Author's Note: Again, guys, thank you so much for all your kind words, and I am glad that you are enjoying this. In this chapter, I took a few liberties: I was not able to be with my mother when she spoke to the Oncologist and all that, so the timeline might be a little off. Sorry about that; roll with me on this. :) Hope you like this new chapter!
Castle had seen his partner in a multitude of situations, from the mundane to the truly terrifying. He thought he could rightfully boast to knowing almost every expression on her face, and every inflection of her smooth honey voice; he could read all her tells, and discern just from her stance and posture what she was thinking or feeling. His knowledge of Kate Beckett could – and did, in fact, fill a book. Several of them.
In the last twenty-four hours, however, Castle had been reminded that there were a whole slew of things that he did not know about the woman next to him. For example, while he had seen her frightened – more than once – he had never before seen the look of terror she was now trying to subdue; he had seen her frustrated, blocked, confused … but he had had never seen her look as lost as she did now. This was Kate Beckett, his partner, his tireless Detective, his inspiration and muse and endless mystery.
Looking at her now, he almost could not reconcile himself to the fact that she was the same woman. Looking at her now … well, that wall of hers be damned; he knew what she needed of him. She may not have even known, not on an entirely conscious level at least, but he knew. She had been three sheets to the wind when she'd shown up at his door the night before, but those wide hazel eyes of hers had been practically screaming at him: help me.
He had every intention of doing exactly that.
The part of him that was not entirely focused on the task at hand was quietly and secretly rejoicing that she had come to him. He would never own it, but that deep primal part of him that was all testosterone and caveman grunts had recognized a damsel in distress and answered accordingly. He would never admit to that, however, not because he was ashamed of it but because he knew the sort of deep seated aversion Kate would have to being called a "damsel in distress". That was alright by him though, because even more important than how he had reacted or how she would take it later was the realization that something had been proven in those moments. Something had been confirmed to him last night, in a way and on a level that most people would not understand; in fact, he had not realized it until that very morning in the shower.
Despite her wall, despite all their fumbles and excuses and second-guessing, he and Katherine Beckett belonged to one another. Not in that "I'm claiming you as a piece of property" way that every human being naturally refused, but in that "my heart sings solely for yours alone to hear" sort of way; the way that would guide her unwittingly to his doorstep because underneath the layers of anguish her heart knew and recognized his own as the only hope of salvation.
Devastated, inconsolable, she had reached out for him – and he had answered.
"Rick?"
He glanced up and found himself looking at a doctor. He stood immediately, Kate only seconds behind him.
"Scott, thank you again for seeing us," Richard said with a small smile and a handshake
"Don't mention it," The doctor answered, "Would the two of you like to come to my office? Jim and I have finished going over his medical record."
"Absolutely," He said graciously
He fell into step just a few seconds behind Kate, his hand automatically going to rest at the small of her back as he did so. She either did not notice, or did not mind its presence there.
Scott McIntosh was a tall man, not much older than Castle with a mop of sandy blonde hair that was smartly cut and laughing chocolate eyes. The two men had met several years ago in the course of Castle's research for one of his early Derek Storm novels, and Castle had kept the relationship open over the intervening years. They got along surprisingly well despite the minor age difference and the major career difference.
Scott's Ivy League education and God given brilliance had also given him the distinction of being one of New York's leading oncologists, and the first person Castle had called that morning after learning of Jim Beckett's diagnosis.
When they entered Scott's office, Castle guided his partner to the vacant seat next to the one her father occupied. Jim looked far more composed than his daughter, but Castle thought that was probably because he was over the initial shock of the situation. He'd known for a few weeks already, whereas the horror was still fresh and raw for Kate.
Jim extended one hand towards his daughter, which she immediately took. Castle settled for leaning one hip against Kate's chair, close enough to touch but far enough away to not be oppressive.
"So," Scott began as he reseated himself behind his large oak desk, "First things first: the cancer was caught early, so that's one point in our corner. Early detection can truly make all the difference, and science has given us many new treatment options. I know cancer is a grim word, but in your case, Jim, I am hopeful."
