This idea came to us in a heartbreaking rush, and in a scramble of an opportunity, as this painful hiatus came to its end. Written in collaboration with BWJournal, "Dust to Dust" is a companion to "Ashes to Ashes", same story from opposite POVs.
Cover art by Jo. Thanks babe!
Nope, don't own them. I wish I did. Or even just a wee slice of the pie. A sliver really. Marlowe, what say you?
For Avi & I guess Becky if I must.. *grumble, grumble* Love ya both!
This is a nightmare. She'll wake up at any moment and realize that it was all a dream. Of course she will. Because there is no way that this can be happening. None.
A scant few hours ago everything had been fine. She'd been a federal agent with a promising career. She was engaged to the love of her life. She had plans for the weekend that involved her favorite author naked in her bed, a bottle of wine, some good food... and not much else. Sure, there were issues that they had to learn to work around, but a long and happy life had been laid out before her, waiting for her to take it by the horns and hold on for the ride.
And now?
Now, she rides the sleek elevator to the basement parking garage with an eerily silent Castle at her side. The elevator ride is short, there are no skyscrapers in the capital, but it feels like a slow and tedious descent to their inevitable end as the car painstakingly lowers, every inch feels like a mile. The walls of the cab are cold against her spine, the metal interior of the elevator seeping through her thin summer jacket; the floor is highly polished black granite, slick and reflecting her image back up at her. Everywhere she looks, the stark differences between this new life of hers and home are apparent. She misses the warm tones of his loft, the deep russets and earthy grays. She misses the twelfth, with its exposed plumbing and gritty brick walls. She even misses The Old Haunt, with the rank smell of stale beer and the uncomfortable but cozy booths. She closes her eyes, absently letting her mind wander, remembering his child-like joy when he'd first found the place; his bright-eyed happiness when he'd finally shown her the office again and all that he had done to make it his own; his downright indecent leer when he'd suggested that they break in the desk and the unabashed glee in his eyes when she had agreed.
The walk to her sedan is short, but the ride home feels like an eternity. They pass the spot where she was 'shot' not more than a few days ago. Her stomach clenches when she remembers the moment, that moment of abject terror when she had thought that it was happening again. That she had been shot in the chest only that this time her partner wasn't at her side to staunch the bleeding. There had been no one there to talk her down as the panic had set in, no one to quietly but confidently state, 'you've got this.'
Who will be there to prop her up when she feels like falling now? Who will be her anchor when he's… if he's gone?
"You can't leave me." It comes out of her in a choking breath but as she turns to look at him with clouded vision his attention is far away, his head turned and looking out the window. She thanks god for small blessings; she doesn't need to burden him with her own insecurities at a time like this. Her fingers clutch at the steering wheel as she braces herself against the wave of emotion, her nails leaving semi-circular impressions in the dark pleather. She lets out a sharp hiss of pain when a nail on her left hand splits and tears all the way down to the quick. She spends the rest of the ride home alternating between sucking on the offending digit and surreptitiously brushing away the few stray tears that break past her defenses.
They catch a traffic light a mere block from her house. She uses the opportunity to pry her fingers from the steering wheel, purposefully taking slow, deep breaths to calm her nerves; it's a task that takes Herculean effort. She has no idea what she'll do now, what they'll do once they reach her house. Even in her mind, she cannot bring herself to call it home.
She feels sick. The nausea that had taken over the minute she'd heard the news, the panic that had settled into her gut, is threatening to become overwhelming. Her heart races in her chest, beating a wild and unsteady rhythm. She'd been the one to tell him the bad news. Of course she had; McCord had offered but that simply wasn't an option. She'd told him that he had less than twenty-four hours to live. Kate swallows down the bile as she pulls into the driveway and gets out of the car on shaky legs.
Her thumb rubs at her bare ring finger, the air around her cool, and she sways on her feet as she notices the first few yellowed leaves falling from the small maple in her front yard; it's a soothing motion that she's unaware she's even making until the soft clunk of a car door closing beside her jars her out of her thoughts. She wishes she had worn the ring more. Wishes it was on her finger now instead of on a chain around her neck. She gulps as she stumbles to make her first tentative step towards her door and a dried brown leaf crunches under her boots. If they somehow manage to make it through this, she vows to herself to never take it off again. The symbol of his love isn't something that should be hidden away, regulations and impracticalities be damned.
