May 16, 2011 (8w5d)
He watched as she shut it down. It was amazing, really, how easily she could compartmentalise. How, with a simple flick of a switch, she could block out any and all emotion. Terrifying, but amazing.
Just moments ago she was frantic, searching his body for bullet wounds despite his assurance that he was fine. And seconds later, she was recounting the series of events that had led them to that moment to NYPD officers, as professionally as she would any other case.
But this wasn't any other case. This was personal. And now that she had turned it off, shut it down, he was more anxious than ever.
He had given his account of events, so now he was just waiting on her.
He wanted to take her home, let her rest, force her if he had to. But he knew it was futile. He could see that familiar fire in her eyes. She was on the hunt, she had Lockwood's scent and she wouldn't rest until this was over.
Once she was no longer needed at the courthouse, they left, not wanting to be there any longer than necessary. She walked with purpose, keeping a steady pace that he had to work to keep up with, until she came to a sudden halt just feet from her car.
She didn't say a word, just stared at the vehicle as if it had pulled a weapon on her.
"You okay, Kate?" he asked cautiously. He expected her to snap at him, to insist that she was fine, even though they both knew otherwise. But that never came.
"Can you drive?" she asked him, still staring at the car.
She dug the keys out of her pocket, holding them out for him. He took them without question. As soon as the keys were lifted from her hand, she turned on her heels and sprinted to the trash can they had passed on their way.
She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the can, leaning over it with clenched-shut eyes. She stayed there for a few minutes, taking deep, steady breaths.
"False alarm," she said as she stood upright again. "Sorry."
She placed a hand over her stomach, took a staggered step backward. He stepped closer, arms out ready to keep her steady if need be. She didn't look well at all: pale face, clammy forehead, glassy eyes.
"I'm taking you home." It wasn't a suggestion.
"Precinct," she muttered between measured breaths.
"It's late, there's no point."
"I-" Her thought was cut short by her phone ringing. She pulled it from her pocket, pressed the answer button and held it to her ear. "Hey."
He took several deep breaths to ease his frustration. She was going to run herself into the ground with this, wear herself out. She wasn't going to listen to reason. He had to make it clear that he wasn't giving her a choice.
"Yeah, okay. I'll see you soon." She hung up the phone, slipped it back into her pocket and looked up at him with calm eyes.
He cherished the sight, knowing it wouldn't last.
"You have a choice of the loft or your apartment," he stated. "But I'm not taking you to the precinct."
He expected anger, but she simply smiled.
"I'm fine now." She held out her hand. "I can drive."
The keys, she wanted her keys back.
"I'll drop you home," she said, moving her hand closer. "And then I'll go home."
"Who was on the phone?" he asked, mistrusting.
"My dad," she answered without missing a beat.
She was either telling him the truth or lying to him with such ease he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the truth.
"Castle?"
He ignored the niggling feeling in his gut, passing her the keys. He had no tangible reason to doubt her right now, and he wasn't about to let his fraught nerves derail this.
Kate understood Castle's reluctance to get out of the car quickly when she pulled up outside of his building: the speed with which everything went to hell today had shaken her, too.
She spent most of the drive home fighting off the memory of it all: the fear and the failure that she felt, the anger and sorrow that surrounded her, Castle's blood-soaked clothes.
Jim was already waiting by her front door by the time she got there. She had hoped for a quick moment to regain herself before seeing him, but the few seconds between the elevator and her front door would have to do.
She took a deep breath, plastered a smile to her face.
"Dad," she spoke softly, easing into the role she needed to play.
He turned on his heel to face her as she approached, matching her smile, but barely. "Hey Katie."
He lifted his arms, an invitation. She gratefully accepted. She stepped into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him, like she did as a child.
Reluctantly she pulled away, fished her keys from her pocket and unlocked the door. "Come on in."
Jim followed her inside, moving toward her living room as she stopped by the rack in the entryway to discard her jacket and boots.
"I'm sorry about this morning," she said, taking the few steps necessary to be by his side again. She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear as she continued. "I didn't mean to worry you."
"What had you so upset?" he asked, knowing she wouldn't have called him like that over nothing.
"I was momentarily overwhelmed," she explained. "I'm fine now."
He nodded, but he didn't believe that she was fine, not for a second. "Katie, what's been going on? And don't say nothing."
"Why don't you come sit down? Do you want a coffee?"
"No, thank you." His voice was stern. She knew he wasn't interested in anything she could offer to buy herself a little more time, he just wanted answers.
She watched him, watched his face as he fought off any hint of emotion. Stoic, as always.
Motioning with her hand, she invited him to sit. He lowered himself onto the chaise of the lounge, while she took position just two cushions away. Far enough to not feel crowded, but close enough to not feel uncomfortably distant.
