The Great Story

Bury me to seed me: bloom me
In loam me: grind me to meal me
Knead me to rise: raise me to your mouth

Rive me to river me:
End me to unmend me:
Rend me to render me:

-Philip Metres, 'Prayer'

X. Render

x

When Jim calls, Castle shifts on the couch and puts his finger in the book to mark his place. He studies her, watches the secret smile on her face as she greets her father, the way her head turns into the back of the couch.

After the initial small talk, in which Kate reassures Jim that they had an easy drive last weekend, and no she doesn't feel that bad, and yes she's relaxing on the couch, the conversation must turn serious. The crease in Kate's forehead, the press of her lips together, the way she avoids making eye contact with him, they all mean her father has some kind of news.

She murmurs into the phone, closing her eyes as if to concentrate.

It makes him burn with curiosity. He leans forward, forgetting his book entirely, but she pushes a foot into his thigh, shakes her head.

Castle makes himself scarce.

He knows she doesn't like dividing her attention, that she really hates it when he tries to have a conversation with whomever is on the phone, talking while she's talking. He touches her shoulder in passing and heads for the sunroom instead, figuring it's easier for him to stand up and move than it is her.

He reclines on the chaise and opens his book once more, ruminating on her father's call and what it might be about. Probably family news - Jim Beckett can be something of a gossip in that quiet, reserved way of his. He'll call to pass along information, as if, with Johanna gone, it's become his job to be that link between Kate and her mother's family.

Amusing, at least. She'll have a good story, and she'll be willing to share since he left her alone.

Bored? Yeah, he is, a little bit.

Castle rubs his thumb against the deckle edge of the book's pages, the feathery sensation against his skin. He fancies that the sun is warmer than it has been this week, March bringing so much rain and grey skies that the least hint of light makes the day seem abundant with spring.

"Rick?"

He leans forward, searching for her. "In here."

She appears down the long hallway and heads toward him, a wriggle of her fingers in appreciation. He leans back and waits on her arrival, and when she finally comes through the wide doorway, she lays her hand on the top of his head.

"Hey," she says, almost distractedly. Scratches his scalp.

Rick tilts his head back and glances up at her. She's staring out through the greenhouse windows, the golden light of sunset on her face.

"Kate?"

"Mm, my dad called."

"I figured as much."

She rouses, smiling down at him before she sits on the arm of the chaise. Her arm comes around his neck, her fingers making slow strokes at his shoulder, almost leaning into him. "Sofia took a job in Baltimore," she says, still staring out the window. "My cousin? She was leasing the apartment from me."

"She was - oh, yes. Sofia. Your Aunt Theresa's daughter, the so-called black sheep. Good for her; she needs to get out of her family's range-"

Kate tweaks his ear, laughing. "She does, you're right. This will be good for her."

It dawns on him suddenly, what it means. "Your old place. When is she moving?"

Kate nods slowly, her eyes coming back to meet his. "In two weeks. Actually, they want her in Baltimore by Monday, but she couldn't arrange the moving company until the weekend after."

"You're saying that in two weeks your apartment will be empty."

"Aunt Theresa made Dad call me and beg for Sofia to be let out of her lease, but it's not like we had anything on paper. She paid me, and the rent came out of my account automatically, so-"

"Whoa. Hey," he says, sitting up straighter. "All of your medical bills are coming out of your account. And you'll be paying rent now on top of that? Without paid leave? Kate-"

She presses her lips together, raises both eyebrows as if to say what can you do?

He leans in. "This is the ideal time to set up joint checking. Come on, Beckett. You can't-"

"Sure," she says, waving him off. "That's fine; it's a good time for it, since I don't have anything but disability coming in. I'll need it."

He nods, surprised that went down so smoothly, but it reminds him of his original point. "And the apartment." He slides his arm around her waist, tracing circles on her hip in the same way she's been on his shoulder. "It's empty. You want?"

"I do," she says, letting out a breath with a little laugh. "I was afraid you wouldn't."

"I think it's time," he says, tugging on her hip. "Sit with me. Talk to me. What are you thinking?"

She lets him slide her off the arm of the chair and right beside him, their hips squeezed together. She squirms to sit forward, glancing back at him. "I want - I don't know. More than this. Vacation has been great, but maybe this is our opportunity to step out."

"You ready to go back to the city? Back to the job?"

Kate gives him a long look. "Are you?"

"I'm not sure I'll go back to the PI gig," he admits.

"What about - with me?" she says softly. "At the Twelfth."

"You're the captain," he answers. "We already went through that. You'll have bureaucracy to deal with."

