Close Encounters 24

A/N: Triggers ahead for cutting; first scene only.

Castle leaned against the bathroom door.

Kate took the knife from his hands and laid it on the sink while he bent down and helped her get into her jeans. Then he bandaged the crook of her elbow where she'd yanked out the IV, and watched as she pulled her sweatshirt on to hide it. He wasn't talking, but it wasn't because of her.

He was just - churned up inside.

Kate picked up the knife from the counter and balanced it across her fingertips. He flinched as she rubbed the flat of the blade.

She lifted an eyebrow as if in challenge. "You cut yourself. There's blood."

Castle frowned, but she was already turning back to the little storage drawers and pulled out wipes - some kind of make-up remover, he thought. Kate cleaned the blade and then came back to him, cradling the knife by the hilt, and she reached out with her free hand to touch his abs.

He flinched again, and shivers of sensation raced up his chest.

Kate lifted her head to him, studying him. "Why did you cut yourself?"

"Just to see," he croaked.

There was no judgment on her face. His shoulders eased and she hooked her fingers in the top of his pants, came in so close that he could feel the heat of her body radiating out to his.

The heat of her. She was warm. Alive and warm, and standing up before him with such clear strength. He wasn't sure how long it would last, but he reveled in it.

Kate spread her palm flat against his abs, but her other hand lowered to his thigh, the knife blade drawing flat along his pants. The heat burned and licked through him and he bowed his head towards her, brought his hands up to frame her waist.

"Just to see," she repeated.

"If it would leave a mark. It didn't. Nothing stays. See?"

He twisted his forearm and showed her - nothing. There was no scar, no blood but for the dried stuff he'd smeared with the knife. No wound; it had already closed up.

Kate still had the blade at his thigh, but she moved her free hand to his forearm and circled it. "I heard you with him. Fighting."

"He - makes me want to-" Castle shook his head, brows furrowing. "Took all I had in me not to stab him in the throat with that knife."

Kate moved in even closer, her head tilting down to look. She sheathed the knife in its harness around his thigh. Her fingers trailed up and to his hip, under his shirt so that his skin was on fire with her.

"Kate," he growled.

"You're not a monster," she said. "I wish you could see it as a gift, the way your body heals, how strong it is-"

"It's a curse," he said bleakly.

"It's the thing that makes you strong enough to save us. The Chinese spy, Coonan, Maddox, my mother's case - there were some pretty nasty fights you got roped into while I was in rehab at Stone Farm. The freezer in Paris, the fire in Copenhagen, abducted on the boat-"

"God," he groaned, tilting his head back. "He's right. Death and destruct-"

"He is not right. We did our best to save lives, to make the world a place where we'd want to raise our son - and sometimes that meant getting backed into a corner - but we are still here. And, Castle - I'd never have survived Russia if you hadn't come for me. And you couldn't have done that without-"

"The regimen," he said. He leaned back against the door, breathing through the thick feeling in his chest.

"No, baby," she said softly. "You. Not the regimen, not him, but you. None of this would have happened, my life would have been over, without you. My fierce, amazing man. Spy and husband."

He let out a long breath, cupped his hands at her shoulders to drag her into him. She laid against his chest, arms hugging him tightly.

"You're good at this," he muttered, blinking fast as he stared up at the bathroom lights.

"Only because it's true." He grunted a response and she snaked her arm around his neck, pressed a kiss at his jugular. "No more cutting."

Castle startled, hearing it like that, like a thing, cutting. "No, I-"

She waited, hand cradling the back of his neck and he had to think about it.

"It wasn't to hurt me," he said finally. "I can't - it was just to see if it still held, if the regimen still made me - so untouchable."

"You needed to cut yourself to prove that?"

His jaw worked, his pulse thumping hard in his neck where her lips rested; he could feel her kiss on him. "I needed - I just need to not be untouchable. I don't want that. If I can't fucking keep it in mind, what real life is, Kate, what really matters to me - how do I know I won't lose it?"

She pushed back from his chest and he sighed and looked in her eyes. She stroked his collarbone and shook her head. "I don't know exactly what that means, Rick. I don't follow. How does being untouchable, unscarred - how does that mean you'll lose us?"

He tilted his head down, tried to make it straight in his own head. He didn't want her to think he was really attempting to do harm. It didn't hurt him - well, fuck, yeah, it hurt - but it wouldn't last.

"I just want something to last. A reminder of what we've done here. What the damn consequences are for not paying attention, for being complacent. I don't want to forget, Kate. I don't want to forget this time. The scars just - disappear. There's got to be a fucking way for it to leave a damn mark. Otherwise I'm just the machine."

