Disclaimer: I do not own Castle.
From Merry-merry-me's prompt just about forever ago, but the idea wouldn't let me go until I wrote it out.
Spoilers for season 3 finale. (I know, super late for a post- season 3 fic. I apologize.)
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Death at a Funeral:
They sat around her near-dark apartment; chairs huddled close together. Lamp light stained the walls, casting yellowed shadows sharply across the angled bones of their faces.
She looked around the circle, meeting each of their eyes with her, own reddened, but dry. Tears choked her voice without overwhelming it, somehow lending her words strength. They lean forward as she speaks, drawn into her words, the reassurance, the conviction.
"No one – No one outside this immediate family, ever needs to know about this."
They are family, each and every one of them. And they will not be torn apart by this. Her eyes end on Castle, green eyes boring into his blue.
"This won't end here. You know that. There are still loose ends. *You* are a loose end." Castle told her, after they had discussed what information would leave their immediate group. His voice pitched low, not leaving the circle of chairs as he looked around the detectives, gaze settling on her.
"You say that like you have a plan." Esposito states, leaning in closer.
"I do." He glances briefly at the Hispanic detective before settling his eyes back on the woman in front of him. "But you're not going to like it."
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There was something about the humidity level of the air, the temperature, working together to make every smell stand out in relief: the earthy chemical smell of fresh cut grass, sickly sweet of too many red roses, the cologne and deodorant of the detectives beside him, and faintly, the clean sweet smell of Beckett's perfume drifting to him on the breeze as she stood at the podium.
Dread tied his stomach in knots.
The sun was too bright, blinding him, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from Kate. He needed to be watching.
Light glinted off of everything: shone on the tombstones making them glisten, reflected off of every single blade of grass, bright and green, too cheerful, too perfect of a day for a funeral. The sun caught at the sheen in his daughter's eyes, on the tracks of moisture on Mrs. Montgomery's cheeks.
And then, there.
No.
He was right. What he would have given to have been wrong. But he knew. Kate Beckett was a target.
In the rows of stones, light flashed off of metal.
What if he was wrong? A professional sniper would aim for the head – a kill shot that left no doubt, not a shot to the chest. Not. The vest might not protect her.
His feet reacted before his mind had a chance to process what he was doing.
"Kate!" A warning. All he could manage.
And then her face, the shock, mouth dropped in exhale as the air was shoved out of her lungs a split second before he hit her, knocking her to the ground, covering her, protecting her. Smothering her.
"Cas…" she gasped out, twitching under him.
He rolled to the side, letting her breath, searching her face.
Her eyes were wide, pain drawing her eyebrows together, but after a moment, she gave him a slight nod, smiling faintly.
"Kate." He paused, regrouped, remembered what he had to do: the injector in his pocket. He drew out the tiny device, caressed her face. "Don't leave me, Kate. Please." His hand dragged down the soft velvet of her skin, resting on the steady pulse at her neck, and pressed the button.
He felt the subtle flinch as the needle pierced her skin, pushing the drug into her system. Only a few seconds left to say what needed to be said. It might be his last chance.
"I love you, Kate." Her eyes blinked shut, opened blurrily before shutting again.
He slid his hands down further, resting them on her chest as her breathing slowed.
Blood pooled out of the hole in her uniform, coating his hands and dyeing the grass red. The metallic scent of blood mingled with cherries and chlorophyll.
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Doctors met them at the ambulance docks. Men, and a few women, dressed in scrubs and white lab coats, hands gloved, safety glasses on.
Castle followed as EMTs pulled the stretcher out of the box. Lanie straddled Kate on the stretcher to keep the mask on her that was providing her Oxygen, to continue pumping the air into her lungs that kept her heart going after her body relaxed so far into unconsciousness that it stopped telling her to breath.
As they made it into the hospital hallways at a near run, Lanie slid down the side of the stretcher to balance on the support beams in a move that looked too graceful for her to have never done it before. In a clipped professional voice she gave the stats to the doctors, the quiver only detectable to Castle.
Castle's hands were shaking. He knew what was real and what wasn't, but that didn't stop it from looking like…
All that blood. It coated his hands, smeared down the side of his face from where he tried to wipe sweat away. It soaked through her shirt and down onto the stretcher sheets, smudges of it on the railings from Lanie. The smell of it filled his nostrils making him sick.
It's not real, he reminded himself.
Not real, not real, not real.
This was his plan. It was playing out exactly how it should. He hoped it was believable enough. If he believed it, knowing it was false, then it surely would be enough to keep her safe. Right? He hoped so, with all of his heart.
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The waiting area was pandemonium. It didn't help that he came out before washing up. The blood drying on his hands, sticky and starting to flake in places led people to believe the worst.
