Chapter Two
They've been sitting in the waiting room for almost three hours when Martha stands and heads for the door. She doesn't look at Kate or Alexis, just moves through the lines of matching chairs until Alexis' voice stalls her steps.
"Gram, wait. Where are you going?"
Martha stops, but doesn't turn, and Kate can see the slight hunch of the woman's shoulders, the way her head dips almost imperceptibly as she tries to escape them. "I'm going to find some food. I'll bring back something for you both."
She's through the door before Alexis can say anything else, and the girl meets Kate's gaze as she deflates into her seat, the weight of fear and helplessness settling on shoulders too young for the burden. This girl, who so clearly loves her father with such ferocity and strength, doesn't deserve what's happening to him, to his family, and Kate cuts off eye contact, trying to hide the guilt that is seeping in.
He wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been for her, wouldn't have taken the bullets if he hadn't been trying to protect her. He shouldn't have been on the case, in the coal plant, and if she'd been thinking more like a cop and less like a woman, he wouldn't have been. They don't know each other. They don't have any sort of connection at all, let alone anything that would supersede his relationship with his daughter.
Her fingers twist in her lap, and she startles at the flakes of red that have dried into her nail beds and the creases around her knuckles, the hasty hand washing she'd done before coming down here apparently having done nothing to remove the evidence of her involvement in his shooting.
She tucks her hands beneath her thighs, hoping Alexis hasn't noticed the crimson tint to her skin, and that's when she feels the stiffness of her black shirt, sees the streak of red across the brass of her badge. She's covered in his blood, and this is the first time she's emerged from the haze long enough to notice.
The desire for a shower and fresh clothes hits her hard. The need for scorching water to beat at her skin, to wash away the stench of death and incompetence, leaving her raw and torn open physically just as she is emotionally, takes her breath away and she sits up straighter, the movement drawing Alexis' attention back.
Kate has a moment of panic where her stomach starts to roll. Not wanting to offer such a stark reminder of why they're sitting here in limbo, but also desperately needing to disappear into the closest bathroom before her body purges the little she's been able to eat today, she clears her throat, silently hoping her voice doesn't give her away.
"I have to use the restroom. Will you be okay here for a little while?"
Alexis nods, her expression unchanged as she appears to absorb Kate's declaration, and then her mouth quirks, eyes sparkling just a fraction. "I was wondering how long it would take you to notice."
"Huh?"
"The blood. I was going to give you another twenty minutes before I mentioned it. It's kinda grossing me out, to be honest."
Kate's jaw falls open in surprise, her brain trying to form a coherent response, and she would laugh if it weren't so obnoxiously morbid and inappropriate. She goes to run a hand through her hair, before stopping and wrinkling her nose. "Oh, Alexis. I'm so sorry."
The girl shakes her head, showing a maturity that surprises Kate, adding to the consistently growing list of unexpected traits Richard Castle's daughter possesses. "It's… Fine. I appreciate what you did to help save him, but I wouldn't say no to you cleaning up a little. Sitting in this chair is about all the reminder I can handle right now."
"Jesus. I'm sorry. I'm so-"
"It's fine. Don't apologize. Just go. I'll be okay."
Kate hesitates, not wanting to leave Alexis alone, but the girl waves her off, turning her body toward the window as she pulls her legs up to her chest, resting her cheek on her knees, and Kate takes the hint.
She walks into the hall, softly closing the door to the waiting room behind her, and leans her back against the wall, shutting her eyes and taking a couple of breaths to get herself under control. Pushing off, she heads for her car, for the duffel bag of basic toiletries and a change of clothes that she always keeps in the trunk in case of emergencies.
This definitely qualifies as an emergency.
She has no idea how long she's been standing here, stripped down to her bra and panties as the burning water runs over her hands. She'd already used a wet paper towel to wipe the dried blood from her abdomen, the streaks that had somehow made it to the stretch of skin just under her jaw, and now she's scraping at her nails, her fingertips, rubbing and rubbing as the stream runs pink and then clear again.
