Author's Note: A "fix it" post-ep for 8x2 "XX" starting just before the end of the episode, because I was honestly expecting Kate to turn back around and was so mad when she didn't. Ignoring the previews for next week so I confidently expect this will be officially AU by Monday night.
Here As On a Darkling Plain
Kate couldn't move.
She felt as if her chest was caving in, her feet becoming cement blocks.
But she had to, she thought again. Rachel McCord might not have been her partner for two years but for a while, she had been. Kate had known her, worked closely with her, learned from her. And now she and four other agents were dead. Dead because of someone else connected to Bracken.
Bracken.
She had thought it was over. Her quest was done, she had finally got justice for her mother.
But she had been wrong. And she could not simply let Bracken's partner continue on, could not rest knowing that everything connected to Bracken's criminal enterprises had not been stopped.
She set her jaw and forced herself to step forward.
One step. Two steps. Three steps…
Please don't tell me that son of a bitch knew you better than I do.
Castle's voice rang out in her mind again, echoing in the hollow cavern of her chest.
Knew her better than Castle. Bracken had told Castle that she couldn't be happy as Castle's wife.
She reeled, her bag dropping from suddenly-nerveless fingers, as she tried to suck in air through lungs that felt as if they'd collapsed.
Knew her better.
No. No. No.
No one knew her better than Castle. Castle, who she swore knew her very soul, all the broken pieces of her, in a way no one else ever had or ever could. Castle, who had been with her, by her side, for seven years, who had seen her at some of her worst moments. Who had stayed even after she had broken his heart, convinced she needed to get better on her own, break down her wall on her own before she could be happy, before he could be happy.
Oh. Oh god.
She was doing it again. Thinking she needed to do things alone. As if nothing had really changed. As if her wall was still there. Again. Falling back into old, bad habits, her automatic, instinctive reactions.
But she wasn't alone. She had promised him—and herself—that she would be his partner in crime and in life. His partner. As he had always, always been for her.
He had disappeared and been involved in something she still didn't know about and he still didn't remember. The video message he had made for her replayed in her mind. His haggard face, his voice, the tears in his eyes as he swore that it wasn't his choice.
Not his choice. Never his choice.
Whenever Castle had a choice, he had always chosen her. When she'd needed to go on the run after being framed for Vulcan Simmons's murder, he had chosen to run with her, had refused to leave her.
Oh god. She didn't deserve him. She'd known that but somehow she had allowed herself to forget it in all her happiness. She didn't deserve the depths of his loyalty or his love, the steadfastness of his feelings.
But she had promised, vowed that she would do everything that she could to make him happy, to love him the way he deserved. Always.
The word galvanized her and she turned and now her steps were fast, quick.
She ran back through the still-open door. Ran back home. Ran back to him.
He hadn't moved from where she'd last seen him, standing in place, his head and shoulders slumped as if holding his head up would take more energy than he had. Her heart cracked a little more. For the first time in her memory, he looked… small, somehow, his physical presence diminished.
He heard her footsteps and started to lift his head but she reached him and flung herself at him before he'd managed it.
She caught his face in her hands and scattered haphazard kisses on his lips, his chin, his cheeks, and then she flattened herself against him, nestling her head against his shoulder in the spot that she could almost swear had been made just for her.
"I'm so sorry, Castle. I'm so sorry. You were right. I was being stupid. I'm so sorry," she found herself chanting breathlessly, barely aware of what she was saying. Barely aware of anything except that she was with him, again, still, his warmth against her, his familiar scent filling her senses. Home.
Except, she realized belatedly, his arms weren't around her. He hadn't moved or reacted to her embrace. She might as well have flung herself at a statue for all his reaction.
Castle never didn't hug her back.
Kate drew back just enough so she could look at his face.
And then she bit back a gasp, feeling tears start in her eyes.
Oh god, what had she done?
He looked… she couldn't think of a word to do justice to it except that he looked worse than he had after their shattering argument more than three years ago, when he'd told her that he was done, that he couldn't watch her throw her life away.
"Castle," she began but her voice almost cracked on his name and she began again. "Rick," she whispered. "Look at me."
