We Won't Ever Give Up.
"Castle," she whispers, "I don't know if I can do this." Her voice is lost in the hustle and bustle of the cemetery, in the large space of the grassy field, in the rustle of leaves in the trees. Her back is pressed to one of the trunks, her eyes locked on the blades of grass that poke up from the ground. Her feet kick against the ground, the toes of her shoes digging into the soft dirt at the surface.
"You can, Kate," he responds, "and you will." He stares at the top of her head, at the slight bump that's formed by the high ponytail that bounces at the back of her skull. He listens to the sound of her breathing and lets it drown out the leaves and the crowd and the vehicles and everything, making sure it stays at least somewhat steady.
She's dressed in her uniform, the one he rarely sees her wearing. The blue button down jacket looks thick and baggy over her small frame, the gold buttons that keep it shut dotting a line down her middle. The NYPD's logo is stitched into the fabric over her right shoulder, staring back at him the way it did at the last funeral they attended.
She's not wearing the hat, the one that goes with her uniform. The silver replica of her badge doesn't stare at the ground. Instead, he cradles the thick rim of it in the palm of his hand, holding the final piece of her outfit for her while she attempts to calm her nerves. He fidgets with it as he watches her, sees the memories flash across her face, and he's not sure what he can do to take them away.
"Castle," her voice is soft and broken, "I really don't think I can do this." Her one hand rests on her stomach, pressing into her flesh through layers of fabric. The other one was pressed between her breasts, between the hems of fabric that make up the sides of her jacket. Her fingers pluck gently at the puckered skin there, at the scar that has marked her skin since she last stood behind that podium.
He swallows back a sigh at the sight of her, looking so tiny and broken in the dark shadow of the tree. His hands ache to reach out to her and just hold her, tight against him until her breathing was even and the funeral was done. But he can't do that, because the funeral is about to start and she's a part of it. He's a part of it, too. And they can't stay under this tree, haunted by memories, now.
"Kate," he whispers back to her. His grip on the rim of her hat tightens. "You can do this. You are detective Kate Beckett, the badass detective who can do anything in three inch heels." He smiles at the barely-visible but there upturn of her lips. "You can do this, especially in those clunky boots." He taps the toe of her boot with his own.
She looks up, finally. "I don't think my footwear will change anything, Castle," she says. Her finger scratches at her scar through the fabric of her blouse, and she turns around, glancing at the crowd and the aisle that divides it and at the podium where she'll stand. She shudders, the shiver running up her spine, and turns back towards him. "All I can think about is that day, Rick."
He smiles sadly, not willing to admit that it's haunting him, too, as they stand behind this tree. He remembers the way her words had silenced the crowd, deep and meaningful and so very true. He remembers the flash of sunlight against Maddox's rifle, and the moment it dawned on him. He remembers the moment he realized he was too late, her blood staining his hands and the green grass beneath her, the life fading from her eyes as she laid beneath. He remembers telling her he loved her, for the first time of many.
But he can't tell her that. He can't tell her that every time he turns his head, he sees something from that day, or hears the screams of terror that had erupted with the gunshot. He can't tell her that looking at her in this uniform makes his mind flash back to to the stains of red that had tainted the white of her gloves, and the way they had ripped it open to apply pressure to her wound. He can't tell her that this, this place, scares his, too.
"I know," he tells her, instead. "I know, Kate. But that won't happen again." Finally, he reaches towards her and wraps the fingers of his free hand around the hand that pokes her scar, pulling it down so their joined fingers hang in the space between them. "You're safe. Bracken can't hurt you anymore. Nobody will hurt you." Her gaze meets his, hazel eyes wide with innocent fear.
"Promise?"
He smiles at her and squeezes her fingers. "I promise, Kate. I won't let anything happen to you," he tells her. His eyes fall to her stomach, where her hand is still pressed against her jacket, and then back up at her. His eyes lock on hers once again. "Either of you, Kate." He releases her hand and sets it above hers on her stomach. "You guys are safe."
She smiles and glances down at their hands before looking back up at him, smiling softly and nodding slowly, silently saying that she's ready. He smiles back at her. Her gaze is hesitant, still, as it falls to the hat in his hands. He looks down at it, too. He turns back to her and smiles reassuringly, bringing the hat up. She nods, again.
