"Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.."
~Emily Dickinson
AGAINST THE ODDS
She holds her breath, her lover held tightly in her embrace, and he's so fragile, infirm, limp- in her arms.
The grass beneath is like cruel spikes pricking her painfully, the sun above cruelly mocking. The skies standing deafening, like accepting the merciless decree.
"Castle…" her voice is hoarse, feeble, shaking, "You have to stay with me, ok?" she urges him, his head held safely within the heaven of her loving arms, but he finds it difficult to keep his eyes open, "Help's on its way.."
His lashes so heavy, his lungs on fire, he cannot move, every breath an effort.
Antidote… Did she get it, didn't it work?
Help is on its way…
His cheek feels moist, but it's not raining… barely seconds later, he realizes the source of the wet drops is her tears, and he wishes he could brush them away with his fingers… but he can no longer command his body to move.
The skies are so bright above, sun painfully hurting his eyes, and his lungs, they burn so bad, he just wants the pain to stop.
Minutes, maybe hours, pass, and she touches his face, uttering sweet nonsense to him, his lips still, as he stops talking suddenly, and her fear increases.
"Castle…" she whispers, her hold on him tightens, "Baby, stay with me," her eyes close shut for a minute, and she can hear and feel his wheezing, as his expression changes, from confusion, to fear…to something else completely.
Her blue eyes, which were his focus for the past long minutes, became a slight fog, as her figure turns into a blur once his eyes start betraying him, vision going all white, like of a blind man.
"…K..ate," he forces out, probably no longer noticing her quivering lips, her stream of tears, her voice is his solace now, and she asks, still caressing, kissing, touching, expressing endless affection, "Yes, love?"
His voice barely audible, eyes unfocused, he gasps, "You… will be…ok.." he says, comforting both her and himself, and she breaks, sobbing, her head drops to the crook of his neck, her long fingers shake uncontrollably as she tries to touch him everywhere, hold him, hold and never let go.
For some cherishable seconds he lets himself feel the warmth of her arms, and just as quickly, his body temperature drops, he loses all sense of reality, of presence. His eyelashes win over, the burning in his lungs gives away one last pang of torment, and then…nothing.
He closes his eyes for the last time.
'He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.'
Masses attend his funeral, but she doesn't notice most of them. Blank faces of empty souls, few were the ones to really know him.
Their sympathy doesn't mean much, as she cannot rise to the everafter and pull him back using their condolences. Their words are empty, their pity of her nothing but angering.
She's to give the eulogy, as expected. She's not sure she can stand there and speak of him in past tense. Martha and Alexis' broken figures, their eyes can no longer shed tears, so deep in their grief they are, don't help much, and she has to gather her composure.
She rises to stand on the small stage, her words deep, lips quivering, eyes red, cheeks soft from headache, pain, and endless tears, and she does speak of him.
He was the beacon, the shining light in her life. He was her always…her forever… her one and done. And now, so cruelly taken from her by the hard-heartened one, so selfishly taken before his time.
She doesn't speak of revenge, of anger, of seeing to justice. She speaks of memories, good times, friendship… loyalty.
"My love, my life, my always…" she weeps quietly, "You asked me to marry you, and with a broad smile I said yes," she stops, taking a breath, find it difficult to stay standing, "I said yes, and I still do. I'll be your wife…Now, and in the world to come," she gulps, "When we meet in the place we're all to be sent to, I'll be your wife, there, too," she shuts her eyes tightly, her forehead wrinkles in pain.
How is she supposed to go on without him?...
"Many waters cannot quench love!" she cries aloud, creakingly, "Neither can the floods drown it!" she owths, "Rick, my love for you cannot be measured with words or numbers. We will get our always, someday."
The days pass, the rain pouring outside, and it seems nature himself is mourning her loss.
She stays at his loft, finding some comfort within his home, close to his mother and daughter.
Martha lost the sparkle in her eyes, her hair seems to be going gray.
Alexis hardly says a word, finding refuge in silence.
Kate just seems… apathetic.