She frowned fiercely at him, smacked the flat of her hand against his pec - so hard it actually stung. He flinched and caught her wrist, but she was already opening her mouth.

"You damn man. Get a tattoo, Castle. If you need a fucking badge of honor, then get a tattoo. I - for one - am glad the scars have faded."

After Kate stalked out of the bathroom, he stood there for a minute alone, breathing through a mixture of arousal and anger - a damn tattoo? - and hoping she was cooling off as well.

At least she was alive. His frustration with one of the most stubborn women to ever walk the planet was relative when that woman might not have survived the last few days if she hadn't been. Stubborn refusal to die might have been the only thing keeping her with him some days.

A damn tattoo. He-

Oh.

A tattoo.

Well, that would leave a fucking mark, wouldn't it? And whatever scraps and pieces of regimen Kate had swirling in her system now hadn't affected the ink on her skin. He was reasonably certain a tattoo wouldn't fade since hers hadn't.

Huh. Tattoo parlors in Cologne. And a design. Other than just outright carving into his skin, Don't fucking screw this up again.

Inking into his chest, This is worth it, you asshole.

A tattoo was a permanent way to write her protection into his skin, to gouge it as deeply as possible, to find a way to fix it to his heart so that he'd never forget, he'd remember this moment, this week, and he'd watch, he would be at attention to safeguard his family. So that he would always be enough - super, augmented, aware - always be able to step into the breach so that he could prevent this from ever - ever - happening again.

When he yanked open the bathroom door, Kate was nowhere to be found but his father was standing in the kitchen, a mug of coffee to his lips, his eyes on the balcony. Castle followed his line of sight and saw her out there, arms wrapped around her body, vibrating with what he knew - undoubtedly - would be anger.

And it wasn't that cold out there, not with spring touching the city and the cloud cover in Old Town; Castle could feel the humid breeze coming through the half-open door. So he let her stay, not bothering her, and he sank down at the kitchen counter and the laptop Mitch had left with them.

He made sure his body blocked Kate from Black's sight, and he opened up the computer and logged in, keeping an eye on his father. Tattoo places in Cologne, ink quality and types to be wary of, designs. Designs. What he wanted to say, have said, branded on his body. His chest. In his mind's eye, he wanted to step into the bathroom at home and have it dark and vicious across his skin. Permanent.

But he also - he couldn't have it visible to security cameras, have it showing up on photos from an operation in Minsk. He had to be smart about it - leave no mark - but he was definitely getting a tattoo.

"What are you doing?"

Castle lifted his eyes and found his father right at his elbow, a scowl deepening his features.

"Fuck off," he said.

"You've lost it," Black snarled, reaching out to slam the laptop shut - directly on Castle's hands.

It stung - it did, he wasn't going to lie - but it wasn't awful. Wasn't like his fingers were broken, not even close. But it was the sting of his father, the sting of John Black rapping his knuckles that propelled him off the stool.

As far as a son's rebellion went, it was only a handful of the man's shirt and a fierce shove backwards, but Black was falling hard into the side of the kitchen counter, coffee sloshing over his chest.

Castle, barely breathing hard, sat back down on the stool and opened the laptop once more.

"You have truly lost your mind," his father said. "I hadn't - I had thought we could come to a rational, mutually agreeable truce, but I find you cutting into your own skin, and now this?"

"It's just a tattoo," he said wearily. Why the hell was he even explaining? Why was he talking to this man? Nothing he said could make a difference. It was the same shit every time.

"Just a tattoo. Have you forgotten every rule I drummed into you?"

"Drummed? Nice choice of words. Try beat. Try battered."

"Don't be a pussy."

Castle was on his feet again in a breath, but he stayed himself, tilting forward on his toes because he wanted so badly to punch Black in the face, prove something. But no. There was nothing to prove. "Fuck. Off." It was more a sigh than a threat.

Black chopped his hand toward the laptop and slammed the lid shut again. "No more of this. It's done. You've had a bad turn, I understand. She's fucked you up pretty badly, Richard, and you'll have her. I get it. You'll have her. But don't ruin your life over-"

"Ruin my life?" he shouted. "She's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"She's the destruction of everything. And you know it."

"You don't know sh-"

"A steady decline, from the moment you met her. I should never have assigned you to the Chinese spy. I should have dropped you back in Hong Kong to go after the Korean assassin. It was too far above your head, above your skill set, but I was arrogant. I thought my son could overcome anything, even deficiencies in training. You should never have been there."

"Well, thank God, you made a mistake," Castle gruffed. And damn, but he was grateful. Grateful, in this one instance, for his father's God complex. And it wasn't John Black he was grateful to. No, whatever power had put him in Kate Beckett's path, and that power wasn't his father.

