Author's Note: This was another hard chapter to write because Kate and Castle still have more talking to do.
Nothing Lost
Chapter 24
The kiss was soft, tender—and brief. Kate didn't quite have the strength to hold herself up for long, not even the small distance to kiss him, and the kiss perforce ended when she had to fall back against the bed. But Castle followed, almost chasing her lips as he bent to brush his lips against hers once and then again, for good measure. She opened her eyes as Castle slowly drew back, reaching up to curl his fingers around her hand resting on his cheek, replacing one caress with another. She thought absurdly, irrationally, that maybe kisses could heal certain kinds of wounds. And even for the physical wounds they could not heal, it was at least an effective distraction from the pain.
"There, see. That's better. You look more cheerful already," he told her quietly. So did he, his eyes a bright blue, his lips curved. He looked more like his usual self, the lightheartedness she always associated with him restored, at least mostly. The change, the contrast, sent a sharp pang through her chest, her heart twisting at the memory of how he'd looked earlier, the devastation darkening his eyes and etching lines into his face, making him for the first time in his memory look his actual age and then some. She never wanted to see him look like that again.
She suddenly thought of Jordan Shaw with a renewed rush of gratitude. Before, her gratitude had been somewhat grudging; she could appreciate that Jordan was helping but it had been hard to feel very warmly towards someone who'd pushed her into such a betrayal of her own neediness, her weakness. Using Castle for his strength and his support much more than she already had been.
But she also acknowledged that if Jordan hadn't visited, hadn't provided the reassurance that the FBI would be stepping in to protect her and those associated with her mom's case, Montgomery's past—which included Castle now—she wasn't sure what she would have done. Hurting Castle, seeing the pain in his expression, had been almost more than she could bear. One of the reasons she'd tried to avoid looking at him was because she honestly wasn't sure she could have forced herself to do what she'd thought she had to do if she saw the depths of his hurt. But no matter how hard it would have been, she absolutely could not have compromised Castle's safety, his very life. She would have needed to persist, no matter what Castle said. But thanks to Jordan's promise, her deepest fear that being with her would put Castle's life in danger, had been mostly assuaged, leaving her only with the fear that she could not be good enough for Castle now, that she would only be taking advantage of his kindness, his heart.
But for once in Kate's life, she thought she'd encountered a will power equal to her own so she wasn't sure she would have been able to win out over him, at least not when she was forcing herself to do what she didn't want to do. He had come back, even after she'd so brutally sent him away, had come back and fought her, fought for their relationship. No one had ever really challenged her like that, gone toe to toe with her. It made her like him more, strange as it might seem. It hadn't really occurred to her before but she realized Castle might have a strength of will, a stubbornness, that was a match to her own. Although come to think of it, maybe she should have realized it because whatever else, Castle had never shown signs of being intimidated by her. He might be easygoing and kind but he wasn't weak, nor was he naive. It was reassuring somehow.
She'd never heard him sound so bitter about his wealth and his fame and it had never occurred to her to consider what his experience with wealth and fame had been like. When she thought of Castle's wealth and celebrity status, it was through the lens of her own insecurity, to wonder if she could be enough. She hadn't really considered the downside to Castle's fortune, until now.
But she was cynical enough to guess at the sycophancy and general insincerity Castle would have encountered. She thought about the silly woman who'd called him the white whale, not knowing anything about Castle except for his looks, his money, and his playboy reputation. Those women asking him to sign their chests—Castle was too smart not to realize how shallow their interest in him was. She pictured the celebrity playboy she'd seen at his book launch party years ago and this time saw it for what it was, a defense mechanism, a shield to keep people at a distance. Meaningless sex was one thing but she knew Castle well enough to know he'd have kept those women far away from Alexis, his family, to say nothing of his heart.
Castle deserved better than some woman who would never be able to see past his wealth and fame or who wouldn't really care even if she could see past all that. And Kate had seen enough of the world to know that disinterested friendship was hard to find and maybe even harder for the very rich and famous.