She doesn't know what to do. She can't talk to him. Not right now. She fears that even looking at him will set off a waterworks of tears that she'll never be able to control. She focuses on making quick, even steps to the front door, hoping the regular movement of her legs will calm her wildly erratic heart. It doesn't.
She fumbles with her keys as she struggles to fit the shiny brass key into the still new and sometimes sticky lock. She growls in frustration. She'd been kicked off her team; it had been her only chance to possibly find a cure for Castle and she'd blown it. In anger, she'd yelled at McCord, probably negating any pull that she'd managed to gain with the woman over the few short months that they'd been working together. It was useless. Hopeless. Of course she'd been taken off the team.
What is she supposed to do now? She doesn't know. She doesn't know anything and the idea that she has nothing to try, that any idea they have is fruitless, is a shocking blow to her system. Castle and she have always prevailed, but this time… This time it looks like they've already lost. They've nothing to do but wait.
She clears her throat and heads swiftly into the house when the sticky lock finally gives way, not sparing a look behind her, knowing that he will follow. He always follows; it's why they are in this mess now. Her loyal, loving, stupid… God, he's so stupid.
And she's so angry. At him. At herself. At the world and its occupants for even the idea that chemicals can be silently and invisibly deployed, for the idea that she couldn't do a damn thing to stop it, and even worse, that she can't do a damn thing to try and save him. Tears spring into her eyes, hot and angry pricks of pain that she refuses to let fall. She steels her nerve; she's got to be strong for him. Surely the reality of the situation will hit home for him soon; he's been so very quiet. It's unsettling to say the least. She's used to his effervescent personality and larger than life presence at her side. And when it's time, when he finally breaks, she needs to be the strong one.
Coffee, she thinks. Coffee has always been their thing. She will make coffee. She can do that. It will give her something to do with her still shaking hands. She needs the distraction. And the caffeine. The adrenaline has worn off, the drive home sapping her of any lingering remnants of energy she might have had; she'll make coffee and everything will be normal. Or as close to normal as you can get when your partner has only hours left to live and you've been sent home to wait for him to... No. She won't even think it. It was hard enough when she had to say it. Holding his hand over an interrogation table, it had been the worst moment of her life. Nothing she had endured before had compared. She won't even think about it. Never again.
She drops her keys on the table, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it toward the chair as she passes by, moving toward the kitchen, not caring when it misses the mark, slides off and drops to the floor. He bends down and picks it up, always the gentleman, and she stops in her tracks, pinching the bridge of her nose. She takes deep breaths, willing the jarring stab of pain from between her eyes away, willing all emotion away. Not now, she begs a higher power.
Please, just let me make it through this day. Don't think!
"Kate…"
His voice is the smooth, gentle timbre that she loves, laced with just a hint of gruffness. A shudder travels up the entirety of her body as her mind reminds her that soon she might never hear it again. There'll be no whispered words of love between the sheets, no good-natured teasing, not even his warning bark of fear when their lives are in danger. This is it. They've come to their end and she can't even begin to process it. She just can't.
Stop! She begs silently to any spiritual entity that will listen. Please. Just… Stop.
"Not now, Castle."
She can't look at him; any resolve to be strong for him will crumble if she gets a look at those pleading blue eyes of his. She steps forward to the cupboards, pulls out their coffee mugs and grabs the coffee, turning to the machine and avoiding his gaze at all costs. She's got this. She can do this. She just needs a moment to compartmentalize it all away; like every other trauma she's been through. But she can feel him moving closer and with each timid step he takes, her resolve crumbles a little more. His presence wraps around her; his scent makes her feel like she's drowning. But plunging into the Hudson was nothing compared to this. At least they'd been in it together then. It had been something of a comfort at the time, when she'd closed her eyes and willed fate to do as it pleased. She wonders now why fate had chosen to spare them that day. Why the universe had deemed it fit to offer her the world, only to rip it all away once the building blocks of 'always' had finally begun to fall into place. She had finally begun to envision their future, the long and happy waltz into the sunset, and now...
Now his hands are on her hips, stilling her movements. He places the gentlest of kisses atop her head, but breathes in her scent so fiercely that she can feel it all the way down to the roots of her hair.
She freezes.
She hates that she freezes, that she can't offer him comfort right now, but he has to know. He knows her. He does. And she needs time to process this. She flinches when she comes to the abrupt realization that he is the only person who has ever truly known her. She is about to lose him. The one. Her one.
