It's been over four hours since Castle went into surgery and their group has filled nearly half of the waiting room.

Esposito and Ryan arrived shortly after Alexis and Martha, the two men remaining stoic, silent, and side by side for the entire evening. Jenny – the newest addition to their little family – came by during the second hour and sat close to Ryan, speaking to the glassy eyed detective with words of positivity and encouragement. Esposito and Lanie were different. Esposito didn't need nor want words or reassurance; the presence of Lanie in the seat beside him seemed to be enough to keep him calm, anchored.

Kate keeps to herself. Martha and Alexis sit alongside her, talking amongst each other, but Beckett can't will herself to offer any phrases of reassurance that wouldn't make a difference. Instead, she lets her head hang, her fingers knotted together tightly between her knees and her gaze drilling holes into her knuckles, her focus on making the air go in and out of her lungs without faltering along the way.

"Family of Richard Castle?"

Practically the entire waiting room rises to stand, but only Martha and Alexis step forward, Alexis tugging a hesitant Kate along by the wrist when Beckett attempts to sit back down.

"Evening, I'm Doctor Kritsky," the man introduces himself with a tired but genuine smile as he summons them forward, a good sign. He wouldn't smile with anything but sympathy if Castle were dead. "Can I get your names and relations to the patient please?"

Martha is the first to speak, waving a hand over herself in introduction. "I'm Martha Rodgers, Richard's mother. This is his daughter, Alexis, and this is Kate."

The doctor pauses for a moment to look up from the clipboard in his hands at Kate. She already knows what's coming and is prepared to shuffle back to her seat when Alexis chimes in, effortlessly erasing the doctor's apparent doubt.

"Kate's my dad's girlfriend. She lives with us."

She forces her eyes to refrain from widening at the lie, how Alexis executes it with such doe-eyed innocence and ease, making it practically impossible to refute. Kritsky appraises her skeptically for a moment before deciding to move on.

"The bullet Mr. Castle took to the chest nearly nicked his left aorta," Kritsky informs them.

Kate digs her fingernails into her palms. His aorta. A blood vessel in his heart, his - he has a beautiful heart… oh god, did they fix his heart?

"It was close, but his heart was ultimately missed, spared from the worst of the damage, and we were able to remove the bullet and get the bleeding under control with little issue," Kritsky explains in a soft voice that does little to quell the riot of nerves in Kate's stomach, swirling through her system in an effort to dizzy her. "He did endure some chest trauma, some hemorrhaging," the doctor continues, the sympathetic smile she feared making an appearance with the details. "We had to insert a chest tube, but we won't have to keep it in too much longer. I expect him to make a full recovery with time."

"Oh, thank god," Martha breathes, clutching Kate's arm.

"He won't be awake for a while, he's still under the anesthetic and heavy pain medication, but you are allowed to see him, if you'd like."

Alexis nods immediately and begins pulling both Kate and her grandmother forward when Kritsky raises a hand.

"Only two at a time, please. Sorry, hospital regulations," he informs them with an apologetic frown that Kate isn't sure she buys. But she does instantly step back from their trio and forces an encouraging smile for the two redheads who look far too torn for her liking.

"Go, I can wait," she assures them, already backpedaling to her seat while Martha and Alexis both linger even though she can tell they're both itching to see him. "Go."

Martha nods at her in thanks and follows the doctor's lead, but Alexis pauses, a split second of indecision before she's jogging back to Kate. A jolt of surprise shudders through her chest as Alexis winds her arms around Beckett's neck.

"Thanks, Kate," she whispers, giving her only a moment to return the embrace before sprinting off to follow her grandmother and the doctor to her dad's room.

Beckett ignores the multitude of gazes she can feel resting so heavily on her back, too afraid to see what their eyes may hold, and shuffles back to her seat with her eyes low. Her body aches, the headache that formed between her brows spreading to encompass the entirety of her skull. She just wants to go back to this morning, cooking breakfast in his loft, feeling for a split second like she belonged before she banished the ridiculous thought.

