All of your thoughts, and, I don't know if I'm strong enough now
-Catalyst, Anna Nalick
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Jim Beckett arrives around 11:30.
Castle was terrified to face him. What do you say to a father whose only daughter is in a hospital bed fighting for her life for the second time in a year because you didn't do anything to stop it? But he seems to understand. He doesn't blame him.
It's awful how sincerely he does not blame him. Castle almost wants to grab him and shake him and demand to know how it is that he does not blame him, how it is possible, after all that he's done, that he does not hate him. But he will not. Because the last time they were here, when Kate had a bullet so close to her heart, he fought with Josh. He will not fight with Jim.
Ryan and Esposito seem to understand Castle's desire not to tell the story again, so they tell Jim what happened. Castle sits in a chair, his head in his hands, trying not to listen. Trying not to think about what's just happened. What he's just witnessed.
But eventually Jim walks over and sits down beside him. "Is there anything they're not telling me?" he asks.
"I don't know," Castle replies honestly without looking up. "Wasn't listening."
He's surprised to hear Jim chuckle softly. They're both silent for a few minutes before he asks, "Did you see it coming?"
"No," he tells him. "The guy appeared out of nowhere. I barely had time to notice him before he…" He trails off. He doesn't want to say it.
Jim nods. They spend another few minutes in silence before he says, "You can't blame yourself, you know."
"The hell I can't."
"Really, Castle." He's not screwing with him. He honestly doesn't blame him at all. "You said it yourself – you had no time. There was nothing you could have done."
There were so many things he could have done. So many ways he could have protected her. But he didn't. Nothing Jim can say will ever change that. So he simply grunts, a small, neutral noise that could be taken as disbelief, indifference, or agreement.
"Trust me," Jim insists. "It's survivor's guilt."
"She's not dead." Please say she's not dead.
"Same principles apply," he says. "I would know, right?"
He would know. He who lost his wife too soon. But he was not there when it happened. He was not around to watch the life leave her eyes.
He certainly was not around to watch the life leave her eyes twice.
Jim stands, pats Castle on the shoulder – a gesture that's somewhere between fatherly, brotherly, and that of the bond of two people, more like business partners than friends, who came together in a time of mutual need. "Don't beat yourself up over something you can't control," he tells him, before walking away to join Ryan and Esposito.
If only he knew.
Martha and Alexis show up just after midnight, apologizing endlessly for not arriving sooner. Apparently, Martha had been watching television when Castle called, and it wasn't until she was about to go up to bed that she realized that there was a missed call on the home phone. Martha is still dressed in the clothes of the day – a knee-length black skirt and soft turquoise turtleneck – but Alexis wears silky pink pajamas, which look rather odd with black denim flats. Between that and the state of her hair, it's clear she's been woken up and dragged out of bed to come here, but her expression is as alert as can be.
He stands when he sees them. Martha slows to talk to Esposito and Ryan, but Alexis's pace quickens. "Dad," she murmurs, enveloping him in a warm hug that smells of her flowery shower gel. Her cheek is pressed against his chest; he lifts his arms and wraps them around her, allowing one hand to rest against the back of her head, fingers tangled in her soft orange hair. They stay like that for a while. Neither can think of a legitimate reason to let the other go, not when the warmth of this embrace is sweeter than anything either has felt in what seems like forever.
At 12:30, a small brunette nurse brings them pillows and blankets. She tells them that Kate is still in surgery, and that it's too early to make any predictions. She says it nicely, but Castle knows what she means.
They desperately want to tell them that everything is alright, that they know Kate is going to make it, that they're sure she'll be just fine.
But that would be a lie.
She leaves them with carefully phrased empty promises and a pile of pillows and blankets. Only Alexis sleeps.
Lanie doesn't arrive until a little after six AM the next morning. She looks more frazzled than Castle has ever seen her; she obviously left the house in a hurry. She's clearly thrown on the first clothes that met her fingers when she opened the drawer – black sweatpants and a dark blue tank top with a rounded V neck – and she hasn't bothered to brush her hair or put on makeup.
"I came as soon as I heard," she insists, as though she feels the need to justify herself. "Where is she? What's happening? Is she going to be alright?"
"We don't know," Ryan answers truthfully.
"Last thing we heard was a bunch of 'too-soon-to-tell' bull," Esposito supplements. "We've all just been crossing our fingers all night."
Lanie's shoulders slump; her head hangs; all of the life seems to leave her body. Castle has only seen her so weak once before, a year ago in this very same hospital. But this is different. This grief and anguish is punctuated by guilt. The guilt that Castle and Ryan and Esposito and Jim and Martha and Alexis stayed here all night, waiting on the edges of their seats for the news they were all hoping for, or for the news they were all dreading, that the unthinkable had occurred – that Kate had finally found a battle she could not win. The guilt that while they were all here, awake – for the most part – she was lying peacefully in her own bed, wholly unburdened by the knowledge that her best friend was fighting for her life once again. The guilt that when Kate needed her, she was not there. It's the sort of shame that looks like it might swallow her up; she seems so helpless, so hopeless, so very much not Lanie, and when Esposito walks over to her and puts an arm around her shoulder, she does not push him away. She goes so far as to rest her head against his chest and allow him to gently run his fingers through her hair.