Just as she's just about to fall apart and turn sobbing into his arms, he just as quickly lets go and retreats to her bedroom. She hears the thud of his shoes hitting the wall as he kicks them off, the rustle of the shower curtain, and then the blessed white noise as the shower turns on and the water beats down on the tile. She knows it probably pained him, but he's given her this moment that she needs alone. He really does know her. Her one.
"Thank you…" she whispers in the direction of her bedroom, hoping that he can feel her gratitude for this moment to pull herself together.
She has it together. She does. She makes the coffee methodically, grasps both mugs, intending to take them into the bedroom. But she stops for a just second to smell the brew like she always does and the aroma assaults her senses; the rich, nutty scent envelops her and the rush of overpowering memories almost brings her to her knees. That's when it truly hits her. For the first time since she learned the news, it hits her wholly and it's like a full-body blow. Rick is going to die. He has less than a day to live.
Rick's dying.
Her one… is done.
All the air rushes out of her lungs at the morbid thought and she doubles over, gasping for breath. The coffee sloshes over the rim of his cup, splashes onto her pant leg; she barely registers the sting of the hot liquid as she sinks to the floor. All she notices is that his cup is no longer full, that she spilled his portion, that his life right now is as fragile and fleeting as the steaming liquid now staining her trousers. She balances the cups precariously, carefully lowering herself and barely managing to not drop them with shaky hands; she sets them down beside her and buries her face in her palms.
"Castle… I can't… I…"
She's gasping for air and tears are streaming down her face. She's powerless to stop the surge of emotion now that it's started and she wishes for the one thing she can't have. For Castle to hold her. For him to pull her into his arms and never, ever, let go. But she can't have that because they don't have forever anymore. She can't even have him in this moment because she was too weak to own up to her feelings and has shut him out once again. God, she needs him. Why is that always so hard for her to admit?
She doesn't notice the shower turning off, doesn't even notice him approach until suddenly she is bathed in the warm and comforting scent of her body wash. He's here. Did she call out for him? She doesn't think so, but she can't be sure. The air around them is humid, thick with emotion and unvoiced fear. He tentatively reaches out a hand, his fingers grazing her calf, and she realizes that the humidity is about more than just the uncomfortable silence that spans the distance between them. He's still wet; a towel has been wrapped around his hips but he's still wet, and a little sudsy, not having taken any time to dry off, or even rinse, before rushing out and sinking to his knees before her. Water drips from his hair, shimmering droplets that trail a random path down his shoulders, his chest, until disappearing at the line where his tanned skin meets white terry cloth.
"Hey," his gravelly voice starts, his tone is careful and measured, like he's afraid. She meets his eyes and tries for a smile. He should never have to be afraid around her. She wishes she could just stop; she wishes her initial reaction to any crisis wasn't flight. She doesn't think she quite achieves her goal with her attempt at a smile but his eyes crinkle a little anyway in response.
"Are you having a sad, coffee picnic without me?" he says, his voice trying a little too hard for levity but she appreciates the effort.
Rick tilts his head and waits on her to speak. It's a move he has perfected over the past few years, a mixture of puppy dog and small boy, grown man and trusted friend; he's clear eyed and patient as ever. As always, he waits on her.
This time the smile she offers him is sincere, if a little sad. She owes it to him to try and be honest. Hiding away in fear won't solve anything, and compartmentalizing isn't an option with him. It never has been, as hard as she may have tried.
"What are we gonna do?" she asks. It comes out in a single rushed breath; she's desperate for him to have the answers. This time though, he has nothing to offer her. No grand theories, no out-there idea to make her balk and smack him on the arm or poke him in the ribs for even suggesting it.
"I don't know," he sighs.
She thinks that this might be the first time that both of them have been devoid of even the slightest clue about what to do.
"I can't lose you," she says, reaching to grasp his bicep and pull him closer. He rests his forehead against hers and sighs. She knows it's a useless request. They don't have a choice anymore.
"Too late," he whispers.
Fresh, fat tears roll down her cheeks and she sobs, taking hiccupping breaths while he rubs his forehead against hers. "Shhh," he soothes her. "Shh. Come on."
He pulls back and stands up, offering her a hand which she gladly grasps onto. He's so strong, his grip is so firm; she watches the tendons in his arms ripple as he tugs her to standing and she has a hard time believing that he could possibly be dying. He's so strong; how can he be dying?
