Author Note:
Thanks for all the love you guys have for this story, and for all the words of encouragement on twitter. They mean a lot to me and I hope you continue to enjoy the story I'm telling. There will be an additional insert for this chapter published at a later date because I've decided not to increase the rating! This chapter follows on from the events of Kill Shot and as always any dialogue used from the episode is in italics. And as always, thanks to Ally for being a super-awesome beta and kicking my procrastinating ass from time to time ;)
Chapter Three
When Beckett walks over to her desk, after she and Esposito have given Captain Gates their version of the events which led to the shooting of Lee Travis, she finds Castle occupying his usual spot next to her desk, focusing on something on his phone. He looks up when she sits down, "Hey."
Her face breaks into the first smile he's seen pretty much since the case landed on her desk and he's relieved to see it, "Hey, what are you doing?" She answers.
"Just waiting for my partner," Castle replies easily and she feels a twinge of guilt at his words because things have been off-kilter between them ever since that night in Atlantic City and she knows she hasn't handled the situation even remotely well. "Maybe you've seen her; pretty girl, thinks she can leap tall buildings in a single bound, carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, yet still manages to laugh at some of my jokes." There's no recrimination in his tone and she thinks, not for the first time, that he doesn't deserve any of this.
She doesn't deserve him.
He's waiting for her to speak; despite the lightness in his tone she can tell he still isn't sure where they stand. "She sounds like a handful," Beckett comments; it sounds half-hearted even to her own ears, even when ignoring the self-deprecating smile that graces her lips.
"Tell me about it," Castle leans in towards her, mock exasperation and an exaggerated sigh escaping with his words, and she finds herself immeasurably grateful for the levity he always manages to provide. "Anyway, if you do see her, tell her she owes me about – a hundred coffees."
Her lips twitch in mild amusement and a quick assessment leaves her realizing that he's somehow managed to relieve the weight of her guilty burden. "Castle?" She calls him back when he gets up to leave, and he turns back to look at her expectantly. "Thank you."
"For what?" He looks at her almost appraisingly. Of course he wouldn't think he'd done anything being the selfless man that he is, but then that only makes the way she's treated him lately worse.
"For not pushing, and for giving me the space to get through this," Now that the case is over, she's managed to put herself back together enough that she realizes the extent of what he's done for her. And it deserves acknowledging, he deserves to know what a difference he made. Because she's prepared to bet her entire collection of Castle's books that he had at least something to do with Esposito's intervention earlier.
"Always," Castle smiles, like it's no big deal and when she looks at him she knows it isn't, because that's their word. It means there's nothing in the world he wouldn't do if it will make her life easier. "Let me take you home? I'll even throw in dinner."
Beckett bites her lip because god knows, in the wake of the last seventy-two hours the prospect of enjoying something normal like dinner makes her heart leap. But even though the case is closed, its time she made her peace with the demons she's still carrying. "Can we take a rain check?" She asks, reluctant to do so but knowing it is for the best, "I'd love to have dinner with you but there's something else I need to do tonight." She glances around the room and seeing that everyone else has cleared out for the night leans across, feathering her lips against his cheek.
"Until tomorrow then Detective," Castle grins and she's relieved to see the twinkle back in his eye. As messed up as she was – and arguably still is – she isn't naïve enough to believe the past six months haven't affected him more than he lets on. She can't fault him for that though, playing her cards as closely to her chest as she does.
"Night Castle," Beckett calls after his retreating form. Her eyes only flick briefly to the pile of case files still demanding her attention before shutting down her computer for the night. She grabs her jacket from the back of the chair and when she leaves the bullpen, it is with one less worry weighing her heart down.
Usually when she has a session with her therapist she leaves it feeling completely drained and wanting to do nothing more than to sleep for the next month. Today however is different; she feels hopeful – optimistic even. She knows that it is still just the beginning of a very long road and,given recent events, is all too aware that it'll be anything but easy. But it's a start.
Where talking to Dr. Burke usually feels like him extracting the information from her, she's surprised to find that she volunteered it quite freely. His words play on her mind as she zips along the congested New York City highways on her Harley. You're gonna have to learn to make peace with the scars from your shooting.