He glances back down at the hat in his hand, at the pieces of fabric expertly crafted together to create the hat that everyone affiliates with law enforcement these days. It's simple, really, but as much a staple of her career as the badge she brings to crime scenes. And as his thumb traces the numbers of the silver badge that will rest above her forehead, the numbers she's uttered effortlessly so many times, 41319, he finds himself smiling for no apparent reason.
"Castle?" she questions.
He looks up at her and smiles, the hand not holding the hat coming up to rest on her hairline. He follows the strands of her golden hair with the palm of his hand until his pinky comes into contact with the elastic that holds her ponytail in place. His fingers thread through the hair that hangs behind her neck, comb through the curls until they slip from her hair's soft embrace.
"I'm so proud of you, Kate," he whispers, making sure her eyes are locked on his so she can see how sincere the words truly are. He wants her to know that he is filled with absolute pride and love for her, right now, standing behind a tree at the cemetery.
She smiles, a silent thank you.
He stares at her for another, lingering moment, lost in the depths of hazel and brown and green that stare back at him, before shaking his head a silently remembering that there's a funeral about to start. His grip on the rim of her hat tightens for a second before he raises his hand and sets the hat on her head. It fits perfectly, and he tilts it back until the rim comes in contact with her hair elastic, the badge replica staring back at him, gleaming in the sun.
"You ready?" he asks.
She glances back around the tree, staring at the crowd and the podium all over again, before once again turning back to him. Her nod is slow and slightly uncertain, but he knows that it's all she can manage. They're as ready as they'll ever be.
He wraps his hand around the casket's handle, the varnished wood cold against his bare palm. In front of him, he sees Kate, twist her wrist to ensure her grip on the same piece of wood, her white glove creating less friction than his bare skin. Behind him, Karpowski is undoubtedly doing the same. Though he only looks at them briefly, he knows that Ryan, Esposito and Sullivan are doing the same thing on their side.
It reminds him of Montgomery's funeral, standing here waiting for the cue from a younger officer, holding their captain's casket in his palm. Kate standing in front of him, though she was still Beckett last time they stood in this very place, her fingers fidgeting at her right as she waits for their cue. He knows her better now, he knows that she's running through her speech as she waits.
The crowd in front of them is silent, the somber gathering reflected in the booming silence. It's made up of members of the NYPD and civilians alike, all gathered to honor a woman who lost her life while trying to save another, to honor a woman who risked her life for years in order to protect her city. They are silent, from the people in the back who read about Gates' death in the paper and wanted to show their appreciation, to the family who is grieving this loss above everyone else, sitting in front.
And he watches, silent behind Kate, in front of Karpowski, the casket handle wrapped in his hand, waiting for the pull from the ground that will soon be delivered. He watches, digging his toes into the soles of his shoes, digging his heels into the grass beneath them. He watches, taking in the silence, echoing the respect that everyone here has for a woman who fell just doing her job, who fell saving him.
A breath fills his chest, big and thick and it expands his rib cage against the restraints of his jacket. A twist of his wrist further secures his grip on the wood beneath his palm. He runs his tongue along the ridge of his teeth, feeling the bumps and valleys against the tip of it. Another breath fills him once again, in through his nose and out through his mouth in the form of a deep sigh with a meaning he can't quite deduce.
In front of the crowd, sitting in front of the podium, sit four people he barely recognizes. But he knows exactly who they are. Gates' husband sits among them, between the two daughters the lost captain brought into the world. Three children, two girls and boy, motherless and grieving, watching the crowd of people who appreciate their mother, admire their mother, as he watches them.
It pains him to know that a woman died, a mother died, in an attempt to save him. And though she succeeded in saving his life, she lost her own. Her family lost her, a loving husband and children who need her. A city lost her, a dedicated police captain who fights for justice no matter what. A woman lost her life fighting for him, and it pains his to watch the people who will miss her.
He tears his gaze away from them, and looks back at Kate, at his own family, at the reason he had to live. Her hand, the one not on the casket, is now on her stomach, and her back heaves with every breath. He winces at the sight, at the evidence that she is growing nervous again. But at the same time, her hand placement reminds him of the family that would miss him had he not survived.
Though he wishes Gates had lived, he's glad that he survived. He just wishes they had both made it.
His thoughts are broken by the officer standing to his right and the hand that lands on Kate's shoulder, the beginning of their silent cue. The officer nods slightly at Kate, and then she turns to Esposito, and they nod at each other. Her hand drops back to her side in the process, taking the strong, confident stance she's supposed to have. And the six of them like the casket from the ground in unison.
