When he finally releases her, and it takes him a full two minutes of feeling her thin shoulders beneath his hands and drinking in the cherry scent of her lotion before he does, the unis haven't moved. They hold position, guns raised, eyes wary. He takes a half step to the side, shielding her narrow frame with his wide one. "Guys, it's Beckett." He reminds them, speaking slowly, like they're stupid. He stares Esposito down, because he would have thought that if anyone should be reminding them of their job- which is to protect her - it should have been the other detective.
Espo doesn't tell them to stand down, but neither is he aiming a gun at the woman that Castle loves, who has just gone through hell for the thousandth time. He's holding it pointed towards the ground, staring at Neiman's body. "The scalpel, bro."
Oh. Right.
Castle turns back to his traumatized wife, watching as her wide eyes take in the array of weapons aimed at her. She tenses, and he cradles her face in his palms and makes her lift her gaze to his. "Kate?"
She's eerily silent, staring at him like she only has a vague idea of who he is. It scares him more than he cares to admit, but slowly her throat works, her lips part. "Castle." His name is an affirmation on her tongue, and relief floods through him. They've had her for so long, could have hurt her terribly, but here she is: perfect and lovely and alive.
He smiles and presses a kiss to her crown when she relaxes into him. He kneads her shoulders, slides his hands down her arms, and she goes rigid when his fingers approach her wrists. "It's okay-"
"No." She mumbles, trying to pull away from him. He grabs her shoulders, his grip tight, and her gaze snaps to his, her eyes wide and frightened.
"Listen to me." His eyes are steady and calm. "You're safe. It's okay, but you need to let me have the knife, okay?" He waits her out, holding his breath until she nods slowly.
He goes for the knife again, letting his hand make the long trip over her shoulder and down towards her wrist. "Castle, the blood." She informs him, like it's a complete sentence. Her nose wrinkles a little in disgust, and he chuckles, giddy with relief. Of course that would be what's giving her pause.
"I don't care." He replies, and plucks the scalpel from her hand, dropping it to the floor with a musical little sound.
The sound breaks the tableau in the room. The guns go down and the cops get to work, under Espo's sharp eye. Two break off from the pack to approach Beckett and find themselves met with Castle's cold stare. No one comes near her right now. No one. They hesitate, then move past husband and wife to help their comrades. Castle slides his unbloodied hand around her waist, cradling her close. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."
"Your jacket." She says, trying to keep distance between her hands and his clothing, and he rolls his eyes to the heavens, pulling her in against him.
"Still don't care." He assures her, steering her out of the room. She goes quietly, following simple orders, but there's still that confused disconnected expression on her face as they follow the signs to the restrooms. They had traced the call to a clinic up for rent in the Bronx, and he had spent the entire car ride with his heart in his throat, hoping that they wouldn't be too late. They might have been, if Beckett hadn't gotten free. He stops in the middle of the hallway to snuggle her close and remind himself that she's alive. Alive and in shock.
He knows what shock looks like, and she's definitely in it. That's okay. She'll heal, and shock is so much better than dead.
They end up in the ladies' room and he plants her in front of the sink, bracketing her with his arms, his chest a solid wall at her back. He watches her stare at herself in the mirror, her eyes wide in her too-pale face. The garish glow from the emergency lights overhead throws her cheekbones into high relief, making her look sunken and frail when he knows she's anything but. She catalogs her face in the mirror before her eyes start the trek downward, toward her hands. "Eyes on me." He commands sharply, and she meets his gaze in the mirror. "Watch me. Okay?" She nods. Her hands are a gory mess, and he doesn't wish the sight on her. Death by scalpel, he imagines, is not pleasant.
He turns the taps, letting the water heat, and pumps soap out of the little dispenser on the wall before using his own body to lean her forward over the sink and setting one of her hands under the stream. He watches her face in the mirror for a while, making sure she'll keep her eyes on his face, and then he focuses in on her hand. The water runs pink at it swirls around the drain, and he works meticulously, cleaning between her fingers and under her nails, working his way up to her wrist.
If he weren't wrapped around her the way he is, he wouldn't have felt her chest expanding as she drags in a shaky breath. He glances at the mirror to see her staring down at her left hand, the one he hasn't gotten to yet. "Eyes on me." He repeats, and she obeys, meeting his eyes.
"Castle." She says, like she's realizing he's there for the first time. Which, honestly, she probably is. "Tyson-"
"Dead." He says firmly, sure this time around. "Espo took him out."
She nods, and he moves on to her left hand. "And Neiman..."
"Yeah." He agrees. "You're not hurt?"
"No. I'm fine. You?"
"Unscathed." He assures her, and it's mostly true. He can brag about getting tased later, once things are a bit calmer. He soaps up her hands, scratching his blunt nails against her skin and massaging her fingers for a very long moment before rinsing and shutting the water off. "All done."
"Good." She asserts, and darts past him into a stall, where he can hear her dry heaving. He doesn't suppose they bothered to feed her for the two days that they had her. With a sigh, he follows her in, tugging silken strands away from her face and rubbing soothing circles over her bent spine. Eventually, she sits back on her heals and leans against his chest. He would be content to sit on the floor and hold her forever, but at some point, the police are going to want their statements.
"We should get back." He starts to rise, but her hand stops him.
"It was horrible, Castle." She says quietly. "Doing that to another person. It was..." He can feel the shudder pass down her spine, and he wraps her into his arms.
He wants to point out what Neiman has done to others, but that's not how Beckett sees the world. Neiman's shortcomings as a human being will not, to Beckett, excuse what she did. Frankly, Castle thinks the crazy bitch deserved it, but he knows better than to say that. Instead, he rests his chin on her shoulder and turns his head to press a kiss just below her ear. "I know." He promises her. "She would have killed you."
"I know." She says, too quickly.
"Come on." He rises, and this time, she comes with him, still clinging to him, still overwhelmed and horrified by what she's done. He lets her crowd him, keeping an arm firmly around her waist as he leads her towards the exit. "I, for one, would much rather have you in the world than Neiman. You're way prettier."
The laugh she gives him is weak, but it is still a laugh, and it gives him hope. He knows that they'll never forget this debacle, but she's safe and she's alive and they will get through this. As they step outside, he thinks the world is a little bit brighter.