Chapter 6: Waking
Rick grabs hold of the only thing that makes sense. The soft snore of his baby girl. The sound is solid and real. It speaks of home, of comfort, of safety, but his fragile reality is invaded by whirrings and beepings, and harsh antiseptics that he'd never allow in the loft. His mouth is full of cotton, eyelids weighed down and trapped closed by a gritty crust, and his right side. Oh my god, what is wrong with me?
A searing fire licks flames through his body, its source a burning, crushing, aching, doesn't feel right, not by a long shot, stabbing pain around his midsection. Stabbing pain. Ah, yes. The lovely steel rod inserted so rudely into his side. The details of his current situation come more firmly into focus. The steel rod.
Flickering memories of sound, coupled with remembered sensations he doesn't dare dwell on, but can't keep from sifting through his awareness, bleed into his reality, and plunge him back into the horror of his last moments with Kate. He saw that rod go through her. No, no that was just his fear. He remembers a jumbled mess of sensation and sound, but separating his runaway imagination with what really happened? He's not sure he's up to that challenge just yet. He finds new respect for Kate and her handle on everything just after the shooting. Even in his weakened condition, his brain takes the time to depersonalize the trauma of last year, protecting him from his most intimate and raw memories. As if it could be a thing that exists outside of him, away from him. Kate. His vision fills with a tumble of dark hair and that damn steel rod slicing across her back. Oh, please...please...let her be safe.
A voice raised to an impossibly high pitch, a screech of agony, invading every cell of his body, scatters his thoughts of her. He pushes it away, and then buries it deep down, but it escapes through cracks. He thinks maybe there's a lot more cracks now. Did Beckett hear his screams over the roar of the buzzsaw? He'd been blissfully unaware, then thrust into a nightmare of metal on metal, a vibration through his side setting his whole body aflame. Maybe the heavy blanket the EMS must have thrown over him further muffled the ordeal? He never saw or heard Beckett at all. His world was stolen away in the sweet relief of stillness as the rod gave way and the flaming electrified knife cutting through his entire midsection stopped stabbing him viciously.. I'm definitely in the hospital. Wrecked that Ferrari but good. Yeah,. I remember that, too. No more Ferrari.
He mentally adds to his bucket list: 51. Live To Regret Stupid Bucket List Choices. He's checking it off the list, when her soft voice comes to him just as a warm moist cloth wipes across his eyelids. "Why, hello there, Mr. Castle. Nice to see you among the living, sir."
He must look ridiculous, blinking uncontrollably, trying to form even one coherent word and failing. She seems to know exactly what the problem is, though, and again he finds her softly spoken words more than reassuring, more like a foundation to build this moment on, hold onto it, keep the darkness at bay, for even just having woken up, he feels it pulling him down already. Can't sleep yet...Beckett...how is Beckett?
"You had a rough night, yes you did. But you've turned the corner. Doc was just in here a bit ago. He was very happy to see your numbers. Improvement in all the important areas, Mr. Castle."
She pats his leg, near the knee. Oh, something that doesn't hurt. Fabulous. Let's have more of that, shall we? He tries to pull his focus back to...to...what? Where am I? How am I?
"It will take a fair amount of healing, but you're out of the woods. Should make a full recovery. Now let's take the edge off that pain. I'm sure it's spiking for you by now."
He feels a cold liquid burning his veins, and finally his blinking eyes calm, settle, clear, and oh, thank you. Focus. And the blind suddenly see.
The soft voice belongs to a nurse pushing the liquid gold from a syringe into his IV line. Nurse. Hospital. Oh, I am good. Okay, fine. That was an easy one.
He struggles for full awareness, wants to ask something important, keeps losing his thought, but manages to mumble a few words to the nurse, "Detective Kate Beckett..."
The nurse smiles, patting his good shoulder reassuring. "She made it out just fine. Been here with you and your daughter all night." And the nurse nods her head over toward the window, but he can't turn to look because now she's asking him a question. What? Oh...no...and his struggle to get his brain working his mouth makes a second, more successful attempt. It helps a lot that he feels the pain meds stealing a silky quiet over his body, but his side? Oh, the pain notches down so low, he's nearly giddy with the reprieve."No...no...thanks. I'm okay for now."
