Chapter Four
Rick
He watches Alexis flee after Kate, struck by the blatant display of support, and wondering when his daughter formed such a strong relationship with his wife.
Fiancé.
Ex-fiancé.
Kate.
With Kate.
He closes his eyes, grapples for something he knows to be true.
They say he was being held against his will.
That her name was Lydia, that she was mentally ill.
That he saw Kate as a way to protect himself from what was really happening.
What was really happening…
He squeezes his eyes tighter, instinctively seeking comfort in the memories of her, the visions of their future, but where she used to be he now sees the unfamiliar ring on her finger, and the reminder that she's not his hits him like a freight train, all over again.
She's engaged to someone else.
It wasn't Kate.
He pushes his hands to his eyes until he sees spots, frustrated and unwilling to see this new memory, the one with a woman who is definitely not Kate.
He hears the door open and blinks repeatedly in order to clear his vision.
"Dad."
Alexis sighs his name as if she wants to blame him for his behaviour but can't bring herself to do it, and once again he's struck with the reality that his little girl is a mother. She carries it in her posture, her expressions, her words, that extra responsibility.
And his own mother…
He pushes that thought to where he is keeping the image of the woman who is not Kate, focusing on Alexis instead.
She pulls herself together valiantly, a supportive smile on her face as she reclaims the seat beside his bed.
"Alexis…" he frowns, pushing his head back against the pillows as he tries to explain it to her. "I can't…"
He can barely process that it wasn't Kate, the hazy visions of that other woman invading his memories and making his head spin. Knowing that the fantasies he had of their future will never be realised, the constant reminder that is her presence… It's too much.
"She loves you," Alexis whispers, almost afraid to say the words. "She just wants to see for herself that you're okay."
"I don't want to see her again," he mutters, astonished when his daughter's face flashes with something that he can't quite identify, but it only lasts a moment.
Kate is not his wife. She's not the woman in his memories, and trying to determine what was real is difficult enough without seeing the pain in her eyes, the tangible proof of her ring reminding him that nothing is as he remembered.
She's engaged to someone else.
"If you want to stay in New York-" she starts, but his incredulous expression stops her cold.
"I don't want to stay in New York," he declares, softening his tone when he sees the regret in her eyes at even voicing the thought.
"If you're in San Francisco I'll go to San Francisco. There's nothing here for me."
Alexis nods, taking his hand in hers.
"I just want to be sure you're happy to come back to San Francisco with us. The loft is being rented out, so we'd have to find a place, but I could–"
"You can't do that," he interrupts softly, knowing exactly what she's about to say.
He spent hours yesterday listening to every detail of the life she has in San Francisco, and he won't force her to leave it behind.
He doesn't care where she is.
Where she is he'll go, because her presence brings him clarity, and it gives him something to hold onto, an anchor to reality.
With Alexis he knows what is real. He can see every memory of her clearly, and none of them are a by-product of what was evidently a delusion.
"If you want to stay here…"
"I don't. I don't want to be here at all."
He's adamant, and she nods, accepting it easily. He wonders how long this will last, the easy agreement, the allowances.
"We were supposed to fly back next week, but I can try and get a different flight," she says, fishing her phone from her bag.
"Tomorrow," he says, and her eyes snap up to meet his, questioning his emphasis.
He needs out of the city.
Every memory he wants to forget is set to a soundtrack of the white noise of the city, and he needs to leave it behind.
"Please."
Alexis nods, her fingers moving swiftly across the device in her hands.
"Tomorrow afternoon. There's a layover in Charlotte but we can leave tomorrow afternoon."
His voice is a mere whisper.
"Thank you."
The feds make the most of the official visiting hours, wanting answers he can't give them.
They're simple questions, he can see it reflected in their eyes, but he can't do it, can't force any kind of response because it's all mixed up.
They're asking him about her and he can't ignore the memory anymore and all he can see is the blood and the look on her face when she slit her throat and Kate, fuck, Kate.
So many times he forced his eyes shut and saw Kate that he can't separate them and God there's so much blood.
When he wrenches his eyes open the feds are gone and there's a nurse hovering over him telling him to breathe, and Alexis is beside him with such aching worry in her eyes that he has to make it go away.
"Kate," he says, grabbing her arm. "I need to see Kate."
She bursts through the door twenty minutes later, and the mere sight of her, the affirmation that it wasn't her loosens the fist around his heart instantly.
The vivid image of her dropping to the ground covered in the blood spilling from her neck fades and he reaches for her touch.
There's hope in her eyes he has no chance of fulfilling, but the tangible proof of her existence allows him the ability to breathe, and he leans back against the pillows with his eyes closed, righting the corrupted memories.
It wasn't Kate.