She quits her job shortly after his death, some part of her unable to look into the eyes of her team, as she silently screams at them that it's partly their fault, besides her own. They were useless! Couldn't help her find a cure for him, in time.
The FBI, her dream job, becomes her source of disgust. This job which has taken her light away, left her in complete darkness, and she keeps struggling to find the weakest of lights, and failing miserably.
She can't find her place in the precinct, either. God knows, she tried.
Ryan and Esposito, her boys, tried to reach her, but for once, their honest caring did her no good. His chair was left vacant, the empty space matching the hole in her heart, a hole which has nothing to do with snipers or rifle-bullets.
His chair kept waiting for his return, her desk crying for his presence.
Slow days pass, her anger subsides, to be exchanged with waves of sadness, depression, and despair.
She misses him so…
His half of the bed empty, cold sheets wrap around her curves instead of his loving embrace.
Eating is a mission, existing is just painful.
She just want this all to end… She just wants to be with him…
A month after his funeral, she loses weight quickly.
Her lips dry, eyes blood-shut. She's throwing up half of what she eats; her knuckles change color, her skin growing pale.
Her dad drops by, every few days, to check on her. He understands the suffering of losing your other half better than anyone, and she's in pain to know she causes him sorrow, a pained nostalgia, in her behavior.
But she cannot help herself, she's beyond comforting.
She walks down the street, at one point. Leaving the comfort of his room to the horrifying place that is the outside world.
So afraid she is… afraid to discover the world hadn't come to an end once he closed his eyes. People around her are still laughing, living, enjoying their day-to-day lives
And she's stuck.
She watches the traffic, cars driving by, and it seems to be so easy… so easy to just jump forward, once the light changes.
It will only take a second, a second of pain, and then…They'll be together.
She stands there, still.
Two days later, she stands in an alley, eyes rising upward.
The buildings are tall, touching the clouds above.
She recalls a year before… or was it just a year? That the precipice below seemed to threatening, Maddox standing on the rooftop, and she struggles to keep herself from falling, a breakable thread is that separates her from the cold death underneath.
For the life of hers, she cannot remember what was so threatening about the precipice…Now it seems…attracting.
She doesn't dare.
She holds the kitchen knife in her left hand, 28 hours later, blinking furiously, her hands shaking.
Not a big test of courage is that…just a cut. Hopefully, it will be over fast.
She fears the pain… but won't it be worth it all? He'll be there, waiting for her, and they'll finally be together…
She thinks of her father, of her selfish acts, for her cowardice and her weakness, of not being able to move on without him..
She pulls the knife close to her wrist.
And a scream is heard.
She's not dead.
Why isn't she dead?
She remembers something…. Martha.
Martha appearing out of nowhere, her scream, "Kate, no!" filling the room.
A bleeding cut…. And that's it.
And she's alive.
She's furious.
She wants to scream at Martha, for saving her. She got over the fear! She was ready! Why did Martha save her?
Hours later, her father appears.
He cries. He says he understands, he tells her to swear to never ever try something like this again.
She doesn't give him her word.
Long hours later, they say she's good to go. They don't fell to comfortable with releasing her, but she insists on going home.
The Doctor, Eric Johnson his name, recommends her being watched at all times. Suicidal patient, God knows what they'll do once being released.
But she knows now that Martha will watch over her like a hawk.
No way of her being with Rick, now.
They're in the same suffocating room, and soon will be her time to go, Thank God.
She doesn't follow the doctor's words as he speaks to Martha.
"These are Iron capsules," he hands her a pack of pills, and another bag, "Vitamins," he says, "She lacks them, it'll be good once she takes them each day, for her and the baby."
For her and the baby…
And for the first time in two months, a sparkle appears in her eyes.
11 weeks, they say.
Pregnancy goes on smoothly, thankfully, not affected by the "stunt" she tried to pull earlier this week.
She's home, and Martha, just as affected by the news as she, becomes like a burst of energy, a new motivation is for her to keep living, overcome the death of her only son.
She nurses Kate. Feeds her, keeps her warm.
Alexis' presence in the loft doesn't go unnoticed, as the two urge Kate to take care of herself, if not for her, at least for the baby.
