the gasp and stutter of a heart 9/10

– –

Kate turns her back to him, moves away. She only makes it a few feet before her path is blocked by a stack of boxes and so she turns around, paces back.

When he catches sight of her face she looks angry, torn, and good, he thinks. Let her be. Because her belly is thick with his child and they're supposed to be starting something together. A life. A family. All of it.

"If you've got something to say, please say it."

"Kate, everyone associated with this case is dead. Everyone. First your mum and her colleagues. Then Raglan and McAlister."

She shoots him a look that bruises him, that makes him drop his gaze from her eyes like a coward. But they asked him to save her, her father, her Captain. They came to him and asked him to try and save her, as if he would do anything but. And so he continues. As much as the thought bites at him, he tells her, "You know they're coming for you next."

She shrugs, like it doesn't matter, like she doesn't care but there are dark circles under her eyes. She can't hide them from him – can't hide from him – not when he knows she hasn't been sleeping well.

"Captain Montgomery has got a protective detail on me. Wasn't that hard to spot."

And it makes him furious, the way she can pretend to not care. The way she says it like it doesn't matter. "It's not enough! Damn it, Kate, it's not enough."

She recoils from him, shocked by his outburst and he is too, a little bit, because that won't work, he knows that won't work. He can't force her to give this one up. She has to want to do it herself.

Rick takes a second to calm himself before he follows her. Just a moment. Just long enough to ignore the fact that they're standing in her half-packed apartment, to pretend they might not be halfway through the beginning of the end.

"Think about what they're up against," he says. "Professional Killers?"

But she doesn't look convinced.

"I've been working with you for three years," he continues. He approaches her slowly, gentles his tone, relaxes his face. Let's the truth of his emotions bleed into his features. "We've been friends for a lot of that time. We've been more than that for a while now. You know me, Kate, I'm the guy who says we can, but sweetheart, I don't think we're going to win this."

Kate doesn't shrug off the hands he places on her shoulders, doesn't pull away when they glide down her sides, circle around her waist. She lets him guide her towards him, lets him wrap his arms around her, pull her into his chest and she folds into him. Her forehead is cool against the side of his neck, her breath hot on his skin, and he holds her close, doesn't want to afford her the chance to move away. She doesn't try.

"Rick," she says, "they killed my mother." And there's so much emotion in her voice, it's so raw and so thick, that he aches along with her.

"I know."

"What can I do? What choice do I have?"

He senses that she isn't done and he waits, holds her in silence.

And then, "I can't walk away."

"It's not worth it, Kate." She stiffens in his arms, tenses against his chest. "It's not worth your life. It's not worth our son's."

"It's my mother," a whisper against his chest, weaker, defeated, and it breaks him just a little because he promised her, didn't he? They'd do this together.

But it's not worth it.

It's not.

Just.

No.

"I won't trade you for the sake of justice, Kate. Your mother wouldn't either."

"You don't know that," she says, and she's feels fragile against him. She sounds uncertain, as if she believes she could be anything less than the world, be anything less his everything.

And that's not right.

He'd tell her, but it's more than just that, isn't it?

Because he knows. And he knows her. And she doesn't know how to be without it, how to exist apart from it. Her mother's case. She's hidden inside it for so long, let it become so much a part of her that when she speaks it's as if it's the only legacy she might have to offer, the only destiny she could fulfil, but she's already more than that.

"Of course I do," he says. And he does. He knows. He knows more than anyone what it is to want her in the world. "I'm the father of your child. I'm the man who loves you. When I look to the future I see you in it, Kate, all I see is you in it, and I don't want to lose that. I can't lose that. I know because I'm the man who'll lose everything if you die."

"No." She's shaking her head against him, and he thinks she might pull away, but her arms tighten around his waist and she presses into him, presses against him.

"You'd move on," she says, and it's not an accusation. It's not. It sounds almost like a compliment. Almost like a command. "You'd pick yourself up and you'd carry on, Rick. You have to."

A beat. A silent acknowledgement.

Yes, he would, is what he thinks she must hear, but No, he couldn't is what he means.

He's had to do it before, hasn't he?

He's raised a mother-less child.

He doesn't want to do it again. Is not sure he'd survive the second time. Not sure he'd survive this kind of heartbreak.

"Don't make me."

She's silent and then, "Okay."

Rick pulls back, cups her face between his palms, levels her with his gaze. "Okay?"

"I'll stop."

And it's a relief. A sweet, glorious sense of relief. Is. Would be. But for the look on her face. Regret, heavy like tears in her eyes and she knows. She knows it's too late.

And he does too.

Because she's already in the crosshairs.

– –

"A reason to make a stand," Kate says, a hand settling on top of her swollen belly, a thumb stroking gently. And then, "Someone to make it with you."

She looks over at him as she speaks, a sad almost-smile on her face. She means him, he knows. Means she forgives him. Means she loves him. Means so damn much.

Rick takes the hand she reaches out to him, lets the gentle tug sway him to her side. Their fingers link, her gloved ones thick between his, but he turns his head away, doesn't want her to witness his tears.

And that's when he sees it.

There's a flash of light in the distance, a reflection that shouldn't be there, and it tickles at his senses. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he tries to focus, to squint past the burn in his eyes, and then he catches it again. He sees it once and then twice, a twisted kind of Morse code, and he can feel the hesitation, can taste the way the air is thick with inevitability.

And no.

No, no, no.

No.

Because her Captain died for her. Severed the last of her leads. Ended it. For her. For him.

And she chose to live. For him. With him.

And no. God, no.

Him or her and he'll always, always pick her.

But it's too late.

He's too late.

He hears the shot, even as he's moving, even as he's colliding with her.

He feels it as it rips through the air around them, rips a hole in his world, and then it's all over.

Everything.

His everything.

It's all over.

– –

TBC…

– –

Notes: Yes, I know. And I'm sorry. This was harder to write than I imagined. Hopefully I can have the last chapter up in a few days, it's mostly writing itself.

Thank you to everyone who helped me with this, and thanks to everyone who left a note on the last chapter, it was very much appreciated and very encouraging.

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts. (Even if they are, as I'm assured they will be, death threats.)