She'd wanted to tell him she was fine, that her scars were no longer an issue and once she probably would have done. The words were halfway to her lips before she swallowed down the lie, still haunted by the look on Castle's face just before she fled shirtless, into the bathroom of an Atlantic City hotel.
"You're gonna have to take off your shirt." The corners of her lips turn down when she realizes and her fingers trip hesitantly over the buttons. Sensing her reluctance, he jumps to put her at ease. "Beckett – Kate, we don't have to –"
"I want to," Kate looks at him and there's something almost desperate in her expression, because this has spent the past six months defining her. She wants, more than anything, to be able to look at herself in the mirror again and come face to face with the self-assured, independent woman she used to be.
She manages to make eye contact for the entire time, slipping each tiny disk from the fastening. Castle still looks wary and her heart breaks a little bit more. She can't take it. Trying not to concentrate on the voices rushing through her head – telling her that it's too soon, telling her that she's doing this for all the wrong reasons – she peels the shirt away from her body and it joins his on the floor.
She catches him appraising her from the side and wishes fervently there was significantly more alcohol in her system for what she's about to do... before turning to face him full on. The look on his face changes and she catches the stifled choking noise he makes, despite his attempt to disguise it. "It's fine Castle," She says with more certainty than she feels, reaching out and gripping his hand briefly before laying down on the bed.
Everything always comes back to the scars which mar her skin. Castle looks down at her, eyes irrevocably drawn to the angry red scar between her breasts and there's something remarkably like terror in his eyes. She's only ever seen that look there once before, while blackness clung to the edges of her vision and she drifted in and out of consciousness. And it's all it takes to take her back.
"Kate," He breathes out her name on a shaky exhale, needing to put a stop to this before it drags them both down to a place they're not ready to go. She's not listening though. Her chest heaves from trying not to let this get to her but she seems to have no control over the rest of her body. Her hands are gripping his wrists and she's pushing his palms into her scar.
Castle tries to resist, knows it's doing more harm than good, especially when she's already struggling to breathe. It takes him back too, and he can feel everything from the stickiness of the blood leaking out of the wound, to the occasional violent shudder she makes as the life leaves her body. His own breathing quickens and he tries to quell the sick feeling that's rising in his chest because he knows he doesn't stand a chance of calming her down if he isn't okay himself.
Catching her wrists in one hand, he pulls her into a sitting position. "Look at me Kate," He says firmly, "Look at me." She's not listening to him, doesn't even seem to be aware of his presence. The erratic beat of her heart thuds against her rib cage and it terrifies him beyond anything else, seeing her so out of control. "Beckett," He tries, "I need you to breathe for me." His free hand traces the curve of her spine, "Focus on me and take slow even breaths. Keep your eyes on me."
Her skin is clammy to the touch and beads of sweat trickle down the valley between her breasts, a combination of the panic she's in and the effort it's taking to calm her down.
In. Out. In. Out.
Breathing deeply, like a drowning man on dry land, she blindly reaches out, breaking his grip on her and catching his hand in her own. "It's okay. You're okay Kate. I've got you."
Words of reassurance roll off his lips, breathed out against her sweaty brow and an exhausted Kate finally slumps forward, collapsing against his bare chest. Her body is still trembling and soft cries begin to escape on every exhale. Castle presses a kiss into her hair and her breathing hitches. He's concerned that she'll trigger another attack, tears gradually escalating to the point where long painful sobs are escaping her throat. His arms fold around her and he holds her to him, unrelenting, until they finally subside; until the hot tears cease dampening his skin, and her breathing finally evens out.
He feels the moment she comes back to herself because her entire body stiffens in his arms and it causes him to pause the repetitive rubbing of her back. "Castle, let go of me!" There's an edge to her voice he hasn't heard before and as soon as he's lifted his weight from her she flees; the bathroom door shuts with a click that reverberates in the silence of the room.
She finds herself outside her building, still astride her bike and with her head a million miles away from where it should be; it troubles her that she has no idea how she made it home without causing an accident. As she takes the keys of the ignition, she's realizes that she's almost glad the elevator in her building is broken, forcing her to take the stairs. Kate pauses outside her apartment for a long moment, and draws in a deep breath before pushing open the door with great trepidation.