He leads her to the bedroom; she shuffles along beside him like a lamb going to slaughter.
When they cross the threshold he stops, turning abruptly and pulling her into his arms. His hug is fierce, crushing; his arms wrap around her body completely, locking her to his damp body. He is murmuring something, apologies she thinks, and she bites on a lip to stop a fresh wave of tears. Why is he the one apologizing? He's the one with the death sentence. She's the one who can't do anything at all to stop it. She'd started this whole tragic chain of events months ago, when she'd mistakenly thought that she could have it all. She realizes now, too late, that she already had it all.
Her job with the Attorney General is high stakes, yes, but it is also tedious, boring; a long and never ending list of faceless names and unconfirmed outcomes. For her, at least. She's the low man on the totem pole and even if she does rise through the ranks, achieves a name for herself, the work will never be fulfilling in the same way as solving murders with her team at the Twelfth had been. The job is impersonal, grueling, and worse, it's taken a toll on the one thing she never wanted to harm. Her relationship with Castle.
No, if anyone should be apologizing, it's her.
Somehow, still holding her and squeezing like he never wants to let go, he's managed to shuffle them toward the bed. She's completely unaware of how they closed the distance from the door to here.
"Just stay with me, Kate."
It's a quiet request and she nods, sobbing openly now, not even trying to hide her anguish. He's said those words before, only this time it's him that's bleeding out. It's him with his life on the line. It's him... There's no point. The least she can do is give herself to him honestly. She's got nothing else left to give. Just herself. She will give him anything he needs and if that's her, then she's his. She always has been anyway.
He leads her the rest of the way, to the foot of the bed, until the backs of her knees hit the mattress and then he releases her, pushing gently on her shoulders until she gets the hint and sits. He sinks to his knees and unzips her boots, gently removing them and setting them aside, he massages both feet for a moment, pressing with his thumbs into her arches, relieving some of the tension that he knows wearing heels causes her.
This sweet, thoughtful man, she thinks. Even now, he does it all for her. Even as his very life is slipping away, he's taking the time to make her feel comfortable. He continues his ministrations, slowly working upwards, massaging her calves, circling his way ever so slowly upwards, running his thumb along her quads, pressing deeply until gentling and soothing his way to her hips. He's worshiping at her feet, she thinks inanely. She doesn't feel worthy. She runs a hand through his hair and smiles as his fingers reach the bottom of her shirt. He gives her a raised eyebrow, asking for permission. Of course; he need not ask, but she loves him all the more that he does. He rises as he drags the shirt up and over her head. Now perched high between her open thighs, he leans in, kissing her, his body slowly rising with each swipe of his tongue, every tug on her lips, until she is lying back on the mattress, his body fully covering hers as though he's trying to shield her from the world.
"I'm so sorry," he mumbles. "I never meant for any of this to happen."
"I know," she assures him. Of course she knows. She wishes she had some way to assuage his guilt. But this is his way. Though he often accuses her of the same, he also carries the weight of the world on his shoulders; his dedication to his family and his friends is both a blessing and a curse. He feels things so very deeply and takes it all on as his own. Of course he followed her to DC; of course he investigated on his own. She knows him, and she doesn't blame him. The blame lies squarely on her shoulders. She will never be able to make it all go away, his fear and his self-imposed guilt, but perhaps she can at least make him forget for a while. Pressing up against his chest, she gains enough leverage to shimmy out from under him and slide up the bed; she removes her dress pants along the way, landing softly on the stacked pillows at the head of the bed.
He's perched between her open thighs and he leans in, kissing her, his body slowly pushing her backwards until she is lying back on the mattress. He follows her, of course, the towel slipping free from his hips as he joins her and nudges closer, urging her to roll over so that he can snuggle in close.
She curls onto her side and he wraps himself around her; only the thin lace of the matching bra and panty set that she had picked out this morning with the express purpose of driving him wild separates them. A tear leaks from the corner of her eye - so many plans ruined - and tuned-in as he is to her moods, a thumb quickly reaches up from behind her and brushes it away.
He continues with his absent stroking, the pads of his thumb a little rough, leaving a lingering burn along the already raw from crying and delicate skin below her eyes. She likes it; likes the thought that he is leaving a mark on her.