Their steps forward are even and steady. Steps of equal length bring them towards the front, towards the podium and Gates' family. An even rhythm has their feet hitting the ground in unison, and their arms swinging back and forth with each step they take. The crowd around them is silent, making their steps echo throughout the cemetery. He stares at the back of Kate's head, like he's supposed to.
Once they arrive at the front, all six of them freeze. They rotate slowly, evenly, until their standing perpendicular to the aisle. And together, they shift the casket so it in sitting in front of Gates' family for the crowd to see. The american flag that covers it symbolizes Gates patriotic actions, it's bright colors staring back at them in the sunlight.
Kate's hand hesitantly releases the wooden handle, and he follows her lead, releasing it, too. She takes a step forward, and he follows, a pace behind her until they split. She walks to the podium, and he takes his own spot a few feet away, silent. In front of them, Esposito carefully removes the flag, revealing the wooden surface of the casket. He folds it into a perfect, practiced triangle, and hands it over to Mr. Gates, for the family to keep. The man, as big and strong as he looks, breaks down for a moment.
It takes perhaps a minute for everyone to find their places, and for the cemetery to fall completely silent, once again. Behind the podium, he sees Kate's hands pressed to her stomach, hard and anxious and the muscles of her arms and legs are locked and quiver. His heart clenches, and he knows that this probably won't go over well. She's too nervous. She's panicking.
It remains silent for a moment too long, as everyone stares at her expectantly, and she fidgets behind the podium. His eyes meet Ryan's, and they exchange a nod.
"Captain Gates," begins Kate, and he watches her chest heave with a forced breath "was a determined woman, who defended her city, no matter the cost." She swallows thickly, the sound not caught by the microphone in front of her. "And because of that, we are gathered here today."
He watches her. She shakes slightly, sways on her feet. Her breath is coming in short pants and her hands are pressed so hard against her stomach that her arms are visibly quivering. The veins of her neck stick out angrily. She's panicking. She's truly panicking. And he wants to take her in his arms and promise her that everything is okay, but she wouldn't forgive him if he does that before it's absolutely necessary. So he waits.
"Captain Gates and I," she inhales deeply, "didn't always...get along. Now, I believe that it was because we were so similar." He smiles sadly. "She was brave and loyal, and it is because of her and the incredible team she has led," she forces another breath, and he sees her hand raise from her stomach before she presses it tightly against the other, forcing it to stay in place, "that I am... I am..." she gasps, "I can't."
The hand she was fighting with wins the battle, and she curls in on herself as it comes to press between her breasts. The gasps of the crowd are soft, but somewhat audible. He imagines that most of them know about her past, about the last time she stood behind that podium. From where he's standing, he can see the wetness begin to pour from her eyes, and the shake of her head that's violent and angry and scared.
He takes a couple quick steps towards her until he's standing right next to her, careful to make his presence soft and gentle and not at all like the way he tackled her that day. Across from him, Ryan walks slowly towards the podium, ready to take her place. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her against him, dragging her tense body back and away from the podium with slow steady steps.
"Come on, Kate. It's okay. I promise, it's okay," he whispers to her. He shakes her head against his chest as Ryan's apology, which he doubts she hears, fills the cemetery, drawing the attention back to the funeral in progress. He takes the opportunity to wrap his fingers around hers, and he carefully pulls her hands from her chest and stomach, pulling them towards him. "You're okay, Kate."
They're at the edge of the crowd now, and the funeral is resumed. He pulls her hands towards him and wraps them around his neck. She clings to him the moment he releases her fingers, and he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her against him as tightly as he possibly can. He buries his face in her hair, presses a kiss to her scalp, and holds her as she cries.
"No, Castle, no," she says, her voice an angry whisper against his chest. "I... The shooter. You're going to get shot. Don't. Just go." She holds him tight, her nails pressing against the skin of his neck, even as she begs him to leave, for his own safety. In her mind, he knows, she's back at that podium three years ago, about to get a bullet to the chest, pressed into the ground a moment too late.
"No, Kate, no. That was three years ago," he tells her, hoping he'll get through to her. "Right now, Kate, you're safe. I promise, you're safe. The man that shot you is dead. And the man who hired him, Kate, he's in jail. You put him there." He presses another kiss to the top of her head. "You're safe, Kate, honey. You and the baby, you guys are safe."
