We Won't Ever Give Up.
She hits the red button to undo her seatbelt, lets it slip back into place as Lanie reaches for her wrist across the backseat of detective Lee's cruiser. She freezes, turns to her best friend and nods, Lanie releasing her wrist at the silent confirmation that she'll stay. In the front seat, Gates and detective Lee check their guns, the click of weapons being loaded, the soft sound of metal rubbing against the fabric of the holsters on each hip. Even from where she sits, she can see the way that Gate's palm rests on the butt of the foreign weapon, Lee's spare piece.
Her team didn't bring their guns. Gates and the boys brought their badges, but they had to get through airline security quickly and easily, and cops or not, since 9/11, security was so strict—rightfully so—and they knew they would eventually bring the Chicago PD into their investigation, it just wasn't worth the time, the struggle. So, when they decided that their best chance was to raid the Harkins' estate, hoping that they were right, that Tyson hadn't moved on yet, Lee, Bangs and captain Morgan had all agreed to lend Espo, Ryan and Gates their spare guns, so everyone was armed.
Well, that was after she explained that, even though she really wanted to be there, to know what was happening when it was happening, there was no way she could be right there to raid the house with them. They asked if it was because she was compromised. She told them that had never stopped her before, reminding them that she investigated her mother's murder for years, extremely compromised, extremely invested and in a great amount of danger. No, she had said. I might be compromised, but that never stops me. This time, I'm...pregnant.
She remembers, as she hears the soft tap of the plastic of her seat belt hit the plastic, interior wall of the car, the sheer shock that had crossed the three men's faces, the way Lanie's eyes had fallen, her own filled with tears. The words, she hadn't spoken them since she told the boys and Gates back at Gates' house. The hours after that had been filled with investigation, looking into leads, and a sleepless, thought-consumed flight. She had thought about the baby, yeah, what would happen if things took a turn for the worse, if her child would have to grow up without a father, but saying it out loud—I'm pregnant—makes it so much more real.
Captain Morgan had rested his hand on her shoulder, the contact oddly soothing despite the fact that he was practically a total stranger—a total stranger who reminded her of the man that was like a second father figure to her, whose investment in his job reminds her of herself. She had looked up at him, wiped the tears from her cheeks with the side of her hand, and he had once again promised her that they would find him, they would find Castle. Again, she believed him.
She opens her eyes again, the rest of the memory nothing but a blur of passing around guns and coming up with a plan, she and Lanie watching from the sidelines as four detectives and two police captains prepared to find her fiance, all breaking protocol, all fighting for Castle. It was Gates, oddly, that turned to her. You're not staying here, are you, detective? I know you're pregnant, but I also know that this is tearing you apart, she had asked. Can I come? she had asked in return, Lanie cutting her off with a warning, the single syllable of her own name. I'll stay in the car. Just, please? If you find him, I want to see him as soon as possible. Gates and agreed, as had captain Morgan and then Lanie agreed to wait in the car with her.
And here she is, pulling her legs up onto the back seat of the car, burying her face into the foul smelling material of the seat, her eyes drifting closed to fight off any temptation as she hears the click of the opening doors, the rustling of feet on the ground as Lee and Gates exit the car. She wraps her arms around her knees, digs her nails into her skin through the thin material of her leggings, forces her lungs to take in a deep breath and exhale it just as slowly.
He could be right there, less than a mile away, sitting in the huge house that belongs to Kelly Nieman—correction: to Kayla Harkins—and all she can think about it the fact that he might be dead, buried somewhere on the large piece of land, his body lifeless on the floor of the building. He might be alive, right there, so close, and she has to sit here, and she'll do it willingly because he might be dead, and this baby, their baby, might be all she has left, but still. He could be alive. He could be right there. He could be so close. She could see him again, in only minutes. It's more overwhelming than she expected it to be.
"Kate?" Lanie speaks the single syllable of her name, a question this time, a hand reaching across the back seat to cradle her knee. It makes her eyes slip open again, her lip still pulled between her teeth, her gaze shy, tentative, embarrassed as she meets the questioning but supportive, dark brown eyes on her best friend. Her own hands slip into the pocket of her sweater, thumb digging into her palm as they meet in the middle, tears stinging behind her eyes as she fights them back.