It's quiet, late at night, early morning really, and they stay there side-by-side for a few moments. She listens to the even, in and out sounds of him breathing, feels the solid warmth of him at her back, smells the comforting aroma of his flesh; she tries to memorize it all, every moment. She can't bear to think that his steadfast presence might leave her side.
"I always thought we'd go out warm and cozy in our beds; old and gray," he whispers eventually, breaking the spell.
She closes her eyes; she can't bear to think about that either. She doesn't know which is worse: imagining a future that they can no longer have, or being in the present and knowing that every second that slips by is another wasted moment where they can do nothing to save him.
How does she respond to that? She had always thought the same, old and gray; their luck never ran out. They had survived serial killers and bombs, a dip in the Hudson and a freaking tiger! It's almost comical to think that he would be taken out of the game silently, that they would have time to prepare. It's almost comical. It's not funny at all.
"I never truly believed that this life would catch up to us," she admits finally.
She opens her eyes and stares out the window into the murky blues and purples of early pre-dawn, her guilt clamoring to drown her in sorrow.
"I wish I could have kept you safe," she says.
She feels him startle behind her and the hand that had wandered to graze her hip is quickly back and tracing her jawline.
"No, Kate. No. It's not your job. It's not your job to carry the world on your shoulders, love." She smiles, even in this terrible moment, slightly amused that they are still on the same wavelength. "It is as much my job to keep you safe and...I've failed you."
"Oh, Castle." He could never fail her. "You could never…"
She smiles then, turning toward him slightly; it's the first real smile since they got the news because there is one thing that she can do. The thing she does best. She can toy with him, distract him, and make him smile.
"You've annoyed me," she starts, nudging his knee with hers, "maybe driven me to drink on occasion," she continues, playfully knocking heads with him, "but you've never failed me," she finishes, as he kisses her, nuzzling into her neck, toying with the chain where she wears her rings. His ring. Their ring.
She rolls over fully, closing the gap and takes his lower lip into her mouth, biting gently before letting go and smiling up at him. A few short months ago, he'd offered her that ring and it had been the happiest day of her life. But she's not content for it to stay that way. They have so many more moments left, so many more perfect days to make, so many more memories to create. They have a wedding to plan, a honeymoon to enjoy, and someday… children.
He reaches behind her then, fumbling with the clasp of her bra for a few seconds and she smiles, running a hand down his face while he works at it, cupping his ear, stroking her thumb across his brow line. She tries to count each and every fine hair, memorize the color of his irises - such a brilliant blue - and commits to memory the smell of his breath, the taste of his lips. Everything, she needs to remember it all.
The bra finally falls free and he tosses it aside; she hears it land with a soft rustle on the floor.
It's quiet outside; the tree outside softly sways in the crisp fall breeze, occasionally tapping against the window, but the sounds outside have faded away as they lie together, bodies close and warm. He mimics her actions, and they explore one another anew, as if it's the first time, as if they both know it's the last.
This might be the last time. This is probably the last time. This is the last time.
Out on the street, a car horn honks, incessant blaring of an alarm no doubt set off by a stray cat, or the vibration of a passing city bus; it's about time for the first commuter bus to start its rounds into the capital.
He growls; she moans, and suddenly they are fighting for air as their mouths lock in a passionate kiss. It's frantic, desperate, and they struggle to exhale against the almost violent urge to inhale the other into their very souls.
She bites on the tendons of his neck, sucks on his pulse point, wishing she could cure this god awful thing that is destroying him from the inside out. She wishes that she could destroy it. He attacks her earlobes, whispering things that she only halfway manages to catch, things about love and sorry and always, Kate, always.
She removes her panties, kicking them off the end of her toes while he ravages her breast, suckles at the scar that is now mostly gone.
That scar was the start of them truly coming together and Kate can't help but think that as it finally fades away for good, he won't be here to witness it. That he'll be gone before she can finally fully heal. That she'll be a broken woman once he's gone and while her body might be free of blemishes, her soul will be irrevocably damaged. There's no coming back from this.
Their eyes connect as she thinks these things, and in that moment it's as though he knows, can read her very thoughts. Maybe he can.
He rolls them over, murmuring what she thinks might be 'no', and before she's even fully aware, he is inside of her, stretching her, filling her, oh god, so deep; he's the missing link, her final puzzle piece and she will be lost when he's gone. His gaze pieces into her soul and she nods, once, before he is pounding himself into her, almost rough, bruising, making sure to leave his mark. Something to remember him by, she thinks. She could never forget.