The baby.
She's having Rick's child.
The beautiful man that he is, in his demise, left her a parting gift. Such a precious one, that is!
And just like that, something in her awakens.
Rick would have loved this child. He would have loved it, and would have given it everything he had.
She was given this child for a reason. She must take care of it.
She can be with Rick later.
Long days pass, again, and Kate slowly, painfully slowly, pulls through.
Her body changes, stomach swallowing gently, cheeks filling lightly, skin no longer so pale.
She eats, she goes outside, she hangs out.
Two days ago, she was invited to dinner with the Ryans.
Admitting to herself that she really had a good time, paying for Rick to forgive her wherever he is, because she actually laughed a few times.
What seemed impossible a month ago is a known fact by now.
She survives his loss.
She feels the first flutter on a warm night, when in bed.
A hand touches the curved stomach, she smiles to herself gently.
The baby's movements lull her to sleep.
The first kick catches her while she's reading one of Rick's books.
A calcaneus, a foot?
Yes, definitely a foot.
Her hands caresses the belly soothingly, her lips twitching in a loving smile.
She loves her baby so much.
The first contraction hits her late at night.
Her water breaks soon after.
Martha and Alexis take her to the hospital early morning, after she hardly slept, as the contractions came closer and more painful by the minute.
They both are at her side, her dad and Lanie soon arrive at the hospital after hearing she's soon to give birth.
Soon it's time to push, and Kate, sweating, crying painfully, is more than ready for the baby to arrive.
She she pushes, she keeps thinking of him. Of how much she wishes he would have been there, the one holding her hand while she screamed at him for doing this to her.
He should have been there.
But no time to dwell on it, as the latest, most painful contraction, hits her full force, and the pain blinds her, she screams so loud she swear the entire city hears.
But then, the pain transforms to a blessed and beautiful sense of release, the last push is given, and the baby's out.
The infant's first wail is music to her ears, and the midwife holds the baby for all to see, then cuts the cord. Soon the child will be checked and weighted.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Rodgers," The doctor beams at her, "You have a son."
He is the true definition of beauty.
His weight normal, eyes seeing, ears hearing… ten fingers and ten toes… He's perfect.
And he's all hers.
Kate looks at Martha and Alexis, both with tears of joy on their faces. Lanie is emotional, and her dad? He's beyond ecstatic.
"Katie, I'm so proud of you," he murmurs, kissing her forehead, "He's magnificent."
And he truly is.
After they all leave the room, at some point, she holds her little miracle in her arms, so proud and so loving.
The child's small lips search for her soft nipple, and she pushes his head to her breast, as he latches on, suckling eagerly.
A lone tear rolls down her cheek as she watches her son feeding for the first time, and she closes her eyes momentarily; "Rick, thank you so much," she whispered, as she opens her eyes to look at her young, again.
His eyes are deep blue, and he's a small version of his father.
She names him Alexander.
He smiles regularly, at first.
The perfect little angel is her life drug. She feeds and cuddles and holds and lulls, and to watch him slowly growing up is what keeps her sane.
Martha and Alexis babysit often, Lanie drops by to see how the baby's doing, Ryan and Esposito visiting "The little man" every few days.
At first, it all seems ok.
He develops normally; each day that passes is a new discovery for the family. His hear grows and fills the tiny skull, the first time he turns around and holds his head up is a moment of such pride to his mother.
A happy infant that he is, likes to be put on his mommy's lap when she reads him a story, waves his tiny arms and legs in the shower gleefully, a true picture of happiness he is.
Kate isn't sure on the times things begin to change.
The change begins slowly, she notices.
His smiles reduce, to be exchanged with questionable blinks. His joy and enthusiasm slowly drops.
Usually only crying when in need of being fed, changed, or burped, his cries burst on unexpected times, without apparent reason.
Cries of distress, and Kate doesn't understand what causing them. Not cries of teething, for his teething process was going smoothly, as much as possible.
"Don't stress yourself, Darling," Martha cooed her once, "Sometimes babies cry for no reason."