Tears are dripping from her nose, mixing with the water in the sink, and she hunches over, dropping her forehead to the cold porcelain and gasping as the sobs wrack her body. She falls to the floor, the tiles frigid against her bare skin, and folds her body as small as it'll get.
The fear had hit her hard when she'd seen just how much of his blood was caked into her clothes, soaking through until it stained her skin. How could he have possibly survived when she was wearing such a significant amount of this vital fluid? Her shirt, pants, and jacket are all destroyed, not that she'd wanted to wear them again in the first place, but her hope is rapidly dwindling the longer she waits here without news.
Is he surviving the surgery? How much damage did he suffer? Will he ever fully recover or will he suffer the physical and mental effects of this for the rest of his life? Does he have hours or years? Will she ever see his face again?
The questions swirl round and round, knocking her from all angles until she can't tell what is up and what is down. She needs something, anything, that will calm the race of her heart, the whirlpool that is threatening to drag her under, drowning her minute by minute.
She folds her legs against her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins as she bangs her forehead against the sharp bones of her knees, using the physical pain to pull herself back together. Resting with her eyes squeezed shut, she focuses on deep breaths, in and out, in and out, startling when there's a knock on the door.
She looks up at the oversized white rectangle locking her away from the outside world, hoping whoever it is will just go away, leave her in peace for just a few more minutes, but the knock sounds again. Three gentle taps followed by a wiggle of the doorknob.
Clearing her throat, she stands, her joints protesting the sudden demand for their cooperation, and grabs her clean pair of pants to start getting dressed.
"Just a minute."
"Captain Beckett?"
Kate freezes at the voice, one leg caught in the denim of her jeans, and she has to hop to keep herself from falling over. It's Alexis.
Shit.
Alexis, the girl who's father is in surgery with life threatening wounds for no good reason, who Kate left alone for God knows how long while she dealt with her own nervous breakdown, and suddenly she can't get her clean clothes on fast enough. A couple of hours and she's already failing his family and him in so many ways.
"Hang on just a minute, Alexis. I'm almost done."
"Okay."
She tugs her purple sweater over her head, pulling her hair back into a ponytail rather than leave it to hang in such a mess around her shoulders, and then makes the mistake of looking at herself in the mirror. Her eyes are bloodshot, the skin puffy and swollen, but there's nothing to be done about it now. Splashing some cold water on her face and slipping her well-worn Chuck Taylors on her feet, she shoves everything else into her black duffel, making a mental note to burn the whole thing next chance she gets.
She swings the door open enough to step through before it shuts behind her, and catches sight of Alexis leaning against the wall while she waits. The girl stands up straight as soon as the door clicks shut, her eyes brightened with what can only be good news, and then her face falls, her brows drawing together and mouth turning down into a frown.
"Have you been crying?"
"Umm…" The noise comes out more as a grunt, and Kate rubs her cheeks self-consciously before she realizes the evidence cannot just be wiped away, that Alexis already knows the answer to her question. "Yeah, I was."
She shrugs, nothing else to say, no more words of explanation to offer, but Alexis lets it go, a grin stretching across her face as she says, "He's out of surgery."
The first thing he feels is pain. Excruciating, debilitating, breath-stealing pain, the likes of which he's never experienced before. It feels like an eight thousand pound elephant is simultaneously sitting on his lungs, and shredding them to pieces with a dull knife.
He gasps, clawing at anything within reach, trying to tear himself away from whatever is currently succeeding at slicing him in half, but his hands won't move; they won't lift or reach or grab in response to his brain's commands. He growls, or tries to until he realizes something is blocking his airway, and his eyes shoot open, bright lights blinding him to his surroundings.
His stomach starts to revolt, rolling and cramping in response to the pain and panic, when a figure appears in his line of sight. He doesn't recognize the woman's face, can't hear the words she's saying, but the light pressure of her hand settles on his cheek and she tugs on whatever is in his mouth. His eyes squeeze shut as she pulls, the feeling of a thousand razor blades scraping his throat raw until he can suck in a ragged breath, coughing and convulsing at the release.