It's so hard, staying behind like this, knowing that if he's alive, she won't be the first one to see him. And if he's dead...she doesn't want to think about that, but she hates that there's a possibility that he left without her being able to say goodbye, the cold and darkness consuming him. She hates that he could have been alone when he died, without her or Alexis or even Martha, alone with the man who killed him. But she refuses to think that he's dead, stays uncharacteristically optimistic. It's the only thing keeping her in her seat.
Her mind flashes back to the freezer, the air so cold around them that it created fog in the small room, his body cold, yet warm behind her, her love for him undeniable as she came so close to dying in his arms. Thank you, for being there, she had said, all alone with only him to hear it, her spoken thanks, words so true, holding so much, holding everything she wanted to say, but was too weak to do so. Always, he had answered, voice shaky from the cold, his grip around her tightening as much as it could. And she remembers the effort she put into telling him, right there, right then, dying in his embrace—I just want you to know how much I...—but the world had gone black two words, two syllables too soon.
But he promised her something that day, a promise they came too close to breaking too many times over the years, but they've kept it. Always. An unspoken I love you in every time they say it. Always. The exact word she was going to tell him when she stood in front of him at the altar, hands in his, tears in her eyes, her dreams finally coming true, her life finally good. Always. A promise that, if he is dead, if he did die alone, she failed to keep. 'Til death do us part.
She lets out a shaky breath, lets the final line of the traditional vows echo in her mind, off the walls of her skull, down to her heart, which stutters with them. 'Til death do us part. So close. They came so close to making that promise, words unspoken, but understood by the words in their handwritten vows. But what if? What if death did them part just a little too soon? A few hours later, had the accident never happened, they would have made that promise, a promise they've managed to keep despite having never made it before, a promise that he would be there for her and she would be there for him. Partners.
She doesn't even realize she started crying until the seat dips next to her, hand coming off her knee to wrap around her back, pulling her into an awkward embrace that reminds her of the way a mother holds their child. Oh how she wishes her mother could be here to hold her through this, her always so soft, wise and comforting words in her ear. She needs that, needs her. She needs him. Why is everyone she needs gone?
She tries to relax into Lanie, to let her best friend comfort her. Tears are rolling steadily down her cheeks, her throat aching from having cried so much in the past two days, her chest aching from that and so much more. Her mind keeps reminding her of one thing: she kept the promise they never got to make, possibly broke the one they spoke multiple times. Her body remains tense with that thought, her heart stuttering and skipping a beat in the worst of ways every single time her mind loops past the word never, a silent prayer from her soul that never is the wrong word. That it's just not yet.
She buries her face into the valley between her own two knees, feels Lanie retreat from behind her, a hand staying on her back, the awkward and somehow not at all soothing hug coming to an end. She once again collapses against the seat of the car, her hands fisting in the material of the sweater, pressing against her stomach, her only hope, her baby. And the tears just keep falling, the presence of Lanie's hand on her back fading to nothing—well, nothing she's aware of—as everything else just takes over.
This is the moment of truth. He could be in there, dead or alive. They could have been wrong, their search needing to be continued until they do find him, dead or alive. She could lose him. After bullets and bombs and freezers and ice cold water, she could lose him, always but a word that will forevermore echo in the back of her mind. Her baby could be left without a father. Alexis could be left without a father, Martha without a son. She could lose him. They could lose him, an integral part of their family, no matter how small, damaged and broken said family is, they could lose him, their family would be broken, left without one crucial, binding piece, one love that they all share, mother and daughter and almost-wife alike.
She fights to control herself, her emotions, doesn't want anyone but Lanie to see her like this—well, Castle's seen her like this before, but this is different, he's not here, this is about him—doesn't want people to know how weak and broken she really is. And her body jerks forward with a cough, her cries caught behind the lump in her throat, chocked out because the only other choice is to suffocate on them, to let them consume her until someone comes back with news, news that can potentially make this all worse...or all better.