Next to him, Castle caught the slight sag of Kate's shoulders out of the corner of his eye. The barest hint of the first signs of relief, but they heartened him. Scott kept talking, but since he wasn't actually addressing him Castle figured it wouldn't really mattered if he took the moment to take in the state of his partner and her father.
Jim was getting older, yes, but he was still a hale and hearty man, which would undoubtedly work in his favor. Castle couldn't recall of any instance in the last four years that Kate had mentioned her father being sick, so he was willing to assume that her father was a man blessed with a good immune system, another plus. More importantly, the cancer had been caught early. All of these were good things.
Kate seemed to realize these things as well, because as Scott continued to inform them of the situation the tension in her spine seemed to dissipate. She began to visibly relax, as if the cement in her veins were slowly converting itself back into blood.
"Now, Jim," Scott was saying as Castle pulled himself back into the conversation, "I know you had mentioned that your mother had breast cancer?"
"Yes, when I was a young man," Jim answered
"Did anyone else in your family have cancer?"
"My grandmother died of ovarian cancer."
"Hmm," Scott hummed, lacing his hands together and glancing again at the folder in front of him
Castle immediately perked up: he knew that hum; it was one of Scott's giveaways that he was thinking something through.
"Hmm?" He queried aloud, "I don't like that. You only hum when you think you've found something."
Scott looked to Castle first, and the writer saw a brief flicker of something he didn't like. The doctor glanced away from him to Kate, and then let his eyes come to rest on Jim.
"I have to be honest, Jim, I don't like that. That makes three consecutive generations of cancer in your family, including yourself. From a medical standpoint, that raises a few questions. With your permission, I'd like to perform a blood test … and on you as well, Ms. Beckett."
"What?" She and Castle exclaimed in unison
"It's a precaution," Scott answered evenly, calmly, "I want to test you for what some people call the Cancer Gene."
"The Cancer Gene?" Kate repeated
"Doctors have labeled it the BRCA 1 and BRCA 2 gene; it's a mutation in a person's genetic makeup. The mutation is hereditary, and capable of being passed on by either mother or father. I don't want to frighten you with numbers, but I'm one of those silly doctors who likes to be completely honest with my patients. Carriers of the BRCA 1 gene have a ninety percent chance of having cancer at some point in their lives."
Kate's breath left her in a whoosh. She slumped back into her chair in a way that made Castle think of being physically struck.
"So, you're saying that if I have this gene, then Katie will have it as well?" Jim asked
"Most likely. There have been cases where the gene does not pass on to the child, even when it is present in one of the parents, but that is not the norm."
"You're telling me that I have a ninety percent chance of having cancer in my life?" Kate asked, and Castle heard the quiver she was trying to hide
"No. I'm telling you that I would like to test you both for the gene, as a precaution. Once we have the results, we can deal with them as they fall."
"And it's just a blood test?" Castle questioned, finding his voice despite the lump in his throat, "How long before the results are in?"
"It generally takes anywhere from four days to a week, but I can try and get a rush on them," Scott told him
"I don't think my insurance will cover …" Kate began
"Damn your insurance," Castle said, perhaps a little too forcefully because Kate looked at him for the first time in several minutes, "Take the test." Then, to Scott, "Money is no object."
"Castle," She started
"This is not open for discussion, Kate," And his voice was both kind and steely
"Rick, if you'd like to just hang tight here in the office," Scott cut in before more could be said, "Jim, Ms. Beckett, if you'd follow me please. I'll take you to one of the nurses so we can take some blood, and then I think we'll be done for today."
Kate looked like she was about to stay and make an argument, but he fixed her with a look that was a mixture of encouragement and plea and adamancy. She gave him a weak glare, but followed her father and Scott out of the office.
When they were gone, Castle found himself floating toward the large window that covered one wall of Scott's impressive office. He stood looking out at the city that sprawled out before him, but he doubted that he was actually seeing anything. His mind seemed determined to replay everything that Scott had just told them, with special emphasis on the part about Kate possibly being at risk for cancer.
