I really do apologize for all this angst I'm putting out there. Can't seem to get it out of my head. Would it help if I promised some fluff soon?
One of the worst parts is the wondering.
It's a distant second, for sure, to the deep ache, the sometimes completely overwhelming grief.
But sometimes, it hurts just as much. Or, rather, pulls at her, makes her question everything – herself, her choices, her reality.
How would she be different if her mother hadn't been murdered in that alley? What would her life look like now?
She can say with absolute certainty that she would not be a cop. That idea never, not even for one second, crossed her mind.
A lawyer, maybe, but she's not even entirely convinced of that, either. She remembers the rush she felt at being able to pick out all of her own classes, her future so open in front of her, an entire semester of the pure joy of freedom, of new experiences, of a life that seemed almost too much to take in all at once.
And then, just like that, it was ripped away.
She finished school, of course, but in the city, and with the Police Academy as her ultimate goal. She became driven to that one end: become a cop. Rise to detective. Solve the goddamn case that robbed her of her entire life.
Her single-minded focus was what her got her to the gym every morning before class, working hard to make sure she had the physical stamina and strength to become a cop.
It was what got her through five years of essentially being an orphan; a mother stolen from her, a father collapsing in tragedy's wake. Five long, harsh, lonely years.
She went, essentially overnight, from Katie – innocent, bubbly, risk-taking and life-loving Katie – to Kate, tall and hard and difficult to reach. Then, as quickly as she could, to Beckett, even further away, using her name as a shield from others seeking entry into her life.
She built herself up, learned to fortify herself against all of life's hardships. Learned to close herself off from all that can be good, because she knew how fleeting it could be, how very painful to lose it all.
So why even bother trying to attain it in the first place?
She became closed-off, hard, firm in her solitude. Got used to being on her own, looking out for herself. Getting a badge and gun made that even more real for her: she could literally protect herself from physical attacks, from actual pain.
So why not protect herself from emotional pain, which is oh so much harder to overcome?
And that's what she did. Made it her mission to solve her mother's case, get justice for her utterly broken 19 year old self, for her father's dismal years of suffering upon suffering.
But now? Now she is, at least to a handful of people, Kate. Not Beckett, hard and closed-off and alone. But Kate, warm and loving and loved.
Would she have become this so much earlier, with so much less heartache? Or would she have gotten lost in the risk-taking ways of her youth, taking up with some less-than-desirable boyfriend, a job far below her potential?
Perhaps she'd be somewhere in the middle.
But she'll never know, and that's what gets to her. Because, above all, Kate Beckett needs to know things, know everything, see all of the options and then choose one, and that was taken away from her.
On top of mourning the loss of her mother, she mourns the loss of who she might have been.
It's a distant second, for sure, but it hurts just the same.
He knows she wonders about it. Not because she tells him, but because he can see the questions lurking in the back of her mind. He can see the hint of jealousy in her eyes when he talks about Alexis moving from major to major, trying out all sorts of different classes, completely free in her future.
Once, that was Kate. And it was suddenly, horribly, ripped away from her.
She mentioned it to him once, late at night, just as he was drifting to sleep. "I can't help but wonder, sometimes," she had whispered out into the darkness, her voice so very quiet, so small, "what my life would be like. What I'd be like." She didn't elaborate, but he knew what she meant.
He didn't know how to respond. Reassure her? Of what – that she's an amazing, strong, beautiful woman? Would that somehow make her mother's death seem inconsequential? The last thing he wanted to do was minimize it, make it seem like he was dismissing her question. So he held her a little tighter, whispered his love into her ear, and stayed awake until he was sure she was asleep.
He can kind of relate, in the most tangential of ways. He does wonder sometimes what he'd be like if he had two parents, if he had a constant father figure. For a period in his teenage years, he ached for it. But not really anymore, not since Alexis made his life so full of light.
It's simply no comparison.
So he does what he can; he holds her closer, makes her smile, tries to help her feel ok, feel grounded.
But he feels like a traitor, like a liar, because this is what he knows: If Kate Beckett's mother hadn't been brutally murdered all those years ago, they never would've met. He would never have been allowed to – or even considered – becoming a part of New York's finest, would never have become a "civilian investigator," would never have been someone's true backup, someone's partner. He would never have helped solve a murder, never know what it felt like to bring justice, and with it, some peace, to victims' families. He most certainly would never have written Nikki Heat, would probably still be floundering after killing off Derek Storm.
But worst of all, he wouldn't be holding her in his arms right now. All those experiences pale in comparison to this, this love that overwhelms him, this beautiful person who has changed him in all the best ways possible.
So, in some sick, twisted way, he has to be grateful for the path that led her to him. And what kind of monster does that make him?
He hates country music – seriously, thoroughly despises what he feels to be the overwhelming whininess of it, and it's no surprise that Kate feels the same – but there's one set of lyrics that brings him some comfort. It's a pretty annoying Rascal Flatts' Song – Bless the Broken Road – but unfortunately relevant.
Every long lost dream led me to where you are,
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars,
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms,
This much I know is true:
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you.
But did her road have to be quite so broken?
If only the answer to that question was no.
But it's not. Without the tragedy that has overshadowed her life, he wouldn't have her.
And, god help him, that means he has to, in some twisted, utterly nauseating way, be grateful for it.
For her too broken road that led her straight (ok, really not so straight, but the sentiment is the same) to him.
It makes him sick to think it, so he tries not to, but it's his reality – their reality – and it hurts when he sees her wondering, because he's not sure what that means for him, for them. Would she trade it all in?
He tries not to think about. Because he's not sure he'd have the strength to make that switch for her if he was given the choice.
What she does know for sure, however – despite how far she might try to push it out of her mind – is that she wouldn't have Castle. This would most certainly not be her life.
And for that, she has to be grateful, as twisted and utterly nauseating as that idea is.
What kind of monster does that make her? To be grateful that her mother was met with an untimely, cruel, horrific death, alone in an alley, so that she could have this wonderful love blooming in her chest, this good, sweet man who loves her so?
She closes her eyes against it, the grief and the longing all confused with the happiness that Castle fills her with.
She hopes he knows that's okay, too, because he must see it, must feel it, and surely it must make him as sick as it makes her. That her dark, painful road is the only way that she got from there to here, that one horrific night ultimately brought her into his arms.
It's ok, right? It's what her mom would've wanted, after all.
She presses a kiss to his shoulder, his sleeping form an unbelievable comfort to her as she tries to organize her scrambling thoughts.
She's grateful for him, as tangled as her life might've been, and for her, that has to be enough.
He's more than enough.