"Doesn't mean you can't consult on the interesting cases, show up with my coffee." She gives him a smile that looks shy and he can't fathom it.

"Of course I'll show up for the interesting ones. Even though you'll be trying to kick me out-"

"No." She rounds her shoulders forward, curling in. "And I'm sure Espo and Ryan would love to have you."

He shakes his head. The idea of riding out with her detectives, but not her, doesn't hold much appeal. "I might not quite be there yet." He likes that she's talking about captaincy as if it's matter of fact that's where she'll be. "Office, though? That sounds right up my alley."

"Are you really offering to help me do paperwork?"

He laughs. "I guess I am."

She bites her bottom lip, smiles so widely that it pulls out of her teeth. "I guess we have an apartment."

x

He has the nightmare. Wakes sweating and sick.

He has to leave the bed and rush through the dark rooms until he turn on the light in the kitchen and stare at the harsh lines of counter and bar and fridge until they make sense again. Until they're not the loft. Not the loft. The Hamptons.

Soon her apartment. But not the loft.

He breathes, feels his chest and lungs tightening, but he can still breathe. He's breathing.

It's just a nightmare. The lights are on, bright, and it should be fine.

But he keeps seeing her collapse, slow-motion, the horrendous awful collapse. Crawling, eyes dark and dizzy on his. The slick slide of her fingers in his, their blood, hanging onto her for life itself.

He won't be going back to sleep tonight.

x

Kate traces her fingers over the image on the screen, over and over, trying to make and unmake the lines that mean nothing and everything all at once. She doesn't know what she's seeing, but she knows what it means.

"Ms. Beckett?"

She presses her fingers to her lips, tamping down a smile. This smile is for no one else. "I need to call my husband. Can I - will you wait for him? So he can come on back."

The woman hesitates, a frown creasing her forehead if not her mouth. "I don't..."

"He dropped me off," she explains, scrambling for her phone, leaning as far out as she can to snag it from the chair. "He's just down the street." She has the phone, is already calling him, not sure she can breathe. "At the bookstore. He'll-" At his voice she straightens up, her eyes cutting to the monitor. "Rick."

"You done already? I thought it would take ages-"

"No, babe, not done at all," she says, her voice fluttering so that she sounds strange even to her own ears.

"What's wrong?" he asks immediately. "Hey, Kate, I'm just at the bookstore, I can be there in five-"

"I'm going to make them wait for you," she says quickly, touching the screen. "Because you have months yet. Months, Rick, but I want you here for every second."

"Are you - is it a panic attack?" he says in a low voice. She can hear him leave the book shop, the little bell over the door. "Is it a panic-"

"It may have started there," she grins. "But let's call it love instead."

"I don't understand. I'm almost there, but I don't know what you mean."

She lifts her chin to the woman. "Will you have him come back here? I want him to see this too."

The ultrasound technician gives a sour twist of her lips, but she presses the call button in the room. "Fine. I'll have the nurse get him."

From the phone, she can hear Castle hustling. Asking her to speak up, to talk to him. "I'm here," she says quickly. "We're here. And now you need to be here."

x

Rick Castle holds the ultrasound photo. His hand is trembling.

He has a picture of their baby in his hand. He has a picture of their baby in his hand.

"You were right," she says, nudging into him. "Put it up there, Rick."

He presses his free hand to the refrigerator, the cool surface grounding him. "I don't want to," he finds himself saying, the words unsticking from his throat. He turns to her, disbelief in every streak of light that hits his retinas. They're going to have a baby. "I don't want it to be here. It's - we're supposed to be home."

Her face falls.

"No, wait," he says, catching her wrist before she can turn away from him, shield herself. "Wait. I mean - I want to take this baby home."

"I don't know what that means." She touches his chest with a light hand, as if placating. "What does home even mean? I thought you said it was the two of us."

"I'm not saying it's not. But." He feels the sonogram in his fingers. "But don't you want to be home for this?"

Her shoulders relax; she steps into him. Presses her cheek to his. "Yes. Take us home, Rick."

He draws his arms around her, everything precious in the circle of his meager arms, both of them still a little broken, a little weak. They're going to have to house this baby, this family, with or without everything perfect.

But at least they can do it at home.

"A baby," he breathes. "From when? The bed and breakfast?"

She laughs, leaning hard into him. "No, seven weeks, Rick. That was-"

"Seven? No, but that was-"

"Yeah," she grins.

At least she's grinning. He feels bewildered. Really? The one time, the one time and it was so damn pathetic.

She pats his cheek, softly rubs her lips against his. "Panic attack sex, for the win. You were right. Really did help."

x