Rick was naturally an upbeat, optimistic person, and the first to look for a silver lining in any situation. He was what his college English professor had once referred to as a "bouncer": someone who got knocked down, and then bounced back soon after. He could make light of almost any situation; it was a talent that he had spent many an hour refining and putting to use, especially in his adult life.
Right then, however, alone in the warm golden sunlight that splashed through the window, all Castle could think about was the possibility of Kate having cancer. His Kate: stubborn, beautiful, brilliant Kate.
The idea that Kate's body – lithe, sexy, healthy – could one day start to attack itself … no, that was unthinkable.
Kate couldn't have cancer; she was not done with her life. They were not done – hell, they had really never even started. He was not going to give her up, not to another person and most assuredly not to something as evil as cancer. Not now, not in ten years, not ever.
Castle took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. How must she be feeling? How much was she going to be expected to handle? She'd barely just found out about her father, and now she was being told that she may or may not be at risk? Sure, rationally every one knew that they could be at risk for cancer, just like rationally every one knew that they could get hit by a car on their lunch hour. But to actually know, to be told that you were most likely going to have to deal with this terrible disease at some point or another? How exactly were you supposed to deal with that?
Lost as he was in his own musings, Castle did not hear the door open or close. All he knew was that one minute he was staring listlessly at the broad blue sky outside the window, and the next Kate was standing so close that her shoulder was brushing his arm. She did not immediately speak, and they passed several long moments standing there in pregnant silence.
"Castle," She said finally, and her voice was raw in a way that would have made him shiver under different circumstances, "You can't pay for all of this."
He looked away from the city and found her eyes, shining and frightened and warm. She looked beautiful despite her rough night the night before, the long chestnut tresses that he loved falling in lazy curls around her shoulders. She was beautiful, this partner of his.
"I won't," He said calmly, "Just what insurance won't cover."
"Not even that," She said firmly, "You've already done so much for me, Rick; I won't let you add this to the list."
He turned to face her more fully, his literary mind throwing hundreds of descriptive sentences across his brain to mark the way the sunlight danced in her hair and curled gossamer fingers around the smooth planes of her face. He could write hundreds of books about this woman and never catch her in a way that he was satisfied with. He could use every beautiful description he had it in him to create and still he would not have done her justice.
"There is no list, Kate," He said quietly, watching the way her eyes roamed his face and then returned to his, "There is no score keeping. Everything I've done has been because I wanted to do it, for you."
He could tell that his words had struck a chord with her in the way she tilted her head down just so, so that their eyes no longer met. She was bothered, he knew, struggling inwardly with the pride that did not want to take his money and the fear that almost begged her to do exactly that.
"It's so much money," She said finally, her voice whisper light and uncertain
"Hey," He said just as softly, hooking a finger under her chin and drawing her brilliant hazel eyes to him, "If it's money you're worried about, you can stop. I may not make the list of 'World's Richest People', but I promise that neither myself nor Alexis will ever be hurting for money."
"Castle," She said brokenly, and he could see the stress in the lines of her body
She could find nothing else to say, and the broken way she'd said his name coupled with the shell shocked look he saw in her eyes then had him pulling her against his chest instantly. She did not fight, simply tucked herself into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, tucking the crown of her head up under his chin. He rubbed his hands against the length of her back, willing some of his strength into her. This close he could smell her, all cherries and sunshine and warmth; he dropped a kiss against her hair and felt her let out a breath against him.
"What is money compared to your health, Kate?" He asked quietly, "Compared to your father's life? The last thing you or your father needs to worry about right now is money. But, if it'll make you feel better, just think of it as your share."
"My share? Of what?" She asked in a muffled voice
"The profits from Nikki Heat."
She pulled away from him then, not completely, but enough so that she could look him in the eye once again.
"The what?" She asked dryly
He couldn't resist a smile at the way she'd asked, all disbelief and wry humor.