If what Castle wanted was someone real, someone who didn't care about his money or his fame—she could be that person for him. Oddly, or not so oddly, she had never really wondered why Castle liked her so much but now, it occurred to her that maybe, at a basic level, he liked her because she didn't care about his money or his fame. More, she understood that in his own way, Castle didn't trust much more easily than she did but somehow, Castle trusted her, not only with Alexis but with his heart.
And all she had done was hurt him, try to send him away. It was what she did, pushed people away. She wasn't sure she knew how to be in a real relationship.
"You're doing it again," he chided gently.
She blinked, focusing again on his so familiar, so dear face. "What?"
He smoothed a finger lightly over her forehead. "Frowning. What are you thinking about?"
You. The too-revealing answer stuck in her throat. The habit of reticence couldn't be easily reversed. "My recovery," she answered instead, not entirely untruthfully. "Are you really sure you can put up with me?"
"I'm sure."
"It's going to be hard. I'm not… a good patient," she warned him, not quite fluently. "I'll be irritable and snap at you and probably make you want to strangle me."
"Just because something is hard is not a reason to give up. You taught me that. And I hate to break it to you, Beckett, but I never thought you were an angel, all sweetness and light." A thread of teasing slipped into his tone. "In fact, I think you're the most maddening, frustrating, challenging person I've ever met."
She huffed something that was the beginnings of a watery laugh.
He touched a finger to her chin until she had to meet his eyes, his expression entirely sober, sincere. "You're also the most remarkable person I've ever met and I figured out a long time ago that you are worth any challenge."
She had to fight to hold back the stupid tears pricking at the back of her eyes. "You've never had to deal with me when I'm so helpless. If you thought I was maddening before…"
She broke off when he pressed a gentle finger to her lips, effectively stopping her words, a gesture that she was surprised didn't annoy her as it normally would have. "I'll make you a deal, Beckett. If I ever start to feel like you're asking for too much or somehow taking advantage of me, I'll tell you. And in return, you tell me when I'm hovering too much and you need some space."
A give and take. Could they really manage it, learn to navigate a new relationship even as she was recovering from such a serious injury? She wasn't sure how he could be so sure of her, of them. She didn't have that kind of confidence.
But even as she thought it, she remembered what her dad had said to her just over a week ago, when she'd been talking to him about Castle and her doubts about trying for a relationship with him. I just want to make sure that whatever you choose is about what you want, not what you're afraid of. Life is about taking chances sometimes to go after what you want and the rewards usually outweigh the risks.
She had decided to take the risk but here she was, afraid again. And she was afraid for the same reason, she suddenly realized. She'd been afraid of getting hurt, of becoming more vulnerable to Castle than she already was—ultimately, she'd been afraid of losing him. And her fears now that she wouldn't be enough for Castle were about the same thing, a fear of loss, that she would end up driving him away because of her neediness, her physical and yes, her emotional weakness.
She was so tired of being afraid, she thought. Tired of trying to deny what she wanted, to be with Castle.
She remembered a line she'd heard somewhere, that a life lived in fear is a life half-lived.
A life half-lived. And she had already nearly died—but she hadn't died. She'd survived. Survived a bullet to the chest—she managed the thought with only a small inward flinch—only to go on only half-alive?
No, she didn't want that. She wanted… Castle.
She had a flash of memory to the cemetery, lying on the grass with Castle's face looming over her. Her breath stuttered in her chest but for the first time, she wasn't focused on the memory of pain or of her own terror. She remembered instead her last coherent thought before fading out—that she didn't want to leave Castle.
She hadn't wanted to leave Castle. As if somehow, irrational as it might be, the thought of him had been an anchor, tethering her to life.
"Beckett." His voice tugged her back to the present. "I didn't think what I said was that complicated," he joked gently.
"No, it wasn't. It's a deal," she promised, a little shakily, but she meant it. "And I'm sorry for trying to push you away." Sorry for her own cowardice, sorry for hurting him. She would have to do better from now on, try harder to take down her wall and let him in.
"You already said that. Don't start getting predictable on me now, Beckett, after keeping me on my toes for so long," he teased.
She managed a wobbly little smile. "Well, I'd hate for you to get bored."
His lips tipped upward. "Bored, with you? Not likely," he scoffed. "You are a lot of things, Beckett, but boring isn't one of them."