She opens her eyes and winces, surveying the damage. In the harsh light of day, now that she's stone cold sober, the damage looks worse than she remembered it when leaving for work that morning. Glass crunches underfoot and glitters up at her from the hardwood floor. A glass whisky tumbler lies in pieces in the kitchen, alcohol pooling around it and just a few inches away, her own blood stains the floor, and the cupboard.. and the sink.
Kate pulls herself up into a standing position, from where she crouched to examine the damage, and proceeds to collect up the empty bottles. She then reaches for the three half-empty bottles and doesn't even hesitate before pouring the remainder of their contents down the sink. The stench of the alcohol reaches her nose and she feels a sudden wave of nausea, although she's pretty sure that has less to with the hangover she's been nursing and much more to do with the disgust she feels towards herself. Composing herself, she throws the empties into a refuse sack and turns her attention to the shattered glass fragments littering her apartment.
It only takes her half an hour before the place is spotless; truthfully it is cleaner now than it had been prior to her breakdown. It looks like nothing ever happened, but she knows it'll be a while before she's able to look at anything in there without being reminded of her darkest day.
Wiping a hand across her forehead, Kate catches sight of herself in the mirror and her heart skips a beat. She lifts her shirt over her head, not caring where it lands as she moves to look at herself properly. Swallowing hard, she raises a shaking hand to trace the scars. Last night was a whole new low for her, and as her gaze lands on the bandage around her wrist, she makes herself a promise; that this is as bad as it's going to get. She's going to beat this, but she's starting to realize that she can't do it alone. She doesn't want to do it alone anymore.
Castle is trying to write when she shows up at the loft. His mother and daughter are in the Hamptons; after his paranoia about the sniper packed them off, they've decided to make an extended weekend of it. He hasn't exactly written a lot over the past few days, so this has left him with no excuses not to. With the first deadline for Frozen Heat coming up in a couple of weeks, Gina is already breathing down his neck, so he figures he should probably try and make some headway. That is easier said than done though, he thinks sardonically and when she knocks, he's disheartened to realize he's spent the better part of two hours staring at a blank screen, cursor blinking mockingly.
"Hey," His eyes rake over her, in the doorway and he can't fail to notice the slight redness around her eyes but is somewhat reassured when she smiles back without any hesitation.
Kate offers him the coffee cup she's clutching, "It's not a hundred, but it's a start," She says by way of explanation. It's accompanied by a casual shrug of the shoulders which Castle takes to mean don't make a big deal out of it okay. He can do that.
He accepts the cup from her with a grin, not needing words to explain what the gesture means to him, because coffee has always been their alternative to words. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Miss Beckett?" He steps out of the doorway, inviting her inside. "Oh wait, don't tell me you missed my sparkling personality and scintillating conversation already?"
"I won't. I don't think your ego needs any more stroking." She rolls her eyes in the way he's accustomed to, but she's toying with the stitching of her leather jacket and he knows her little tells well enough to identify that she's nervous. "Actually, I was hoping your offer of dinner was still on the table."
The grin on Castle's face widens and he practically drags her over to the sofa. She moves some papers to prevent them from getting crumpled beneath her body and realizes that she's holding the chapter outlines for his latest book. "But if you're busy I –"
Castle silences her with a look, picking up his laptop and tilting it so she can see the empty screen, "I wasn't getting anywhere anyway, so your timing is perfect." She still looks reluctant to stay, like she thinks her presence is bothering him, "You wouldn't want me to disappoint my readers now, would you?"
Kate is still torn, but eventually slides her jacket down over her arms and abandons it over the back of the sofa, "Well I certainly wouldn't want anyone to claim I'm not fulfilling my muse-related duties," She plays along, acquiescing surprisingly easier than he thought she would.
There's a reluctance though on her part in accepting the glass of wine he presses on her, something else which doesn't go unnoticed. "How bad was it?" He asks, and her brow knits together in confusion, "You think it will help to numb the pain, but it does nothing for the panic, the hyper-vigilance, does it?"
Kate can only meet his gaze briefly, but when she does she's taken aback by the understanding reflected there. Understanding that only comes from experience. She wants to tell him that she didn't know what she was doing, but the four glasses she'd consumed with the intention of just taking the edge off tell a different story and it's a half truth at best. She won't insult his intelligence by pretending otherwise. "No it doesn't," She answers finally, glancing back up at him, a note of resignation creeping into her voice. There's no judgement there. "It was pretty bad," She admits to his original question and the way his eyes immediately pan to her right arm isn't lost on her. Of course he knows.
