The soporific whirring of the electronic drip at the side of his bed stirs her from the doze it was responsible for putting her into in the first place; it's a regulated, mechanical sound, something reassuringly constant, in this room where their lives are falling apart and nothing seems real or normal. A room that's as far from where she wants to be as is humanly possible, and as far from their comfortable space as is possible. But then, in this situation and this moment, there's nowhere else that she'd ever want to be. Though it smells unfamiliar, and funny; 'clinical', as Castle so aptly put it, when they moved him up here from the general ward he'd occupied for two weeks beforehand, it had slowly become their second home. Castle's only home, actually; the one that was set in stone when they knew exactly what was wrong, and when they were told his time was coming to an end.
Castle stirs, his hands twitching as his eyelids flutter with no real sense of comprehension behind them. Her beautiful, clever husband; so frail now, almost a stranger in the physical sense, as his body has undergone so many unsavoury changes in the few weeks they'd been ensconced within the hospital. So far removed from the charismatic, gentle man she gave her life to on that perfect, dusk evening in the Hamptons.
Sweet, mischievous, sensuous, thoughtful, kind, trusting - so many superlatives, and none of them ever quite enough to describe the depth of this man, and of her love for him. Nothing will ever be enough. No amount of time could ever be enough. But he's tired now; as is she. She's been conflicted for days, feeling guilty for hoping that it will all come to an end soon, to relieve him of this pain and discomfort, yet also grappling with the selfish desire of wanting every second to last forever so that she doesn't have to say goodbye.
She isn't ready to say goodbye.
But she knows she never will be ready. She's a mess of contradictions; as is the nature of grief, because to a degree she has lost him already, although her Rick is still alive – barely - in the bed next to her. She began the grieving process unconsciously, when they knew his days were numbered, and it accelerated when his mind had left her earlier that night. He'd been thrashing and fighting so much she'd called the nurse, and after a dose of various medications and a lot of soothing and reassuring from Kate he'd closed his eyes and gradually the tortured movements had stopped, and he'd settled into a pattern of breathing that was strong but irregular, muddied by the rattling, bubbling sounds of his lungs slowly filling up with fluid.
Rhian comes in, proffering a cup of strong coffee. She's a sweet, gentle soul; kind, and compassionate, and over the last week and a half they'd been privileged enough to witness her wonderful personality alongside her incredible nursing skills. "Morning, Mrs Castle... I thought you might like this." Her light, Welsh accented lilt was a strange concept to get used to at first, here in New York where everyone's speech is coarse and dark, but the brightness of her tone has become a welcome distraction to everything else that seems so drab and bleak in their world. A world that's centred down to two people, one hospital room, and the unknown time they have remaining.
Kate smoothes her hair back from her face, straightening her body up before accepting it gratefully. "Thank you. And please." she replies, in a quiet, broken voice. "I've said it so many times before, please call me Kate."
She smiles lightly, meeting the older woman's eyes and observing the pain etched into her irises. "Ok. How has he been, Kate?"
"Noisy." Kate laughs, and the loudness of her voice shocks her. It's a forced sound, from an almost involuntary action; the unbidden effect of hardly any sleep and the sheer absurdity of the situation they'd found themselves in, seemingly from nowhere. "He was babbling, groaning, trying to get up, all sorts. Nikita gave him some Midazolam, which stopped the thrashing around, and he's been quieter since. A bit more… peaceful." Her eyes fill with unwanted but automatic tears as she checks the small wire-bound notebook she's tucked under Castle's pillow. "He had his last dose at 5am, so it'll be wearing off soon. He's been like clockwork."
The nurse smiles as she picks up his notes folder from the end of the bed. "You've been writing it all down?" Kate nods, brushing at her cheeks to catch the tears, ashamed to be showing such emotion in spite of the fact that Rhian had become something of a friend over the last few days. You forge connections with people when you're thrust in to this kind of situation, and though she was grateful to have the support she couldn't help wishing she'd never had to come to know this beautiful, kind woman under such horrible circumstances. Rhian continues, stepping back over and resting her hand on Kate's shoulder; her voice low, and soothing. "We do that so you don't have to, you know… You don't have to worry. Just concentrate on him, Kate. We can take care of the technical stuff."
Kate pulls herself up, moving away and lifting the edge of the sheet covering Castle so she can glance at how much medication is left in the syringe driver nestled by his side. "I know, but it makes me feel better. More… useful, I suppose. Like I'm helping." Satisfying herself that there's time left before it needs to be changed, she turns to look at the nurse again. "How long now, do you suppose? It's…" Her voice falters again. "It's going to be soon, isn't it?"
Her eyes softening once more as she looks at the older woman's tired, broken features, she nods. "It's hard for us to judge, but it seems likely, now that he's settled. You might want to call Alexis." Kate's eyes widen, her stomach clenching in fear at the fact she phrased it as a statement rather than a question, and Rhian places a light hand on her shoulder again in reassurance. "It wouldn't hurt. And I'm sure she wants to be here for you, as much as for her Dad; that girl is an adult-sized ray of sunshine. Would you like me to call her?"
Kate exhales slowly in an attempt to quash the rising panic threatening to spill up and over, from her throat and out into the stuffy, cramped hospital room. "No, thanks. I should do it."
"Alright then. I'm going to review his notes from overnight, and I'll be back a little later, but I'm only outside if you need anything. Ok?" Kate nods, not trusting her voice, and her eyes flood with tears again. Then, with a light squeeze of her shoulder and an after-breeze of light, crisp perfume, she is gone.