She doesn't want to analyze her relationship with Castle, to dwell on what it could have done to her if he wouldn't have pulled through this. She does reluctantly entertain the idea that someday soon, exploring that relationship may be worth giving a chance. Especially when her heart already began mourning 'what could have been' a mere hour ago.

Beckett releases a heavy exhale and closes her eyes, pushing the overflow of thoughts from her throbbing brain and placing all of her concentration on resuming the difficult exercise of breathing properly while she waits.


"Beckett. Hey, sweetie, wake up."

Kate jerks, hisses when she knocks her elbow into the arm of the chair. She cuts her sleep-glazed eyes up to see Lanie hovering over her, Alexis and Martha standing beside her best friend. As Kate's vision clears, she notices the misty quality to the older woman's eyes, the red tinge to the tip of her nose.

"You can go see Richard now if you'd like. He's in room 217," Martha pipes up.

Alexis is hiding behind the curtain of her hair, but Kate imagines her features likely match her grandmother's.

Beckett takes a deep breath and rises from the seat, her legs tingling with numbness as she stands while Lanie brushes a hand down her arm to steady her.

"You don't want company?" she asks quietly, more of an assumption than a question, and Kate shakes her head.

"No," she rasps, clearing her throat, but it makes no difference, still feels dry and raw. "Thanks, Lanie."

The M.E nods and Kate spares one last glance to his mother and daughter before forcing her feet to carry her down the hallway.

She scans the plates of numbers beside the doors to each room until she finds his, but she hesitates when her hand touches the silver handle - not sure if she can endure the sight of him like this and what it will do to her. She knew that it would be bad, that he would look pale and ghostly and the opposite of everything she's grown used to, that the picture of him in that hospital bed will likely haunt her every time she closes her eyes, but she can't not see him. She has to know he's alive, that he's still breathing.

Kate pushes the door open and pauses when her eyes finally land on him, just like she knew she would. It scares her, how deep in disrepair her heart has fallen over the last few hours. He's going to be okay, he's going to make it, but she can't shake the feeling of almost. Almost losing him, almost watching the life slip away, almost having her chance for something she's never even had the opportunity to know - something she never even knew she wanted - stolen.

Beckett grits her teeth and swallows down the panic. She closes the door behind her with a soft click, taking the soundless steps towards him until she's at his bedside, close enough to touch.

Tubes, wires, and hospital machinery surround him like an intricate web of protection, the soundtrack of the heart monitor's ominous beeping causing her own heart to trip nervously, but it provides the vital proof she sought. He is still here; his almost broken heart is still beating steadily.

They've already removed the ventilator and she's grateful for it, unsure if she could have handled the sight of a tube down his throat. He does have two pieces of plastic inserted into his nostrils, the slim tubes of oxygen roping along his slack face; it causes him to appear even more frail and fragile than he actually is.

It feels ridiculous that she's able to look at dead bodies for a living and hardly flinch, yet the sight of Richard Castle in a hospital bed with clear prongs providing him air has her rattled.

Kate inches closer and gingerly grazes her index finger over the top of his hand, following the rivers of veins, avoiding the taped IV line, and noting the pale, waxy quality his skin now carries.

This was never supposed to happen. Not to him.

Beckett averts her eyes to the ceiling, wills the sting of tears away. She hasn't cried and she won't, there's no reason to-

"I'm sorry, Castle," she murmurs, the burn in her eyes overpowering, a single tear leaking free. She allows it to fall, lets a few others join it, just for a second. She just needs a second to let the fear, the relief, and the self-loathing spread from the repressed space in her chest.

She bites her lip, wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand before letting it drift towards his cheek. Her fingertips shake as they dust the paper thin skin beneath his eye, trailing along the contours of his bone structure to touch his jaw.

He feels so cold.

Kate withdraws her hand and glances to the chair at his bedside. It reminds her of the chair he keeps at her desk, where he sits loyally on daily basis.

She takes a seat.