She runs her hands through his oily, unwashed hair; the digital display on her phone relays the passage of time as the minutes tick by. It's three o'clock on a Tuesday morning. She falls asleep with his heavy weight draped sideways over her body. Castle's head is cradled in her lap, his breathing hitching as he tries to keep the tears at bay.
She wakes two hours later, the loss of his bulk and the ease with which she can take breath hitting her harder than any punch to the gut could.
"Castle," she whispers into the agonizing silence of the dusky morning light.
Kate stumbles out of bed, grateful that she never bothered to undress.
Grabbing her coat and phone from where they lie abandoned on the dresser and pulling her knotted and equally greasy curls into an unruly bun, she hurries to where she knows he will be.
The same place she found him yesterday.
Usually this place is a refuge; her safe haven and home away from home. This morning, it's a reminder of all that could be lost. Everything that they have tried and failed to do over the last two days. The laughter of an intern as she exits onto the second floor mocks her and makes her body shake with fury. None of this is fair.
Her eyebrows knit together, hands clenching in fists at her side as the rickety old elevator makes its slow ascent to the fourth floor. The doors groan open and Kate stifles one of her own as the golden light of pre-dawn filters through the streaked and unwashed windows of the Twelfth. She scans the floor and finds him as he leans against her desk, his back to her, head cocked to the side as he trails a hand down a photo adorning her murder board.
Dust motes float lazily in the air, surrounding his shape, highlighting the black silhouette and apparently oblivious to the urgency of the situation.
She grinds her teeth in irritation at the injustice of it all. Kate squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath before proceeding to his side, where she belongs.
He shifts then, shoulders slumping forward and head collapsing into his palms; she tries to make her footfalls as soft as possible as she quickly crosses the bullpen.
"Hey," she says, laying a palm gently on his thigh and perching herself next to him on her particle board and laminate desk. It creaks with the weight of them both. She wonders briefly if it always does that, or whether it's just the deafening calm of the deserted precinct.
"Kate…" he sobs, finally relenting to the pressure he feels; the burden that has draped like a heavy blanket over the entire division but over none more than him.
"How did this happen?" he whispers.
She twines her fingers through his and he squeezes hard in return, nails digging into the back of her hands, their knuckles knocking together painfully. She clenches tighter in response, and leans her head onto his shoulder.
"We'll find her," she says. "We'll find her, we have to."
"I can't... don't."
He dismisses her platitudes with a hard edge to his raspy voice, but she doesn't blame him. They've got nothing to go on and are left waiting for the federal agencies to do their job.
"I know, Rick," she says, reaching across his body with her free hand to cup his cheek. "I know."
His breath comes in shaky puffs against her neck, his leg jiggles with tension and tears run a steady stream down his jawline, dripping onto his jeans and leaving a dark stain.
She gulps down her own sob, angles her head and slants her mouth across his, hoping to lessen some of his anguish with soft touches and the gentle pull of her lips. His hands tangle roughly in her hair, pulling the bun free with a coarse tug; he wraps the curled strands around his fingers as though searching for a lifeline, and desperately bites down onto her lower lip.
"Alexis," he weeps into her mouth, the 'S' reverberating against her teeth and sending a shiver down her spine.
"I'm so sorry," she replies as he pulls away from the kiss, resting her forehead against his own. She knows the platitude means nothing. Not now. Not when his daughter smiles brightly at them from an eight by ten glossy attached to a board usually reserved for the deceased victims of ruthless attacks and random acts of violence.
She refuses to believe that this will be their end; Alexis can't be lost. Because if his daughter never returns, she fears that neither will he.
She loves him. She loves him so very much and if this ends badly, Kate fears that she will never get the chance to tell him. God. Why hadn't she already told him?
Somewhere behind her, she hears the clack of heels against hardwood. The tempo sets her heart racing.
"I love you," she says, her voice betraying a slight hint of desperation. "I love you and we will find her."
His eyes are closed, tightly shut, as though he's trying to sidestep the pain by sheer force of will.
Or maybe he's just avoiding the gaze of his beautiful daughter; those piercing blue eyes and the fiery red hair, the impish grin that taunts them from the whiteboard. It was her graduation portrait; he'd taken it from the sterling silver frame on his nightstand.
A throat clears behind them but she doesn't budge. Hiding their relationship for the sake of the partnership is the least of her concerns right now; she's trying to salvage his life. She's trying to give the man a small semblance of hope when after forty-two hours of searching they have come up completely empty-handed. The kidnappers didn't hold up their end of the deal. Ten million dollars, they had demanded. Now the money is gone and so is Alexis. The money drop had been a spectacular failure and now an FBI agent is lying in a hospital bed in critical condition.
The first forty-eight hours are critical. That's what they always say; what she has always said.
The deadline is looming.
She feels sick to her stomach. It's been forty-two hours since the call had come, Alexis's voice shaky and scared as she had voiced the kidnappers' demands.