She forces herself to take a deep breath, her chest and ribs aching and shaking as they stretch to accommodate it, her eyes drying, tears soaked up by the thin material of her leggings. She sniffles, exhales again, forces herself to not choke or cough or lose herself in her emotions again, to not let her thoughts and memories get the best of her. Her world might fall apart today, the one person that was always there for her might be gone. But he might be alive. They might still be a family, her and him and Alexis and Martha and her dad and this baby. He might be alive. Things might get better. They have to get better, because she's not sure she will be able to handle it if they get worse.
"Kate?" Lanie asks again, the hand on her back pulling away, falling to rest on her knee again. She looks back up, sees the worry that swirls in her friends eyes, the apprehension, the questions, the was bringing her the right decision? She doesn't have an answer, really, but she knows from the ache in her heart, the hole in it, and the conflicting parts of her mind that she would be breaking down at the Chicago PD's eighteenth precinct as much as she is here, in the back of detective Lee's car.
"I'm...okay," she manages, hoping that her eyes match her answer, that she doesn't look too pitiful and broken and at a loss for words that can even begin to describe the fear she's experiencing right now. Her knees are still pressed to her chest, her hands still locked between her thighs and her stomach, fingers intertwined with her own. Her fingers fill the gaps where his should be, and it almost makes her start crying again. Almost.
Lanie doesn't believe her. She sees it, the slight shake of her head, the no, your not, that she doesn't dare say out loud, but it's in the way her hand tightens around her knee, her eyes fall the the grey carpet of the car. And then she looks back up, gaze more sure, determined and filled with love, the love that is shared by their little precinct family, another family that will lose and integral part if he is gone. But he's not gone, she tells herself, tries to convince herself. She wishes she could.
"It will be okay, Kate," says the ME, her grip on her knee tightening again before loosening completely, her hand falling to the seat between them. "No matter what happens, it will be okay. We'll all be there for you, and you have your dad and Alexis and Martha. Kate, it will be okay." She's not sure if Lanie's trying to convince her or herself, or maybe both of them, but she nods slowly, her mind not quite made up. She remembers how hard it was being in DC without him, and he was always just a phone call away. If he dies, though...things can't be okay.
But she nods anyway, feels her heart ache as she does so because it might not be true. But it might be true, too. And, God, she hates not knowing if her life will fall apart around her, or if pieces will start falling back into place again. She hates not knowing what they'll find, not being able to see it first, to fight the battle alongside them, the battle for her fiance, for her life, for her love. She hates it, feeling so helpless, so weak and broken and alone. She's been alone before. She was fine before. But that was before she knew what it felt like to be loved unconditionally, to have him.
"It will be, Kate. I can't… It can't not be. It has to be. It will be," Lanie speaks again, and this time she's sure that her best friend is trying to convince the two of them. But she has a skeptical mind, a damaged heart, both combined turning her into a complete pessimist, her experience, everything she's seen and been through, it's all too much for her to just convince herself that it will be okay. If he's gone, it will never completely, truly be okay. No one—not even Lanie—will ever be able to convince her otherwise, no matter what.
She shakes her head no this time, buries her face into her knees and lets it consume her, the fear, for just a second before she pushes it back, swallows back the lump it leaves behind, blinks back the burn of tears in her eyes. The car falls silent, the sound of Lanie's steady breathing, hers unsteady, the only thing left. The anticipation is thick as she continues to shake her head no into the dark valley of her knees, the protective wall they put between her and the world, her and the day that could ruin her life. May 13th, 2014.
She forces that date back, the echo of it fading slowly as she shakes her head no again, tries to shake that thought away, tries to shake everything away. No, he can't be gone. No, she can't be alone. No, she can't do this alone. No, her baby can't grow up without a father. No, Alexis can't be left without a father. No, May 13th, 2014 can not go down on her calendar as the worst day of her life. No, they can't come back and tell her he's dead, he's gone. No, he can't be gone. No.
And just like that, her biggest fear comes true. A gunshot, loud in the silence of the secluded estate, sounds through everywhere. And like lightning, Lanie catches her wrist and she reaches for the car door.
No.