It wasn't Kate.
"Rick?" She's worried; they're all worried.
All he does is worry them and let them down.
He takes another breath and forces his eyes open.
With the assurance that it wasn't Kate comes the other memories, the fantasies of their future that he played out so many times that they're real.
But they're not real, as the stone on the hand he's gripping reminds him, and he drops her hand, running a finger over the indentation on his palm.
No.
"Go away," he begs; unable to look at her and see the pain he knows he's inflicting, unable to handle the confusion her presence incites.
"Please go away."
He wakes with a start, blinking away nightmares he can't remember.
It's dark – it's night time, he realises – and Elliot came to take Alexis back to the hotel, so he's alone.
But he's not, he can sense it acutely and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm down and remind himself that he's in a hospital, that it's a nurse or an intern or something, but when he dares to twist his head, it's neither.
"Kate?"
She's curled up in the chair in what could not be a comfortable position, and although her eyes are open, when he says her name she jolts as if being woken.
"I'm sorry."
The apology is barely audible, and she stands quickly, fleeing before he has the chance to question if he's dreaming.
His daughter returns before the break of dawn, a hesitant smile on her face.
He's being released today.
The thought is paralysing, but he forces his lips to curve up into a smile anyway.
They're leaving the city today.
The doctors were reluctant, cautioning Alexis about his mental state as if he couldn't hear them, but he doesn't care because his daughter didn't cave.
They're leaving the city today.
Ryan and Esposito are by his door when he's discharged, and he doesn't even think to question it.
It's Alexis who doesn't understand, who needs to know the reason for their presence, and Espo explains that the press is outside, that they're here to escort him out the back. It's the last thing on his mind, but he's grateful that someone had the foresight to consider it, because the thought of being surrounded by reporters makes him tremble.
The sound level beyond room is loud enough and he silently wonders how he'll survive the city. But his desire to leave far outweighs the fear that is making his palms sweat.
He can do this.
He's silent as they navigate the hospital, the ambient noise increasing, and he presses his hands to his ears as best he can, willing himself to get through it.
Almost there.
They make it to the hotel, somehow.
Although he has been careful not to voice his apprehension towards the volume of the city – lest Alexis decide it's best to postpone their flights – she must be more aware than he thought, because she manages to limit their time outside to the few necessary minutes it takes to get in and out of the car.
They have three hours until they need to leave for the airport, and the plan is to wait it out in the hotel room.
Well, he thought it was.
The moment they enter the room Alexis is having a silent conversation with Elliot, the glances too obvious to be missed, but entirely incomprehensible.
"Dad?"
His head snaps up at his name, Alexis perched on the edge of the bed so that she meets his eye-line.
"Are you okay staying here with Elliot for an hour or so?" She asks, her eyes squinting slightly as if she expects him to say no.
He shrugs, glancing at Elliot, wondering why Alexis seems so concerned.
"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable," she clarifies, unwilling to let him drop her gaze for even a second. "If you need me to stay I will, you don't need to worry about hurting Elliot's feelings."
He shakes his head, forcing his lips to form what he hopes is a reassuring smile.
"It's fine," he promises, watching as she considers him carefully before nodding, looping a bag over the handles of the stroller.
Truthfully, being alone with Elliot is somewhat of a relief. It means less pressure, because even if he confuses a memory, Elliot is less likely to know the difference, and he won't get that pained look on his face that Alexis does when he makes a mistake.
"We'll be back soon, okay?" She confirms, settling Sammy into the stroller. The door to the room clicks shut behind them, and Elliot turns to him, his face pleasantly neutral.
"Do you need anything?"
He shakes his head and forces himself to his feet, intent on making it from the wheelchair to the bed on his own. His feet hurt – they're even worse since the hospital physical therapist bent them in ways that were too painful to have been natural – but he's capable of walking three steps to the bed, even if the shooting pains in his feet increase with each step.
Elliot watches him carefully, ready to catch him at the first sign of a fall, but he collapses onto the bed successfully, stretching his legs out in satisfaction. He exhales proudly, unwilling to tell Elliot that she always helped him move, that these are the first steps he has taken on his own for as long as he can remember. He's weak enough in the eyes of his daughter and son in law, he won't make it worse by taking pride in such a petty accomplishment.
He scowls inwardly, as Elliot turns away, apparently satisfied that he's no longer going to fall over like an invalid. This isn't how he wanted to meet his son in law. He always assumed he'd be the one in control, that he'd be intimidating and strong and make any man unworthy of his daughter cower. Now he just has to trust that his always-sensible daughter made a good decision.
"Do you want to watch TV?" Elliot asks, placing the remote on the nightstand and moving to the suitcase lying on the desk. "I've got to get this all packed."
