"I mean it. I want him gone." She hopes her tone brooks no argument, but she feels the weakness in her voice, barely able to believe herself.
Apparently, it doesn't matter to Montgomery. "Okay, he's gone."
And between her venomous words last night and the ease with which her captain has acquiesced to her plea, the relationship she'd had with Castle – every complicated layer of it – is dissolved in mere seconds. She's surprised, having marched into the precinct prepared for a fight; maybe she was even hoping for one. But if the mayor won't interfere, she supposes there's no convincing to be done. Nobody to tell her she can't have what she doesn't want.
Montgomery hands her his flask, and she twists the cap even as she argues with herself about the need to dull anything with a drink. It's only when he continues to talk about Castle that she lifts it to her mouth and relishes in the slow burn, her throat left raw and her chest simmering as the alcohol settles.
"Only reason I kept him around this long is because I saw how good he was for you. Kate, you're the best I've ever trained, maybe the best I've ever seen, but you weren't having any fun before he came along. And unless my skills have slipped since I've been off the streets, I'm pretty sure you've been having even more fun in the last couple of months. But if you think that's changed suddenly, I'll trust you."
He steps forward to take the flask back and she misses the warmth immediately. "Why did you send him to talk to me? Do you really think we can't win this?"
There's a moment of surprise in the darkness of his eyes when she acknowledges his conversation with Castle; she'd considered being just as angry at Montgomery for thinking she's incapable of handing this case – and maybe the anger will be there no matter what she does – but he's still her captain and she'll give him the chance to speak his mind. She'd let Castle say plenty last night.
His sigh suggests he's already resigned to her stubbornness, but he offers a firm answer anyway. "No, I don't think we can win. With a case like this, there are no victories, there's only the battle, and the best that you can hope for is that you find someplace where you can make your stand. If this is your spot, I will stand with you. And regardless of whatever has happened between you, I think Castle will stand with you, too. But you need to decide whether it's worth the losses you'll face when it's over."
"It's my mother's case, Roy. I can't walk away now; she deserves more."
"We speak for the dead. That's the job. We are all they've got once the wicked rob them of their voices." He nods once, sharp and certain, as though he's always known he'd have this conversation with her one day. Maybe he has. "We owe them that, but we don't owe them our lives."
Silence falls around his words, and she wishes she could take them to heart. Instead, she slips out of his office and doesn't hear from him again until he calls to tell her they have a lead.
She doesn't see him again until he steps from the shadows of the hangar.
The ache that has been crackling in her bones since her fight with Castle numbs to nothing when she reads the text from the boys, their warning about the third cop stopping her short. She thinks she can hear her heartbeat echo off the hangar walls, though perhaps it's just her footsteps as she creeps closer to the truth; either way, the sound is destined to haunt.
She stays eerily calm through the narration of a story written many years ago, barely flinching when it concludes with a motherless rookie sliding under the wing of a guilt-ridden cop. Montgomery continues on, her questions doing little to direct him, and he refuses to give her the name she needs; it's only when she realizes that she isn't about to die at his hand that panic begins to breathe life into her. She doesn't want to act as bait, isn't looking for a sacrifice. Too many lives have been lost – among the living and the dead – and he looks certain that he will end it here. She doesn't want to leave him alone.
When Castle appears behind her, she knows she hasn't been given a choice.
She begs anyway.
Amid the subtle growl of the cars that have just arrived outside, a death sentence in tow, she pleads for Montgomery to listen to her, insists that he doesn't have to do this. He doesn't. Not for her, not for her mother. She's angry with him, of course, and she can't fathom how long it will take to reconcile his lies with the years of guidance he's given her. Still, she'll forgive his sins and let them burn bright with her own if he'll just stop whatever is about to happen.
Castle interrupts, distracting her again and fuck, why is he even here? She needs Montgomery to understand and nobody is listening to her and how has it all come to this, a late-night martyrdom that will leave another family devastated, a spouse in a lonely bed and kids without a parent?
When strong arms wrap around her body, she thrashes and cries, but she's too weak to matter anymore. She's carried from the hangar, from her captain, and she hurts with the awareness that the man she'd so desperately wanted to dismiss as a coward is embracing her with courage she's so rarely experienced herself. He's a bad dream and a sigh of relief.
"Rick, please."
They're clear of the hangar when he releases her just enough for her feet to find solid ground, still blanketing her body with his as they stumble toward his car. He presses against her, fortifying her with whatever he has to left to give, and slips a hand over her mouth in an attempt to quiet her pain, whispering a dirge of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.
She's sorry, too.
She seeks the warmth of his skin, her fingers trembling against his cheek, and when a chorus of gunshots rip apart the night, she only hopes her tear-blurred eyes convey what words cannot. This case has taken too much from all of them, and enough is enough.
She locks up behind Ryan and Esposito, turning to rest against the door and letting her head fall back with a dull thud. Her eyes are closed to the questions that will never have answers, the confession she wishes she'd never heard, and the whispers of blame that refuse her a moment of peace.
"Come here."
