Reawakening
Disclaimer: I still don't own it, and they're way more evil than me
AN: Call this a spec-fic destined to be an AU in a matter of hours. A 7x15 reunion. Warning: As with most things connected to 3XK, this may be a bit unsettling at times.
For alwayswritewithcoffee who said it was worth posting. And CB, because if you can accidentally dial someone and then talk until 1 AM, you have the best bestie ever.
He pounds the shit out of the man. Tyson, or who ever the hell this bastard is claiming he is this week. It doesn't matter. He hits him again and again. Wants to break and crush him, destroy him the way that the killer and his lover had done to his wife.
They had taken everything from him. His wife. His partner. His joy. Kate. They killed her for spite. And he is more than willing to return the favor. And so he keeps going. Pounding away.
The back of his mind registers the fact that he has been here before. Lockwood. He'd taken a shot at Kate, had her in his sights, and so he had acted - reacted, really - hitting and hitting until -
"Castle, stop. Stop."
He can hear her, just as he did then, can even swear that he could feel the touch of her hand on his arm, pulling him back.
"Rick, please. Please stop. Don't stoop to his level. This isn't you."
He pauses, blinks back tears. It figures that in the end she would be his better angel. His voice of reason. But they took her from him, and he can't just let that go. He can't.
But her fingers dig in, steady, warm pressure. "It's over, Castle. Let it be over."
How can he do that? Because if this is over, then she is just gone, and he can't just accept that.
"It's all right, Castle. Let him be. Just come here with me. Look at me, babe. It's okay."
It will never be okay without her, he knows that. Not like this, because of him. That can't be made right. But...oh he wants what she offering, to see her, be with her, even if it is the last time. He is just needs to be with Kate.
So he turns, slowly. Toward her voice and her insistent phantom touch.
In the midst of all the darkness, the violence and death, she smiles for him. Warm and beatiful, and he loves her so much that it tears at him. How damn near perfect she looks. Careworn and tired, but healthy and whole enough that he can almost forget what they did to her, how much she must have suffered before it was all over.
Something in the sight is off, though. Something his traumatized mind can't quite touch. Like her. He is afraid to touch her, afraid she'll evaporate beneath his fingertips. And so, his hands hover, shaking, just beyond the edges of her face. His desperate eyes drink in her own - large, luminous, and weary.
That's what it is, he realizes, his mind tumbling though thoughts that hover like feathers but can't seem to settle. Why is she tired? When death has healed so much, why isn't she free of it all?
The thought occurs to him within the split second before her arms go around him. So solid, so real - that his mind shuts down. He let's himself be consumed by the feeling of her body against his. Soft and familiar. Her breath feels warm at his ear. "Take me home, Castle."
Everything stops. He's not even sure he's breathing as he pushes back from her. Gently, gently, he thinks inanely. She's been through enough pain. But he's not thinking much else. Only staring at her. "Kate..." He brings his hands up again, trembling, hovering, and then finally they cradle her face.
Blood rushes and tears stream, blocking out his senses. But - "You're alive. Kate, oh -"
After that nothing makes sense. His own voice is a hoarse, broken thing that knows only her name, and the truth. Oh god. Kate, Kate. Thank you, oh thank you. Over and over, thought and voice blending.
She's holding him again. Her voice made of soft soothing nothingness. It's all he'll ever need.
He doesn't remember how they got out of there. It will be hours before he thinks to give a damn about the fate of Tyson, Neiman, or anyone else who is not his wife.