Slowly, as if the movement of his eyes was exquisitely painful, he lifted his eyes to meet hers. And she stifled another gasp, her heart breaking all over again.
His eyes!
His eyes were gray, darker, bleaker than she'd ever seen them. His eyes looked… defeated. And it seemed like a crime against nature for Castle, the optimist, the eternally-youthful boy at heart, the believer in magic and aliens and ghosts, to look so defeated. And it was because of her.
She suddenly hated herself with a virulence that almost choked her. She deserved every bit of the physical agony she'd been in from sewing up her own wound the other day, she thought savagely.
"Rick," she whispered again, "I'm so sorry. I'm not leaving. I won't leave. I can't leave."
"Why, Beckett?" he finally began heavily.
She blinked and opened her lips to say, because she loved him, but he went on before she could.
"Why am I always the one fighting for us, fighting to keep us together? I love you, Kate. God help me, but I do."
For the first time, the words didn't make her heart flutter with happiness because for the first time, she thought he honestly was beginning to wonder if he should really want to love her. For the first time, it seemed like he was honestly wondering not if she would be better off without him (never) but if he would be better off without her. Wondering if he didn't deserve better than her.
Stark terror clutched her heart, excoriating remorse clawing at her.
"I promised always and I meant it but I can't keep fighting for us if I'm fighting against you. I thought you'd finally learned to let me in but now…"
Oh. Oh god, what had she done?
He looked and sounded more exhausted and older than she'd ever heard him sound before and she realized that she wished he would be angry, wished that he would shout at her or rage at her or just show some of the passionate determination she knew he was capable of. This, now—he sounded like he was giving up. Had given up on her, on them.
"You say you love me…"
That broke through her paralysis and she interrupted him on a gasp. "I do, Castle. I do love you."
He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "And I believe that you believe that you love me." He stopped, sighed, and then finished, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it, even though she was standing almost pressed against him. "I just… I can't do this alone. If I'm… not enough for you… if I can't keep you happy…" his voice cracked and he stopped abruptly before going on, his voice still a little shaky, "I—you should just tell me, Beckett."
Oh. Oh, Castle.
"No, Castle," she choked. "It's not you. You—you make me happier than I've ever been. You're enough. You're… everything."
"You say that and I want to believe you. I just… I'm beginning to wonder if you… maybe you just don't love me enough."
She had made him doubt the depth and strength of her love for him. When her love for him and his for her was the very keystone of her existence, the necessary piece that made her entire life possible.
And that was what broke her. After all that they'd been through, for all her own vaunted strength, she broke. Because she had broken him, had broken his faith in her, in them. His faith in them that had survived freezers and bullets and months of silence and lies and conspiracies. She would have sworn, had believed, that his faith in her, in them, was nearly indestructible, a thing that would make diamonds seem fragile.
And maybe, it still was, to all outside attacks. But she had broken it from within. Had put cracks into the very foundation of his belief in her love.
She collapsed, her knees crumpling beneath her, as she broke down into gasping sobs.
She had thought for years now and especially after last summer, that Castle dying would break her for good. But she realized now that there might actually be something just as bad, maybe even worse than that—losing his love. Knowing that he was alive in the world and not loving her, not believing in her.
"Castle," she half-sobbed, half-wailed. She almost choked on her sobs and she was vaguely aware that she hadn't hurt this much, had not cried this hard, since the day her mom had died.
And then he was there, dropping down to his knees before her, and putting a hand on her shoulder. And she hurt all over again at the fuzzy realization that no matter how much he was hurting, he still couldn't bear to see her cry and not react. But it was a measure of his doubt and his pain that he didn't wrap his arms around her.
She fell forward against him, her hands clutching desperately at his shirt, as she sobbed.
"Castle, I—I can't lose you," she gasped. "I can't. I know I was wrong… so wrong and so stupid and I—I don't know how to fix this." She sniffled and hiccupped and tried with very little success to slow the sobs as she choked out, "Tell me how to fix this… I love you, I do… Tell me how to prove it, Castle, because I can't—I can't lose you."
She felt rather than heard his deep sigh and then, finally, he put his arms around her. Held her with more tentativeness than she'd felt in his embrace in years, possibly ever before. But he was still there, still holding her.