Her eyelids flicker open at the sound of Castle's voice and find him holding his hand out to her from where he settled on the couch after the boys said their goodbyes. His jacket is off, thrown over one of her chairs, his shoes kicked off nearby, and she takes the hint to remove the boots she hadn't realized she was still wearing. It's late – or maybe far too early – but there'd been no discussion about whether he should stay behind; where else would he be?
Eventually, she'll need to shower and change, force herself to the precinct for incident reports and interviews and multiple recitations of the story they've just agreed upon, but right now she needs to rest.
And she needs him.
So she makes her way to his side, unable to resist the outstretched arm that invites her closer, and lies down. She's easily curled along the length of the couch where he's left room, her head pillowed by his lap, and her breath stutters when he doesn't hesitate to comb his fingers through her hair. The tears come quick and hot, and she wants to be embarrassed by the way they're so obviously soaking through the soft fabric of his pants, but she can't care when there's no chance of them slowing anyway.
His hand is cautious and tender, and the repetitive strokes guide her breathing until it's no longer such a conscious effort. There are no platitudes to interrupt the rhythm they've found, promises worth little when the nightmare has yet to be shaken, and he simply allows her to cry.
There's no way to tell how long it takes her to find her voice again, but when she does, her declaration is delicately firm. "I want to speak at his funeral."
His surprise is only made obvious by the way the slide of his fingers falters for a moment, but his response is steady. "Okay. I'm sure we can make that happen. I can't imagine there's anyone who would have a problem with it."
"Do you think it's a stupid thing to do?"
"Kate, look at me for a second." He pulls his hand away and waits for her to roll onto her back. "Wanting to honor a man who loved you isn't stupid. Loving him back, remembering the things he's taught you over the years and the cop he's helped you become, isn't stupid. And wanting to stand in front of his colleagues, friends, and family to tell them that Roy Montgomery was a good man isn't stupid."
"But was he a good man, Castle?"
"He was flawed, but we all are. He made mistakes, but we all do." He sighs, the lines in his face deep. "But I got to see him as a husband and a father and a mentor to one of the most extraordinary people I've ever met and, yeah, I think he was a good man."
They're both quiet while she absorbs his certainty. Then her thoughts drift elsewhere, and the tears that had finally dried begin to fall again, skipping across her temples to land wet against her ears. "I'm so sorry, Castle. I'm so sorry. I don't want us to be over."
His words are rough with emotion, and he shakes his head. "We're not over. We never were. I've been right here, just waiting for you to see that I'm more than a partner."
"I think I saw it a long time ago," she whispers. "Accepting it has been a lot harder."
The exchange doesn't solve all their problems, but it's not about them right now, so she lets the rest go, closing her eyes for several seconds and gathering the strength for the last thing she needs to say; he pulls her hands into his while he waits her out.
Finally, she blinks up at him. "When I give the eulogy, would you consider-I mean, I'd really like it if you could be by my side."
It takes him so long to answer, and she's about to take back the request, insist that she'll be fine, but he clears his throat and murmurs, "I will always stand with you."
The morning of Montgomery's funeral, Castle arrives at her apartment, solemnly striking in all black. She'd considered asking her father to escort her to the cemetery, but ultimately she'd decided she would need to keep her focus on her other family, reminders of everything else she's lost a threat to the stability she's summoned for the day.
She lets him in, her hand full of the bobby pins she'll use to pull her hair back, the waves still unruly around her shoulders. "Sorry, I just need to do something with this mess."
"Let me."
There's a slight question in his tone, so she nods and passes the pins to him, wordlessly walking to a chair and knowing he'll follow. She relaxes when he gathers her hair, his practiced touch a comfort she hadn't expected. "Anything in particular?"
She gestures toward the dress cap resting on the coffee table. "I'll be wearing that, so something out of the way."
Little else is said once he's fastened her hair into a low bun, and they move in harmony to grab anything they might need before they leave. He stops her momentarily when they reach the front door, tipping his forehead toward hers and grounding her with the gentle squeeze of her hand and blue eyes that promise her they'll be okay.
As planned, they meet up with Ryan and Esposito before the service starts, their team as whole as they can be without the man who has led them for so long, and the boys stay close until it's time to proceed. The memorial is as beautiful as they could have hoped, the blue skies blessing them with a brightness they struggle to feel, and when it's time for her to take the flower-covered podium, she's ready to stand strong as she speaks for the dead.
Her memories of Roy Montgomery are fierce, and they keep her voice from wavering as she talks of choices and mistakes, victories and battles. She looks over the crowd and tells them of the things she learned from her captain, then turns her attention to Castle, overwhelmed with gratitude; her partner was a gift from a man who knew what she needed years before she was willing to admit it.
So little is clear to her after that.
The pain is both sharp and blunted, and she feels a chill before she's blanketed with warmth. She hears her name, the single syllable cutting repeatedly through the chaos that buzzes within her head, but chokes when she tries to find words herself. And she feels his presence more than she can see anything at all, the sunlight obscuring him in darkness above her.
He's pleading with her to stay with him and it's all she wants, the chance to do this right, but she's so scared that she's going to fail him one last time.
And she can't let that happen. Not when his words linger after the rest of the noise has gone.
"Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate."