Between the lines of fear and blame, you begin to wonder why you came
-How to Save a Life, The Fray
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He's writing when she calls.
He's struggling now – after vowing to devote the day to Kate, he's having trouble transitioning back to Brianna. He likes Leonie Chase and her team, but he keeps finding himself slipping back towards Nikki Heat. It doesn't help that he's sent the team to New York, either.
It was always the same for her when she arrived to meet the body…
It was always the same for her when she arrived to meet the body…
It was always the same for her…
When his phone rings, he glances down to see who's calling.
And when his brain registers the face on the screen, he glances down again.
This isn't the first time since he left that she's called him. It isn't the first time that her face has appeared on the screen of his cell phone. And it isn't the first time that he's contemplated answering it.
But all the times before, he's calmly hit Ignore. He's let his anger make the decision for him.
Now, he's the one who sought her out, not the other way around. Now, he has no excuse.
So after a few rings, he picks up the phone and answers it.
"Beckett," he greets. "What's going on?"
But she doesn't reply.
He gives it a few seconds, and then asks again: "Beckett? Something wrong?"
Still no response. He's a bit concerned now – he doesn't think she'd call him and then not answer. She's not that childishly spiteful. "Kate?"
Nothing.
"Seriously, Kate. Answer me."
She doesn't.
"Kate!"
Silence.
So he hangs up and dials another number. As with Kate's number, he hasn't called this one in years – three years – but he remembers it as easily as if it were yesterday. He's barely lifted the phone to his ear when the person on the other end answers.
"Ryan."
"Ryan," he repeats.
There's a pause as the detective registers and recognizes the voice on the other end. Then, coldly, "Castle. Do you need something?"
"Help. Beckett's not answering her phone."
"She's probably home, getting some sleep. Because she hasn't been, you know."
He pauses. Sighs. Rises above. "Look, I know you're mad at me. It's be downright bizarre if you weren't. But this is serious."
"Maybe she doesn't want to talk to you. I wouldn't blame her."
"It's not that. She called me, but when I answered, she wasn't responding to anything I said."
Another pause. Because Ryan knows Beckett at least as well as Castle does, probably better, and he knows she wouldn't do that.
"I think something might be wrong," he says, rather unnecessarily.
"You may be right," Ryan agrees. "Where are you?"
"My loft. You?"
"On my way to the morgue. I'm going to head over to her apartment."
"What should I do?"
"Meet me – oh, my God…"
"Ryan, what is it?" He doesn't respond. "Ryan?"
"Castle, get down here. Now." He gives an address, a street, and hangs up.
So Castle shoves his phone into his pocket, closes his laptop, pulls on a pair of shoes and a coat, and hurries out the door.
Across the city, at the address he'd just given, Detective Kevin Ryan dials 9-1-1.
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It's worse.
It's worse than the worst case scenario. It's worse than he could've possibly imagined. It's worse than the nightmares that have plagued him since she made the choice to pursue her mother's killers at all costs.
It's worse because it's real.
The wreckage of what must have once been a bus lies on its side in the middle of the street. The metal is mangled, bent, and flames lick at the entirety of it. Anyone left inside the thing will not have survived.
But many lie on the street, having been thrown from the vehicle as… as what? As it burst into flames for no apparent reason? There is no other broken car – it was not a crash. So then what happened?
Some of the people on the ground, like a small elderly woman, appear to be dead. Others seem to only be badly burned. Two, a teenage boy and a woman in very professional attire, are awake, having suffered only minor injuries, and are trying to get up as doctors and paramedics swarm around them. There are three ambulances, and each is filling up quickly with broken bodies of helpless victims.
And the entire thing is surrounded by a ring of terrified yet fascinated observers. Random people, gathered together when they stopped what they were doing to get a glimpse of what was going on. All look horrified, but not one is making a move to leave, to run away from the scene of the tragedy. They all stand there in shocked silence, paralyzed, unable to do anything but stare.
Near the ambulances, he can see Kevin Ryan, pushing his way through pedestrians and paramedics, flashing his badge so they'll let him by. Castle can't see his face, but the way he moves radiates urgency.
So he pushes through the crowds – most of the people move aside, recognizing the panic of someone who knows someone who was in the accident – moving frantically towards Ryan until he can see what they're both running towards.
He knew it. He knew the second he arrived. He knew the second he heard Ryan's voice on the phone, instructing him to get there as quickly as possible. If he's honest with himself, he probably knew when Kate didn't respond to him over the phone.
It's her.
Lying on a stretcher, being carried towards the ambulance by two paramedics. Completely still, absolutely helpless. Her eyes gently closed, dark eyelashes brushing against her cheekbones. Were it not for the barely discernible rise and fall of her chest, he would think her dead.