"Kate! You can't!" Lanie's voice is almost frantic, words spoken so quickly she can barely understand them, but she does. She just doesn't want to hear them, the door now open next to her, the cold country air swirling in the car, the frantic sounds of a fight filling the air. "You can't, Kate. You know that. Think about your baby. Think about your baby, Kate, how much you love them, how you need to protect them. Kate, you have to stay, you have to stay here!"
Tears fill her eyes instantly, no burning or stinging to blink away, no lump to swallow back. Her chest aches. Her heart breaks. And tears fall. She shakes her head again, almost violently, denying, but she's not in denial. He can't be gone. She gasps it out, barely audible, a mix of unintelligible vowels that she doubts Lanie can make sense of, but are like a mantra to her, a silent prayer, the deepest, most hopeful part of her soul clinging to the words as if her life depends on it. He can't be gone.
She digs her toes into the car floor, as if that will somehow anchor her in place. Her one hand is clenched around the handle on the car door, holding it half-closed but half-open, her instinct to run too strong to deny completely, and Lanie knows it. But her other hand has left the pocket of her sweater, slipped under it and her t-shirt to rest on her stomach, feeling the warmth of her skin, the very reason she has to stay also one of the biggest reasons she needs to find him.
But it keeps her in the car, her eyes drifting closed as she leans forwards, rests her head against the passenger seat, cries. Her hand stays on her stomach, presses into her skin, clings to the reminder that she has to stay here, she has to stay safe, for her baby. Their baby, who is depending on her, whose survival depends on her. She reminds herself, over and over again, the sentence on a loop in her head. She doesn't know what she'd do if something happened to her baby...because of her.
A shout, a man's shout, echoes through the forest, bounces off the trees and into the car, off the walls and she whimpers. Her tears quicken, her grip tightening on the door, fingers turning white from effort, the effort it takes her to stay in the car. Lanie's hand rests on her knee, squeezes as she tenses, as if Lanie thinks that that will make her stay in the car. But it won't. If anything will, it's the hand on her stomach, on her baby, the reminder of their love, the reminder that there is hope, the reminder that there is love.
Lanie's voice sounds at the same time as another round of frantic screaming. "Kate, you have to stay in the car. You have to stay. Do it for your baby. Your baby, Kate, stay here for your baby, for his baby." The words have her whimpering, her body curving forward even more, her hand pressing even harder against her stomach as she buries her face in her knees, nods quickly because she knows she has to stay, she knows she has to do this...for her baby.
"My baby. Our baby. For the baby," she mumbles to herself, hearing another round of shouting from the house, focussing on her words, repeating them over and over again, mumbling them against her legs, words muffled in the space between her mouth and her thighs. Her baby. Their baby. She has to do it. She has to stay. For their baby. That's what he'd want, no matter what, for her to stay safe and protect their child, and she will do anything to do exactly that. She will protect her child. She has to.
"Yes, Kate. The baby. Your baby, you and Castle," says Lanie, echoing her words, running a hand along her back, pressing the heel of her palm to the base of her spine, trying to relieve the tense pressure there. "You can do it. You can stay here. You will stay here," she continues, whispering it just loud enough for both of them to hear over her cries, for her to listen to despite the fact that she can hear their battle.
It's in shouts and screams and threats that bounce off the trees, echo through the vacant forest. It's in the sound of feet running on tile, of the doors that slammed open one after the other. She knows, knows they found something, someone. She can only hope it's him, her fiance, her Castle. And maybe Tyson, too, so this can all be over. That would be great, she decides, having Bracken and Tyson both be in jail, allowing their child to live a happy, peaceful life. That would be great. That would be perfect...as long as Castle is there, too. They need to find Castle.
"My baby. Our baby. For the baby," she repeats to herself, pressing her eye sockets against her knees in a vain attempt to stop her tears. Her chest aches, her ribs and heart and lungs. Her eyes burn from tears already shed, undoubtedly red and puffy, her cheeks stained from dried tears, the salty taste of them drifting into her mouth. She presses her feet down against the floor, continues to hold the the door as tightly as possible, rubs a circle into her own stomach to remind herself to stay.
