DISCLAIMER: "Castle" and all its wonderful characters are the property of ABC and Andrew Marlowe. Much as I enjoy playing with them, I unfortunately do not own them. Please don't sue me.
The water laps at them, a gentle rolling wave of motion, so different from the frantic thud of his heart. Kate's head lolls on his shoulder and he tries, tries so hard to keep her above water, but she's heavy against him, dead weight, and he's so tired. His limbs burn with exhaustion and they're so far from anything. So far from anywhere. They're going to die. God. They're going to drown if he can't keep them afloat.
He kicks his legs, tightening his arm around her chest as he tries to keep her head resting safely on his shoulder, her face above the swells, but she slips through his grasp anyways and they both get a face full of the salty water.
He sputters, gapes, blinks the water out of his eyes. But the icy slap of the ocean doesn't wake her. She's still limp in his grasp.
"Beckett," he urges, coughing on the words and the water that sits bitterly on his lips. He threads his arm under her armpit and fists the opposite side of her jacket tightly. He's not sure he can do this – swim forward and hold her up at the same time. He's not strong enough. He can't do it alone.
"Beckett! Beckett! You've gotta wake up. Kate!" He roars through another mouth full of water and the panicked heaving of his lungs. He's kicking and swiping his free hand through the water but the waves fight against him. Are they even moving? "Fuck! Wake up!"
Her eye lids twitch and she mumbles something – gibberish. But it's enough. A spark of hope in the blackness. If she can just wake up, then maybe...maybe- He doesn't know. He just needs her awake, because the cold is biting, it pricks at his skin setting his nerves alight with an icy fire. And the dark is too ominous, too empty and his imagination runs away with the thought of sharks circling in the black below.
He needs her to be awake, to quiet his crazy thoughts with a pointed look, to take charge, to get them out of this.
"Kate, Kate, come on wake up."
"Castle- wha- I don't- I" She's out of it. Concussed for sure. But she's awake. And the hope flickers to life. Because they can do anything together. They can catch killers and defuse bombs and survive being locked in a freezer. And yeah, they can figure a way out of the icy grip of the desolate ocean.
"Beckett, listen to me," his teeth chatter . "You have to wake up. We have to- We-"
Her head rolls back, she closes her eyes again and he's sure she's fading even as he strains against the weight of his sopping clothes, pulls her tighter against him and forces his legs to churn forward.
"Beckett!" He snaps. "Kate! Stay with me. We have to swim."
"What's- I- I'm so tired Castle," she murmurs barely coherent.
"No-no, you've got to stay awake and swim."
"Swim? I can't. I-"
"You can. You have to. You're- You're-" Salty water wipes the words from his mouth pouring them into the sea where they sink like rocks into the ocean depths
She's everything. And she's too strong, too capable, too stubborn to go out like this. He wants to beg her to fight but the plea dies on his lips.
He tightens his hold, his numb fingers still clenched in her sodden clothes. He tries to breathe her in, presses his nose against her temple but all he smells is the overwhelming salt of the ocean.
Silence falls over them as he struggles against the waves, her breath shallow, his gasping.
He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to slip beneath the water, grasping frantically at the moon as it shimmers tauntingly through rippling water. He doesn't want to die in the stillness of this vast ocean. He doesn't want to die.
But his limbs are numb, fading fast. And suddenly everything stands quiet as his panicked swimming and frantic cursing fade with his insubordinate muscles.
"Castle," she whispers after a moment. He quiets her immediately because he knows that tone, has heard that flicker in her voice before and no. The answer is still no. Sink together or swim together, that's what he promised. He won't let her tell him to leave her, to save himself. He'll sink with her before he'll swim without her.
"Shh. It's- We'll-" He can't find the words to reassure her – or himself. Fatigue brings with it a grim clarity. They're in trouble. Serious trouble. Stranded, alone and with only a slim chance of rescue.
It's eerily calm now and through the darkness the gentle moon illuminates the line of her face, her eyes fluttering beneath the lids, her lips parted and shivering. Beautiful as ever. He's mesmerized by the image.
But it's not right. This peace, the tranquility that has spread warmth to his fingers and his toes, it's all wrong. He should be raging. Raging against the dying of the light. Isn't that how it goes? Do not go gentle. Rage. Rage.
But he's placid. Overcome by the cold and the exhaustion, he floats lazily with her in his arms. He lets the waves roll around them, rocking them like infants in a watery cradle. He lets it lull them into a dream. The dark, vast, beautiful ocean rocks them to sleep. And his last thought as he hugs her close, is that there are worse ways to die than wrapped up with the one you love.
A/N - Since people are asking: I have no answers. What came before this, what comes after it, how they got there, why they're there, do they get rescued, all of those questions I leave to your imagination. This was simply a writing exercise to get me through a touch of writers block.
Thanks to dave-ck for the prompt and the input, also thanks to fooxoo and trinxy.
As always please review. There's nothing better than constructive criticism so let me know what you think - what works, what doesn't. Thanks :)
Fight On and You'll Never Walk Alone