A/N: I have grand news to announce—I have finished writing this fic! Epilogue included, there are 24 chapters. Now, for the not-so-grand news—I'm posting this chapter now because my highly erratic work schedule might mean I'm too tired to post anything later (read: You might not hear from me for the next three days). It's a Rick/Kate chapter, though, so I hope it will tide you over till my next update.
Thank you for reading! Enjoy!
-Soph
Chapter 9
Kate honestly forgot about her disastrous phone call to Rick until hours later.
After the chat with her dad, she had gone next door to thank Mrs Ferguson for the old woman's help in the two months Jim had known about his cancer before Kate had come home; a short visit of tea and sponge cake later, Kate was back inside her apartment, cleaning, tidying, and dealing with neglected chores before she raided the sparse contents of the fridge for something she could make for dinner.
Her father did not emerge from his slumber until called. At dinnertime, he shuffled out in jeans and a checkered shirt, insistent that they eat at the table. Kate allowed her father's persistence to win. She did not know how long it would be before Jim Beckett would be too weak to sit at the dinner table, and if it was his wish to create some semblance of normalcy in the meantime, then she would not disobey his wishes.
After dinner, her father retreated to sit in front of the TV. Kate gathered up the plates and put them in the sink to wash; it was when she was elbow-deep in soapy water that she allowed herself to think back to the mortifying phone call.
Her cheeks burnt hotly at the memory. It had been almost two months since they had spoken. He could hardly have wanted their first communication in two months to have been her uncontrollable sobs; yet, a part of her mind had seen fit to call him—whether for comfort or for something else altogether, she did not know. She owed him an explanation, though.
With a heavy sigh, she dropped the plates into the sink and rinsed off the soap bubbles decorating her skin. She dried her hands on the towel that hung on the wall next to the drainer and glanced into the living room to check on her father—he was laughing at something on TV. (Cartoons. That man had loved them for as long as she could remember.)
Shaking her head with a fond chuckle, she dug her fingers into her jeans, but came up empty. In her fit of crying, she had never put her phone back into her pocket. She looked around and found her phone lying on the kitchen counter. Huh.
She picked it up to unlock it, but then froze when it lit up: Five missed calls, it read. She would bet the salary from her part-time job that they were all from Rick.
As it turned out, they were. There was also a text message from Lanie; Kate guessed that Rick had told Lanie about his worries after Kate had failed to pick up the phone.
Suppressing an eye-roll, Kate slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. She would deal with Lanie later.
She sat down on the edge of the bathtub, ready to dial Rick's number—but then the phone in her hand started to vibrate again. The Caller ID said it was him.
"Hey," she answered in a soft greeting.
"Kate." His voice was anxious. "Kate, what's wrong?"
"Calm down, Rick," she murmured. "I'm okay now."
"Well, what was wrong?" he persisted.
She let out a conflicted breath, wondering if she should tell him. On one hand, Rick had no relation to the family; to tell him would be superfluous and unnecessary, since it had nothing to do with him. On the other hand, she just wished he knew. She missed the days when he knew everything about her. She wanted her best friend back, even if it could never happen.
"My dad's sick," she burst out abruptly, her voice thicker than she would have liked.
There was a long pause. "Sick, how?" he asked finally.
"Sick with cancer," she answered, "really sick."
There was an even longer pause. "I'm going home," Rick announced suddenly.
What?
Kate gaped, though there was no one else in the bathroom to witness her expression. What did he mean by 'home'? Home to his mother, home to New York City, or home to her?
"W-what do you mean?" she stammered.
"You need help, Kate," he said firmly. "If your dad's sick, then you need … well, help."
"Help?" she parroted weakly. "But I—but Rick, but we're not—why?"
"Kate," he whispered. "You're falling apart. I can hear it in your voice. You need someone to—"
"What is it to you?" she parried fiercely. "He's my father, Rick. I'm not—I'm not going to abandon him to someone else."
"I'm not saying to abandon him," Rick answered slowly. She felt guilt wrench through her at the cautious tone of his voice. "I'm saying an extra set of hands helps."
"But they can't be yours."
"Why not?"
"Because your exams are coming up in a week!" she screeched. "And there's Jacinda, and your mother, and so many other factors that you have to consider before you drop everything and tell yourself that for the next four months, you'll just help me deal with my father's cancer!"
"What happens at the end of four months?" he asked instead.
She gulped in a deep breath. She had not meant to tell him that. "Nothing," she lied shakily, but Rick was not a fool, and of course he would not accept that answer.
"Kate."
"H-he…" Her voice trembled. "Rick, his prognosis is four months. He might not live past April."
Rick exhaled deeply. "Oh, Kate."
"So, y'see…" She swallowed. "I'm not going back to university, at least not for now. I'm not sure what my plans will be after he … dies, but they won't be the same anymore. I—I might not even go back to university ever."
"I'm going home," he said stubbornly.
"Still?" she asked incredulously. "To what? I have nothing to offer you."
"Nothing but your trust," he said gently. "And that's all I require."
"I can't do that to you. You still have classes to attend, Rick. What's the point of coming back, except for one or two days to soothe your conscience? What's the point of even coming to see us at all?"
"I can apply for a leave of absence," he said gently, "and even if it isn't granted, I can still spend a few weeks with you, during Christmas break, before I have to go back to school."
"Rick," she sighed. "Don't be stupid."
"Kate, this is non-negotiable."
"The hell it's not," she snapped. His presumptuousness riled her up; she stood and paced around the tiny bathroom. "What are you doing? Are you even listening to yourself?"
"Yes, I am. And I think what I've decided is pretty reasonable—"
"Yeah, if we were married!" she bit out. "But we're not, Rick, and my dad doesn't even know who you are. Don't you think you're being a bit hasty about your decision?"
"Four months, Kate. I don't have time not to be hasty!"
"Then don't be anything at all!" she yelled. "Who even asked you—"
"You called me, remember?" he defended himself, and she felt sadness crash wave-like over her simmering anger. She deflated—dropped her shoulders and sat down again.
"Yeah," she admitted, "because I … wanted you, at the time. But I—I was in a bad place, and it … it didn't mean anything, Rick."
"S'that the truth?" he asked quietly.
She opened her mouth to confirm her statement, but found that she could not. "Don't make me say it," she murmured instead, her voice trembling. "Don't make me give you an honest answer right now."
"I won't," he promised. "But until you can, and you can honestly say that you want me to walk away—not because you think it's better for me or because you don't think you deserve having me around—I'm not going to walk away anymore. Because, are you listening to yourself? You're struggling. Maybe you have neighbours to help, but you called me, and I'll be damned if I leave you stranded on your Island of Solitude.
"So, just text me your address," he insisted firmly. "I'm going to catch the next flight out. I can't stay long, not until after my exams, but then after that I'm yours until at least the beginning of next term. Okay?"
"Why, Rick?" she asked brokenly, wiping distractedly at her cheek.
"Because I broke up with Jacinda," he replied bluntly, "when I realized that you were harder to get out of my system than I thought."
She sniffled. "Oh."
"Yeah."
"Okay," she said. She did not quite know how to respond to that.
"Okay." She could hear the tentative smile in his voice as he continued, "I'll be there soon. Hang in there for me, 'kay? And, no—you may not text me a fake address because I know how to use a phone book, and trust me when I say that I will hunt down every Kate Beckett in the city if that's what it takes to find you."
It made her laugh tearfully. "That's vaguely creepy," she commented, "but … thank you, Rick."
"Yup," he hummed softly. "See you soon."