"It's Mom's case," she started. She didn't like to bring it up unless she had something concrete, some new information she could offer him, some hope that they were closer to the answers they needed. And this... this wasn't it.
"You found something?"
"Not exactly. Raglan's shooter escaped custody after killing McCallister."
She knows that he has burned their names to memory, knows the story behind them. The men who covered up his wife's death. Once an avid believer in forgive and forget, she knew he struggled with the resentment he held for these men. But she also knew their deaths would bring him no comfort, no sense of justice.
His face portrayed all of that: the anger, the sorrow, the pain. It broke her heart to watch. All stoicism, gone.
"We are on it," she blurted, too uncomfortable in his silence. She smiled, trying to remain calm, remain positive. She didn't want to let on exactly how serious this was just yet. "We have a great team, and additional resources available, we're going to find him."
"You trying to assure me or yourself?" He forced a smile. He could always see right through her.
She reached out, placed her hand over his. "Everything is going to be fine."
He scoffed. "I don't think any part of you chasing after someone wily enough to plan a prison break is fine."
"It's my job," she reminded him. I do it every day. But even she knew this was different. "If it makes you feel any better, Castle has taken it upon himself to become my keeper. Constantly hovering... waiting..."
"I'd be a little more comforted if one of your detectives had taken on that role."
She smiled, let a small chuckle slip through her lips.
"Are the two of you serious?" he asked, reading between the lines.
"What do you mean?" she asked coyly.
He raised an eyebrow. "Rick is playing keeper and you're not fuming about it? Not pacing the room, planning the poor man's demise? It must be serious."
She nodded, but avoided his eyes. Yeah, you could say it was serious.
"What? Do you think I won't approve or something?"
She laughed. "No. I actually think you'd really like him."
"Then what is it? What's wrong?"
She contemplated her options. She didn't want to lie anymore. Not that she was lying, per se, simply omitting facts. But even part truths weren't a standard she wanted to be setting.
There was a chance he wouldn't ask too many questions, though. And allowing him to make his own assumptions, come to his own conclusions... well, she couldn't be blamed for that, could she?
She took a deep breath, readying herself for whatever would come next. She could do this.
"I'm pregnant."
Time seemed to freeze as he processed her words. Or maybe it was just the frenzy of her heart and her mind that made time seem frozen.
"Katie, that is wonderful news." He shuffled along the couch, closer to her, then pulled her against his side to hug her. He waited until she relaxed into his embrace, until she wrapped her arm around him too, before he continued. "Is it safe for you to be doing this, for you to be going after this guy?"
"Detectives work while pregnant all the time."
"They don't carry out personal vendettas."
"That's not what this is." She pulled herself from his side, shooting him an angry glance.
"Be honest with yourself," he all but pleaded with her. "Do you really believe that?"
She didn't. Not at all. And she hated that everyone seemed to see straight through the façade she had so carefully constructed. She would be fine, so long as everyone else just believed she would.
"Think of your future, the amazing things that are to come. Are you really okay with risking all of that?"
"What kind of future will it be with this looming over us?"
This: the constant threat of being a loose thread in the jacket of someone who liked to play God. A fact she was definitely going to keep from him. For now, part truths would have to be good enough.
But her father's words would stick with her, long after he had left. Are you really okay with risking all of that?
This future he spoke of, these amazing things, it all seemed like a distant dream to her. Like a possibility, not a reality. Maybe that's why it didn't seem like such a risk to her. Maybe she hadn't managed to pull herself from denial's dastardly grip just yet.
Or maybe she had. Maybe she was just too selfish, too focussed on defeating the demons of her past to be able to appreciate the future she had been blessed with.
In the silence and darkness of her apartment, she was all alone with those demons. The factors that had allowed her to push through the evening - one part adrenaline, two parts shock - had long worn off. The only thing swirling through her mind now were the memories. And they were all so clear.
The panic in Ryker's eyes, wide and glued to hers.
Lockwood standing over McCallister's bunk, surrendering. The job was done.
Castle's gentle touch against her wrist as he asked, "Is that a good idea?"
She couldn't breathe.
What's the worst that can happen?
The cops that weren't cops, the blast, the carnage.
Castle, covered in blood. The panic that had filled her when she, despite all logic, thought he was dying right there in front of her.
He was only there because of her... she could have gotten him killed.
She wouldn't let that happen again.
"And she just pulled herself together and got on with it." He sighed. "As if nothing had happened."
Castle had relayed a family appropriate version of the day's events over dinner. Not the conversation topic he had hoped for, but as soon as his mother and daughter saw him walk through the front door, dishevelled and covered in someone else's blood, they were relentless.
Even after finishing their meal, having cleaned up and moved to the lounge to unwind, they continued to grill him with questions. The team at the Twelfth would be proud of these ladies and their interrogation techniques.