By this time, Alexis is awake, sipping a coffee while huddled in a chair, most of her body coved by one of the fuzzy blue blankets the brunette nurse brought. Martha sits behind her, murmuring words of reassurance and kindness. Castle has already called Alexis's school to let them know that she will be absent – they didn't like it, not on the day before she gives her valedictorian speech, but who were they to argue? – and Martha has cancelled all of her classes for the day. Both women have cleared their schedules, put aside the trivial happenings of their everyday lives to sit in this hospital waiting room – for him or for Kate, he does not know. He doesn't mind, not really. The presence of his flamboyant mother and sweet teenage daughter is comforting, and honestly, he can use all the comfort he could get.
Five minutes pass. Lanie collapses into a chair and tucks a pillow behind her neck, leaning back on it and staring up at the ceiling. If her excessive blinking and frequent swallowing are any indication, she is on the verge of tears. Esposito takes the seat next to her and reaches for her hand where it lies on the armrest. She does not fight him as he takes it; their arms twist together, so his is closer to her and hers closer to him; their fingers are interlocked, fingertips dancing gently on the back of the other's hand; his thumb brushes gently against her palm.
Ten minutes. The brunette nurse is back, eagerly providing directions to the hospital cafeteria. All anyone wants to hear about is Kate, but as soon as Esposito, Ryan, Jim, and Martha begin bombarding her with questions ("How is she?" "Is she out of surgery yet?" "Will she be okay?" "When can she come home?"), she pales and scurries away.
Thirty minutes. Ryan's cell phone rings – it's Gates, probably wondering where the hell they are and what new leads they've found. No one's told her yet. He hangs up on her, begins composing a very carefully thought out text message explaining exactly what happened. He considers every word, and it takes him about five drafts and a full half an hour before he sends it.
An hour. Ryan anxiously awaits Gate's reply. Lanie has – reluctantly, it seems – pulled her hand from Esposito's and is pacing the floor a few feet away. Alexis is on her third cup of coffee. Castle and Jim Beckett have assumed similar positions – their heads down, their hands clasped together in their laps, their feet crossed at the ankles.
An hour and fifteen minutes. Gates calls again, and this time, Ryan answers. She isn't angry; Castle can tell because when she is, she's loud, and he can't hear her. But by the time Ryan hangs up, he's been convinced that the best thing he can do to help Kate is try to track down the man who stabbed her. And to do that, he needs to get back to the case they're all working. And so Esposito and Ryan leave the group, headed for the precinct.
An hour and a half. Martha takes Alexis down to the cafeteria to get breakfast. Lanie has returned to her seat and Jim has taken her place pacing, like the two of them together are on a mission to wear a hole in the tiled hallway floor and they're taking turns working at it.
An hour and forty-five minutes. Josh walks through the hallway. He does not acknowledge Castle, but the writer can practically see his brain working to process what the group of Richard Castle and his family, Lanie Parish, and Jim Beckett – Jim Beckett – might all be doing together in the hospital. The gears in his head are spinning and when he's a few yards away from them he turns around, an expression of concern on his face because he thinks he's figured it out. Because he doesn't know. Because no one told him. And because Ryan and Esposito are gone, because Josh does not know Martha or Alexis, because a father should not have to tell the tale of his daughter being stabbed, because Castle looks far too sad and silent that it seems it would be a crime to force him to say a word (and because for obvious reasons the two have never seen eye to eye), the task of explaining falls to the loyal best friend who was not there. Lanie stands and approaches Josh, walks past him, gestures for him to follow. She waits until they are out of earshot to begin explaining, but Castle can still see the expression on Josh's face morphing as the story is told – from worry to angry disbelief (my ex-girlfriend was stabbed and no one bothered to tell me?) to something very close to panic. And then he goes running back the way he came.
Two hours. Two lonely, miserable hours of his life. Two hours dead in this horrible place. Two hours lost, consumed by some dark void. Two hours that, if he had made different choices, played his cards better, done as he was supposed to, he could have spent with Kate.
She'll pull through, he told himself. She has to pull through. She has to make it.
I'll forgive her.
If she makes it – she will make it – I'll forgive her.
It doesn't matter that she lied to me.
It doesn't matter that she doesn't feel the same way I do.
God dammit, if she makes it, I'll forgive her for everything.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Yes, I'm an Esplanie shipper. What? There's nothing wrong with shipping two different pairings for the same TV show. Especially not a canon pairing (with a canon ship name) like Esplanie.
At any rate, keep an eye out for the next chapter, and be sure to tap the little blue clickity-click Review button and tell me what you think. I love constructive criticism, and some pointers on how to make the story better would be much appreciated.
Peace. –Caskett54