Cold chills ran through my every limb as I desperately clung to the hope of a rescue. With every inch of my own body pressed against Richard's in the freezer that would become our final resting places, there was nothing else to do but hope. But even the man of many theories couldn't think of a way to get us out of here. The chilling scene before us, frosted metal and sealed door, became the terrifying image of my own foolishness. I had closed that door. I had backed us into this space. I was to blame for this. And now, I was going to finally be the cause of Richard Castle's death.
As he clung to me in a mirroring need for human warmth, I gave nothing in return. Frost weighed heavily on my lashed and the ends of my hair, forming crystals on my skin where sweat had once been its décor. Even my gun gave me no hope of survival. My usual motivation, the thing that had held me together, made me strong, and formed who I was: doing my job didn't even give me comfort as I began to feel death's boney fingers run along my face, caressing me sweetly before it would sourly pull my life from my body. I had to be sure he was still awake, feeling some movement in my arm as if it flexed, but unsure as to if or why it had. Speaking in a tone that whispered death to both our ears, broken apart by the frozen hands of my own weakness, I questioned, "Castle, you there?"
As his head laid heavily against my hood, the comfort of his few words was enough for me, and all I needed to know that I wasn't alone in this cruel end. "Yes- no I'm ri- I'm right here." Even these words, the words that had brought me the slightest glimpse of relief, were laced with the fraying edges of a worn, damaged cloth as his airy voice lost all strength and stability. That was the story of us. Each inch forward in our relationship was lined with a tragic misfortune that seemed only plausible for a writer and a cop.
Needing the escape his presence had given me, and running out of options other than words as feeling had faded and sight was a terrifying thought, I informed him of my own condition, hoping to hear he wasn't doing quite as poorly as I was, "I can't feel anything." With the words voiced before I could truly think of the implications, I didn't even consider what he would say to this. My answer quickly rang through the space, bouncing off the metal walls and screaming murder in my ears before a moment's notice could be given. He was silenced. I, myself had taken away the one thing that had warmed me as I remained unable to move and barely able to breath in the dry air.
Even words of his condition being worse than my own would be words enough to know that he was still conscious. But now, as a wordless tirade spilled over the space and a graveyard's darkened implication hung in the air, my thoughts wandered quickly to the offal fates that could have befallen him. Unaware of my words being words, my mind believing they were internal thoughts and knowing they were phrases unnecessary to the atmosphere, I spoke, "I always thought, being a cop I'd take a bullet." As I sucked in air, my heart grew cold, and the finale to the statement spilled out, "I never thought I'd freeze to death."
These words gave me the answer I didn't think I'd find, but as they would have pained me if he'd delivered them, his discomfort was not unnoticed. Adjusting his head on my should, making sure to be as close to me as he possibly could, his ever optimistic outlook immediately kicked in, dulling the situation into the present and keeping our minds from directing toward the future. "Kate," he said, the use of my first name soothing me, bringing me down from the cliff I'd mounted as I was ready for the reaper to claim me as his own. "We're not dead yet." A hint of self-deprecating laughter molded these words into a calming statement, holding us both together as he knew the probable future, but certainty never being our strong suite. Even now, as my life began to fade into the hint of not knowing what was to come in the next life, he kept me from seeing only the storm.
This man, firmly set in his ways of uplifting the human soul, was the only man who'd managed to spare me the terrors that engulfed my every day. And now, to repay him for being the knight in shining armor he'd always been for me, I was ripping him from his daughter, his mother and his life, shredding all hopes of a future for him, and bringing him to the worst possible end to any life I could even slightly imagine. His books had mapped out the roadways that lead me to being a cop. That action, my job, was the only thing that blocked the Siren's call of alcohol, which had been my father's antidote for a long period of time. Then, the writer shows up at the precinct, reforming his old ways of womanizing, and charming his way into my heat while somehow helping me repair my own vices that I'd so longed to be rid of. My own guardian angel had allowed me to lead him into a hellish end, not being of fire, but being a damning emptiness and torment.
Fondly remembering every word of his novels that had lifted me from my hopelessness when my mother had been murdered, I attempted humor, but instead hurt the writer. "I just wish this was one of your books and you could rewrite the ending." Against my arm, I watched as his hand slightly tensed at my shoulder, clutching it with remorse and grievance. Even as he breathed with a tightened, stabbing breath pattern, there wasn't a doubt in my mind that he was bothered by my comment. In the cold of this container, the man clutched onto me with every fiber of his being, holding me to the earth with a heavy guiding hand.
He then began a solemn plea with me, speaking as though he'd done something horrible, "I'm s- I'm sorry." Each breath that broke through his heavily weighed words was one of pain as he begged my forgiveness. He seemed to be in agony over this subject, whatever it was fueling a massive regret that seemed to be clawing for a way out. Over the past few years, this man had been guilty of many things, and most he'd apologized for. Even the extreme crimes he'd committed in his career at the NYPD had been enough for her to memorize this type of tone in his voice. But never in her time with him had she heard a shame so foul in his voice.
Knowing him, knowing his past and knowing nothing of what could be paining him this much, I knew when I should and shouldn't ask questions I didn't want to. Currently, as we both prepared for our parallel demises, I had to ask him, "For what?" My head remaining in the opposite direction of his face, I didn't turn to see his emotion. He had no secrets with me. I could read him as easily as he did me. To one another, we were an open book. And now, as he spoke, his emotions flowed out of him in a sweeping whirlpool that engulfed me in shock and pain.