She pushes back at him with her hips, urging him on, deeper, and hopes the feeling lasts forever. That when the last traces of him vanish from this earth, that his presence will still linger on inside of her.
He opens his eyes then, slows down and backs off, and Kate could sob at the lack of intensity. It's then that she realizes she already is.
Oh.
He slips out of her and she could die from the feeling of him withdrawing.
No, Castle. No, no, no. Please, don't leave me.
He runs his hands through her hair, his fingers tangling in her curls, her hair tugging gently on her scalp. She watches him as he studies her. He runs his hand down her jaw and she grasps his wrist, stilling him for a moment so that she can kiss the tips of each of his fingers. His hand continues once she releases him, to her collarbone and he traces the ridge before moving on down her arms, until their hands are clasped together on either side and his weight is pressed against her.
Yes, like that, Rick. Cover me up. Keep me safe. Please, don't leave me.
She wonders if he knows. Does he know how much she loves him? Has she told him enough? Did she tell him today? God, they need more time. They are only just getting started; they were supposed to have always.
"I love you." Her voice is hoarse; even she can hear the desperation seeping out from around the edges. She drops her head to one side, the engagement ring around her neck slipping to rest in the hollow of her throat, and closes her eyes. The pain is too much. "You know that, right?"
"Kate, love, look at me," he says, almost demands.
His mouth is dropped open a little, surprise dappled across his features. He searches her eyes and a shiver of warmth travels down her spine, tingling all the way to her toes. For so long he has had this effect on her; she barely even registers it anymore. It's just that comforting little sensation that she expects, takes for granted when he's near. She takes notice today.
Their breathing is in synch, and their skin is heated, sweaty and sticky. She clasps onto his hand, lacing their fingers, her grip a little too tight as their knuckles knock and rub together. She feels his flesh give way a little as her nails dig into his skin.
"I've always known," he assures her. He kisses her, delicately, repeats the action a few times until she begins to believe it; with gentle nips, he savors her mouth. "I love you too," he says slowly, enunciating each and every word.
She nods, believing him finally, believing that he knows, and she releases his hand, leaving him to resume his exploration of her body.
He grabs a hold of her hips, his hands bracketing her back, his thumbs dipping into the soft flesh at her sides, molding her flesh. He pulls her close and lets his hands wander down, grazing the curve of her ass, the back of her thighs, until he hoists her knees up by his hip. His erection nudges at her center, tantalizingly close and yet as much as she tries to wiggle, not slipping inside. She groans, needing him inside her once more, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. She clings to him, making needy keening sounds into his ear. He shifts his hips then, slipping easily inside and then they are both holding fast to each other. They nudge and shift, push and pull, slowly guiding the other deeper, more, they need more, and she moans as he nudges just a little further in. They are fused together, almost impossibly close, and yet she wants more. Needs more. She wants to take him inside, consume him, take his whole body and protect him. More than that, she wants him to do the same to her. She wants him to take her, claim her, and possess her. He moves slowly, achingly so, but she understands his reticence to go faster; neither one of them want this to end. His hands span her back, his fingers trace up and down her spine, mapping the bony ridges, and without her permission she feels her body begin to tighten in response to the feel of him surrounding her, filling her; unconsciously, her body is trying to draw him in and pull him closer, urge him on.
She kisses him, slowly, letting her tongue linger and swirl in his mouth, drawing his lips between her teeth and moaning when he returns the gesture with a growl and enhanced pressure.
Oh God, this is the last time.
Unbidden, tears spring into her eyes and she quickly blinks them away. She doesn't want him to see her like this, so hopeless, not now anyway, not when he's trying to express how much he loves her. And even though she is sad, god, she is devastated, but in this perfect moment when they are joined, she is also so very joyful.
She'll give up everything else if she can just keep this; him.
She just wants him. She'd said it before; she'd meant it. But she knows it now with a certainty that never before was so clear. When it was her life in danger, the stakes hadn't seemed nearly so high. But now that it's his… Anything, she will give anything.
But she can feel him drawing away again; it's written all over his face. He'd seen the quick burst of woe and now his strokes have become uneven, hesitant, slowing down as fear is drawn across his features, slowing more as his worry for her wellbeing overtakes him.
No. Stay. Don't go. Castle, stay right here with me.