She shifted closer to him, wrapped her arms around him as if she would never let him go again. She wouldn't. Would never ever let him go, she told herself firmly. She felt a sharp twist of pain in her side from where she had stitched herself up but she didn't move.
She wriggled to get yet closer, would have climbed right into his lap if their positions allowed it. Let the closeness of their bodies communicate more reassurance to her and to him that she was still with him, that she wouldn't leave, that he still wanted her.
"Stay, Beckett," he finally said and for one of the few times, it sounded like a command. "Just… don't leave. No matter what happens, you stay." With him, he left unsaid but she heard the words anyway.
She nodded against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him. He almost never used that firm, implacable tone and she would normally never be inclined to listen if he did. But her vaunted independence, her own stubborn instinct to go it alone even if it was intended to protect him, had done too much harm already. Some things were more important. He was more important. And he was right.
A relationship—a marriage— took two people and it was not, had never been, fair of her to expect or believe that he would always be the one to fight for them. This was her marriage, her love, her happiness, and she'd be damned before she let anyone connected to Bracken, let alone Bracken himself through his words to Castle, come between her and Castle.
She had already nearly lost him once because of her obsession with her mother's case. She could not lose him again. Could not lose this life they had made together.
She remembered what she'd said to Vikram in refusing to run away like Rita had suggested. How had she forgotten it so quickly?
She was an idiot, a blind, stubborn idiot.
Captain Montgomery had been right. There were no final victories, only the battle, but she had found someone to stand with her and she decided where to make her stand—beside Castle, with Castle. Their relationship, their marriage, their love was where she would make her stand.
"We're stronger together, Beckett. We took down Bracken together, remember? Whatever it is that you think you need to do, just… don't leave. We'll do it together. Promise me, Beckett."
She sniffled again and nodded. "Together," she promised, her voice watery. "Always."
Because he was right. She would never have been able to defeat Bracken without him. From the beginning, she would never have found her mother's killer without him.
She wasn't sure how long they stayed unmoving on the floor but it was long enough that her knees started to ache, but she didn't care. At the moment, she would rather cripple herself than move away from him. She had almost done irreparable damage to their relationship, had shaken his faith in her love, in them—and as a consequence, her faith in them—too deeply to recover immediately. So she only rested against him and felt her breathing finally even out, the last tears drying on her face.
"I love you, Castle," she finally whispered. She lifted her head to press her lips to the underside of his chin. "I love you," she said again, kissing his jaw. "I love you. I love you," she repeated, punctuating the words with another kiss to his chin, his cheek, wherever she could easily reach, random places only a woman in love would cherish. "I love y—"
He cut off her words with his own lips, kissing her hard and deep, kissing her as if to prove to her, once and for all, that she was his. (She was.)
She was breathless again and a little dazed when he finally ended the kiss, drawing back only enough to rest his forehead against hers. "I know, Kate. I believe you," he said softly.
She nearly choked on another sob of emotion, this time one of almost shattering relief. He believed her. Believed that she loved him. Again. Still. He still believed in them.
"I'm so sorry, Castle," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry."
He sighed and she felt the puff of his breath against her lips. "I know you are, Kate." He was silent for a moment and then he went on, "I can't say that it's okay because it's not. It's really not. I just… tell me what's going on. Why don't you trust me, Beckett?"
"I do trust you, Castle. I trust you more than anyone."
"Do you?"
The simple, stark question stabbed her heart. "I trust you, Castle. I just… I'm trying to protect you."
He drew back. "If today and the last seven years have taught us anything, it should be that we're stronger—and safer—when we're together, Beckett. We're a team and you don't just leave because you think I would be safer or better off."
"I know, Castle." She turned her face into his shoulder, closing her eyes against the prick of more tears. They were stronger together—she was stronger, better, when she was with him. After the endless summer of Castle's disappearance, she knew that.
She was still terrified that something would happen to him, that she wouldn't be able to protect him, but she needed him too much to leave.
"I'm so scared, Castle," she admitted very quietly. "I've been trying to protect you and I'm so scared that I won't be able to keep you safe."
"Nothing could hurt me worse than losing you, Kate."
She sniffled again. "I can't lose you either so I need you to be safe."