He had long given up trying to dodge questions. He figured it would be easier - and much quicker - to just answer them as they came.
Now, sitting on the couch watching television, the next round of twenty-one questions was beginning.
"Is this guy..." Alexis huffed out a breath as she tried to polish her thought before speaking it. "Are you in danger?"
"I don't think so," he told her, truthfully. "Lockwood is cleaning up. I don't know anything worth killing for."
"But does he know that?" she asked. "What if they kill you just to be safe?"
"It's not really a clean-up job if you make more of a mess in the process," he retorted with a smile.
"Richard!" Martha scolded his attempt to lighten the severity of things.
"It's not funny, Dad. This isn't one of your stories. You don't get to write the ending."
"You're right, I'm sorry." He wasn't trying to be funny, wasn't trying to upset her.
He shuffled along the couch, scooting closer to her so that he could wrap his arm around her.
"Be careful," she whispered into his shoulder.
"I always am."
Seemingly content with his answers, the three of them settled in to watch a movie together. They were barely halfway through when there was a knock at the door.
"Are you expecting someone?" Martha asked, receiving two shaking heads in response.
"I'll get it." He gave Alexis a comforting squeeze, making sure she was alright before removing his arm from around her shoulders.
He moved to the door quickly, eager to see who their late-night visitor was. He wasn't prepared for the sight that awaited him on the other side.
He opened the door to find Kate there, tears staining her flushed cheeks.
"Kate?" His voice was barely audible, a broken whisper pained by the sight before him.
"I can't do this anymore." Her bottom lip trembled, the waver in her voice betraying her. Tears began to stream freely from her eyes, evidently not for the first time. "I'm losing control of everything. I just need a moment to breathe but I can't, it just won't stop."
He reached out, grabbed her hand, and pulled her against him as she allowed the sobs to escape from deep within her chest. Sobs so big he could feel her entire body trembling under their weight.
He kicked the door shut behind her, not willing to let her go for even a second.
He took a shaky breath, having to hold back his own tears. He just wanted to make the pain stop, make everything okay again, make her world stop crumbling. All he could do for her was hold her until she was able to stand on her own two feet again.
Eventually, she pulled away from him. Steadied her breathing, wiped her tears. Forcing herself to shut it down, again.
"I never should have gotten you involved in this, Castle," she whispered, searching his eyes. "I'm so sorry."
"Kate, I'm fine," he reasoned. But she had made up her mind.
"People died today, Castle. It could have been you. I thought you had been hit. You could have been hurt, or..." She closed her eyes, shook that thought from her mind. No, she wasn't ready to face just how horribly today could have gone. But the truth was right there in her throat, thick and depriving her of the oxygen she needed. "I can't lose you, too. I can't."
She took a moment, gathered herself again, she couldn't allow the emotions to overflow again. She had to be authoritative, clear in her orders.
"You can't come to the precinct anymore. You can't help. You're a writer, not a cop. You need to stay away, stay... safe."
"Kate," he began to argue, but she cut him off.
"No, Rick. Please." She wiped a stray tear, silently scolded herself for not being able to hold it together.
Her use of his first name was all he needed to know just how serious she was about this.
"We can talk about this in my office," he urged, gently pulling on her elbow, encouraging her to move with him as he started to step back.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Kate, come on." He smiled.
Surely, she was about to laugh, to tell him she was joking. Surely, she wasn't really pushing him away when she so obviously needed him most.
But he could see the fragility in her eyes, the strength it was taking to hold herself together. Strength she just didn't have to spare right now.
He tangled his fingers through hers, then turned to lead her to the office. He noticed Alexis and his mother had vanished from their seats in the lounge at some point, which he appreciated.
Once they were in the office, he closed the door behind them.
"I understand why you want me to step back," he started, dragging one armchair across the floor, as she sat in the other. Sitting knee-to-knee, hand-in-hand, he continued: "I get it, and I will if that's what you really want."
"I do," she spilled. "I love working with you, Castle. But I just- I really just can't do this anymore. I can't lose anyone else. I can't lose you."
She pulled her hands from where they were, enclosed in his, and gripped at the sleeves of his shirt. The maroon button-up he had changed into did nothing to rid her mind of the images she was desperate to forget.
"Okay, I'm done then." He placed his hands at her elbows, doing his best to steady her anxieties. His best to steady his. He knew she wouldn't like what he was about to say. "As soon as we get Lockwood."
Her eyes shot up from studying the hue of his shirt, to meet his. She shook her head, processing her confusion.
"No, Castle."
"You need me. You won't admit it, but you need me."
"I have Ryan and Espo," she argued. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You won't listen to them, you'll run right at this," he explained. "Let me help you with this, and then I'm done."
"And what if that's too late?" she whispered, her voice to weak with fear, and anger. "You don't understand."
