A/N: This is my first fanfiction ever and I am incredibly nervous about it.
Summery: He couldn't accept the reality because the reality hurt to much. The reality was wrong. Post-finale fic, slightly angsty.
He sat by her head silently and studied her as he had done so many times before. He saw the shadows her eyelashes made on her cheeks, the light curls of her chestnut hair and her slender arms laying beside her.
He refused to see the I.V in her hand and the respirator making sure she breathed.
He couldn't accept the reality because the reality hurt too much. The reality was wrong. It was all wrong. It had to be wrong.
He wished this was one of his books because then he would know the ending, he would be able to change it. He was sure that the uncertainty of the situation would kill him. He kept running through what had happened in his head, plotting out key points. He was constructing a theory. Would she wake or not?
He had to believe she would. The world was impossible to handle if she didn't.
The beeping of her heart monitor soothed him. There were no skips, no stops. It continued on.
All of a sudden he had to get out of the room. It was too clean, too impersonal. She didn't exist here. Yes, she was here, but in a very important way she also wasn't. He had to go get her something. Something to make her want to wake up.
On his way to the gift shop, he caught sight of his reflection in a window.
He looked old. Old and tired. Worst of all, he looked hopeless. HIs eyes seems sunken into his face, dark holes where there used to be light. With a sigh, he turned away.
He bought her a stuffed bear. It was soft and huggable and brown and sweet. It smiled him. She would like it, he thought. So he brought it to her.
Her room was sparsely furnished. It was small and cramped with only a bed and a chair. There was no connecting bathroom. The rest of the space was filled with machines. Machines keeping her alive.
Sitting back down, he placed the bear by her side and he took her hand.
It had been four days. Four days after the shot went off in the graveyard. If it had been anyone else but her, he would have joked about saving time. Four days since she had lost vitals in the ambulance. Four days since the surgery. Four days since he'd wheedled his way into the hearts of every nurse and they let him stay. Four days since the fight with her boyfriend. The man had wanted him to leave. That was never going to happen. His hand still hurt from the blows he'd landed.
And four days since he'd told her he loved her. He hoped she remembered. He was terrified she would.
It was not silent in the hospital. Hospitals are never silent. There is always beeping, crying, walking, running, ringing and whispering. They are never silent. The noise didn't bother him now. He was lost in thought, staring at their linked hands. His, large and rough, hers small and pale.
So pale.
He forced himself to think of her happy. Of all the times they had spent together. He squeezed her hand.
He stopped thinking entirely when the hand he was holding twitched.
Then, it tightened.
Clutching it back, he murmured to her, urging her to open her eyes.
And for the first time in four days, Richard Castle allowed himself to hope.
A/N: I may have a second chapter from Becketts POV. It depends if you want it.