The nurse gives him another pat to the spot just above his knee that is blessedly pain free, glances over to the window, then gives him a reassuring smile. "Those two ladies are going to be very happy to see you when they wake up, but try to let them sleep for now, if you can. It's only been maybe three hours since they let their guard down and allowed themselves the break."
He's in a fog, can't quite grasp everything around him, but he turns away from the door the nurse just disappeared out of and over to window, where a couch is positioned underneath. The morning light filters in thru slanted shades, casting slashes of dark and light across two bodies snuggled close together, covering them like a worn blanket. Kate and Alexis.
He loses every scrap of ground he'd just gained as his brain decodes the vision his eyes see. He's left gasping for breath and saturated with emotion. A song filling up his soul even as all around it his body cries out in a fiery voice. The pain both physical, as his movements and frantic gulps of air skyrocket his pain level past the threshold of the shot to his IV, and a bright white light, searing away the scarring on his soul and releasing his usual tight emotional rein.
He keeps his eyes on Kate and Alexis, soaks up their peace and uses it to ride out the storm of memories assaulting his senses. He knows how they ended up like that, oh yes, but before he dips down into those memories and integrates them with his rapidly adjusting reality, he gives himself a moment to glory in the wholeness of Kate Beckett. She must be okay. She wouldn't be in here with me, if she was seriously injured.
He looks around for tissues because, damn it, yes he is crying. Kate and his daughter asleep in each other arms. He's imagined a sleeping Kate many times, but in all his fantasies he never once saw her sleeping arms wrapped around his daughter. And he's never seen his daughter look quite this way, snuggled up in the arms of his muse. It's better than anything he could've come up with on his own. He lets his mind drift further than he's ever allowed and it's so easy to see them there as mother and daughter. Together they are angels, and the song they sing him soars high, blocking out all the pain. If I could write us another story, Beckett, I'd give you her from the beginning.
Alexis must have been in tears. He builds up the scene as it might have played out here in his room. He's adrift for countless minutes, spinning fine webs of details around last night, drawing out the time Kate spent soothing Alexis before sleep finally, blessedly stole away reality. He watches Kate run her hand down his daughter's soft, red hair in his mind's eye, sees her lips moving. What impossible promises? What nonsense words of comfort did you give her, Kate?
But he knows some of it, doesn't he? His daughter's voice, strained past breaking. "Daddy, Daddy! No! Don't leave me!" And then Kate's voice fast on its heels. "I've got you. I've got you, Alexis!" Sure, strong, in control. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."
Kate must have pulled Alexis away from him, away from his bedside, and over to the couch, where they fell asleep comforting each other. He thinks it's almost worth the steel rod thru his side to see this. He needs a picture of it. A memory to hold against whatever comes. Lately, he's been trying to imagine his life without Detective Kate Beckett in it. Trying his damndest. No luck. His phone. Where is it it?
He looks down at the tissue in his hand. Where did that come from? Right. Tray table. It's next to his bed and his phone was on it, too, He slides the table closer to him and reaches for the phone. The reality of his situation comes crashing down. His right arm is really no good. Not much control there. Any movement he does manage just pulls impossibly at his wound, shutting down everything but the screaming flares of pain shooting straight into his brain. He takes it. Rides it out until he can manage with his left. Finds out if he's careful and slow with his positioning, he can get a good hold on the damn thing. Ah, just there...Yes!
Her eyelids flutter at the soft distorted shutter sound. She jolts awake suddenly, but he sees her still when she realizes it's Alexis' weight hampering her movements. She returns at once to her protective hold of the girl. She doesn't immediately draw her eyes up to his, and he doesn't think she knows what woke her or even that he's awake. His voice cracks the silence in the room.
"Kate." It's rough and gravely, but lucid and strong, too. He hopes he's been patched together well enough to hold up over these next few moments because he doesn't want to misstep here. He's half compromised by the pain and immobility already. If he chooses the wrong words with her now... Don't let her walk away. Not this time.
"Rick." His name is a soft sigh slipping past her lips. She works slowly to extradite herself from Alexis, using pillows he recognizes from his loft, favorites of his daughter's, to replace her body under Alexis. Then she's stumbling over to his bed, steadying herself before she eases down next to him. Her carefulness combined with the reckless look of her eyes digs too deep in his heart. He sees again the look she gave him in the bank vault. He can't mistake the joy shining there, but still she holds herself back. Is this the look of friendship or love? What is there to hold back from me, Kate?