That gets her attention. She tenses against him, and then relaxes and looks up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "The baby?" she echoes. He nods. "Oh my God, Castle," she cries, burying her face in his chest once again. "I forgot. I... all I could think about was... was Montgomery's funeral...and the bullet...and you. I forgot. I forgot about our baby." Her tears soak through the shirt he's wearing as she sobs.
"Kate... Kate, it's okay," he whispers to her, holding her tight and pressing his nose to the top of her skull. "It's okay, honey. You had a PTSD attack. It's normal to forget things, Kate. It's okay." He presses his hands into her lower back. "You thought it was three years ago, and we didn't have a baby back then. Trust me, Kate, it's okay." His lips linger against her head. "If you're ready to go home, I have something that I think will help."
She nuzzles deeper into his chest and lets out a soft, deep breath. And then she looks up at him, her fingers still wrapped around his collar.
"But...Martha and Alexis," she whispers, turning back to the funeral that's still in progress.
He rubs a circle against the base of her spine. "They came separately, and they'll understand." His fingers travel up the curve of her spine, to linger between her shoulder blades. "Okay, Kate? I really think this will help you calm down." He raises his hand a little more and cups her jaw in his palm.
"What is it?" she asks.
"A surprise," he answers. "A good one. I promise."
He leads her into the loft silently. An arm wrapped around her waist, his hand holding hers as she slowly pushes open the door and walks in. He follows her without a word as she walks towards their bedroom. He doesn't bother closing the door, knowing their alone for at least another little while. That, and he doesn't really want to let her go, considering the breakdown she had not even an hour ago.
She takes a seat on their bed and he releases her, standing right in front of her in case she needs anything. With her toes, she slips off each of her shoes, and he reaches down to grab them, wordlessly placing them back in her closet. She pulls the hat off her head and sets it on the bed next to her. Her fingers slip the buttons of her jacket undone, and it tumbles onto the bed behind her. As she stands up, he reaches for it and sets it aside for dry cleaning.
She slips her belt off and sets it next to her hat before her fingers find the buttons of her deep blue shirt. He watches as she slips each one through its hole, letting the blouse fall to her sides with each one she releases. She undoes the buttons at each wrist and lets the sleeves slip down and over her hands. It falls to the ground in a messy pile, and he reaches down to scoop it up off the floor and sets it down next to her jacket.
Her hands find the button of her pants and she undoes it with a simple twist of her wrist. The pants, slightly too big for her, fall to the ground. She reaches down to pick them up herself, and he turns to her dresser to pull out a pair of sweatpants and a tanktop, knowing they won't be going out for the remainder of the day. He takes the pants of her uniform and hands her the new outfit, which she effortlessly slips on, sighing at the newfound comfort.
He takes her hand and leads her back to the living room. She follows wordlessly, the silence in the loft almost deafening. Her curiosity about his surprise vibrates in the air and he smiles, knowing that this will make her happy. She follows him to the couch and takes a seat when he motions to one of the cushions. Once he's sure she's comfortable, he heads back to their bedroom.
Her eyes are on him the minute he emerges, curious and anticipating. He smiles at her and holds out the bag he has in his hand, knowing she can't see its contents from where she sits. She frowns at him, the playfulness of the motion bringing a smile to his face. And knowing that she's okay, he can't deny her anything, and he holds out the bag for her to take. She does, immediately.
He takes a seat next to her as she reaches in and pulls the bag's contents out. In her hand, she holds a bottle of blue gel that he knows she recognizes immediately. Her eyes widen and she drops the bottle onto the couch cushion before reaching in to remove the second object from the confines of the bag. It's a small white device, cradled in her palm. She looks up at him, eyes wide.
He reaches over and takes the device from her hand. "It's a fetal doppler," he explains, "people use them to listen to their baby's heartbeat at home." He shrugs. "I know it can be a longshot this early. Trying to find the heartbeat abdominally, without any experience, but I looked up some tips online." She chuckles at that. "And I know that if we can hear the heartbeat, it will make you happy. I just don't want to scare you if I, as a non-medical-professional, can't find the baby."
She reaches over and rests her hand above this, the doppler cradled between their palms. "Why?" she asks, motioning with a tilt of her head to their hands.
"I saw how happy hearing the heartbeat at the doctor's office made you," he explains, "and I knew there was a risk of something like this happening, knowing about your PTSD. I figured that if we could listen to our baby's heartbeat here, at home, whenever you need it, it would be a great way to calm you down." He smiles at her. "So, Kate, what do you say? Are you willing to give it a try?"
