2. Words. (Season 3, 'Knockout')

He drag-carries Beckett back to the car and traps her between himself and the vehicle. There's no chance of her getting away, but the distance between them is vast, now. In keeping her from a suicidal bid to save Montgomery and maybe get the closure she desperately needs, he's sealed his fate. She'll hate him for this, even more than she already hates him for speaking those unbearably painful truths.

Muffling her screams, hating himself, hating everything about this, he hears everything she's been keeping in for God only knows how long. He risks a glance back at the hangar. They're going to hear, going to come out here and get them next. He clamps down harder as she writhes under him. Winces as she winces. Apologises, shushes, over and over. He can't do much, but he can save her life tonight. This will probably be the last time he has a chance to keep her safe, and it was Montgomery's last request of him, so Goddammit, he's going to do it.

Frustration, grief, and fury has finally snapped her precious self control, and he's not far behind. What use are words, what could he possibly say that will hold her together, hold them together, now?

Fists batter his chest, sharp knees jam up between his legs, each blow weaker than the last. That scares him more than anything.

"Shh. Shh. Shhhh..." He strokes her hair, moves with her as she begins a downward slide, but keeps them from collapsing completely. Any moment, those men might appear. He's losing her; losing himself in her anguish, in his part in it.

The words come to him then; as much a shock to him as to her, but when he speaks them, she finally stops fighting and really looks at him. Her fists slowly unclench, and she cups his face in her fluttering hands. He forgets to breathe, because what he finally sees in her eyes is the real Kate Beckett, and everything she's yearning for.

They aren't lost after all. Far from it.