — and he complies immediately, sitting on the bed, beside her body.
She looks better now. Her cheeks have regained some color and her hair, which has been washed with the help of a nurse, that morning, smells like cherries again. She is able to turn his heart into a stomping ground just by looking up at him.
"Are we ever going to talk about it?" she asks, her voice so low he can barely hear her. Her fingers trace figures on the back of his hand and he's taken aback by the tenderness of the moment, the softness of her touch. It's like they're two old lovers, meeting again and rediscovering every step of the way.
"I don't know what you're talking about." he smiles smugly, and she turns her face as she laughs. There's a bright smile on her face, but it's quickly replaced by a more somber, almost frightened look.
"I remember." She whispers, and his heart skips a beat. "What you said to me, I remember."
Her eyes lock with his and he's certain that she's saying it back. Even though he's a writer, that he built his life upon the words of others and of himself, he knows that he doesn't need them right now. With one look, she's telling him all he needs to know.
After a minute, Kate lets out a shuddering sigh. He can see the pink softness crawling up to her face as she blushes and she nods her permission.
He leans in, and suddenly her mouth is a millimeter away from his own. They're breathing the same air, and as their lips touch, they don't move. They allow their mouths to connect, not really making any kind of motion, but breathing each other in. It's a moment more intimate than many of the sexual relations either of them has had in the past.
His hand comes up to her face and his fingers trace her cheekbone softly, with reverence. Her lips move, closing on his bottom lip, and he kisses her tenderly, slowly. It doesn't escalate; the sense of comfort and of fullness of this kiss is more than enough for the both of them.
As Kate leans her head back against the pillow, she smiles and her eyes connect with his again.
I love you, too.