"No, I'm maddening, challenging, and frustrating," she rallied. "Very flattering of you, Castle."
"If you want flattery, I can flatter you. 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'" he warbled, his tone and expression a parody of ardor. "'Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake…'"
She choked on a laugh. "Castle, stop."
He stopped, a real smile softening his expression, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It made you laugh so mission accomplished."
Oh, this man. She didn't think she'd ever known anyone who made her smile so easily and so often. And she could only silently promise herself and him that she would do her part to make him smile just as he did her. "You're good at that," she blurted out.
His lips curved into a smirk, humor filling his eyes. "At what, flattery?"
"No, at making me smile."
Ironically, her words made his smile fade. "Kate…" he breathed. And then he was abruptly surging forward to kiss her and she decided if that was the reward she got for her candor, she should make such admissions more often.
His kiss was still gentle and relatively brief and when she opened her eyes, her heart flipped at the expression on his face. Not quite a smile but he looked happy, the faint curve of his lips, the warmth and brightness of his eyes. This was what she wanted; she wanted to keep seeing him look like this.
His hand cupped her face, his thumb tenderly smoothing over the curve of her cheek. "It's okay, you know. We're going to get through this and we'll be okay. We're going to be great together."
She managed a smile. "Great, huh, you're sure about that?"
He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "We're already great at kissing, even in a hospital, hardly a romantic setting, so why not?"
Ridiculous man. A laugh bubbled out of her at this deliberate silliness. "Impeccable reasoning," she quipped dryly.
"I thought so," he smirked. Trying so hard to distract her from her lingering fears, lift her spirits.
But strangely enough, it seemed to be working, because she did feel more hopeful. Not because of his illogic but because of him. Castle, who had already seen her at her worst, after she'd set out to hurt him and push him away, but who had still come back and challenged her, refused to let her push him away. Their friendship, their relationship in a non-romantic sense, had already been through so many ups and downs, each of them hurting the other, but they were still here, together.
What was it he'd said, that she was a hard person to miss? So was he. She had tried to forget him, tried to stop thinking about him, tried to stop missing him—and failed. Failed abysmally, on every count. In a way that had never happened to her before.
Even after Will had left for Boston—she'd been hurt, yes, and she had missed him but she'd recovered, gotten over Will. In hindsight, she could even see that moving on after Will had not been as hard or taken as long as it perhaps should have, if she'd really cared about Will as much as she'd thought.
Castle was different. It shouldn't have been possible, really, to fall for a man after she'd kicked him out of her life but she had. Or maybe she'd been falling for him from the start and just never realized it, let alone admitted it, until after she'd kicked him out. But however it had happened, she already knew Castle was not a man who could easily be gotten over. She cared about him too much for that.
She had to do better, was determined to make this relationship work. Because she had a niggling sense—terrifying as the thought was—that if she couldn't make things work with Castle, she'd never be able to make things work with anyone, would never have the kind of relationship she wanted. She didn't know why or how she could be thinking like this so soon but something inside her was telling her that Castle might be it for her. (Oh god.)
He shifted, wriggling his shoulders a little, and she belatedly became aware that he had to be uncomfortable, bent over her as he stood by her bed. She should have thought of his discomfort sooner. She could tell him to sit down in the chair but that suddenly seemed too far away. If he was sitting down, he wouldn't be able to touch her.
"Castle, come here."
He raised his eyebrows a little. "I'm already next to you."
"No, I meant, come join me on the bed." She paused and grimaced. "But I think I'll need your help to scoot over first."
Instead, Castle straightened up, putting some more distance between them. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." She mustered a teasing smirk. "I didn't think I'd need to persuade you to get into bed with me."
His expression eased as he huffed a small laugh. "Well, if you're sure…"
"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't."
It took some slow, rather awkward maneuvering and Kate had to keep from betraying some twinges of pain as he gently helped her to shift over on the bed before he lowered the handrail on his side and cautiously perched on the edge.
It was something of a squeeze, their bodies ending up pressed together, closer than they'd ever really been, she thought, but it worked. Even better, it allowed her to lean against him as he slid a careful arm around her shoulders.