"I love you," she repeats urgently and he nods, still refusing to open his eyes, but a small uplift at the corners of his lips assures her that he has heard her. She presses a hand to his jaw, running her thumb along the stubbled skin below his cheek. He leans into her touch, his skin overly warm and clammy against the pads of her fingers.
Again, a throat clears and she considers pulling her gun on whomever it is that thinks that now is a good time to interrupt.
"Detective Beckett, Mister Castle... A word please."
"Captain Gates," he says, eyes popping open in shock and quickly pulling his hands away from her grasp. "This isn't what… I mean we were just…"
Kate quickly pulls his fingers back to her and slides them between her own. She's not ashamed of her relationship with Rick and she's tired of trying to deny it. If the captain wants to reprimand them at a time like this, then she will damn well turn in her badge, and this time she won't be returning.
"At ease," the captain replies gently, a shrewd glint of something softly burning behind serious brown eyes. "In my office please."
"Now," Gates adds as she turns and marches quickly to her desk.
"Kate… what..?" Castle asks, confusion written in his furrowed brow.
She has no idea either.
A couple of uniforms enter the bullpen, laughing loudly, as the night crew in turn shuffles quietly out of the break room with bleary eyes and rumpled clothes; the two young officers stop mid-guffaw and hustle out of earshot when they spy her and the writer by the board. Everyone knows the state of affairs and no one is oblivious to the upheaval that will occur if this situation doesn't end well. The tension in the air is palpable and she doesn't want this conversation with Gates to occur with any more witnesses than are strictly necessary; soon the department will be filled with detectives and office clerks.
"Let's just get this over with, Castle."
He nods and follows her lead as she drags him by the hand into Gates' office.
"You should sit," the older woman says as they enter her domain.
Kate doesn't sense any anger in Captain Gates, just a grave seriousness and perhaps the buzz of what might be confidence in her voice. She doesn't dare hope. Not yet.
The captain takes a sip of her morning coffee and Kate's stomach rolls as the usually pleasing aroma wafts over to their side of the desk. She doesn't know if she'll ever be able to drink the stuff again; the call had come from Alexis as Castle had handed her morning latte over with a wink and the soft brush of his fingertips along her knuckles.
The russet liquid had pooled at their feet and stained her shoes when the cup had fallen from her hands.
"I just heard from the FBI team."
Kate feels her knees go weak as the endless possibilities fly through her mind. Have they found her? Is she alive? Is she… No. She can't be. Not like this. Not today. Not in his lifetime if she can help it.
Seconds tick by and a stunned silence hangs in the air. Castle slumps into one of the ugly and industrial looking chairs in front of the captain's desk, his breath coming out in a jerking stutter as he settles into the cracked vinyl; she follows suit, wincing as a crack in her own chair tears further. She reaches across the space between them to lay a palm on his forearm, curl her fingers around his wrist. Whatever news the captain has to share, they are as ready as they will ever be. He is her partner in every sense of the word and she has his back, whatever the outcome.
"Just tell me," he says weakly, his voice low and almost indiscernible alongside the noisy hum of the precinct's rattling old heating units.
Yes. Please do, she thinks. It's been only seconds since the captain called them into the room but it feels like a lifetime.
"They've found her," Gates says calmly and Kate's heart skips a beat.
Alive? God, please let her be alive.
"Found her?" he asks, head lifting quickly, eyes wide and panicked.
Kate watches as Gate's lips slowly curl up, the whites of her teeth showing and eyes sparkling, the lush pink of her lips as the usually stern woman grins. She's really quite pretty, Kate thinks inanely. She should smile more often.
"She's coming home, Rick. She's alive. The plane should land in about four hours. She'll be home in five."
"Is she okay," he asks, worry still creasing his brow.
"She's going to be fine," the captain assures.
They both jump up at the same time, a tangle of limbs and a heavy thud as their bodies collide. His heart beats a racing staccato against her ribs and she feels dampness at her shoulder as he lets first his grief and now, relief, run free.
He's heavy, slumped against her and leaning with his full weight against her side; she doesn't feel a thing as they sway in time to the beat of their thundering pulse rates.
Eventually, her legs begin to shake and she fights to hold them both up. "Thank God," she whispers into his neck, ignoring the pain as a joint in her knee pops. Today, she will be his rock. As he has been so many times for her.
A warm hand steadies her at the elbow and leads them both back to a chair.
"Calm him down and then take him home, Beckett," Gates says, smiling widely and turning towards the door. "I'll call you if I find out anything else."
She pulls on a cord until the blinds twist closed, darkening the room and shielding them from the view of the rest of the precinct. She turns one more time to speak before softly closing the door to her office behind her.
"But in the future, leave the PDAs at home, okay?"
A huge thanks to Kellie for the beta on the fly. Although I'm not sure her rubbing in the fact that she gets to eat Top Deck whenever the mood strikes was nice of her.
Thanks to Trish for the title. The working title was, 'This thing needs a name'. And well yeah, that woulda been awkward. Review! It makes me squee!