See,
the time we shared?
It was precious to me.
-Revelry, Kings of Leon
Sitting on the dais next to her father, Kate held his hand tightly, too tightly, fighting against her stiff muscles. Jim Beckett, not a stranger to the slow and painful progress of her physical recovery, merely endured the grip, that sorrowful smile still on his face.
Kate tried not to look at the people flooding the floor in front of them, the sea of people there to honor her mother's legacy, settling into their places, ready to listen. Kate rode a wave of suppressed pain and tried not to let it show on her face. The tension in her stomach muscles wrapped around her back, the medicine taking the edge off and making the people before her flicker in the shallows of her vision.
The beautiful night lapped at the shoreline of her sorrow, eroded her defenses. The swags of beautiful green dipped around the room, echoed the green linens and the glass centerpieces. She let her eyes follow the flow, let herself get caught in the eddies of the event.
It wasn't just the beautiful thing he had done for her, it was him.
And she didn't try to fool herself, either, when Castle's rich voice caressed her from the clear glass podium, brought her trembling to the edge of herself, dipped her toes in the water. Her heart hurt. But it was a good hurt.
He spoke about honoring a legacy, brief words of introduction, before turning the microphone over to her father.
Kate released Jim's hand, grateful when Castle sat in his place beside her, exchanging one bulwark for another. Castle's thigh pressed against her knee and she let her back touch the seat finally, taking a breath as her father approached the podium.
"Thank you, Richard, for that. And for organizing this night." Jim led the room in polite applause as Castle smiled and gave a short nod, and then the crowd was breathless and still as her father turned back to face them all.
"My wife, Johanna Beckett, was an exceptional woman. We met in law school, back when I still thought I had a shot at passing-" Jim stopped for the chuckles and Kate could imagine the smile on his face, just as it always appeared when her father told that story. "And she quickly redirected me to a profession I was better suited for. She always knew, Johanna did, just the kind of thing that you ought to be doing, and where you ought to be doing it."
Kate heard Castle laughing softly beside her, felt her heart warm towards her father as he shared with all these people the fiery, passionate side of her mother. This intimate view of her mother which had been only theirs for so long, and now her father was displaying it for these people as well, turning it over like a jewel on velvet.
"We used to tease her, Katie and me, that her favorite words were 'I told you so.' And it wasn't because she *thought* she knew better than you; it's because she actually did know better."
The room gave over their smiles again, a laughter that sighed across the room at the special cut of the gem her mother was.
"Johanna had a clear sense of right and wrong; it mattered to her, that right be upheld and wrongs be punished. It wasn't black and white; it was just that living in the gray world never appealed to her. She used to say that the law was the gold standard, but that laws were still just mostly good ideas codified by mostly good men. And sometimes, she said, that left room for people to get hurt, for people to fall through."
Kate tried to take a breath and found that her lungs were trapped; the bands of tension had coiled around her ribs. She slid her hand to the side and found Castle's already waiting. He squeezed, sharp and quick, and the pressure eased in her chest, siphoned off by the force of his hand in hers.
Her father had looked down at his notes; he let the pause draw out in the room.
"She chose to be a defense attorney because of that. Because sometimes, people got hurt. Innocent people. She had a passion for justice, but she had a soft spot for mercy. This was the kind of lawyer she was, and this was what ultimately got her killed."
Kate sucked in a breath and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from jumping up and snatching her father from the podium. She had told him not to bring it up, not to push, not here, because one of these very people could be the sleeping Dragon behind it all.
"My daughter has that same gift for mercy in the face of justice. I've seen it in her, seen it played out in her relationships and her work. She honors her mother's legacy in more ways than a scholarship, or a charity fundraiser ever could. Even though, of course, we are going to try."
Kate felt Castle's hand squeezing hers as everyone in the room turned their eyes towards her on the dais, humming with soft, pleased laughter.
"We both appreciate your support of Johanna's life, your sorrow over her premature death, and your generous giving tonight as you honor both lives: Johanna's, and my daughter's as well. I am grateful, eternally grateful, that she has survived, against all odds, to stand up here today as Johanna's true and lasting legacy."
Kate stood when her father turned back to the chairs and wrapped her arms around him, even as his hug caused the pain to flare along her spine and drag at her sides. She winced, swiped tears from her cheeks, and was thankful that Lanie had brought over waterproof mascara when she was helping Kate get ready.
"Thank you, Daddy," she murmured into his ear.
"God, I'm so grateful you're still here," he whispered back. Kate could feel the cracks in him as she held him close. She wondered if he could feel hers as well.
They stumbled back to their chairs, hands clutched tightly together, even as Rick made his way to the podium as the master of ceremonies. She caught his eye and nodded, and he made a quick introduction, letting her claim her spot before them.
Under the lights at the center of the stage, alone now, again alone, Kate realized she was rubbing her thumb over the index card that contained her notes. She had a smear of black ink along her skin; the words were smudged.
She didn't want to say that anyway, not anymore.
Kate bowed her head before the lights and studied the long length of her fingers atop the podium, felt the slight sway of her body as her muscles struggled to keep her upright. She tensed against a spasm near her shoulder blade and lifted her head.
"I had a speech. But it's not good enough now." She gave a smile because she ought to, and the people before her murmured with appreciation, smiled back at her. "I was going to tell you about how dedicated and passionate a lawyer my mother was, how she worked for people who didn't have a voice, how she took on cases because she wanted someone in this city to care, even if it meant it was just her doing the caring."
Kate used her thumbnail to dig a line into the crease of her finger, until that pain masked the pain that had washed up over her spin like broken glass on the beach.
"I know all the stories. I could tell you the best ones. But instead. . .instead I want to tell you about something else."
She took a moment to glance over her shoulder, saw the two of them sitting side by side, the men who wanted, needed only to love her. And how difficult she made that for them.
Kate turned back to face the crowd, strengthened by their need.