"You heard me. I've been pestering you for four years, Kate, literally using your life as a book. Isn't it only fair that you should reap some of the rewards? Nikki Heat is as much your character as she is mine."
He had not been prepared for tears, so when the first pioneering tear sailed down across her cheek his stomach gave a small flip. He might have asked her if he'd done something wrong, but she was burying herself in his chest once more in what he knew was an attempt to both hide her tears and cut them off. She held him tighter, and her body conveyed what her tongue could not.
That was how Jim found them, locked in each other's embrace in front of the wide office window. The older man smiled when he saw them and crossed the room; by the time he reached where they stood, Kate had untangled herself from Castle so that she could wrap her father in a hug.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Kate said against her father's shoulder
"For what, Katie?"
"For not calling you back sooner, for not making time, for …"
"Katherine," Jim scolded in his best fatherly tone, "You stop that right now, young lady. You have nothing to apologize for. You are a very busy Detective, and there is nothing wrong with that. The important thing is that you're here now, and we're together."
"I know, Dad, but it doesn't feel like enough," She admitted
"You being here, Katie, that's always enough. Look at me."
Her father held her away from him ever so slightly, in that way parents perfected when their children were little and had come to them hysterical over some incident or another. Kate had managed to get a hold of her tears, but their tracks were evident in the translucent lines that shimmered in the sunlight.
"I know you, bug," He said gently, using her childhood moniker, "I know you feel like you have to be strong for me, and that you shouldn't be crying or sad or angry, and I am here to tell you that you are wrong. This is a big scary thing we're going through; it's alright to breakdown and be frightened. Your dad is a strong old goat, Katie, and I don't need you to be strong for me. I don't need you to hide your feelings: we can be scared and angry and sad together. That doesn't make you less of a person, okay? It doesn't make you weak. You understand me, bug?"
Kate smiled, her first of the day. He sounded so much like he had when she was just a rambunctious teen, hell bent on giving her parents a hard time. The tone was the same, the knowingly firm look in his eyes the same one she had seen more times than she could count.
"I hear you, Dad."
"Good."
Jim smiled and planted a firm kiss on his daughter's forehead, reassured that she had taken his words to heart. When she'd given him another watery smile, he released her and took a step past her to address the man who had waited quietly by the window.
"Rick," He said, and gave the writer a great big hug, "Thank you, for all of this. I would protest and make an argument about why you shouldn't have, but I'm sure Katie has beat me to it."
"She has," Rick answered with a smile, "And I'll tell you the same thing I told her: Don't mention it. Now, how about we rustle up some grub?"
His quip had the desired effect of pulling a laugh from Kate's father, and Kate herself tossed an arched eyebrow in his direction.
"'Rustle up some grub', Castle?" She queried, "Can't you just say 'Get some lunch'?"
"I'm a writer. 'Get some lunch' is boring. 'Rustle up some grub' is more … adventurous."
"And 'Until Tomorrow' is more hopeful," She retorted
"Detective, you remembered!" He said in mock excitement, "I'm touched."
Even Kate managed a chuckle at that.
"Next time you go visit your mom, Katie, you should be sure to thank her," Jim said as the three of them made their way out of the office
"For what?" His daughter asked
"For Rick, of course. I have no doubt in my mind that Johanna is responsible for bringing the two of you together, little stinker of an angel that she is. Your mother was always a meddler."
Either Jim Beckett was unaware what sort of sensation his words had caused, or he was an expert at feigning innocent ignorance. Regardless, he had made it several feet down the hall while a very thunderstruck, very breathless Kate was left immobile in the hospital hallway, staring daggers into the azure depths of her partner's equally surprised eyes.
"Katie?" Her dad called down the hall, "You two coming?"
Secondary AN: The BRCA 1 and 2 genes are real, though I'm sure some of you already knew that. The description of this gene is true, and I explained it in almost the same way that my mother's oncologist explained it to her. Unfortunately, my mother has that gene, so when I get home I have to get tested for it as well.
Also, when Jim talks to Katie about visiting her mother, I meant visiting her grave. Not sure if that came through clearly or not.