Mm, oh, this was definitely better, she thought rather fuzzily, feeling the tension in her body start to dissolve as she relaxed against him. She felt his breath against her temple and then his lips against her hair. Her hair that was in dire need of a wash, she reflected with an inward grimace, but Castle didn't appear to notice or care as he rested his cheek against her hair.
"You feel okay?"
She sensed rather than saw his smile. "I'm pretty sure I should be asking you that."
"You're comfortable enough?" He was the one perched somewhat precariously on the edge of the bed.
"I'm sharing a bed with you for the first time. I've never been better."
She felt a sharp twist of regret. "This isn't how I'd imagined sharing a bed with you."
"You're admitting you did imagine us in bed together?" he returned provokingly and she hadn't realized it was possible to hear a leer.
She huffed, trying (and failing) not to blush. "Shut up, Castle, you knew that already."
He laughed softly, pressing another kiss to her hair, and it was only then that she realized how neatly he'd distracted her from her regret, the burgeoning melancholy. So like him, still trying to keep her spirits up.
She turned her head to brush a kiss to the underside of his somewhat bristly chin, the only part of him she could reach at the moment, and then settled back against him, her head finding a little hollow of his shoulder.
And even though she certainly didn't plan it or want to do so, she found her eyelids growing heavy, lulled into drowsiness by the warmth of him against her, the security of his arm around her.
She was in the alley again. She'd seen it before, the scene playing out in her mind countless times over the years, the dark figure of a man running at her mom, the glint of a knife, her mom crumpling to the ground, the blade of the knife flashing again as the man stabbed her mom.
Kate could only watch, frozen and rooted to the ground, her scream of despair and rage and terror trapped in her throat.
But this time, there was another man, a dark shadow watching from the other end of the alley. He turned and she somehow saw his face—William Bracken—and then he had a rifle in his hand and she distantly heard the crack, felt the burning pain in her chest. She was falling again and then she was caught, trapped, being dragged away from her mom's still body. No! Please, no! She couldn't leave her mom there, to die alone!
"Kate! Kate, wake up!"
Kate jerked, dragging in a convulsive breath, as her eyes flew open and she gasped for air, distraught, disoriented. And saw Castle, his familiar worried face in the dimness of the room, became belatedly aware that he was the one holding her, his hand grasping her arm.
His other hand lifted to brush some wetness from her cheeks—oh, she'd been crying—before cupping her face. "Ssh, Kate, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here. It was just a dream..."
"Castle," she almost whimpered, sagging into him. He tightened his arm around her, his hand moving up and down over her shoulder and arm in slow, soothing movements. And gradually, her breathing and her heart rate, the insidious tremors shaking her, slowed, became calmer.
It was not the first, or the second—or the hundredth—time that she'd dreamed about her mother's murder, the imagined scene playing out in her mind, leaving her a sobbing, shaking wreck. What was different was seeing Bracken, knowing who had really been behind her mother's murder.
And Castle. Opening her eyes to see Castle, being able to curl into the solid, comforting warmth of him.
What was different was not being alone.
There had been a handful of times when she'd jerked awake from similar nightmares when she'd been with Will, the only one of the few boyfriends she'd had in the years since her mom's death with whom she'd shared a bed to sleep on a regular enough basis for her nightmares to intrude. But Will hadn't known, had never awoken. He hadn't been one for cuddling in sleep nor had she ever thought she would want to be cuddled either. No, when her nightmares had intruded, she'd retreated, curling up away from him or sometimes getting out of bed entirely for a glass of water—a convenient excuse—or to read or do some light yoga, anything to distract and calm herself. And she had always managed alone.
It was easier not being alone, she thought slowly, even reluctantly. She could not say she liked admitting it—she, who prided herself on being able to take care of herself, on being in control—but it was easier, better. Not having to hide, not having to fight alone. Because Castle was there, his touch, his scent, his voice, all serving to keep her grounded, the tangible reality of her current surroundings. Not alone, not in that dirty alley, not watching in helplessness as her mom was murdered, not dying.