She rolls up her sleeve and holds out her arm to him, so he can see the length of gauze spanning from her wrist to a couple of inches below her elbow. "It isn't too bad today. It just looks worse than it is."
"I didn't ask," Castle says softly, but it's clearly taking all of his self-restraint to prevent him from unwrapping it and judging for himself.
"You were not asking very loudly," Kate manages a weak smile. "You can take a look if it'll put your mind at rest." He can't seem to coordinate himself enough to be able to unwrap the length of bandage so she gently retracts her arm and unwinds it herself. When she glances back up it's no surprise to see that Castle has retrieved a first aid kit that she's sure would be considered extensive by even Lanie's standards.
Her slight amusement must show in her expression though because he reads it correctly, shrugging his shoulders, "Occupational hazard of almost single-handedly raising a small child," He offers.
A ghost of a smile flits across her lips, "And there was me thinking it was for your benefit," She answers back, enjoying the look of discomfort on his face and feeling a small surge of victory when he holds up his hands in defeat. "Okay fine – Alexis insisted on it after she grew tired of accompanying me to the emergency room."
Kate laughs then and she's grateful they don't have to talk about it as Castle rifles through the kit for supplies. She stifles her gasp at the sudden sting caused by the removal of several gauze pads, revealing a jagged cut running vertically down her forearm. It finally seems to have stopped bleeding but it's definitely more than a surface laceration and she's clearly downplaying the injury.
He's relieved to see that it doesn't look infected and she seems to have done a pretty good job of cleaning it up but gently propels her over to the kitchen sink and proceeds to flush it out with cool water anyway. He uses cotton wool to wipe away bloodstains that have dried on her arm and then extends it towards him for closer inspection. Using his fingers to tease the edges of her skin back together, he works quickly to apply steri-strips, before replacing the gauze covering it. "That definitely warrants several stitches. I've done the best I can but that's gonna leave a bit of a scar."
"It isn't like it's the first time," Kate quips sarcastically and when she flashes him a grin, it throws him for a loop because he isn't sure when she got to the stage where she can joke about it. It doesn't take her long to notice that he's no longer looking at her face, but instead his gaze bores a hole in the turtleneck she's wearing and she knows he's envisioning the scars which lay beneath. "Hey Castle," She lightly gets his attention; his breathing is coming slightly shallower now and she recognizes the signs. "My face is up here."
Her words seem to break him out of his reverie and when his eyes snap to hers, Castle has the grace to look suitably embarrassed, a light blush appearing on his cheeks, "Sorry I –"
"Don't be," Kate interrupts, waving away his apology. "It actually makes this next conversation kinda easier."
Castle tilts his head slightly to one side; it seems like he's about to discover what her air of nervousness is all about. "Let's take this somewhere more comfortable," He suggests, getting off his stool and holding out his hand to her. Kate accepts it with her uninjured one and allows herself to be pulled back towards the living room. She sinks down into the sofa cushions, pulling her legs up to tuck beneath her body.
She waits for Castle to pour himself a drink, reaching for her own glass of wine – with noticeably less reluctance than she had initially – and taking a sip. "I uh – I went to see my therapist after work," She starts, tugging at a loose thread on her sleeve to distract herself.
"Oh, right," Castle still finds himself surprised by the version of Beckett he's been seeing a lot more of lately, and when she opens up to him, without him needing to push her it takes him a half-second to catch up. "Did it help?"
She regards him thoughtfully for a moment, "I feel like I'm in a better place now – or at least I'm confident that I can be. My whole life has been about my Mom's murder, about – about needing a place to hide."
'I know you crawled inside your mother's murder and didn't come out. I know you hide there, the same way you hide in these nowhere relationships with men you don't love.'
She falls silent and his words from that day in her apartment reverberate through the intervening months and fall away, leaving them both reeling slightly. Kate pretends to ignore the slight dampness around his eyes. "It's not the life I want for myself anymore, Castle. I want to be more." For us. I want to be more for us.