The pain flares, his entire torso burning him from the inside out, and he groans, barely noticing the gravel quality to his voice, or the soothing tones of hers, as a warmth begins to settle over him. Little by little, any feeling disappears. Starting in his fingertips, traveling to his heart and down his legs, a weightlessness takes over until his brain stops registering anything at all.
And he falls back into a black abyss, brightened only by a pale face and hazel eyes he doesn't recognize.
"Alexis. You're making me dizzy, darling. Please sit."
Martha's voice appears to startle the girl, and she pauses in her pacing. Tension vibrates along her shoulders, down the curve of her spine as she holds herself still in response to her grandmother's command, and then she turns her head to look at them, her blue eyes bouncing between Kate and Martha before she plops into the nearest chair with a sigh.
"What's taking them so long, Gram? I need to see him."
They've been waiting. Still sitting here in this sterile room, just waiting. Despite the successful surgery, the extra hours of life he's been granted so far, they're waiting, and it's taking its toll on them all.
"Soon enough. They have to get him settled in a room. He's going to be okay now, Alexis. We just have to be patient."
Alexis nods, accepting Martha's words without question, and Kate tries to do the same, but the truth is, she feels just as restless as Alexis seems to. Surviving surgery is one thing, waking up is quite another, and, even if he does that, the road to recovery will not be traveled easily.
Rubbing her hand on her forehead, pushing her fingers into her temples, she tries to stave off the headache that has begun to beat behind her eyes. She'd finished the stale coffee Martha had brought back from the cafeteria along with a bagel and cream cheese that had quieted her stomach, and now they've settled back into the pattern of staring at the walls, quiet conversation when necessary, and waiting.
A gentle knock pulls their attention to the closed door, and together they watch as a petite woman in dark blue scrubs enters the room, an easy smile on her face.
"Richard Castle's family?"
Martha and Alexis both stand as Kate drops her head to the floor. She's not his family, but she desperately wants to stay and see him if they'll let her. Just to know that he's okay, seeing for herself that his heart still beats, would be enough to help her let him go, to walk out of his life the way she should.
Because they don't know each other.
And he doesn't love her.
"Yes, that's us," Martha says, taking a step toward the nurse.
"My name is Meg. I just wanted to let you know that he's settled in the ICU, and ready to see you briefly."
"Is he awake?" Alexis asks timidly.
"He did pull out of the anesthesia for a brief period post-surgery, but I'm afraid he fell back to sleep fairly quickly. You're welcome to see him though, if you'd like. It's ICU policy to keep any visits short to limit his exposure to infection - five to ten minutes per person per hour and, for now, we're only allowing one person at a time - but he is ready for you."
Kate looks up to find Martha and Alexis staring at each other, silently deciding who will go first, until Martha wraps her arms around Alexis' shoulders, pulling her in for a hug as she drops a kiss on her temple. "Go on, darling. He needs you."
When they break apart, a tear is trailing down Alexis' cheek, and she takes a ragged breath, nodding as she turns to follow the nurse from the room. Martha comes back to drop into the seat next to Kate, but she's just as composed as she has been since Kate first walked into this room hours ago.
She's awed by this woman, by her ability to stay so poised in the face of such horror. There hasn't been a tear or a raised voice, and that's when Kate remembers that Martha Rodgers is a successful Broadway actress. Confidence, contentment, and calmness are outward emotions she has spent years mastering, and it's clear her talents are extensive.
Kate watches the redhead from the corner of her eye, looking for a crack in her exterior for no reason other than to not feel so alone. Her heartbreak and anxiety is as conflicting as her belief that Castle couldn't have been telling the truth when he'd said he loved her, and she needs to know that she's not the only one who is affected by the situation Castle is in now.
She's surprised when Martha's hand appears over her own, the older woman wrapping her fingers around Kate's and squeezing, and when Kate looks up from their single physical connection, there are tears in Martha's eyes.
"He's going to be okay now, Katherine. He's going to be okay."