A/N: I just couldn't help myself.
Disclaimer: Castle and its wonderful characters belong to Andrew Marlowe & Co.
Castle doesn't know what to do. Kate is urging Montgomery not to do this, coming as close to begging as he's ever seen her; she's telling her Captain he doesn't have to sacrifice his life, and Rick is torn.
He wants to believe her, wants to believe her with everything he has, but then there's the screeching of tires on the tarmac – his eyes dart to that car slowly approaching, and the blood in his veins freezes. They're coming for Kate, and he is all too aware of how fragile, how delicate is the work of art that is her body (his stupid brain wastes a second comparing that brittle vessel to the fierce spirit it struggles to contain). He is all too aware that he cannot protect her, even though he'd willingly take a bullet for her.
Suddenly there is no time, and Roy is yelling at him ("Castle, get her out of here now!") and his mind is made up. He grabs Kate – he doesn't think for one second she'll come of her own accord – lifts her off the ground and rushes towards the exit, praying to get there in time.
The fight she's putting up, coupled with the reality of her warm body against his, keep him from looking back and glancing one last time at Roy Montgomery, his friend.
It's just as well.
The adrenaline in his veins makes it easier to carry Beckett (it's not like she weighs much, anyway) and he wishes it could keep him from hearing her sobbed protests and hoarse cries of, "Please, Castle, no, put me down, no," too, because they're tearing at his heart. He realizes that she's not struggling as hard as she could, and that some part of her must have accepted what's happening, must have bowed out and left the stage.
His heart shatters for good at the thought.
They're greeted by the cool night air outside, and he finally puts her down, even though he doesn't let go – on absolutely no account can he have her rushing back into that hangar. From the way she sways on her feet, there is not much chance that she would. He half drags her to the car, afraid that the sounds she's making will attract Lockwood's attention to them; and he begs with her, covers her mouth with his hand, desperate to save her, desperate for her to live.
It's all that matters in that moment, saving Kate Beckett, because she won't save herself and because the conversation he had with his mother has only intensified that dreadful feeling in his gut, the one telling him her death would be the end of him, too.
He can feel her breath, shallow and ragged against his palm, and the tears that slid under his fingers, slowly, one at a time. He can tell the exact minute she stops fighting, because she sags against the car and brings up her hand to cup his cheek; and for a split second he has this very silly hope that maybe things will be okay after all, maybe something good will come of all this –
Then her eyes meet his – wide, pleading, horrified eyes – and hope vanishes. He is vaguely aware of a voice whispering urgently, and he's shocked to realize that it's his, and that he sounds downright broken as he chants, "Shhh, Kate, it'll be okay, please, be quiet, please, I can't lose you, shh, Kate…"
They hear the first shots, seven or maybe eight shots in a row, and Beckett's body jerks against his every time, like she's the one taking the bullets. Her left hand clutches his shirt, the way a drowning man would reach for a life jacket, and Castle's fingers tangle in her hair as he tries to protect her, to shield her from the things going on inside that hangar, and keeps begging her in a low, low voice, not to go back in there.
At least, he thinks desperately, they've got each other.
Two more shots. Kate moans as if it was her flesh being ripped apart (and in a way, it is), and he wishes there was something he could do. Coward, his conscience hisses viciously, cowardcowardcowardcoward, and he tells the voice to shut the hell up, because he's doing exactly what Roy Montgomery asked him to, he's keeping her safe, and it's all that matters. And yeah, she's upset, distraught, broken; she looks wild, her hair a halo around her face – but she's alive.
It doesn't ease the guilt away, but it gives his actions cause, meaning.
Kate is still in his arms, listening intently for gunshots, and he thinks, maybe it's over and it's literally in that instant that a last, single shot goes off. It brings Beckett back to life, and she pushes him out of the way, starts running back to the hangar – and he lets her.
It contradicts everything he's done in the past minutes, but he can't bring himself to stop her, not when the man who's encouraged her and advised her and made her a Homicide Detective is probably lying in there, dead. And the silence can only be a good thing, right, can only mean that it's over and she's not at risk anymore?
He knows he should be in there with her, but he is not sure he can face Roy's dead body. The enormity of what he's done suddenly hits him in the face, and disgust fills him. He feels sick, nauseated; he wants to throw up. You saved her life, he reminds himself sternly, breathing in deep and slow. There might not be a lot of pride to be had in these circumstances, but his reasons still stand. He's known for a while that he would do pretty much anything for Katherine Beckett. And that is what it comes down to, well… Deal with it.
Richard Castle makes himself turn and walk back in, Kate's earlier screams echoing in his mind as he goes through the door; and it might just be the hardest thing he has ever done.