But as the time passes and the 'enraged period' doesn't cease, Kate grows anxious and frustrated.
"Please, love," she tries desperately one day, holding her son securely in her arms, "I'll give you everything, the stars and moon, please don't cry…What is it that upsets you so much? Tell mommy…" tears in her throat, she covers the child with kisses, wishes so much to know what causing his distress.
Things get worse before they improve.
The 'terrible twos' hit earlier than expected. Much earlier.
The distress cries turn into angry fits, screams, until the young boy turns red, and at one point, almost choking on his own cries, nearly giving Kate a heart attack.
Focused on his toys, sometimes throwing them, his moods deeply inconsistent, is what alerts them all. One time seeks the comfort of his mother's arms, at other times pushes her away, pinches and even tries to bite her.
Though unconcerned at starts, Martha is following her grandson's development with worry. Of course, children aren't designed to stay relaxed and cute for all times, but it was evident that Alexander's behavior is not normal.
It was painful for Martha to admit or address the subject, for she loved her grandson and Kate dearly, but she had to come to terms with the fact that something was just …off, with that little boy.
"Take him to the doctor as soon as you can, Kate," she offers defeated, "Something is wrong with this child."
Trying the denial method, but failing once she realizes it's not helping, her son keeps growing up and behavior still unstable, she takes him to the children's doctor.
A check up and blood test doesn't give anything away. He digests solid food, his gums alright, stomach ok, blood tests are not showing lack of Iron, vitamins, or other reasons to worry her. But she does notice he chews on his thumb while looking at her son, in deep thought.
He writes down a phone number, a name and a clinic, recommends her to check on the boy with the doctor.
As she takes the note in her hand, her boy fussing in her arms, she reads aloud, "Dr. Abrams."
On their way to the doctor, who lives on the way to Ho-Ho-Kus, they take the train, Alexander surprisingly calm.
They give the doctor a home visit, he checks on Alexander, invited them to another meeting at his clinic, for further inspection.
On their way back to the train station, they notice the leaves on the trees start falling, and Kate takes a break from the long day, sits on a wooden bench nearby, settling her son on her lap.
"See, baby?" she cooes, "Leaves…" she caresses his head slowly, "Can you say 'Leaves', honey?"
A tiny hand is starched to the yellow falling leaves, but the child doesn't repeat her words, "Mhhhmm, mhmmm" he starts swaying back and forth repeatedly. Just like always.
Releasing a dip sigh, Kates just holds him tight. Wishing, like every day, that her child would talk to her.
She brings him to the clinic for further checkups, where they test his behavior, and his verbal capacities, or the non-existing verbal capacities, that is.
He screams for no reason, repetitive motions are a matter of routine for him, Kate starts having the slightest idea of what might be the problem, the shared looks with Martha as they both raise the boy, mirror her concern, but she tries to stay positive.
But destiny was set in motion.
The results, the not surprising ones, are given-
Alexander is diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disorder, of the Not Otherwise Specified.
Her son has Autism.
They begin the treatment immediately.
At the age of 19 months, It's vital that Alexander is cared by the best doctors and professionals in the field, for his PDD is severe.
Uncommunicative, with behavior problems, Kate takes him to every meeting with every doctor recommended.
A special care-giver is listed, and he's to meet with several professionals a week. Therapy by interaction with animals, special swimming classes, meeting with a special children's psychologist for PDD kids, and of course, the non-stopping effort on improving his verbal abilities.
She takes the boy to their special spot on the wooden bench every time they meet Dr. Abrams at his house, their "spot" giving Alexander as sense of familiarity.
She takes him to the playground one time, which proves to be a failure, as one of the older boys mockes the "weird ugly boy" who "makes sounds with no sense," shoving and pushing and pinching her son till he bursts out crying aloud.
She takes him in her arms, as they leave the playground, and he doesn't want to play there, again.
He likes to play with the animals, and feels that even though they cannot talk, they understand him better than anyone, ever.
He likes the horses, and the young man called Edward, that takes him riding the pony.
