"Something happens when everybody finds out
See the vultures circling dark clouds
Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out
It could burn out"
The next time she wakes, the sun is breaching the horizon and they're halfway through Vermont. Her face still contorts into a wince with each movement, but her coherency has returned and she's able to keep down the small pack of crackers he offers her.
She tells him what happened the night before in the hotel while he was gone, tells him about Bracken, about the men who were sent to kill her. Her hand covers his on the steering wheel when his knuckles go white.
"My ring," she whispers suddenly, bolting upright in her seat. "Castle, I left it in the bathroom. I-"
"No, I have it," he assures her quickly, maneuvering one of his hands to the inside pocket of his blazer and clutching his fingers around the metal chain.
She reaches for it with greedy hands when he offers it up to her, but her fingers don't immediately close around her mother's ring like he'd expected them to. Instead, they curl around the platinum engagement ring, her thumb stroking over the diamonds with a reverence that causes the vice around his heart to loosen.
"I really thought we were going to make it," she murmurs, biting her lip as the glossy sheen consumes her eyes. "I thought… we were supposed to…"
"Hey," he says softly, stealing one of her hands, bringing her knuckles to his lips. "We are going to make it."
"We're disappearing," she mumbles, drawing her hand back to her lap and turning her gaze to the window. "We're not going to get married or go on our honeymoon, I'm not going to get justice for my mom and we're never going to - we'll never be safe. We'll never be at peace. All of our plans… everything is ruined."
"Kate-"
"Smith was right," she whispers, pulling one of her knees to her chest and fishing the bottle of Advil from the cup holder between them. "I'm radioactive."
He sighs while she downs two of the pills with the fresh water bottle he replaced her ginger ale with the night before and settles for splaying his hand on her bent knee, squeezing the bloodstained denim, but failing to regain her attention.
"You're not radioactive, Kate. We're still going to get married, just think of this as taking our honeymoon first."
She huffs a hollow hint of a chuckle, and drops her cheek to rest against the back of his hand.
"I wouldn't change it," he adds with a shrug. "Any of it. I don't care what happens or where we end up, as long as I have you."
He keeps his eyes on the road even when he feels hers finally shift to rest on him. Part of him is terrified, not of what lies ahead, but of her, of her tendency to push him away, to play the martyr and leave him to suffer the consequences of life without her.
"And we'll get Bracken, get justice for your mom, for everyone he's killed. We will. We just have to do this first. But I swear, Kate, he won't become president, won't get away with this. He won't win."
She's silent, still for a few long seconds, but then her hand slides beneath his on her knee, fingers twining while her lips sweep along his knuckles, and when he risks a glance at her, she surprises him with a smile, soft but genuine.
"Thank you, Castle."
He gives their intertwined fingers a tight squeeze.
"Always."
Once they cross the border, they make their first stop in Canada at a supermarket outside of Montreal. She buys a new box of blonde hair dye, he finds them some actual food, and luckily, they go unnoticed. But the paranoia churns in his gut and has his head swiveling over his shoulder throughout every step they take. Kate tries to reassure him a few times, squeezing their clasped hands and keeping close to his side, but he still catches her doing the exact same anxious scans of every corner they turn.
"This is just a stop," he explains on the way to the apartment he had set up for him. He's contacted every friend, called in every favor, used every resource he has. And it's paid off, so far.
Kate bites her lip, but nods as she thumbs her new passport. She's been fascinated with the contents of the go pack he brought with them ever since he went over her new identity with her before they crossed into Canada, but she hasn't said anything, only nodded along while he went through the story he had spun for them with the help of a retired CIA agent he had once consulted with for one of the older Derrick Storm novels.
"Alexis helped me with the name," he blurts, earning a quirked eyebrow from her. "Your name, I mean," he tries to explain, nodding towards the identification in her hand. "But if you don't like it-"
"Castle," she chuckles, reaching over to squeeze his knee and he deflates with an exhale. He's never had a problem naming characters in his books, but this was his fiancé, he couldn't just choose the first name that popped into his head. She deserved better than that, but he'd had so little time, so he had called his daughter and pathetically begged for her help. He's still surprised, and oh so grateful, about how helpful, how graceful, Alexis has truly been through this endeavor. "The name is fine. I'm surprised you didn't name me Nikki."
