Numb
Phoebsfan
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I owe no one.
Summery: It was snowing, not the first of the season and certainly not the last. But she wouldn't see it. Couldn't see it. The whiteness blinding, but not enough to block out the red.
numb: –adjective
1. deprived of physical sensation or the ability to move
It wasn't supposed to happen, he thinks as he recalls the situation again and again. It haunts him during the day and keeps him from sleeping well at night. He can't figure out how things went so wrong or if it was his fault. If something, anything, could have changed the outcome.
Each minute is burned into his brain. Each second accounted for. Each heartbeat measured. But still he can not decide.
She wasn't wearing a vest.
But it was routine. It wasn't like they were storming the killer's lair. It wasn't like there was any danger. All they were doing was going to ask some follow up questions because of his theory. They did it all the time.
Except this time there was danger. This time the average and safe wasn't so average or safe.
Because this time their killer knew that their person of interest had information that could lead to his capture. This time their killer was smart and careful. Professional. This time he was going to add another kill to his list to protect his identity.
She would have told him it was just an accident. The wrong time at the wrong place. She would have told him that because they were there, another innocent life was saved. But she would have been wrong. The girl was dead before they got there. The killer got there first.
She would have told him that wasn't what she meant. That because they got there and stopped him, he could never kill again. Because she did stop him. Despite her own injuries, she got him. And normally that would have been enough. His cold dead lifeless body on the ground a few feet away. Eyes open in shock, bullet through his heart.
But it isn't enough, because before she took him down, he shot her.
He keeps thinking that if he had stalled, insisted on a cup of coffee. If he had kept his theory to himself for a bit longer. If he had insisted on backup. If he had done something... then she would not have taken a bullet. Their killer would have escaped before they'd arrived. He would not have felt it necessary to take her out before fleeing the scene because she wouldn't have been there in the first place. Someone would have been watching their backs.
In reality he knows they had no reason to bring backup, no reason to stall. He had no reason not to share his theory. But it still burns all the same.
He can still smell the gunpowder, the blood. Like a fine mist of it coated the inside of his nose. He can not get it to go away, and it's been a week.
An entire week since she looked over at him and rolled her eyes. Since he heard her use his name in that way only she did, like it was a curse word instead of a name.
An entire week and it feels like it happened twenty minutes ago.
He remembers joking with her when they got out of car. Joking about how if this panned out she was going to owe him five bucks and she would be the one bringing him coffee.
'In your dreams.' she'd smirked as she slammed her door close.
Except in his dreams she didn't bring him coffee, she got shot. Again and again, her blood pooling on the hardwood floor in the hall. Dark and thick as it ran down the corner of her mouth.
In his dreams he tells her how stupid she was for getting shot. Tells her, if she thinks she's going anywhere he'll hunt her down and kill her himself. Tells her he can't lose her. But no sound comes out.
In his waking hours he doesn't leave her hospital room. Sits by her bed as she sleeps on. For hours, for days. They tell him she lost a lot of blood. She nearly died and isn't quite out of the woods yet. They tell him she might never wake up.
And he wonders what she dreams about.
He hopes she isn't reliving the nightmare that has been his for the last week. Hopes in her head there is music, not an awful void filled with a gunshot and a fading heartbeat. Hopes she is warm and safe, not cold and lifeless.
His phone rings and it's Gina. They fought, she wants to come by and make it up to him. Take him out to dinner and tell him it's okay, she understands.
But she doesn't understand.
He doesn't want to leave Kate's side. He doesn't belong out there, having fun while his Nikki Heat suffers alone. He is right where he needs to be and Gina is the last thing on his mind. He doesn't care if she is hurt that he can't leave Beckett's side. He doesn't care if she's jealous. If she thinks he's in love with another woman.
It's all just trivial bullshit with Gina. It always has been.
So he doesn't answer his phone for her. Only for Alexis or his mother.
Alexis understands and his mother is his mother. They come and sit with him. Alexis every day after school until she sends herself home, like a responsible parent. His mother less often, but enough for him to know she understands and cares. They talk quietly. Play chess. Read. But mostly they just sit with him and tell him what he already knows.
That Beckett is going to kill him if he spends anymore time avoiding life.
Alexis brings him his laptop and he writes.
He tells her he loves her. To be careful. That he'll come home tomorrow.
She tells him he better, he's starting to stink. But then she hugs him and lets him hold her until he's ready to let go.
Ryan and Esposito stop by at least once a day. They force him from her room, telling him that he'll be the first to know if she wakes but that he needs to go find something to eat and get out of his filthy clothes.
Most of the time he just wanders the hospital until they leave. Alexis brings him food and clothes. He doesn't need to leave. But he understands why they make him leave the room.
It's not helping him. Watching her sleep, waiting for her to wake. None of it is helping him forget what happened that day.
How the elevator was broken, so they hiked up six flights of stairs. Her in those ridiculous heels, and much better shape. How she ribs him about visiting the gym when he puffs up the last few. How he fires back that he's in excellent shape and nine out of ten ladies would agree.