He turned his head and glanced to the balcony. She was out there, softened, he thought, breathing fresh air and cleansed after their fight in the bathroom. But she'd heard every word of this one, bet on it.

He looked back at his father. "We're going our own way," he told him. "We split here. We don't need you any longer. We still have our truce, like you said, but you need to leave."

"Leave," his father echoed flatly. "With you ready to wreck everything I've worked for? No. I'm not leaving." He crossed his arms but his eyes traveled to Kate.

Purposefully. No mistaking what that was about.

"Then sit down and keep your comments to yourself. Kate and I are leaving - soon. Within the week. We have a life to get back to."

"And what about Diane? What about the Collective?"

"What about them?" Castle hissed.

"You know, son, I have sat by and watched as you completely lost focus on this mission. I have stood by - I have let you do what you felt was necessary. And this is the end result?"

"Stood-" Castle bit off his reactionary comment, closed it down. He had to be very careful here; he absolutely had to be careful. Kate was his first priority, and one little thing from him could shove his father on an irreconcilable path. Where killing Beckett was better than leaving her alive.

Castle sat back down on the stool, putting himself at a purposeful disadvantage. He flattened his hands on his knees and gave his father a steady look. "The mission is fubar. You know that. I shot Jolin - I take responsibility for that. I acted after a set of circumstances occurred which seemed - at the time - to justify my reasoning. It was a split second decision."

"Decision? There was no decision. That was gut-"

"When we're talking about my instincts and my decisions, with my serum-enhanced chemistry, then gut reaction is a split second decision. I'm usually right. I might, in fact, still have been right. Had Jolin taken Beckett into custody after my wife collapsed, who knows where we'd be."

"The first should never have happened. Beckett should-"

"I take responsibility for that, full responsibility," Castle said. His voice was rough when it came out, but it was certain. He knew what he'd done. "I should have been paying attention. She told me she didn't feel right and I chalked it up to - the mission." To Black, to her reasonable fear of a man who'd tried to kill her repeatedly.

A man he ought to kill. He really should. The infusion from James was cleaning up the damage done by a toxicity of regimen, and even though Black really had saved her life - in those first few hours, those first few days, yes, his father had saved her life.

But was it worth the risk of keeping him alive?

Castle shifted his hands to his outside thighs, fingered the strap on his knife, watched his father.

Black was eyeing Kate; similar thoughts were going on behind that cold gaze. Was it worthwhile to keep her alive? Wouldn't they all be better off...?

"Jolin had real information for us," Black said then. He was still watching Kate through the partially opened balcony doors. Beckett had been hunched at the railing the last Castle had seen, but he didn't dare take his eyes of Black right now to check.

"Jolin had nothing. She wanted to reel you in, that's all. She wanted you."

"But you shot her and know we'll never know. My one contact with the very people who want nothing more than to dissect my whole family-"

"Not your family," Castle said quietly. "We are not family."

The resolve hardened in Black's eyes, just that fast, and just that fast, Castle was off the stool with the knife against Black's throat, his body pinned to the kitchen wall.

Out of sight of Kate.

Black's eyes were wild when they tracked to him. Castle was breathing hard, his body thrumming with awareness, rage, the last week's worth of desolation.

"I could kill you right now," Castle hissed. "I could tell her it was self-defense, tell her that you went for her. Because you would have - you were going to - I could see it in your eyes just now. It wouldn't even be that much of a deception. I could slide the knife into your throat, right here, and tear out your jugular."

Black opened his mouth.

Castle leaned in hard against Black's sternum, felt the slight give of a bone about to crack. "I could do it. Nothing to stop me - but her. She stops me. She's the one keeping you alive."

Castle stepped back slowly, let his father's feet touch the floor again, and he sheathed the knife.

Black tilted his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Castle had no idea whether that was real or fake, but it looked fucking honest, whatever it was.

"We have a truce," Castle said, voice deadly. "You break the truce, you know what happens. We have a name now - Jolin - and Kate and I have a team - we can work on this however we need, however it has to happen. There is a plan in place. This particular mission is over - was over, the moment I shot Jolin. But the program? The program remains. Don't forget that. The program is all you care about anyway, and it's still here. So long as Kate lives."

Black didn't open his eyes, didn't even drop his chin, just clenched a fist and pressed it hard into his own thigh, swallowing roughly.

Castle had probably damaged the man's windpipe, just a little. Too bad.

"I'm going out," Castle said, putting it on the line. All of it. He took a deep breath. "I've got to arrange for travel. Kate and I leave the moment we get documents. And you - go back to wherever you came from. Truce remains."