Her clothes are burnt, completely black, looking almost like they'll disintegrate into ashes any second. Her hair is the same, only some of it, at least six inches on the bottom, has transformed to the fine gray powder. Her hair. Her gorgeous, long, dark golden-brown hair, kept exactly the way it was when he last saw her for three full years in the hopes that he'd return and recognize her as the same woman he left behind. Gone. Brutally hacked off by the all-consuming flames.
He's struck by the same thought that occurred to him five years ago when her apartment exploded – her alter ego's name, Nikki Heat, seems rather ironic now.
But her clothes and hair don't matter when he looks at the real her. Burned. The real burned her. Burns, burns, burns. Burns all over her body, on her hands and her arms and her legs and everywhere. Blood, too, oozing out of scratches and cuts and gashes and sliding across her skin, leaving pale red trails to mark where they've been. Everywhere but her face. Her face is bruised, but mysteriously unaffected by the fire that clearly licked at every other surface of her body. It's perfectly, pristine, screaming at him from the stretcher. Like whatever set that bus aflame deliberately left her face untouched, so he could recognize her, so he would not have the weak, faint hope that the woman lying there is not actually Kate Beckett. So that he would be sure that the woman he's loved for seven years – for if this day has proved anything, it's that he's still very much in love with her – is once again on the edge of death. So that he would know that once again death has come for her, and once again he was unable to do anything about it. So that he would be positive that it is she who, once again, lies sleeping as death drags her down. So that he would fear that this time she will not awake.
Her face untouched. Her eyes closed. He cannot even have the simple pleasure of staring into their hazel depths. If she does not survive this, he will never again know their beautiful shade of green.
He can almost feel the memory of it slipping away now.
"Kate!" He's not aware of planning to speak – her name escapes his lips of its own accord, as though by calling for her he thinks he can force her to wake up. But the only person who notices it is Ryan; he turns, looking back over his shoulder at the writer running at him.
Ryan, the small part of his brain which is still living in reality notes, has not aged a day. He looks just as he did when Castle left, though his eyes seem to have a little more wisdom behind them. The result of parenting a small child, or simply a side effect of watching Kate almost die again and again and again?
Sixteen times now. Sixteen.
Who is that lucky?
"Sir." It's not Ryan who speaks, but one of the paramedics, a tall, lean African-American woman with a shaved head. Of course it's not Ryan. Why would Ryan call him 'sir'? Ryan's pissed at him. As he should be. "You need to step back."
"I need to get through." Why is this woman so stupid? So blind? Can't she see the necessity on his face, in his eyes? Can't she tell that she must let him through? Can't she understand that if he can't get to her, his entire world will dissolve until all that's left is the wall behind him, the floor underneath him, and the bottle in his hand?
"We've got this under control," she assures him, but all he hears is lies, lies, lies. "You need to back away."
"Don't you understand?" he babbles, pointing frantically past her to Kate on a stretcher. "That's my –"
That's his what? His friend? She's so much more and so much less than that. His girlfriend? As much as he wishes it, she'd kill him if he said that, not to mention that it's not true. The love of his life? Very much true, but not exactly right.
His everything.
That's what she is. She's his everything.
But he doesn't think this woman is going to let him through to see his 'everything'.
"That's my partner," he says. Let her take that whatever way she wants.
The woman opens her mouth to respond – to tell him to leave again, judging by her expression – but she's interrupted by a male voice.
"Let him through."
And he's there, holding up his badge before she has a chance to ask him why she should do what he says. And, looking rather flustered, she steps aside, letting Castle through to join the detective.
Thank God.
Thank God for Ryan.
"What happened?" Castle demands.
"Why are you here?" Ryan demands right back.
And he stops. The sudden question, seeming to come out of the blue, stops him in his tracks. And then he starts walking again, because no matter what Ryan says, he has to get to Kate.
"I'm here because you told me to come," he replies. "And because she's hurt." Understatement of the century.
"I know why you're here," Ryan says. "I mean here, here. In the city. Here. Why'd you come back?"
And that floors him. Why did he come back?
Why is he here?
Maybe he's afraid if he steps away again, he'll lose her forever.
Maybe he's afraid to be without her.
Maybe he's finally realized that he was to blame for their harsh separation.
Maybe he's realized that both of them were.
Maybe, at long last, he's understood that if they are ever to move on, they both need to do their part.
Maybe he came back to do his.
Maybe he decided to start things off with a simple apology. And then his part will be done for the moment and it'll be her turn. And then he'll know if she really cares at all.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
"I needed to," is all he says.
"Okay," Ryan replies softly. Then, after a second, in a much stronger voice: "Get in the ambulance. Be with her. Esposito's on his way – we'll meet you at the hospital."
He's not going to fight him. Why would he?
"Alright."