The hall is long and empty... or so he thinks. The apartment they want is the last on the left, across from it the wall turns to form an alcove with access to the broken elevator, allowing their killer to hide across the way and wait. In the heat of the moment, he probably ran for the elevator, forgetting they'd gone down. He'd been to her place hundreds of times, was so used to the route he forgot. Then they had shown up and pinned him in.
Castle still recalled the pounding of Beckett's fist against the door. The silence that greeted them. The way she looked at him like she knew something was wrong, could feel it. That split second before he heard the crack of a bullet leaving a gun. The way Beckett's finely honed instincts had freed her gun and fired as she spun to face the noise.
The look of shock as their killer crumpled to the ground.
It was over in seconds, heartbeats. But no matter how many times it played in his mind, it felt like hours. He could see the way her hair flew out of the way as she swung around, each individual strand crashing into the next in that instant. Could feel the tightness in his chest as for an instant he thought they might not make it.
'Great shot.' He had been impressed, had moved to kick the killer's gun away and had instead found their killer was no longer breathing. Had been about to take it back and tell her it was an amazing shot, about to turn around and laugh off the nerves and adrenaline, when he heard her fall to the ground behind him.
'Kate!' He made his way to her side and knelt, grabbing her and lifting her slightly. 'This isn't funny.' the fear in his voice evident as he pulled a hand from her back and it came away slick and red. His heart sinking in his chest. His stomach turning like he was going to be sick.
She smiled weakly.
'Pretty badass, huh?' she gasped, choked and blood came bubbling from her lips. Her eyes were heavy, they kept drifting closed as he pulled his cell free with his blood coated hand and franticly called for help.
'Not even close to funny, Becks.' She smiled again as he relayed information over his now blood coated cellphone.
'Mmm, you're right.' Her face screwed up in a painful grimace. 'Hurts like hell.' she gasped and coughed again, sending even more blood through the hole in her back, down her chin.
'Shut up!' He yelled at her in fear. 'You're making it worse.' He pulled her onto his lap, pressed his lips to her hair. 'Don't you dare even think about it.' He threatened as her head rolled to the side and her body slumped against his.
'...be fine. Couldn't let him shoot you too...' She murmured.
'Help is coming. Now you really owe me.' His heart was pounding as he watched her fade out. 'No. Stay awake.' He yelled. 'Wake up.'
But she didn't.
Not as paramedics came and tore her from his arms. Not after she had been through surgery to repair the damage to her broken body. Not after hours. Days. And it was starting to look like maybe she never would. Maybe her brain had gone too long without the oxygen it needed. Maybe she would be forever trapped in slumber.
Maybe his theory, even if it was right, had killed her.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. Turned his eyes from her bedside and stared blankly out the window.
It was snowing. He watched as the flakes blew in the wind, quietly coating the window ledge. All the world on pause. It was snowing, not the first of the season and certainly not the last. But she wouldn't see it. Couldn't see it. The whiteness blinding, but not enough to block out the red.
In the distance he could hear the traffic. Could always hear traffic in the city. Horns honking, tires squealing, these were the sounds that lulled you to sleep. That steady stream from a city that never slept. He wondered if she could hear it, if it comforted her in her new world.
The hospital was cold, always cold. So he reached over and tucked a blanket more firmly around her. His fingers lingering.
Wake up. Please. He begged silently before turning back to the window.
He lied to the nurse.
She tried to kick him out and he lied.
Told her that Kate was his fiancée. It was the only way she would let him stay.
In reality, he was the man who got her shot. Dating another woman entirely.
He thinks they all know he lied. He knows Alexis knows, she plays along with him because she knows he isn't ready to leave yet. One day he'll have to. One day he'll have to face the world again.
She is in good hands now. Lanie comes and talks to her, her father stops in too. They all come and talk, but he can't.
He hasn't said a word to her.
He's too mad at her. Too afraid talking to her will make it real. Not ready.
How could she do this to him? After everything they'd been through, now she was just going to quit? That wasn't his Beckett. His Beckett fought. His Beckett would wake up and tell him to stop being so creepy. To go home, she'd be fine.
She'd kill him for lying to the nurse. Ask him what Gina would say about it. And what about Josh?
Josh who stopped by once, because he's a busy guy. A doctor. Doesn't have time.
It makes sense that she would date him. She didn't have to be open to him. Didn't have to be herself.
Because he only stopped by once. How much could he love her if he couldn't even make time to sit with her? How much of herself could she give a guy who wasn't available to give herself to?
He wasn't dating her, they weren't in love. But he hadn't left her side without force.
She deserved that and more.
And because of him...
He turned back to look at her and jumped.
She smiled at him weakly, her eyes open and alert.
"You look like hell." Her voice was rough from not being used. From tubes being shoved down it for days.
"That's funny, you're the best thing I've seen all day. Welcome back." He grabbed her hand and squeezed and she looked down at their joined hands in confusion.
"I didn't go anywhere." She denied the unvoiced accusation.
"Whatever you say, Sleeping Beauty." He pressed the button for the nurse. "Whatever you say."