With Gary McCallister dead and Hal Lockwood facing new murder charges, plus the incident reports and finger pointing inherent in a mess like that, it takes Kate a while to get back to the precinct from her visit to the prison. When she finally arrives at the 12th, she's told Castle is waiting for her in the breakroom and nods her thanks, but after she sweeps past her desk to drop off her things, she takes the long way around the bullpen before going to find him. There's a lingering adrenaline high and she needs it to burn off; if Castle recognizes it, he'll assume it's bound to propel her headfirst into this thing.
He's not wrong.
These people irrevocably changed her life – almost entirely for the worse – and she has no intention of letting go of any lead she may have just been handed by the devil himself. Her entire career has been crafted around this very chance, but she knows Castle will want her to exercise restraint where she has none to offer, so she masks the truth behind the calm smile she'll present to him now, and they can argue another day. The list of conversations they need to have is already long.
As she approaches the breakroom door, she sees him pacing and wonders what energy he's trying to release, whether he's just as ready to hide as she always has been. He catches himself quickly enough when she enters, brushing a furtive kiss to her cheek before moving out of the way of her caffeine fix, then attempts to make small talk until she's somewhat settled. He surprises her when he interrupts his own chatter with a quiet declaration.
"I'm sorry."
She needs him to expand on his apology, because she's remembering their awkward might-have-been in Los Angeles and the distance that she's kept since their return, and she knows she's the one who should be repentant. That's not even taking into consideration all the ways she's guaranteed to hurt him when she falls back into her mother's case, but as he continues to talk, she realizes he's trying to cut off that possibility, to protect both of them from a fate she's already accepted.
Playing along, she reassures him that progress has been made and grins away her grief. Then she invites him to accompany her to Lockwood's arraignment; while she's certain he wants to drag her away from the chaos altogether, she also knows he won't pick a fight about standing witness to the relatively benign legal process. Of course, neither of them expects the hell that rains down on them in the courtroom.
They're not seated long when she senses the imminent threat, eyes darting across the room as the air vibrates with Lockwood's confidence and justice that won't be served. When the flash bomb is thrown, instinct has her diving away from the danger, and she screams for Castle to get down even as the impact of her body gives him no other option. He's warm beneath her, safe and all too willing to embrace her until the smoke clears, but after sparing him a cursory glance and mumbled concern, she makes the choice she's afraid she's going to make time and time again.
She leaves Castle behind and chases answers instead.
There's pity in the eyes of four men who should be demanding more of her; it starts with her captain and trickles downward until it pools uncomfortably in her partner's worried stare.
She carries the weight of it with her to New Jersey, where they find the helicopter used in Lockwood's escape. Ryan and Esposito follow her instructions, but their doubt is poorly-hidden, heavy in the things they won't say. Castle's more willing to speak up, but the platitudes that wait on his eager tongue are denied a voice when she insists she's fine. She doubts he believes her, but she doesn't care; she just needs him to stop asking questions when he already knows the answers.
Later that night, pity is laced through the shadows on her ceiling, keeping her company when her bed provides no real comfort and she's taunted by the nightmares that have come alive after lying dormant for too long. She has memorized and forgotten the softness of her mother's face more times than she can count, but the sight of Johanna's picture on a murder board will forever lead to flashes of bloody alleys and an empty seat at every family dinner.
She forces the pity aside and stays wide awake when she feels her finger on the trigger a second before she watches Dick Coonan bleed to death in front of her, only to witness Detective Raglan fall at the whim of a sniper a moment later. Then she shakes her head quickly to clear the vision of Castle, too close to both of those bullets, her mind turning instead to every smile Hal Lockwood has offered, full of knowledge she can't begin to comprehend. She spends hours fighting her own memories, vibrant and demanding, finally surrendering at dawn and going for a run until it's reasonable enough for her to show up at the precinct for more bad news.
Another dose of pity is subtly stirred into the coffee Castle delivers a couple of hours later when they acknowledge that neither of them was able to sleep. It's there in the gunshot wound that killed a paid-off prison worker, as sickening as the blood dried on his head. And it's present in every vowel that softens the boys' insistence that they've already followed up on the leads they have. She can do nothing but sharpen each word she spits back in response, willing to piss them off if it will make them stop feeling so goddamn sorry for her.
When she can't stomach it any longer, she grabs her bag and a stack of the case files, and hurries from the precinct before any of them can slow her down.
She's ready for the fight – defensive and prepared to redirect years of pain - when it lands on her doorstep.
When he lands on her doorstep.