"For being me. For going rogue. Getting us into this," he stated, handing facts to me as though they should have been obvious clues for a cop to pick up on. With every inch of his body being in a frozen wasteland I'd relocated us to, he still blamed himself. I had single handedly shut the door to the freezer, branding our tombstones with a newly set death-date, and this man held all the responsibility on his own. Not an ounce of him blaming me, he truly held himself accountable.
Meanwhile, there wasn't a single part of this that was his doing. What was his crime? This man had helped me with my job, led me to a lead I should have been onto, and followed my explicate directions when I chose our safe house, which had now loaned itself as our mortuary for a while. There wasn't a single decision that he made that I either shouldn't have or hadn't instructed him to make. And now, because of me and me alone, Alexis was going to be fatherless and Martha was going to lose her son. Plus, on top of that personal interest, there was a nuclear explosive scouring the streets of New York City set to go off within twelve hours.
And yet, this man, the man who'd made me his muse and who'd been nothing but kind to me for the past year was taking it upon himself to be found guilty of my murder and the failure to capture the dirty bomb. No one should have to carry that around. He was innocent of every crime imaginable. Now, as he cradled my dying body in his own nearly lifeless arms, he had taken the fall for my crimes. I had to end this. "No, shh. Ok, Castle, shh. You were right. We found the bomb," my breath beginning to escape me, I sucked in another gasp of air before saying, "We were just too late. Okay?"
Finally, the man of words and witty come backs was speechless, taking my words to heart. Hopefully, he was letting go of his regret. I prayed he was lifting a massive weight off his shoulders and allowing himself to fully come to terms with exactly what I told him. There was nothing for me to do but believe he was.
Suddenly, as I lay still in his arms, a deeper child ran through my veins. Around me, my vision became blurred more than it had been as my body became even more than just frozen. Heat was no longer a thought I could have. My body became heavier as I became instantly weaker. A force washed over me, taking the breath from my very lungs a moment before I heaved in a dense gust of stinging air.
This was it. Nothing more could prevent me from falling into an eternal rest. And in the moment, thousands of thoughts flooded through my mind. Each one a story untold that I wished I'd shared, a song unsung and unheard, or a simple memory I wish I could relive a million times over. Regrets immediately began to clutter my mind with useless information that had remained unshared. So many of these images piled high in the forefront of my mind. And with each one screaming a unique screech, not one was clear enough to understand.
Then, one set of memories began to play rapidly in my mind. As though on a slideshow, I began to see image after image of Rick flying through the air. Memories of spite and annoyance paved the way to flirtation and a few laughs. As the slides continued through, smiles, laughter and connections filled the air as the smell of coffee danced endlessly through the air. As the images slowly came to an end, one conclusion began to form in my mind. I could no longer deny the truth. I was in love with Richard Castle.
I had one regret I could erase from my unsettled subconscious. There was one final thing I had to do before allowing myself to slip into the hands of death. Turning myself in his arms, adjusting my body to perfectly run along to contours of his chest, I searched his eyes which redirected in my direction. The shadows of a ghostly finish had laid claim along his ruggedly handsome face, his lips taking on a shade of blue I'd not seen outside Yankee Stadium. Energy had begun to deflate from my body, but with all the will power I had left, I reached my hand up to his frozen cheek, needing to be certain his presence was truly there. So many words, so many things I could say, I collected my thoughts into a brief summary.
With a single breath, I took in the sight of him, and confessed what I couldn't before, "Castle, I just want you to know how much I love you." In this instant, fate had not turned its back on me. For once in my life, I managed to get out every word I wanted to. And just as I had, just as that weight was lifted from my chest, I fell further into the writer's arms, taking shelter in his grasp. His brawny arms tightly held me to him as a final life giving energy ran through the atmosphere.
His words rang loudly, though being truly a quiet joy, "Thank God." Beaming in joy, I could sense his delight. Nothing but the saddest fear had filled the walls before now. But as the two of us lay together, holding onto life, warming one another with our barely warmed bodies, a glee flew through this space on the wings of a dancing song bird. And in the moment, Richard Castle, my saving grace, my beating heart, my world, my light, my everything, gave into the same temptation we'd given into just a few months ago, pulled me from my sleeping rest and raised my chin, and kissed me with a passion I'd never felt with anyone but him.
His actions raised me from the grave I'd dug myself. A warmth reined king through the ice that had coated the in most fibers of my being. Through his touch, I felt an immediate pull to reality. My heart began to race as it had only once before. With his lips pressed against mine, even with an extreme lack of hopeful thoughts, I felt a sudden burst of fire course through every fiber of my being. Never before had I felt so alive. Nothing drew my focus from him. Everything around me may as well have disappeared as the only thing I could envision was Rick.
Finally falling from each other, having every intention to continue what we'd started, my eyes opened to see his smiling face. No matter how frozen, no matter how deadly pale, he was the most perfect sight I'd ever seen. But even he couldn't keep me alive forever. And just as I had reanimated at his touch, the moment we separated, the cold began to encase me. Cocooned mow by the inescapable finish to my life, I began to slip away. Every inch of my body began to fall limp. As my consciousness left me, as I fell into the deepest form of rest I'd ever managed to come to, my final image was a glowing light behind my deepest love. The final words I'd ever hear, the sweetest form of speech I'd ever be graced enough to recall was the words that had hidden for so long before finding the courage to uncover themselves.
The last words I could hear were his, "Kate, I love you." And that was all I needed as I faded into the black.