Castle shrugs, making no move for the remote, instead quietly observing the way that Elliot folds their clothes neatly, flitting around the room to collect the abundance of items that litter the space.
He can't imagine that travelling across the country with a ten week old is anything but hectic, and from the amount of stuff they have, he'd say he's correct.
"Why the trip to New York?" He can't help but wonder, and in all that Alexis told him, she never gave a reason for the trip.
"To visit Kate," Elliot states, watching his reaction carefully before continuing.
"She usually visits us, but after Sammy was born... Alexis wanted to make the effort."
He's honest, and Castle can't fault him for it, even as his head spins with the knowledge that Alexis would fly across the country with a ten week old to see Kate.
"She's with Kate now," he realises, and Elliot doesn't attempt to lie, or hide the fact, simply explaining.
"She wanted to say goodbye."
Castle nods, digesting the information and realising that inherent in the situation is the fact that they won't leave him alone. He doesn't know whether it's because his daughter fears what he'll do without someone watching his every move, or because she needs to know he's safe for her own sanity.
"You and Alexis," he begins, feeling slightly proud when Elliot turns to him, a trace of fear marring his usually neutral expression.
"How did you meet?"
The fear becomes confusion then, and Elliot clears his throat, abandoning the packing.
"I thought Alexis told you-"
"She did," he interrupts. Alexis humoured him with hours of stories of their life, every detail he missed, but he wants Elliot's side. Elliot's quick to realise it, too, dropping into the armchair by the desk with a grin as if there's nothing he enjoys more than telling their story, and Castle likes him already.
The anxiety doesn't hit him until they get to Charlotte.
He's geared up for the first flight, and Alexis organised first class seats for them, and it's not as bad as he anticipated.
Until they get to Charlotte.
There are so many people.
They're hidden away in the back corner of the gate lounge, but the noise is stifling, and he presses his hands harder against his ears, rocking slightly in an effort to calm down.
It's just a panic attack.
Alexis holds out the bottle of anti-anxiety medication that they prescribed at the hospital, but he pushes them away with a grimace. They gave him drugs yesterday and they only made him feel worse, once the panic subsided.
It's just a panic attack.
Elliot disappears in a run and returns moments later, with huge clunky headphones in his hands that he rips from the package and holds out to him, hesitant yet hopeful.
It's only then that he dares to remove his hands from his ears, wincing at the volume of the people and announcements, pushing the headphones over his ears and feeling the anxiety ease instantly.
Oh.
He can think now, can focus on more than not exploding in a panic, and he lifts his grateful gaze to Elliot, who is grinning in sheer relief.
By the time they get to San Francisco, his ability to control his ever-present anxiety has dwindled to almost non-existence.
The exhaustion from the physical exertion is kicking in, and he's on edge because everyone's looking at him as if he's insane.
They're met near baggage claim by a dark-haired woman with a warm smile who introduces herself as Elliot's mother, and he can't even bring himself to respond.
She takes it in her stride, though, lifting Sammy from Alexis' arms so that Alexis can take the cart with their luggage, and Elliot pushes his wheelchair behind them without saying a word.
The trip is mercifully short, the car pulling to a stop outside a townhouse within twenty minutes, and even though the quiet drive alleviated some of the panic that has been festering all afternoon, the need to be alone, the need to lie down, is stronger than ever.
Alexis must sense it because the moment the car stops she's at his door, helping him out quickly and into the wheelchair. There are four steps up to the house, though, and Alexis falters at them, unmoving.
She's talking to Elliot about carrying him, but he ignores them, knowing that he can make it up four stairs.
He pushes himself to his feet, clutching the railing and willing his body to cooperate. It's not so different to before, really, except it's a railing and not her at his side, and he now has his daughter hovering behind him as if he's completely useless.
It's a feat, making it past that last step, and he's breathing heavily as he crosses the threshold, falling back into the wheelchair. Alexis pushes him through the house to the spare bedroom, and all he can hear is white noise, and he needs to lie down, needs to breathe without them looking at him as if he isn't capable of anything.
The sheets are made up on the double bed and he collapses onto it gracelessly, Alexis taking the hint and closing the door behind him.
There's a familiarity to this room he's never set foot in, but it isn't until he inhales that it hits him with unprecedented force.
Kate.
It smells like Kate.
He doesn't expect it to be such a comfort.
She never smelled like Kate, not once, and with the scent enveloping him he isn't confused. He can distinguish the two, can recall the memories he knows to be true, that he knows to be of Kate, and they're pure, untainted.
He inhales again, and his heart rate regulates for the first time all day.
Kate.
A/N:
Thanks to Lord of Kavaka for the cover art :)
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