And then Castle headed to the balcony doors to let Beckett know he was leaving. She had a gun in the pocket of her sweatshirt - he'd put it back in her pocket when he'd helped her dress again - and she was strong enough.

Plus Beckett had something to prove. And Black - Black did too.

He was gambling with his life here, but he'd seen the reality hitting his father in the form of a knife to the throat. Kate lived or everything died.

Her name was a rasp on the wind and Kate turned around, stiffened at the man in the doorway.

She should have gone back inside. Should have gone inside the moment Castle said he was leaving her alone with him.

"John," she murmured. The wind picked up again and blew a scattering of new, green leaves across the balcony. She was viscerally aware of the railing at her back, only waist-high. "Let's go inside for this. It's getting cold."

He gave her a blank look for a moment, and then she saw the instinct and impetus fade; he turned around and went back through the doors and inside the apartment.

Kate's heart was pounding, but miracle of miracles, she was still standing.

She followed him back inside and pulled one of the doors closed, left the other standing open. As if it was a viable escape route. Who was she kidding? She couldn't escape that way, she'd never make it to the door; it would be the bathroom to hole up in until Castle got back.

She had the gun, but she wished she had the knife. She wished Castle didn't.

"Katherine," he said.

She gestured to the red chair, offering it up for its services, and Black actually sank down into it. He was too tall for its post-modern structure, and his knees jutted up like islands marooned from the land mass of his body, the red sea unforgiving around him.

"You have something you want to say?" she started. She was going to try this standing up; she definitely couldn't sit on the bed and expect to feel in control.

"I do?"

And just like that, Beckett stopped being afraid.

Oh, she had a healthy respect for her life. But she saw now whatever it was that Castle had seen that had allowed him to leave her alone with Black, even knowing that Mitchell was basically right next door. She saw it on John Black's face, and whatever that argument had been about - other than Castle shouting She's the best thing that ever happened to me - this was more.

Naked and raw, finally stripped, John Black's face revealed more than it should have to be so flat and blank.

It closed up her throat, seeing him, because she felt it somehow too: what it was to want Castle so badly, and to have him shut you out.

Kate sank down to the edge of the mattress and put her hands between her knees, stared at John Black.

She didn't know what to say. She had tried everything, she had played his game, she had pointed out his flaws, she had shown him where he'd gone wrong, she had offered him a different future - a future with them in it, all of them, a packaged deal.

She didn't know what to do now.

He was so much like Castle sometimes. In those small, mostly physical ways, he had the look of her husband. The wide hands, the broad shoulders, the way they carried themselves, their walk.

To want Castle so much, and to be met with loathing.

God, it made her ache just to think of it.

"John," she husked, biting her inside lip at the way it came out. "John, I don't know that I can help you. If he - if you go too far. I don't know that I can stop him."

Black didn't react, didn't look at her. She pressed her palms together and breathed past the sudden kinship, the empathy roaring through her.

"He has your hands," she rasped. She was going to cry. Oh God, why was she doing this right now? This was a very bad idea. She'd had a terrible week, and she didn't have the strength of mind to battle wits with John Black.

"What?"

She lifted her eyes and saw him staring at her. As if without his permission, his gaze dropped to his own hands and his fingers released.

"I'm trying to do right by him," she said, starting over. "I'm doing my best. I know it's not perfect, it's not - super. But it's - what we've both chosen. And now our son is in this too. We were probably foolish to think we could have a son. But you did. You had a son."

Black lifted both hands, suspended a moment in the air as if seeing them for the first time, or maybe as if in supplication, and then he scrubbed them hard down his face. When they dropped, the mask was back in place, the cool arrogance, the calm assurance.

"Don't tell me about my son," he said, pointing a finger at her. "One day, one day I hope your son does to you what you've caused my son to do to me. I wish that on you. I hope James lives a long and healthy life completely reviling every second you breathe. And you - you with no way to change things, no way to prove yourself. Your life in dust and ashes, a sour taste in your mouth."

Black stood up, a towering wraith, malevolence to rival the darkest presence, and he swept out of the living room and closeted himself in the master, closing the door on her.

Kate swallowed, tried it again, but it was no good. She got up on strangely steady feet and moved for the bathroom, flipping the flimsy lock in the knob behind her. Her hand shook only once as she turned on the shower, thinking only to make noise, cover the sounds of her breakdown.

But she didn't break down. Instead, she found herself stripping out of her clothes. Slowly, piece by piece revealing the scrawny woman with the black tattoo and white ribs and hair matted from too much sleep.

That woman was over.

She stepped into the shower and began scrubbing her away.

It was time to go home to her son.