Quickly, he shifts their position, not letting her go, but coming to rest on his side, behind her, avoiding her gaze, she knows. This time when he slips out, she hardly even notices. She's too focused on the guilt and the fear she'd seen before he had hidden behind her back. She doesn't know what to do to ease his pain, to assure him that she understands. So she does the only thing she can; she waits. He's the one with words. He's the optimist in this relationship, the dreamer. She scoots back a little, letting him know that she's not going anywhere and she waits.
He buries his face in her hair, his nose nudging through her curls, breath spilling onto her neck, until it's his lips, suckling and sampling the damp sweat that has formed at her hairline. She shivers as he alternates between biting and soft suction, his warmth breath barely cooling on her skin before he's at it again. His arms encircle her, and he wraps her up, holding her tight as his hands come to rest on her breasts. He palms her flesh, kneads and massages, fingers teasing and circling her nipples, and then his left hand drifts lower, coming to rest at her pubic hair, waiting. She stretches a leg out, giving him permission and granting him more access at the same time, and his hand sneaks between her legs, circling her center and sending a jolt of lust throughout her body. She pushes into him, willing him to enter her, her lubrication coating his fingers and making it slippery, intensifying the pleasure.
In her mind there is an ongoing chant, a mantra that has settled over her psyche to encompass everything about this day.
Please, please, please...
She's sure she didn't vocalize it, but he hears her anyway, entering her suddenly and forcefully, barely able to control his thrusts, his rhythm uneven and jarring. She pushes back against him, driving her ass backwards; it's perfect, and sloppy, messy, but it's perfection too, and she doesn't ever want it to end.
It will though, and soon, judging by the shortness of his breath, of hers. They can't possibly last much longer.
"Castle… Castle… Don't… Don't…"
She can't form sentences, words are a challenge at this point, and with a few final deep and jerking pumps of his hips, his spills inside of her, moaning her name and burying his head into the crook of her neck.
She feels boneless and weak; her troubles are washed away in the post-coital moment and a smile breaks out on her lips. They are just so good together.
She sniffles, her sinuses all screwed up; no doubt from the jarring barrage of emotion she's gone through in the last few hours followed by the drying effects of too much heavy breathing and now the current dewy haze of sweat and sex that encompasses them both. She's so very thirsty too, but much too satisfied and much too limp to go out in search of water. Besides, she'd have to get up and leave him alone. And she's not going to do that again. She's not.
"I'm sorry, Kate... I wasn't thinking… I didn't mean to make this…"
She tries to focus, but she can't understand what he's trying to say. She stops his ramblings with a hand reaching back to his waist. "Castle, what… you weren't?"
She's confused, too exhausted to try and psychoanalyze her fiancé in this moment. Is he apologizing? It kind of sounds like it, but what on earth for? She fumbles around until she finds his hand and brings it to her mouth, kissing his palm.
"What are you apologizing for? That was…" She sighs, enjoying the warmth of him at her back. "Amazing."
She feels him shrug, his weight shifting behind her, and that's when it hits her. For all the fame and glory, the cockiness and arrogance that he is capable of, he is first and foremost the man she loves. And at his core, the man she fell in love with, the man she loves… Castle - Rick - is sweet, sensitive, and occasionally, surprisingly unsure of himself.
He seems to have taken her cries in the throes of passion as some kind of sign that she wasn't enjoying herself but he couldn't be further from the truth.
He's an idiot.
She looks out the window, not quite knowing what to do or say to quiet his guilt. The dawn rises orange and pink, streaks of purple and blue, filtered through the slats of her blinds; it's beautiful. She hears birdsong, a melodic sound, happy and free, and the longer she lies there witnessing the new day dawn, the angrier she gets… Their future has been stolen from them and with each chirp her resolve is steeled.
She'd never pictured moving into her first house alone, had always imagined that it would be something she'd do with a husband, someday in the future. But her future is now and her soon to be husband is lying next to her dying and this simply won't do.
Oh this stupid, stupid man. Sometimes he truly is clueless. He is a sweet, clueless man and he needs her. And not just now. He needs her tomorrow, and forever.
And god, does she need him.
Lying here, waiting for fate to step in and take him, watching the sky transform before her eyes, it simply won't do.
Fuck this, she thinks, smiling now that she has a plan of sorts.
Rolling over, she places light, pecking kisses onto his lips, peppering him with her love. "You stupid, stupid man," she murmurs into his mouth. "I was trying to say, 'don't stop'. You could never hurt me, Rick. Ever," she assures him with one last slightly sloppy kiss.