"No, Kate, you don't understand. I can't trust you with this."
His words were sharp, like a knife penetrating deep into her flesh.
She stared at him, horror and disbelief staining her world view. I can't trust you with this.
She rose from the seat, pacing away from him. I can't trust you with this.
"This isn't just any case. Your judgement is clouded by your grief," he began to explain, heartbroken and remorseful, pacing after her. "You're blinded. And you don't know when to walk away."
She wanted to scream, to fight. To explain why she couldn't just walk away. But that would only further prove his point. He was right: she needed him. Needed him to tell her when enough was enough.
"He wants you dead, you're not gonna win this. Let me keep you alive long enough to get this son of a bitch. And then I'm done. I'll walk away."
She took a deep breath, nodded. To save them. Burying her face in her hands, she tried to push down the tears that were rising but failed. She really wasn't one for compromise, but for him, she would.
He stepped closer to her, wrapping his arms around her. Her body was tense, shaky as she cried.
"Stay," he whispered into her hair. "Please."
She could hear the sincerity in his voice, the desperation behind his request. He was just as terrified as she was, just as sorry, just as anguished, and too exhausted to fight anymore.
He freed an arm, weaving his hand between hers to reach her face. With a finger curled under her chin, he tilted her face up.
Reddened, tear-filled eyes looked up at him, lifeless.
"Come on," he whispered, scared she was too fragile for anything more than a delicate, hushed command.
He turned her, arm still wrapped securely around her body, and guided her through his bedroom and into the ensuite.
She looked at him, confused.
"Shower. I'll get you something to wear. It'll make you feel better." His water pressure could help ease the tension in her shoulders, the steam and water help her clear her thoughts. "Then, if you want to go home, I can drive you," he added, reluctantly.
She shook her head, no. "I'll stay," she said quietly.
A reassurance that he hadn't pushed too far tonight.
"I'll leave some clothes just outside the door." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and left, closing the door behind him.
As soon as he heard the water start up, he made his way out to the kitchen, where his mother and daughter had re-emerged.
"Is she okay?" Alexis asked.
He nodded. She wasn't, she obviously wasn't. But that wasn't Alexis's concern.
"Anyone have any objections to Kate staying tonight?" He asked them both, but the question was for Alexis's sake more than anything.
"Of course not." Martha was horrified by the idea of sending the poor woman back home in her current state.
He turned to Alexis. She shook her head, no objections.
"Thank you." He pressed a kiss to his daughter's forehead.
He grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and headed back to the bedroom.
After placing the bottles on the nightstands, he pulled clothes for her from his drawer and placed them by the bathroom door, as promised. Just as he did, the water stopped.
"Hey, Kate?" he called through the closed door.
She creaked the door open the slightest bit, her face poking through. "Yeah?"
He held up the clothes with a smile, passing them through to her.
"Thank you."
After several painfully slow minutes, she stepped out of his bathroom, shyly. His shirt hung loosely from her body, slipping off one shoulder slightly. She is beautiful, he thought.
She looked to the bed, to the water bottle on the nightstand, an identical set up on the other side.
"Is this okay?" he asked, unsure if he was too forward with the assumption that they could share a bed.
She smiled, nodding her head as she stepped toward him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest.
"It's perfect," she replied with a small smile.
Illuminated by the warm light of his bedside lamp, and safely wrapped in his arms, all the fear and the pain that had overwhelmed her faded into nothingness. Security replaced her fear, and while she knew the pain was likely lingering beneath the surface, waiting to be felt again, for now it was eased by the love she felt radiating from him.
Today could have been worse. They could both be dead. Or worse, she could have lost him and been forced to continue on without him, without ever feeling this love again.
She pulled away from his embrace, ever so slightly. Her hand framed his face, thumb brushed against the corner of his mouth.
She loved him more than she had been ready for, more than anything in this world and it pained her that saying the words felt like a curse. But even if she couldn't say it, she could show it.
Slowly, she pressed her lips to his. Gentle, reverential love.
He returned every ounce of emotion, claiming her lips with his own, with an urgency and need that they both understood. The need to feel alive, to feel love. The need to be one. The need to be closer than physically possible.
He gripped at her waist, pulling her body against his. Close just wasn't close enough and, before long, her nimble fingers were working at the buttons of his shirt.
Once the material was slipped back off his shoulders, he smoothed his hands under the loose fabric shirt that hung from her body, touching every inch of skin he could before lifting it over her head.
He claimed the newly exposed skin of her collar with his mouth, pressing long, ceremonial kisses along to the curve of her shoulder, his fingers delicately tracing the same path along the opposite side.
Kissing his way back to her lips, he wrapped his arm behind her, and lifted her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, as he carried her to the bed.
There was no stopping where this was headed, neither of them would even try.