Even Ryan and Esposito, who knew, went pale. And they had been there as he spelled out his stupid, ridiculous, desperate plan to them, had been there again as they explained it out to Lanie. Ryan had been the one to call Agent Shaw and ask if she knew a few good men and women that could be trusted completely to fill in as doctors and EMT and maybe give a little extra support. Yet he looked like he was about to pass out.
They had even been there as Lanie had drawn his blood two days ago, filling clear plastic bags with the warm dark fluid. Esposito was the one to pull it out of the fridge in her morgue this morning and help Beckett secure it under her clothes over her bullet-proof vest.
So they knew, as did he, that it was his own blood coating his hands.
He met their eyes and nodded before excusing himself to the restroom to get cleaned up.
.
When he had scrubbed away as much of the blood from the creases of his skin and under his fingernails, he made his way slowly out to the crowd of mourners, already dressed for hearing the news of death, noting the absence of the rest of his team.
It seemed like hours. In reality, only 30 minutes or so after having arrived at the hospital, a man dressed in light blue scrubs stepped around the admittance desk and peered around the half filled waiting room. His gaze stopped on the crowd of people clustered tightly together dressed in black.
"Family of Katherine Beckett?" He asked hesitantly.
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The detectives paced the basement corridor outside the hospital morgue, dress shoes clicking against the cold cement floors, a staccato echo in the sterile halls. Tension evident in every line of their bodies etched sharp creases in their faces.
An official voice reverberated from around the corner.
"Sir, I need you to stop. No hospital personnel past this point. Doctor!"
"No. I just need to…" A desperate, broken voice pleaded. "Please."
A voice they both recognized, followed by a scuffle of footsteps rounding the corner.
At the first sight of lab coat rounding the corner, Ryan had his gun drawn, aimed at the figure. "NYPD! Freeze!" he ordered, both hands gripping his service piece tightly. The man slowed, his eyes wide with pain, but seemingly unaware of the gun.
"Ryan." The man croaked out, hope somehow bleeding into his voice. "Is she in there? I need to see her."
Ryan glanced through the glass windows of the morgue door and the doctor took another step forward, his shoes squeaking.
"Davidson. Stop." Ryan warned, steadying his gun as his eyes snapped back to the man.
"Ryan, you know me." The doctor reasoned, "Please. I have to see…"
The muffled sound of retching filtered through the doors. Esposito's eyes darted to the windows, then to his partner, nodding reassurance, his hand drifting down to his weapon at his hip.
"You need to leave now, Dr. Davidson." He growled, stepping forward.
"I can't. Not without…"
"Lanie!" a voice broke through, rough and insistent. "Get these off. I can't…" The voice becoming frantic.
Josh's eyes widened, his mouth gaping for a second before he took advantage of the distraction and shoved his way past the smaller detective and through the door they were guarding.
"Davidson." Ryan snapped, pivoting to keep his weapon aimed at the doctor who stood frozen in the doorway.
His girlfriend sat on a silver table, blood plastering her once-blue shirt to her chest.
"It smells like him." She choked out, her face a sickly white except for the smudges of garish red on her forehead and cheek, as she stared across the room at her best friend, fingers twisting inefficiently at the bloodied material.
"Kate." He breathed out, crossing the room to stand before her, his hands pulling blue gloves out of his pocket and snapping them on without thinking.
Her eyes shot to his, fear and pain and stress glazing them. Delicately, trying not to spook her, he wrapped his hands around her fingers, running his thumbs across the backs of her knuckles until they unclenched, and then gently worked the buttons on her shirt free.
When he reached the third button, his knuckles grazed her chest. She blinked, sucking in a ragged breath.
"Josh?"
Her eyes moved past him to see Ryan in the doorway, a gun aimed at her boyfriend. The detective's eyes flicked to hers and she shook her head almost imperceptibly. She waited until his gun lowered before meeting the eyes of the doctor standing crowded against her legs.
He reached the end of the buttons and tugged the shirt from her shoulders before finding the courage to ask, "Were you going to tell me?" His voice is low, thick with emotion.
"No." she answers, hard and sure, emphasizing with a slight shake of her head.
He flinches at the clipped emotionless tone.
She huffs a sigh, bringing her hand to up to her face to brush an errant strand of hair from her eyes, stops suddenly as she sees them: sticky with drying blood – his blood.
She can smell it.
Chokes on it.
Fights the urge to gag.
Dropping her hands, she holds them away from herself, whimpering slightly.
Josh clenches his jaw as he tugs at the Velcro fastens on her body armor, somehow knowing. "You love him." He states, an accusation that lacks bite, just full of weariness. He's known for a while now, just needs conformation.