She lies there, watching him, waiting, until the truth of her statement sinks in. He grins then, his eyes lighting up with her absolution of any guilt he might be feeling. At least regarding the last few minutes. She knows that if they make it through this, chances are in the aftermath he will be burdened with another load on his shoulders.
He reaches around, trying to pull her close, to trap her in his arms and probably try for round two, but she's not going to have any of that, alluring as the thought is. She smacks at his chest, struggling not to be caught in his trap. She has a plan and he needs to man up. Enough moping. They've both done enough moping; they need to man-up.
"Come on, get up," she says, leaning away from his grabby hands and boyish smirk. She tries for a little authority in her voice but can't help the slightly girlish trace of a giggle.
"Where are we gonna…" His face falls, the playfulness all but gone in a single moment. "Kate, I don't wanna leave. I just want to enjoy whatever time that I…"
His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows thickly, and she quickly cuts him off, wanting to squash whatever horrible thoughts he's having. It's not pretty, what she needs to say, but it has to be said.
"What about your daughter, Castle?" His eyes widen, as though it's the first time he's allowed himself to even think of Alexis. "Your mother?" she continues.
"You don't think I've thought about them?" he asks, his voice low and a little dangerous sounding.
Good, she thinks. Get mad, Rick.
"What about me? Are you content to sit here and just do nothing? How many times have we escaped death? How many?"
She watches as he tries to do a little mental-math, his eyes closing as he bites down hard on his lip and tries to swallow down his emotion. She'd seen a little horror before his eyes had slipped shut and that's probably a good thing. She needs to jar him out of this state of finality, this morbid acceptance of his fate.
She lets him off the hook - apparently he's forgotten his running tally of the times they've saved each other's lives - and continues her rant, hoping to snap him out of his funk.
"Enough for me to know that the only reason we are still alive at all is because of your goddamned uncanny ability to read a situation correctly and find the unlikely solution. I need that now, Rick. I need you to help me."
Please, please, please.
That's when she sees the shift. His eyes snap to hers when she expresses her need for him. Ever the knight in shining armor, he never fails to want to help out the damsel in distress. And god, she's so damn glad to be his damsel. She never would have thought it, never would have imagined that she could come to need another person so much. But she needs him. She needs them. And if playing on his god complex will buy them some extra time, lead them to a cure for him, she will damn well exploit it until the end.
She's not gonna go down without a fight. And neither is he.
"So tell me, Castle," she purrs, crawling on top of him and whispering into his ear. "What's next?"
She pulls back, smirking at the way his eyes have dilated so quickly, and pushes her breasts flat against his chest, kissing his jaw, letting her tongue drive a path to his other side. She leans in, over to his other ear, sucking the lobe into her mouth and biting down.
"Besides," she whispers, when it pops free, "That was much too quick to be our grand finale."
Kate feels his hands rise up to her neck, the warm graze of strong fingers engulfing and possessing her skin as he angles her to his lips, stopping ever so briefly as she meets his eyes, dark and resolute. She marvels in them, letting her wishes float out into the ether.
Fight with me, love. Fight with me until the end.
It takes one shared breath, it takes her lips clashing against his as she dives in; he's fighting now, he won't give up.
He won't let go.
And neither will she.
Again:
Written in collaboration with BWJournal. Opposite POV available at BWJournal's profile under "Dust to Dust".
That's a hint people. Go on over there and read Castle's side of the story too. Surely this wasn't enough pain for one sitting. You need more right? So hit me up with a review and then go on over and shower her with the love too. We are needy, needy people.
Obviously there was no time for betaing - we just hovered over each other's shoulders while we wrote - but hopefully I didn't abuse the English language too much.
Avi: I love you. And hate you a little too. Because I don't just do 10,000 words in a day. But mainly I love you all the way to the moon and back because this was the best idea ever and though it was a mad dash to the finish line it was totally worth it. This fic is dedicated to you.
Becky: This fic is dedicated to you too. For planting that seed. I love you. Oh and guess what? She lives in a house now. That's some domestic shit right there, eh? PS: I still hate you a little, but it'll pass.
Okay, flail time. SADDJKADASJDKASFHAFAA! How freaking good was Valkyrie? ASDDKFJKSDJGHFSJDGHSG! Marlowe, I worship at you feet.