"I'm safer when you're with me. You should know that by now. You know I tend to attract trouble when I'm on my own."
At any other time, his tone would have been humorous, seeking a laugh. And at any other time, she would have smiled. But not now.
It was too frighteningly true. He'd been alone when he'd been run off the road and then vanished just before what should have been their wedding. He'd been alone when he'd been taken hostage and tortured just yesterday. (God, was it only yesterday?) He had almost been killed at the hands of Dr. Holtzman just months ago and had only survived because she had been there, had had his back.
"We stay together, Castle," she promised softly.
"I'm never letting you go, Beckett."
"I don't want you to."
"Thank God for that."
She met his eyes and saw with a flood of emotion that his eyes looked like him again—blue and clear and filled with the soft light that she only ever saw for herself or for Alexis.
He believed again, believed in her love and in her trust, believed in them.
And somehow, her heart broke all over again. A poignant and worthwhile heartbreak this time—sometimes limbs must be re-broken in order to set properly and her heart too needed to shatter again before it could truly heal. And she could only be healed after she had repaired the damage she had done to his heart; she could only be whole when he was whole too.
She lifted her hand to cup his cheek and leaned in to kiss him, more softly this time, no desperate emotion anymore but only tenderness. Her lips lightly molded themselves against his as she let every brush of her lips communicate reassurance and remorse and a renewed commitment to their relationship. And she could only promise herself with every fiber of her being that she would never ever let him doubt the depth of her love or the strength of her commitment to him, to them.
After the kiss—series of kisses—ended, she settled her head against his shoulder again and felt him lift a hand to stroke her hair.
After a moment, he asked, "Kate, your side—are you okay on the floor like this?"
She lifted her head to make a small face. She was a little stiff and her side was beginning to ache, a discomfort she hadn't even noticed in her emotional turmoil. "I'm going to need your help to stand up, I think."
"Of course," he said immediately and pushed himself to his feet, not quite able to help his own grimace.
"Oh, Castle, your bad knee."
"I'm fine," he huffed as he reached down his hands to her and helped her stand up, practically lifting her to her feet so she didn't need to put any pressure on her side to stand.
Once on her feet and with the emotional upheaval of the past evening finally settling down, her head cleared and she belatedly remembered… "Oh, Castle, my bag, it's still outside in the hallway."
"I'll get it," he volunteered almost before she finished the sentence. "I am not letting you set foot outside the door again. Tonight," he amended after a moment, his tone and expression easing a little.
She attempted a smile but only managed a little twitch of her lips, her heart pinching all over again at the reminder of how close she had come to leaving Castle. Leaving him, leaving this life they had both endured so much in order to have. How could she have even thought it—how could she have done it?
Castle retrieved her bag and then firmly closed and locked the door as if to underscore that she wasn't leaving.
Something inside her eased. No, she wasn't leaving—and she knew with everything in her that this was the right thing. Here, with Castle, was where she belonged and where she would stay. She and Castle were, as he had sometimes said, a gestalt entity, greater than the sum of their parts. And whatever happened, in spite of the danger, they belonged together.
"Castle, we're… okay, right?" she found herself blurting out, faltering just a little. He looked so tired, maybe even more tired than she felt, and even though he no longer looked defeated or dejected, it still appeared as if he had aged years over the course of the last hour.
He set her bag down by his office door and came to stand in front of her. Their eyes met and held and then he sighed a little. "We'll get there," he finally answered. It wasn't an affirmative yes.
Her entire chest hurt all over again and she stepped forward, closing the space between their bodies, her body automatically, instinctively seeking his embrace. And she felt comforted when his arms immediately came up around her, holding her.
She felt him press a kiss to her hair and then rest his cheek against her hair. "We'll find our way back," he said quietly. "We will."
Back to where they had been before this had all started, back to their unquestioning confidence in their relationship.
But they weren't there yet.
She closed her eyes against the prick of tears and tightened her arms around him. They were together, still, and she felt their closeness, the firm reality of his arms around her, seep into her heart, filling in the cracks.
And in each other's arms, they began to be made whole again.
~The End~
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! For the world, which seems,
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
- Matthew Arnold, "Dover Beach"