And then another gunshot goes off, loud, too loud. It snaps something in her, cuts off her words, the echo of it so loud that she can no longer hear her silent mantra, the reminder of hope, the reminder of love. And Lanie can't hold her back this time, can't catch her wrist just in the nick of time. She swings the door fully open, relaxes her toes within her running shoes and runs, runs for her life, runs for her fiance, runs for hope, towards the house that has fallen quiet.
They parked far enough away as to not raise suspicion, the car just far enough for the run to seem never ending, for it to consume her, the fear of what she might find, of who she mind find...and in what condition. Her stomach churns and lurches and she barely manages to swallow back the acid that threatens to rise from her stomach, digs her fingers into her lower abdomen again and silently prays, prays that everything will be okay.
Her runs are clumsy, and she stumbles and trips over rocks and twigs that cover the messy, not at all cared for forest ground. Her tears blur her vision, her heart aching in her chest. It almost feels like the ground is breaking apart beneath her, behind her, like this is do or die and there is no going back. There is no going back. There is no going back. Whatever she finds, whatever they found, it's definitive. If he's dead, there's no more holding onto hope that he isn't. If he's alive… God, she hopes he's alive.
She trips over another branch, her body lurching forward, her knees landing on the ground with the rustle of leaves and the thud of her weight. Her stomach lurches with it, and she can't swallow back the burn of bile as she feels it in her throat. Her body lurches forward again, her stomach emptying itself onto the ground, her eyes squeezed shut as she continues to cry until her stomach calms, and she's left kneeling in the dirt, weak and sobbing into her palm, the flavor of her own vomit like a ghost in her mouth.
She manages, somehow, to gain enough strength to push herself back to her feet, her knees wobbly, her head spinning as she hears the sound of Espo's voice. Stay with me. Stay with me. Her stomach clenches again, so violently that she almost falls back to the ground with it, but she manages to run instead, her feet clumsy and uncoordinated beneath her as she runs, runs to his voice, to the silent prayer that Esposito says over and over again.
She comes to a dead halt when she sees the house, the image in front of her one that has her breath escaping her, her eyes filling with a new round of tears that she can't control, her chest jerking with a choked cough she can't hold back. Captain Morgan—the only one visible through the open front door—turns back towards her at the sound. He swallows thickly, motions for her to come closer because it's safe, the fight is done. Her fiance could be alive, or dead, or dying, and she can do nothing about it from over here...but she can't move, either. She's not sure she wants to know anymore.
Her nails dig into the skin of her stomach and she glances down at the ground, packed down dirt and dead leaves from years of being vacant, tree roots and branches poking out from beneath layers of earth, twined together. She swallows thickly, looks back up at captain Morgan, and nods slowly. The first step forward is slow, tentative, as if she's scared the ground in going to break underneath her. In a way, she is. The second one is faster, and then the third and the fourth until she's standing right by his side, glancing down at the scene in front of her.
The door to the house is open, allowing her to see into the house which was once a family's home, which is now a crime scene. Captain Morgan holds a flashlight in his hand, which lights up the destruction this all caused like a spotlight. She swallows thickly, feels tears well in her eyes all over again as she glances down at the ground, back into the house, and then up to meet a pair of eyes.
On the floor, splayed across the main floor and the steps that lead upstairs, lies one dead body, a gun sitting in a limp hand, a face pale from death, an angry red wound staining a chest. She swallows again, swallows back the emotion that wells within her, forms a lump in her throat, makes a single tear fall as she looks away. Inside the house, lies another body, being tended to by Ryan and Espo, a paling face hidden from her sight, but she can see the tenseness of muscles, of holding onto life. She remembers that, when the wound was in her chest instead of in this person's abdomen.
She looks back up, sees one final person, standing up straight, a gun clenched in their hand. She knows, from looking at it, that that gun fired one of the fatal bullets, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth, looks back at the body at the foot of the stairs, at the one whose blood is staining the old tile floor, and then up at the person that looks back at her. From her lips, slips the only word she can think to say.
"Castle?"
So, I know I like just updated this a couple days ago, but I figured I'd post one more chapter before the new season premieres. Anyway, enjoy that cliffhanger. :P