She looks at him carefully and in it he sees a flicker of her old self; the Kate Beckett who has so many walls she could give China a run for its money. She opens her mouth a couple of times but no words come out, so he waits patiently, his hand reaching across the gap between them to rest on top of her own. "I need you to help me with something."
"Name it," He doesn't even have to pause.
"Dr Burke said to me today that the first step to overcoming my PTSD is acceptance of my shooting, which means –"
"Coming to terms with the physical reminders as well as your memories," Castle supplies for her, finally understanding what this conversation has to do with their previous one, "Or in your case, I guess it would be the lack of memories."
Her eyes flick to his only briefly, fearful that he'll see everything she's spent months keeping from him. As much progress as she's made, and as much as her session today has left her feeling invigorated, that's still a bridge too far. "Do you know what I see when I look in the mirror? How it makes me feel when I chase after a suspect and feel the burn in my chest for hours afterwards?"
"I can hazard a pretty good guess," Castle answers softly, his fingers seeking out her knee because she's growing agitated again and he just wants to be able to provide her with some measure of relief. "You're still healing though Kate. How you feel now, it isn't all you're ever going to be – you're more than you realize and I wish you could see yourself the way I do."
"Help me?" She says it so quietly, he doesn't quite catch it.
"What?"
There's barely an inch between them on the couch and she takes his glass from his hand, placing them both on the coffee table, her hand coming up to touch his cheek, "Help me?" She repeats a little louder; the air thickens between them and the intent clearly marks her words.
"Are you sure about this?" After what happened in Atlantic City and the way this case has affected her, he's cautious. "Because this can't be just some emotional response to everything you're dealing with right now. It wouldn't be fair to either of us."
"That isn't what this is," She assures him, rising up onto her knees and fisting her hands in the collar of his button-down. Her lips brush chastely against his, and she's only really aware in that moment how much she's missed this connection between them over the last couple of weeks. When Castle doesn't respond straight away she pulls back, respecting his need for space. "I just need you to help me see myself the way that you see me."
Her words are his undoing and he chases the distance between them, lips colliding with hers hard enough to bruise. She takes her hands from his cheeks and reaching for his, places them at the bottom of her shirt, raising her arms into the air. Never letting his gaze waver from her face, he lifts it over her head and lets it drop to the couch, "You are beautiful Kate," His fingers ghost along the curve between her neck and shoulders, hooking into her bra straps and in perfect symmetry, sliding them down her arms.
Kate almost rolls her eyes, although her breath catches in her throat at the way he's touching her so she can't speak. Instead she continues to guide him, taking his hand and letting it trail down over her sternum. His fingers seek out the round scar, running over the raised edges and she's almost relieved when he finally looks down, "How about now?" Her voice remains steady, although she knows he'll be able to feel the way her heart hammers rapidly beneath his hand. "You'd be lying if you said that this doesn't change the way you see me."
Silence follows in the wake of her words and Castle regards her with a stare so intense that she feels the flutters of that familiar urge she gets to run and hide "You're right," He says eventually, "It does change the way I see you." The way her shoulders drop slightly in conjunction with her face clouding over isn't lost on him and so he continues, using the pad of his thumb to caress the scar. "They make me realize that you're still human, and I don't mean that in the way it sounds, just that you've always been extraordinary to me and this proves it. I don't know that I could go through everything you've been through and still be able to smile. You show me what it means to be a hero."
"I think you overestimate me, Castle," She says on a sigh, offering him a watery smile.
"You underestimate yourself," He retorts, firmly.
"How about now?" Kate asks, sliding his hands further down and allowing him to feel the slightly raised ridges left by her surgical scars, "Can you learn to love those too?"
He's not sure when this became about him, but it's clearly something that's bothering her judging by the way she's staunchly refusing to meet his eyes. "These are how they got your heart to start beating again. If you didn't have these then we wouldn't even be sitting here having this conversation. They make me realize how lucky I am to have you."
Tears well up in her eyes and he uses his thumb to chase away the one that escapes down her cheek,
"Don't you get it yet Kate?" Her brow knits together in confusion and she casts her eyes upwards to find him holding her gaze, "When it comes to you, there's nothing left to learn to love."
"Show me," She whispers, rising up onto her knees and kissing him soundly.
And he does.