Chapter Four
Kate wakes late the next morning, a mercifully mild hangover drumming in her head. Letting loose a groan she realizes that in her haste to sleep the previous night, she'd forgotten to draw the blinds. Now the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window burns through her eyelids, punctuating the dull pounding in her temples.
She buries her face in the pillow, back into darkness, away from the light of a new day. Her head grows light from the stifled oxygen as she breathes nose pressed deep into the fabric, and somewhere in the haze the memories rise to the surface.
She hadn't been able to breathe then either. A boulder of worry slowly crushed her chest and she'd struggled against the weight. The agony of realizing his grip on her hand was fading. The sirens. The blood. The waiting room. The waiting. It slowly and thoroughly suffocated her. When her mother was murdered the news had been a swift punch to the gut, knocking the air out of her in an instant. His death had been long, drawn out and cruel.
She couldn't decide which was worse, the suckerpunch or the slow burn.
No. She shakes the thoughts from her head. It's her day off and she's spent enough hours brooding over those thoughts. It does her no good being stuck in her own head.
After a quick stretch, she rolls out of bed planting her feet firmly on the hardwood floor before attempting to stand. With thankfully-solid ground beneath her bare feet, she pads blindly across the apartment contemplating her plans for the day. Lack of plans really.
She stops at the coffee machine and sets the pot to brew. Then she reaches up to pull a mug from the cabinet. Her plans are to do absolutely nothing. And that suits her just fine. These days, like the days before him, she finds she likes the quiet.
"You know, I thought of something just now."
She startles, turns quickly to face the voice, the man standing across the kitchen.
"When have I ever let you get rid of me that easily?"
The mug slips from her fingers.
...
-She can't breathe. She can't breathe.
Her chest constricts in that familiar way, her hand rises to press hard above her breast, she takes a step-
And then there's pain.
Her foot.
"Fuck," Kate growls, falling back to brace against the counter. She lifts her leg and cringes at the sliver of ceramic yellow coffee mug poking out of the bottom of her foot.
"Oh..." The voice startles her again, so much so that she briefly forgets about the explosion of pain in her sole. "Oh crap, I'm sorry about that."
She stares at him. Stunned. And confused and dazed and overwhelmed. She's gone insane.
"Here let me help." He approaches, his arm stretched out to take her foot and that fills her with panic.
"S-Stay away!"
If he comes close enough, if he touches her - tries to touch her - she'll know for sure. She can't-
-She can't breathe.
He stops, quirks his head curiously at her, hurt peeking through his expression.
She pays that no mind. She has to get away from him. She has to focus on what's real.
Like the throbbing pain in her foot. The pain that reminds her this isn't a dream.
She reaches into the nearby drawer, grabs a bandaid then hops to the kitchen table and props up her leg on a chair. Reaching down she pulls the sharp remnant of mug from her foot. Blood pools immediately over the broken skin.
"I'm really sorry," he says appearing in her sight line, just over her bent knee as she presses a towel against the cut. "I had this whole cool, ghost moment planned. I really didn't mean to-"
Kate's heartbeat quickens. She glares at him, but quickly stops, turning her face to instead focus on fumbling with the bandaid in her free hand. He's not really there, she reminds herself as she grabs the paper wrapping between her teeth and pulls it open. There's no one to glare at. Her mind is playing tricks. Sober tricks, but tricks nonetheless.
The bandage firmly covers the wound, but it's clear she'll have trouble walking on it for awhile when she straightens up and sets her foot down, only to be met with a sharp pain. She winces then leans her weight to the left, keeping the pressure on her right heel as she hobbles back around the island to survey the mess.
She feels him follow at her back and shivers. She shouldn't be able to feel him. He isn't there.
"I'd help clean that up, but I'm not sure how ghost physics work yet."
Kate suppresses a laugh, because it's so wrong and that's so like him, making jokes while the world around her crumbles.
She'd kill him if he wasn't already dead.
"What do you want, Castle?" she asks finally, deciding to humour the illusion, hoping in some sick way that this delusion will play itself out.
"What do you mean?"
She turns to face him and he's still too close. Still too...there.
"I mean - why are you here? What do you want?"
"Oh, you mean like unfinished business?" He smiles slightly. "I hadn't thought of that."
"No, I mean-" Kate sighs, frustrated. "What are you doing in my kitchen?"
"I was looking for bagels-"
"Castle!" She runs her fingers through her hair shakily.
His grin widens. "Beckett?"
She hears the desperate strain in her own voice as she asks, "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing."
"Then what can I do to get rid of you?"
She didn't think there was anything left of her heart worth breaking but then his face falls, hurt darkening his features and she feels the splinters cracking in her chest.
After a long moment he replies stone-faced, "Nothing."