He sees her fingers fiddle with the sheets. Meets her shifting eyes, settling her a bit. Her eyes roam over his face, down his arms, and do an excellent job ignoring the patched and tubed mess that's become of his chest, which he is surprised to find is shirtless. He does look a bit fragile at the moment. Maybe her touching him could do more damage? Nah, never. Not ever gonna happen.
"I'm not going to break, Beckett. Go ahead. Touch."
She starts with the hand of his good arm. A light touch, gentle grasp, her thumb rubbing over the back of his hand before she releases it and lets her hand travel up his arm, then she's ghosting her fingertips across his cheek, tracing what must be uncountable new lines on his face, traveling around to the nape of his neck. She pulls herself close to him and he feels her trembling, He flashes back to the last time Kate trembled next to him, as her blood spilled out all around him. And before that when he held her weeping uncontrollably against her car as their captain lost his last battle. She presses her face hard into his, her jagged breaths slicing across jaw and neck. Her fingers finding deep purchase in his shoulders, trying to pull herself closer to him and keep herself away all at the same time. He will give her whatever she seeks, let her possess every last ragged piece of him, if she wants. Take it all. I am yours.
He gasps trying to wrap both arms around her and she starts pulling back, loosening her hold on him. The fire burning in his side is a welcome reminder to the hole in his heart she ripped. But she had her heart ripped open first, didn't she? He can't fault her for any of her behavior. Her choices. She was just trying to survive, he knows. Oh, how he knows. He's been trying to live without her, survive without her. He's done with that. He'll take a burning fire over cold desolation any day. He pulls her tighter to his side. The fire flares to impossible levels, but he doesn't lessen his hold. The questions raging through his head are enough to tear them apart. No way they can fight here with him like this. But if he can keep them in this moment, hold them together long enough to find permanent residence in her soul. Kate, you'd better realize walking away is no longer an option for us. Never really was actually.
He keeps her in his arms as long as he can. He's surprised to find her content to stay close. Usually he can barely get any physical contact out of her, unless it's an ear pull or a nose pinch, and even those have been few and far between recently. And then his hand fingers the edges of her bandage, brushing softly over it, investigating its size and bulk. He pushes her back, so he can meet her eyes again. His questions to her clear in his eyes, but even with the proof of her vitality sitting before him, fear snakes into his heart.
"Did I really hear you crack a joke at Espo?" She gives him an eyeroll. He thinks she does it just to cheer him up. "Come on, Castle. You are ridiculous."
He knows she's trying to lighten the mood between them, lift the oppressive blanket someone's thrown over them. But this time they're under it together, not separated by a shrieking buzzsaw. And he's okay with hiding, as long as she's hidden away with him, safe and sound. Are you safe and sound, Kate?
He can't remember anything but tiny slivers of moments. He feels a ghost of a pressure across the back of a hand, soft, distant sobbing, fervent words whispered in his ear. Just keep breathing.
His left hand raises to her cheek, fingers the wisp of hair around her ear. "You're okay?"
"I'm okay." She assures him as she takes his hand away from her face to cradle between her own. "Thanks to you, stuntman."
He tries to laugh, but that's an impossible thing. Maybe he'll try that tomorrow. He does give her a fast smile. The one where the corners of his mouth turn up and back down again so fast, if you blink, you'll miss it. "I just...I saw a chance for a better outcome and I took it."
"Yeah. A chance for a better outcome." Her hands clench over his and her eyes spill out a torrid of emotion. She looks as if she wants to say more, but holds it back. He works his hand out of her grasp, so he can touch her cheek again. He holds her gaze and their shared burdens pass between them like leaves along the water.
"What?" He lets his hand fall to grab hold of hers again.
She bites her lip, shakes her head, looks down, but seconds later, she's leaning into him, her lips brush over his ear. "You were trying to leave."
"I...I wasn't." His hand comes back to her face and he slides his fingers along the hard bones of her face. He wonders if they talking about last night or the entire the last week? "I was trying to find a way to stay."
"You know. You know I remember." She's gripping him tight again, burying her face into his neck. Oh, well, small talk is over. No, gee, I'm so glad you're okay. How this past week must have been eating at her as it ate away at him. Stealing his foundation, his hopes, his plans. No, not about last night. That was just one more close call racked up alongside many.