The laughter bubbles past his nerves and she offers him her first real smile since they fled New York, the suffocating tension finally draining from the car, allowing him to breathe just a little easier.
"So where do Rick Rodgers and Sara Houghton go from Canada?" she questions, drawing her knees up to her chest again, and he wonders if the scar on her side is aching after her scuffle with Bracken's men.
He grins and keeps his eyes on the highway, making sure not to miss their exit.
"Europe," he reveals, stealing a quick glance at her expressionless face. "You speak French?"
"Fluently."
"Good, you can teach me on the plane ride."
She hums and slips her ID back into the leather satchel, smoothing her hands over the small bag.
"I don't know, Castle. You're already pretty good at French in my opinion."
He coughs on a gasp and she rests her cheek against the seat as she laughs, but the soft melody of her laughter soon fades and she catches his eyes again with grim resignation.
"Alexis," she murmurs. "If she helped with my fake name, she knows too much."
"She knows everything," he confirms with a solemn nod. "She also knows what's at risk, for herself and us. She's smart, Kate. She'll be safe and when things die down, she'll take a trip to the French countryside for a summer."
"Castle." Her voice falters on his name, but he refuses to meet the grief, the guilt he knows will line her face. He believes what he told her, he believes in his daughter, knows he'll see her again. Just not yet.
"We're almost there," he says instead, searching the street for the apartment building he's had memorized since he paid the rent online just 24 hours ago. It's not the nicest place he could have found for them, but they're trying to lie low, even in the temporary home he bought them in France, they'll be doing everything possible to stay off the radar. Another country doesn't mean safety and he knows France won't be their final stop either. They'll roam Europe like tourists before they choose to settle and even then, he's been told by his old agent friend not to settle long.
You'll never be safe. Not until the threat is neutralized.
"How did you do all of this in so little time?" she finally asks just as they come to a stop in front of the old brick building. It reminds him of the Brooklyn area in New York, a small comfort of home that he welcomes.
"Friends in high places, lots of coffee, no sleep," he shrugs, killing the engine and unlocking the doors with a hesitant press of his index finger.
Just exiting the car feels like a risk, but he pushes the door open with a deep breath and grabs their bag from the backseat. He meets Kate on the passenger side while she's easing her door open, their go pack and meager haul from the grocery store in her arms, but her first step onto the sidewalk has her staggering.
"I'm fine," she promises, clutching his biceps as he holds her up. "Just - just dizzy."
"I can carry you," he offers even through the adamant shaking of her head. "Kate, you haven't eaten and your head-"
"Is fine," she argues, urging him towards the building. "Let's just get inside."
He's so glad they're on the first floor.
Castle unlocks the front door with unsteady fingers, his heart pounding when the tumblers click into place and his hand closes around the doorknob. No one is hiding inside the apartment, no one is waiting to kill her behind the door, but he still wishes he had her backup piece ready in his hands. Just in case.
Kate sags against his side and he pushes the front door open. Silence and a sunlit living room greet them and Castle bands his arm around Beckett's waist as he guides her inside, kicking the door shut with his foot and leading her to the ugly brown couch that takes up half the space in the modest lounge area.
"No, bed," she whispers, dropping the grocery bag to the floor, but cradling the satchel to her chest, their entire lives reduced to a pack she refuses to let go of. "Please come to bed with me, Castle."
Rick extends his unoccupied arm towards the front door and clicks the locks into place, the deadbolt, and nudges her hip once he's sure they're locked in. They pass a tiny kitchenette on the short path to the bedroom, a bathroom that's barely big enough for two, and a closet he thinks must be for cleaning supplies. It's a depressing little place, but he doesn't care. They won't be here long enough for him to care, and besides, Kate seems happy enough as he drops their duffel in the bedroom doorway and collapses to the already made bed with her.
He's so thankful he paid extra to have the apartment furnished. Of course it's nothing he would have chosen, the colors and patterns all wrong, the bedspread Kate's crawling under a gaudy mustard yellow, but it's enough and he follows her beneath the comforter, the sheets, arranging himself around her and finally allowing himself to find rest.