Someone to Stand with You
He should have stopped her. Should have caught hold of her as she pulled away. He didn't know if the hangar was safe; the men could have still been in there. She could have been killed.
But they were gone and she was okay. Physically, she was okay.
He could still feel the warmth of Beckett's body on his own, felt the sensation of her form pressed protectively between his torso and his car. She jerked against him each time a gunshot echoed around the metal building, as if she herself had been pierced by the bullets.
He still carried the traces of her tears on his fingertips; he'd wiped them from her under her distraught eyes, a futile action given the speed at which they fell.
He could feel the gradual building ache on his shin. Hauling her up and carrying her out of that hangar had been both one of the easiest and hardest things he'd ever had to undertake. He wanted her safe, sure, but she'd fought against him, a heel glancing off of his tibia. He'd never seen someone so practically hysterical.
He walked slowly up to the figures on the floor. Beckett's sobs echoed around the metal structure, her words unintelligible and desperate. He stopped a few paces behind and gave her space, let her cry over the body of her captain, mentor and friend. And yet the status of those relationships would be forever more entangled in Montgomery's betrayal.
When he heard the sound of squad cars pulling up outside, he lifted her from the concrete, gentler this time, and walked her over to the back wall of the building. They were still present for questions from the cops, but she was spared having to listen to them analyse the death of someone to whom she was so close. He tucked her under his chin and they both watched the uniforms, detectives and CSU carry out work which was so familiar to the pair; cordoning off the scene, marking evidence, photographing the area. The ME was thankfully not Doctor Parish, who had become a member of their special family. Castle would have hated Lanie to be the one to carry out the necessaries on their friend.
Kate stayed motionless in his arms throughout the entire period. He glanced down from time to time but with her head resting on his shoulder, he couldn't make out her expression. From her stillness however, he guessed she was numb from shock and grief. He himself was feeling some sort of disassociation from the hangar, grounded only tenuously by the warm body gripping him.
Once the cops were finished with them, he coaxed her to his car, and it took surprisingly little persuasion for her to allow him to driver her home. He listened as she called Ryan and Esposito (thankfully they were still together at the precinct, saving her repeating the information twice) and broke the news, before filling them in on the details. She was stoic as she spoke, her Detective Beckett mask pulled down firmly.
She arranged to meet them at her apartment, and Castle took that as his cue to proceed there. After the phone call she was mostly silent. Her forehead rested upon the passenger side window, blank eyes unseeing the landscape through which they passed. She released the occasional shudder, drew in a jagged breath or two, while fat tears dropped intermittently onto her tightly clasped hands.
She was almost zombie-like when he parked. He had to coax her from the car, hands gripping her elbows and literally propelled her towards her building, having to hold up most of her weight when her leaden feet caused her to trip and stumble. A chill permeated through her clothes and he cursed himself for not thinking to turn the heat on in his car.
Exiting the elevator on her floor, he resorted to wrapping a firm around her middle, supporting her further with the barrier of his chest at her back. He rarely has cause to touch his partner at all, let alone practically fold himself around her. Yet he could take no thrill from the touch of their bodies; there was nothing sensual about his partner's suffering.
She roused herself half an hour later when the Ryan and Esposito arrived. The mood was predictably sombre. Ryan was opening crying and even Esposito dropped his usually tough exterior; he looked like a bewildered child. Castle was unable to prevent a few tears from escaping and Beckett held his gaze across the seating area with quiet understanding.
"I lied, Castle."
Those were the first words she spoke after the other detectives left. Her voice was so soft that he inclined his head towards her, furthering the sad intimacy of the moment.
"I told him I forgave him. But I don't think I really can, not yet. Part of me feels so… So angry. And then I feel guilty because he's dead now. He's dead because of me."
"Not because of you." He moved to sit beside her curled form with her arms wrapped around herself in a gesture of self-comfort. "He was trying to make right something he was responsible for. He made his decision and ultimately proved himself a good man."
"Do you think I ever can forgive him?"