She nod, smiling back at him. "Do I lay down?" she asks. He shrugs, and then nods, figuring that might be best. She places a throw cushion against the armrest and slowly lays down, wiggling against the couch until she comfortable. Without asking, she slips her fingers beneath the hem of her shirt and pulls it up until it's bunched up just below her breasts.
He smiles at the motion and reaches over to grab the pale blue bottle that sits on couch next to her. With the tips of his fingers, he pulls lightly on the hem of her pants so he can reach a little lower. She smiles at him from the end of the couch and nods as he tries to maintain the innocence of the moment. He pops the cap off the bottle and reaches over so the tip of it rests just below her navel.
She jumps as the gel comes in contact with her skin. "Geez, Castle, that's cold," she hisses. But she doesn't complain again as he traces random patterns with the blue gel across her lower abdomen. Instead, when he looks up at her, she's smiling.
He reaches over to grab the doppler, pressing the on button so it lights up. He silently congratulates himself for having remembered to charge it before today, as he pulls the probe from the clip that holds it in place and twirls the plastic cylinder in his fingers experimentally. He looks back up at her, holding the device between his fingers.
"You're sure that, if I can't find the heartbeat, you won't panic. Instead, you can just laugh at my incompetence with fetal dopplers. Okay?" he asks. She laughs and nods against the pillow behind her head. "Okay, you ready?" She nods again, her face instantly falling serious.
It takes him a moment to get any kind of reading on the screen. He stares at it intently, waiting for any kind of indication that he's close. When the screen suddenly flashes with numbers, he smiles to himself and begins to focus on her lower abdomen, slightly to the left of her navel. She smiles and squirms as though it tickles and she's trying to get away from the probe, but he knows she doesn't want him to stop.
Finally, the screen lights up with numbers, the digits that stare back at him only a few beats per minute away from the number the doctor told them was perfect. He smiles as he stares at it, the number that looks like it could mean anything, but is actually the evidence that their baby is alive and healthy and growing inside Kate.
It's only when she gently taps his arm that he realizes he should turn on the volume so they can hear. With the flip of switch, the familiar and perfect whoosh of their baby's heartbeat fills the otherwise silent living room. He watches her, sees the smile that instantly blooms across her face as she stares at the ceiling, simply taking in the sound.
Her muscles, which have remained tense since the funeral, loosen immediately, from her quads to her biceps to her abs. He smiles as he watches her sink into the cushions, her eyes drifting close and her lips poised in a perfect, happy smile. He rests the doppler down on the couch next to her side, careful to keep the probe in place, and reaches over and takes her hand.
"You hear that Kate?" he whispers. "That's our baby. That's our baby, Kate. The baby that you're taking care of, that you're growing. Kate," he brings her hand to his mouth and presses his lips to her skin, "you're growing a human being, and doing a kickass job at it. I knew you would."
She chuckles softly at his comment, her eyes opening so she's looking at him. "You think I do a kickass job at everything," she teases.
He shrugs. "You're mediocre at Just Dance," he says back, laughing with her until the steady sound of their baby's heartbeat drags them back to a more serious reality. "But this, Kate, you're amazing at this. And you're going to be the best mom in the world. You're gonna keep our baby safe from all the monsters. You already are." He presses another soft, lingering kiss to the back of her hand. "I love you."
"Love you, too," she whispers.
They fall silent, both taking in the soft, steady sound that fills them with a love so strong that no words can describe it. He watches her as her eyes fall closed again and her smile remains content, peaceful and proud. He stares at her stomach, knowing that their little baby rests just below his hand, safe and growing and perfectly healthy. He smiles, unable to do anything but stare.
"You tired?" he asks eventually, running the tip of his thumb along hers. She hums in response, nodding her head slightly. "Okay," he whispers, "then sleep."
She nods, but rests her free hand above the probe on her stomach. "Just don't..." she says, holding his hand in place. Her eyes open, just a sliver of hazel, and she squeezes his hand gently.
"I won't," he promises. And he doesn't, leaving it there until her head lolls to the side and her smile fades and her breathing is deep and even. She's asleep.
Slowly, he removes the probe from against her skin, resting the doppler on the coffee table. He squeezes her hand before releasing it, standing up and going to the bathroom to retrieve a towel. He wipes the gel off her stomach. She shifts slightly in her sleep, humming softly, and he smiles, setting the towel on the coffee table next to the doppler. And he watches her as she sleeps.
So, this chapter had me really nervous, so I hope you guys like it.