It's not fair, but none of this is. It's not right that she had her mother ripped out of her life twelve years ago, and it's not right that the ongoing conspiracy is likely to end her relationship with Castle now. She loves him, but she doesn't think she can keep the promises he'll ask her to make; Johanna Beckett died in her quest for the justice and Kate's fully prepared to do the same.
vincit omnia veritas
When she'd first heard the notion that truth conquers all, she hadn't realized 'all' would include the ones fighting on the side of righteousness.
She lets Castle follow her into the living room, where they're silent a few seconds too long. "If you've got something to say, just please say it."
So he does, but his opening argument is predictable and trite. She wonders how harshly the NY Times critics would respond to a bestselling writer's decision to rely on such an obvious summation in the face of crisis. She's aware everyone is dead. She's aware they're coming for her next. And she's aware Montgomery's protective detail won't do a damn thing to stop them. Her shoulders don't manage more than a half-hearted shrug in response, though she knows the gun in her hand contradicts her apparent lack of concern.
"They killed my mother. What do you want me to do here?"
He's firm, maybe even cold; the dark blue of his stare reinforces the chill. "We want you to walk away."
His use of the plural tells her more than he'd probably wanted and, oh, and that's the reason for his unwelcome appearance, isn't it? He's been fortified by an army of men too weak to back him up in person. "Who sent you here, Castle? Ryan and Esposito? Or was it Montgomery? Did your poker buddy decide he didn't want to be my captain tonight, forcing you to do his dirty work instead?"
"He didn't force me to do anything. He and your-" His pause gives him away, and she thinks he's going to attempt to cover his slipup, but he shocks her by standing even taller and continuing on. "Montgomery and your father know that you won't listen to them. And I'm not sure you'll listen to me either, but I can't look those two men in the eye and tell them I didn't even try."
She's stunned. Angry, despondent, confused, and hundred other things that simply leave her broken.
"My father? You met my father?" Her voice cracks around it because it's wrong. That was never how it was supposed to be, and now they'll never get a chance to do it right, even if they make it to the other side of this.
"He came to the loft last night," he nods. "And Montgomery talked to me this afternoon."
"So now you're here, letting them pull your strings from afar."
"Don't make them the enemies, Kate. Not when Lockwood and his friends pose a very real threat." He takes a deep breath and stays maddeningly calm. "They're going to kill you. And if you don't care about that, at least think about how that's going to affect the people that love you. You really want to put your dad through that? And what about Montgomery?"
Fury strikes, hot and bitter, and she steps forward with the challenge it inspires. "And what about you, Rick?"
"Well, of course I don't want anything to happen to you. I'm your partner. I'm your friend."
"Is that what we are?" She's almost afraid to hear the answer, but this is what it's come down to, a game of chicken between two people too scared to admit how they feel about each other, even when it's been obvious for a little less than forever.
But he's not ready to let her win. "No, you know what…I don't know what we are. We go out for dinner and drinks and movies, and then we never talk about it. We touch and kiss and, hell, you would've slept with me in L.A., but we never talk about it. So, no, I've got no clue what we are."
"I sure as hell hope you're taking half the blame there." She storms past him, her outrage desperate for a kinetic release, eventually spinning back to face off with him again. "Even now, you're trying to pull me back from the most important case of my life – my mother's case - on the basis of a partnership. A friendship. You won't say any of the words that would actually matter."
"You know what? This isn't about your mother's case anymore. This is about you needing a place to hide, because you've been chasing this thing so long you're afraid to find out who you are without it."
"You don't know me, Castle. You think you do, but you don't." Bile burns in the wake of the lie.
"I know you're going to stand here and insist that three words from me might change your mind. And I know you're fooling yourself with that far more than you're fooling me. I could go up to your rooftop and scream the truth to all of Lower Manhattan or fall to my knees and confess to you here, but I know whatever you think you want to hear from me won't make a damn bit of difference, and I'd rather save it for a time when it will."
He's read her as accurately as he did when they first met and it hurts; she uses the last of her resolve to hurt him back. "You know what we are, Castle? We are over. Now get out."
He stalks past her so she's no longer facing him, but the rattle of the door when it's slammed shut is confirmation that he's done as she demanded. Then she finds herself trembling as she shuffles over the path of his footsteps, clumsy fingers fumbling with the locks when she's finally reached them; the sobbing begins when she realizes that her attempt at security is futile anyway.
She slides down the length of the door, the cold floor unforgiving beneath her, and gazes at the emptiness of her apartment, letting the tears continue to fall until her vision blurs. Until her stomach is twisted with cowardice and guilt. Until her head pounds out the reminder of every wrong choice she's made. Until she can't tell where the pain of losing her mom ends and the pain of losing Castle begins.