"In time. You need time to process everything. A lot has happened tonight and you need to give yourself time to makes sense of it all."
She nodded contemplatively then lowers her head, her fingers beginning to twist in the fabric of her blanket. "Could you forgive someone who hurt you?"
"Yeah, Kate," he said softly. "Yeah I could."
"Even if that person said some really cruel things?"
"I think…" he paused to contemplate his next words, careful to stay just on the right side of subtext. "I think that the person probably regrets the words and wants to make things right. And I know that the friendship is something I want to hold on to… So yeah, I could forgive even then." He paused and raked his gaze over her curled up form before him, and then continues. "There's no could about it, Kate. I have forgiven."
They fell to silence. Kate's face was hidden by her hair but he saw the droplets fall to her jeans in dark spots, saw her raise a hand to her cheeks. He hesitated a moment. Their relationship had never been particularly tactile, apart from her abusing his earlobe of course. But was it really better to keep his distance for fear or rejection than to provide the comfort he suspected she sorely needed? He decided not. So a tentative arm lay across her shoulders and when she immediately canted into him, he clasped her more firmly.
"What about the other person?"
She let out a noise in question which boarded on a whimper.
"What if the other person also said some things? Does he deserve forgiveness?"
She curled an arm around his middle then, squeezing him as tightly as he held her. "Nothing to forgive."
It was nearing two o'clock when he eventually persuaded himself to separate from her and stand.
"You're leaving?" she eventually uttered when he bent to gather up his coat.
At the sight of her wide eyes, showing a more vulnerable version of Kate than he'd ever witnessed, he paused. "Nah, Beckett. Just heading to the shops; if I know you well enough, and I think I do, there is nothing remotely breakfast-worthy in your fridge. How else am I to make you pancakes?"
"Actually, Castle, I have actual food now; eggs and everything."
"I'm impressed," he responded with an exaggerated expression of surprise. "Very proud of you, Beckett."
His words elicited an almost-smile from her which he took as a small victory.
"So no reason for me to leave at all then." He deposited his coat then dropped back down beside Kate.
"You should go home, Castle. To your family."
He shook his head. "Pancakes, Beckett. Chocolate chip, blueberry, peanut butter. I'll create a culinary masterpiece with whatever is in your cupboards."
"It does sound nice," she spoke after a lengthy silence. "Been a while since I've had pancakes."
Neither of them was fooled by the pretext. They both knew Castle's reason for wanting to stay, and Beckett's reason for acquiescing had nothing to do with food.
Subtext. Pretext. Their evening – and indeed their whole relationship – was rife with them. But they were getting better, becoming gradually closer.
She must have been in bed for less than an hour before she returned to the living area, treading softly and with trepidation upon bare feet. He, too, was unable to sleep; how could anyone? So he merely held open an arm to her. She took a detour on her way to him, selecting a DVD and popping the disc into the device and pressing play.
The familiar opening credits of Temptation Lane began to play as she curled up against him.
"I keep picturing him lying there."
"Me too." There was a moment of silence. "And I can't help but imagine what would have happened if I arrived later. Or they arrived earlier."
She curled a hand around his on her shoulder. "I'm okay, Castle. I'm safe, here, with you."
They didn't speak of the case, of the next steps or of the person ultimately responsible. They didn't speak of the possibility of continuing danger.
The grief was intermittent. She spent most of the time silently watching the screen, until her mind must have wandered over the events of the day. Then the tears would come. Not sobs, just silent trails of liquid down her cheeks which she allowed for a few seconds before drawing a shuddering breath and composing herself.
All the while, he provided a steady presence. It seemed to be enough.
The funeral was three weeks later.
When she turned to him during her speech, he understood the significance of her words; how once again she was affirming how important he was to her, how important they were to each other. How they had made another stride forward in their relationship (however it may be defined). He was slowly inching closer to her and she was slowly letting him.
And then a bullet tore through her heart.
And everything shattered.
Fin
A/N: Thanks for reading!