"Yes." There's no point in lying now, not when she might not see either of them again, not when Lanie has a slip of paper burning a hole in her pocket right now for the man in question, with a simple, horribly complicated statement scrawled across it:
I'm sorry. You're extraordinary. I love you. Always. KB
She hopes he can forgive her for it.
The Kevlar joins her button up in silence, leaving her in an undershirt with red stains down the side from where the blood seeped through. He leans forward, scooting in to stand between her legs to place a kiss on her temple as he bunches up the shirt to tug it gently over her head.
She leans into him, breathing him in, the familiarity of his scent momentarily chasing her demons away. He holds her gaze as he slides the shirt off her arms, ridding her of the garment in a ritual so familiar, yet foreign to both of them. He leans in again to brush his lips across her cheek before grasping her hands and tugging her off the tale and over to the deep metal sinks in the corner.
He turns her to face the sinks and crowds in behind her, his warmth suffusing her back. Turning on the water, he threads their fingers together, rinsing off the blood from her hands. As the runny red swirls down the drain and slowly the water spinning down the sink turns clear again, he feels her relaxing against him.
Reaching for a pre-soaped scrub brush, he scrubs the remaining blood from her hands and arms, and then turns her, pulling her into him and wrapping his arms around her, breathing her in for a moment before leading her back to the table to examine the damage done to her body.
Her head feels cottony from the drugs – the ones to make her sleep and the ones to wake her again. Her throat is dry and sore from the tube Lanie put down her trachea to pump air into her lungs. Thankfully, Lanie insisted on her fasting, because when she choked on the tube, there was nothing to come up, but now she's stuck somewhere between starving and nauseated as she sways on her feet leaning heavily into the main behind her as he wraps a steadying arm around her before lifting her onto the table.
"Okay. Okay, Katie, the blood's gone. It's all gone." He murmurs to her, and she realizes she's shaking, tears tracing slow lines down her skin.
"It's his… His blood." She stutters out, in case he hadn't gathered that. Her blood she could handle, but not his, coating her skin.
Gently, he takes her hands, fingers skimming her wrists. The blood thrumming beneath his fingertips has slowed, no longer feeling as if it is trying to fight its way out of her arteries. Her skin is warmer, though goose bumps stand out on her bare skin in the cold exam room, and her eyes have lost some of that crazed look.
"He's fine." He answers her. "In the lobby, worried about you, but unharmed." His voice is soothing, calm, almost professional as he slides his hands up to her shoulders, finally dropping his eyes to the bruising across her chest. "Oh, babe," he whispers.
The bruising starts just below her left clavical, spreading down three ribs and just crossing her sternum, mostly red, but starting to darken to purple in the center.
"Kate." His voice cracks on her name as his hand comes up softly to feather over the contusion. Cautiously he presses down, trying to gauge the severity of the wound. She cries out, an inarticulate yelp of pain as she arches back, hands clenching the sides of the counter as she pants short gasps.
The sound is enough to make Ryan turn back towards them, away from the wall he'd been facing to give his boss some privacy as she sat, nearly topless, with her boyfriend, his hand resting on his service piece.
Kate continued to whimper quietly for a few moments as she caught her breath, steadying herself with hands on his shoulders. Oh, it hurts to breath. Josh pulled his hand back, concerned etched on his features as he tugs his stethoscope from around his neck, sliding the head of it around her chest, listening to her lungs and heart. He slips his arms around her and pulls her close, her arms wrapping around his neck as he puts the stethoscope on her back, waiting a breath, moving it again.
"Probably bruised your lung and fractured a rib or two. Are you going to have medical attention available where you're going? He asks, wanting to ask where it will be, but knowing she won't answer, that he never really had a permanent place in her life.
Kate shrugs and winces. Pulling back, she meets his eyes, fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "I'll probably never see you again." She whispers.
"I know." He acknowledges, refusing to let it show just how badly that hurts.
Stepping in closer, so his scrubs brush against her bare stomach, his hands rub up and down her back slowly until she relaxes into him, forehead tucked into his neck, her lips brushing his collar bone.
"Kate." Lanie's voice breaks through their moment apologetically. "We have to go."
Lanie set a stack of clothes beside her as Kate untangles herself from her boyfriend. Josh pulls back slowly, until he is cupping her face in his hands.
"Goodbye, Kate." He whispers with a sad smile, pressing a kiss to her lips.
Kate gives him a soft smile. "Go save the world, Dr. Davidson." She ran her hand down his cheek, resting it against his heart as she turned to face the ME.
A/N Because as much as I don't like Josh, I think Kate is a good judge of character, and therefore, he was probably a decent guy. Also, sorry this is so angsty. I had to write it and share so it'd stop bothering me.