He was talking, his quiet litany of soothing reassurances continuing in somewhat different vein as he went on. She'd never thought that his tendency to prattle could be comforting but right now, it was. And how did he know it was what she needed? "I think whoever first said New York is the city that never sleeps must have been in a hospital because the hospital definitely never sleeps, have you noticed? They pretend, dimming the lights in the rooms and all, but it's only a pretense. There's always staff and I swear I think the janitor's cleaning carts squeak louder at night too although I suppose I shouldn't comment since I almost yelled when Alexis was born, never mind that it was almost 4 in the morning…" And on he went with his patter, going on to talk about the hours he spent waiting for his baby girl to be born and how he first saw her and then moving on to the nights he spent trying to soothe a crying baby.
It was pleasant, calming, listening to his quiet, familiar voice, all the more so as his tone had softened in that way it always did when he talked about Alexis. She found her eyes closing and this time, the images in her mind weren't of death or violence but of Castle and a baby Alexis, images of life and love and family. And those were the images she took with her as she drifted to sleep.
Castle wasn't sure how long he went on talking. For once in his life, he thought he might have talked himself out, having lost the thread of his own patter some time ago as he rambled about Alexis, always his favorite subject and the one that first came to mind when he wanted to talk about something cheerful since she had always been the best part of his life. He'd always thought he could talk about his daughter for hours and while he didn't think it had actually been even one hour, he suspected he might be getting close to it.
His voice had lowered into a whisper, partly to save his own throat, and then slowed as he paused between sentences and waited, hardly daring to breathe himself as he listened to the quiet, regular sound of Beckett's breathing, felt the laxness of her body against his.
She was asleep. Again.
It occurred to him that of everything that had happened over these last few hours, all the amazing heights and devastating lows, the best and most miraculous thing might be the knowledge—the fact—that Kate Beckett trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms.
He hadn't felt so moved—as if he was suddenly as strong as Superman and simultaneously so tremulous in his emotion, so humbled and so awed, he hardly dared to breathe—since he'd first held a baby Alexis in his arms and realized this tiny, beautiful, helpless creature was his to care for and nurture and protect.
This was different of course because Kate was not helpless and it was not his job to take care of her but it was in its own way just as powerful, just as amazing.
He suspected that he was probably the first person Kate had allowed to comfort her after a nightmare in years, possibly not since her mom had died.
He considered Will Sorenson with an equanimity he'd never managed before—hard to feel jealous of Sorenson or of anyone else with Kate next to him as she was, her warm body curled up against his—but no, he would still guess that Kate would not have allowed Sorenson to comfort her. She wouldn't have wanted Sorenson to see her as being weak.
And Kate would view suffering from nightmares as a sign of weakness. She was a fighter, with all a fighter's strength and weaknesses, a reluctance to accept her own limitations. That drive, her determination to be the best, had made her the best cop in the city but like many virtues, it had a downside too, a reluctance to accept she might need help.
He'd never expected a relationship with Beckett would be easy, had he? It would simply have to be his mission, to somehow persuade her into realizing that needing help sometimes wasn't a sign of weakness. And to understand that she could trust him, lean on him, to prop her up when she needed it. He didn't even need to think to know that she would be there for him when he needed it.
She really did trust him, as Jim had said. More than that, she cared about him enough to try to protect him and he didn't think anyone aside from his mother and Alexis had ever wanted to protect him. But his mother and Alexis were his family and for the most part, he was the one who took care of them. Kate was not part of his family—not yet, a voice in his mind inserted-so the depths of her caring was different, meant more. It meant everything.
He looked down at her sleeping face. She looked peaceful right now, something like longing squeezing his heart at the sight.
She'd let him stay with her, had turned to him for comfort after a nightmare. She trusted him enough to sleep in his arms. It was a start.
He bent and brushed a kiss to her temple before he settled back more comfortably on the bed, allowing his own eyes to slip closed. For the first time in a week, he thought he could sleep in peace, free from his own recurring nightmares.
~To be continued…~
A/N 2: Early on, in the writing of this story, I estimated that it would end up being around 25 chapters long but I'm realizing just how terrible I am at guessing how long it will take to tell a story as this story is not that close to being finished. Um, oops? I can't thank everyone who's still reading this story enough. Every review is much appreciated.