Each time he sees the pony or Edward, he starts waving his arms and legs, hums enthusiastically.
He's afraid of the goats.
As Kate watches her son interact with the animals, she feels and knows he's struggling to find his way, his place.
80 centimeters of pure innocence and joy, and she cannot help thinking of how Rick would have been happy to see him improve.
Long months passed, the burning pain turns into soft ache of yearning, the torment into a pang she can deal with.
Rick's death broke her heart, but Alexander proved that it's still beating.
He draws, he jumps, he plays.
He smiles whenever he sees Ryan and Esposito, bursts into laughter whenever Espo gives him the "airplane," lifting him and making "airplane" movements, and her toddler spreads his arms in a "flying like" movement.
He is patient with the Ryans' daughter, jumps up and down whenever Jim Beckett walks into the room.
Her sweet little angel is so responsive, enthusiastic, in love with life, just like Rick was.
Dr. Abrams and Dr. Vice are doing everything they can to help him, and watching, like proud parents themselves, on how much he improves.
At the age of 3, he's listed to a special kindergarten.
The leaves are no longer falling, but it's still their spot. On the bench.
He touches he curls in a comforting manner, and she holds him tightly.
Smiling, he displays small perfect white teeth, cuddling into the safety of his mother's chest, and she holds onto her boy.
"Mommy loves you, so, so much," she says, protectively enveloping him like a lioness on her cub.
He blinks at her, then, a small hand turns to rest on the middle of her chest, right beneath her scar, "Mhhhmm..mmmmm…" he struggles to emit.
"What, baby?" she softly asks him, already used to his humming, but nevertheless interested in his current mood or request, "what is it?"
"Mmhhmmm….aaaaaaa" his adorable forhead wrinkles in concentration, "mmm…aaa…maaa" he forces, and Kate's eyes widen, as she starts shaking-
"That's it, Alexander," she prompts, "Say it, I know you can, try, say it," she feels herself starting to shake, not daring to hope but cannot help herself.
"Mmmaaa-mmaaa," he forces himself to utter, "mmaammaaa…ma…mama."
After the joy of his first word, the first time he says "Mama," she's given the final push to believe her son is capable of everything.
So much joy he brings her saying that one and simple word.
At the age of 3, saying his first word aloud, she knows nothing is out of his reach.
His mood swings are no longer matter of daily frustration, his screams occure every once in awhile, it seems the early diagnosis and daily treatment are helping him.
Soon after "Mama" comes "Tata" for Martha and "Lali" for Alexis. When wanting his bunny he can yell "toy!" without difficulty and when trying hard, there are words which come, not smoothly, but still do.
He reaches 5 with the blink of an eye, his deep blue eyes curios, curls of back hair a mess.
Each year, when the upcoming of the date, they'll have a memorial service for Rick, when they'll remember his life, death, and deeds.
This year, her boy was the center of attention. While lamenting his father, the guests cheered on the boy's quick development, and with his usual joy, he seemed to appreciate the positive attention.
Kate examined him with the arrivals, and for the first time since Rick closed his eyes, she let herself admit- she's happy.
They tried the playground, again, for the first time since that day.
3 days ago, Alexander turned 6. Oh, the time passed in a blink.
Martha and Kate sitting on the bench, taking in their favorite prince, playing, joyful, not mocked or bullied by anyone, today.
"He's been doing great," Martha says abruptly, then turns to Kate, "A lot of it thanks to you," she smiles kindly.
Kate offers back a smile, her gaze wandering to the spot, the nostalgic one, the swings on the other side of the park.
Their "Always".
Their always was now running about in the playground, giggling happily.
Yes, they still have their always.
"I was sure of him," Kate shrugs, then, "Ever since we received the results, since the day he was born, he was a fighter," and Martha nodded in agreement, "That's just how the two off us are, I guess. What this is all about…"
"Which is?" Martha asks.
"Fighting," concludes Kate with a grin, "Fighting against the odds."
-End-
"..You will meet an Alexander, and he will be extremely important to you.
At some future date… he may save your life"
~Castle, 3x02 He's Dead, She's Dead