He's not close enough. He needs more. More of her. He needs to know for sure what he thinks he's seen in her eyes just now, before she went into hiding under his chin. Beckett hiding is a ludicrous thought and he tries to lift her head, but she fights him, burrowing deeper into his side, pressing her face painfully into his neck. We can't do this now, Beckett. We can't do this here.
Words have always seemed to fail them. Except for his books, he thinks. He hopes she understands his words there. And when they are in the heat of a case. He knows she understands him there. In the work they share. He stops his assault on her jaw and spears his fingers into her hair, supports her from behind so she is trapped against him. She eases away slightly, finding comfort enough in his hold of her to give up climbing inside him. He glances to his daughter still sound asleep on the couch. Don't wake up, Alexis, please don't wake up.
"Kate" He resumes his attack on her jaw, his hand clenches against the bones to force her head up, but she no longer resists him and his grip quickly softens to a gentle massage. His eyes trap hers instantly. His other hand seeks her face as well, both now mapping out her face, questing along the line of her hair, finding ways into the tangled brown locks here and there. Her hand rests at his elbow, supporting the bad arm, so he can manage to keep her face cradled in both hands.
He tells her things with his eyes and his hands that his mouth can't seem to voice. He had words for her. He did, but now they are lost. He knows by the smile breaking across her face that she doesn't need his words anyway. Knows all there is to know. All the important stuff anyway. Some of the little annoying details, he'll save for later. Yeah, Rick. Like she's going to find your continued investigation into her mother's murder a LITTLE annoying fact.
"Your silence had me worried." He stops breathing, his eyes locking back on hers. More words tremble unspoken at his lips, but she reaches her hand to his mouth, stilling his vain attempts. And then she's leaning in toward him, pressing her lips to his. A seal on an unspoken promise. Always.
When she pulls back, her lips are twisted up in the quirky smile he loves and she shakes her head ever so slightly at him, but the look she locks down on him. Oh, yes. He could spend forever decoding the messages in that look. Her hand takes his, turns it in her grasp, and begins tracing on the back of his hand as she whispers to him, "Always."
He groans through the pain as he pulls her once more into him, holding her closer than he should, feeling the pull against his side, but he can't let go, can't loosen his hold. She manages to ease him off, her hands soothing on his face, her words brushing across his lips.
"I love you," and then she's kissing him again and he can't even enjoy her kisses. He's a thief, stealing these moments with her while he holds a secret that will surely rip them asunder. He knows he catches her by surprise when he pulls away from her kiss, untangles them, puts a bit of distance between them.
Even as he struggles to assimilate her gift of words, he knows they could be fleeting. Knows she can walk away. She is ruthless in her love. Unyielding in her quests. She's already turned upside down now by his out of character actions. He has to find a way to make her understand without causing anymore damage. His hands come to her face wanting to somehow pull all of her into him, carry her safe inside. His fingers find the crest of her hair, softly tracing the line of her face, letting his fingers tangle in the tendrils he strokes. He's managed to quarantine the stabbing sharp blades slicing through his midsection in a dark corner for the moment. There are so many damn things I want to be doing to you right now, Katherine Beckett.
"I...We...Kate...We can't do this now." He pauses, wanting nothing but truth between them now. If they have even one more misunderstanding between them... He can't take her pushing him away again. Hell if he'll go anyway. But right now. Right now she could walk away and he couldn't stop her. Couldn't follow her. He had been seriously thinking this past week of walking away from her. He spent a lot time alone, with his scotch, seeking a path away from her. How can you walk away from a love burning so strong?
"We're going to figure this out between us, Kate. We are….but... not today." His hands, while teasing her skin along that curious place where it meets scalp, have also positioned her so their lips are brushing again. He speaks to her softly. His breath nearly gone at this point anyway. "Kate, there's more to this than just us. More for you to know before you...before we dive into this."
He wants so much to kiss her again, but instead pulls back after those few fleeting nibbles to meet her eyes, begging her for the patience he's given her, but before she can find any footing to stand on, grasp even a thread of what he's trying to communicate to her, let alone form a coherent response to him, he's distracted by his daughter's exclamation, "Dad!"
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