Change of State: The World Anew
"Oh, Kate. Darling, of course. She can have anything - any information she wants. Where do I sign?"
Beckett blinks, mouth still open with all of her perfectly ordered arguments ready. "Ma'am?" she says faintly.
Martha Rodgers waves her hand to the nurse in dismissal. "Go get what we need, dear."
Oh, she likes his mother. She likes his mother a lot.
"You're Kate," Martha says simply. "He's been talking nonstop about you. I take it he's built up some fantasy in his head and wouldn't stop pestering you."
Inwardly, Kate flinches, though she's been too long in politics to let it show on her face. "He saved my life. Put himself in front of a bullet for me. So whatever fantasy is in his head - I'm grateful."
Martha looks flustered, and that's when Kate sees the garrulousness for what it is: worry. Miserable worry. The kind of emotion she can't let herself name or pin down, let alone handle, and it comes out this way instead - an act. So Kate softens her demeanor, gives herself liberty to connect with this woman's grief.
"Thank you for doing this," she tells his mother. "I think he may have information-"
"Oh, I don't care," Martha sighs. "He'd want you here. Or well, the man who came sweeping through our lives these last few days, talking a mile a minute, crazy ideas, living his book out loud. That man would want you here. So you're here."
Martha's fingers unfurl glittering with rings and she takes her son's hand, smoothing uselessly at the ends of his nails where Kate can see blood is caked. The blood is there in the fine lines around his knuckles as well, only on that one hand, and she can't explain it, doesn't understand how it got there.
The nurse comes back, parting the curtain and stepping into the crowded enclosure with them. She's handing over forms and it's a strange and awkward dance, figuring out which lines to sign and where, all passed over the top of his inert body, she and his mother both listening more to the sound of him breathing than to their instructions.
"You can't stay back here, ma'am. Ms. Rodgers," the nurse hesitates. Her cheeks are pink; she's blonde. Richard Castle would be flirting with her, Kate is almost completely certain. But only almost.
The Richard Castle who usually appears on talk shows and twitter, the Richard Castle of boob-signing and drunken parade float-crashing - he would be. But the man who jumped in front of a bullet and whispered love to her while she felt his blood pulsing in time to his heart under her hands...
"Ma'am? Captain Beckett can you please tell her-"
"I'm sorry, Martha," Kate scratches out. "I'm sorry."
Martha releases her son's hand, waves it in the air as if for some effect she's got no dialogue for, and she exits stage right with the nurse. The curtain swishes closed, but not before Kate sees a chair pushed back against the wall outside. She reaches for it, drags it into the enclosed space with her, sinks down to sit at his bedside.
Her whole body aches and why is it that hospital beds are raised so high? It puts her upper arm against the mattress and makes Castle disproportionate, grotesque, as if he's a sleeping, injured giant.
She resists for a long time by simply watching his eyes move under his lids, counting his heartbeats until the number doesn't make any sense, and then she can't resist anymore.
She takes his hand in both of hers and calls his name.
"Castle?" She tells herself he's going to survive the night but she doesn't know. She doesn't know.
It's not just cryptic clues and the certainty she saw in his eyes when he said he knew her mother's killer.
It was the love. Shining, limitless, certain love.
He loves her.
That's the answer she wants. Even if she doesn't know the question.
Kate spends a long night dozing in an uncomfortable chair before the dawn brings relief. She's the first to see his eyes open - they land unerringly on her though he doesn't speak - and she presses the call button for the nurse. After that, their connection is interrupted and she's pushed to one side as another surgeon on call plus an attending and a couple nurses come through.
He's taken to x-ray to deal with a possible cracked rib and she follows along behind his hospital bed. He's in and out of consciousness, his words mere garbles, too archaic or strained for her understanding. He might as well be speaking in tongues.
He's placed in a secluded room in ICU after the x-rays and a CT scan. His head is fine, the doctor is nominally encouraging, he doesn't seem to see her when he does wake. After another strangely silent hour of semi-consciousness, his eyes begin to rove the room, almost cautiously, some understanding in them that spurs her to action.
Kate asks for his family to be allowed inside and special privileges are granted to escort them back, but of course he drops off to sleep before they arrive. Nevertheless, his daughter flies for him, hair like a funeral streamer, black and dark and spilling over the white hospital gown as she hugs his neck.
"Daddy, I'm so sorry, I'll move back to New York. Just-"
Martha is already there, tugging the girl away, clasping her shoulders to hold her up. "He's going to be just fine, Alexis. Just fine. You know he's proud of you and what you're doing in LA."
LA. Alexis. Kate files it away, watching the scene unfold. Martha is a dramatic actress - Ryan idolizes her in a way only Ryan could, even Esposito found a soft spot for the woman when she came to bail Castle from jail.
Kate stands to one side, unobtrusive, but Alexis's red-rimmed eyes come back to her. "It's because of you he's been shot."
For an accusation, it's rather soft-handed and uncertain. It affects Kate not at all - she has heard infinitely worse - and this is only the truth.
"It's because of me, yes," she answers.
"Alexis, sweetheart, this is Kate. Kate Beckett."
"Beckett?" Alexis squeaks. Her eyes flick back to her father before glancing over Kate. Only now does Kate feel uncomfortable, for the first time since those blue eyes stared out of the girl's father and said I was with you. In bed.
"I'm Captain Beckett," she offers, stepping forward to shake hands. It feels so stiff that she drops her hand before Alexis can dutifully complete the required polite gesture. Instead Kate takes one more step and lightly embraces the girl around the shoulders.
Alexis trembles.
"He's got very good doctors," Kate says. "The best team seeing to his care."
"He couldn't stop talking about you," Alexis whispers. "He's in love with you. But you got him shot - do you even deserve it?"
"Alexis!" Martha cries sharply.
Kate steps back, releasing the girl, releasing the moment. "It's okay. You're upset. I'm the cause." She glances to the bed, a fresh look at what's been done, what she bears. "Mr. Castle - your father did a very selfless thing. He saved my life. He's a good man."
"But you don't love him back," Alexis says coldly.
"He's not - he doesn't know me," Kate stumbles.
A groan from the bed has them all orienting his direction, eyes and bodies turning, his daughter going forward to crouch close, one knee in the chair Kate had been using. Alexis strokes his forehead and murmurs to him and Kate finds herself leaning in, unable to help it, yearning for that flash of blue once more.
That flash of certainty.
"Dad. Come on, Daddy, open your eyes."
When he does, it's like the room holds its breath. Time stops. The lights dim in reverence for the effort it must take him to bring himself up.
His breathing is labored.
"Alexis, darling, lift up," Martha murmurs at her ear. Alexis scrambles away, trying to remain without leaning on her father, and Kate stares at the places on his chest where she knows the bullets went through.
A double-tap, professional. They intended to dispatch her. Final. She's just enough shorter than him that it went through his chest and into his lungs and missed the aorta. Just enough.
He was wrapped around her when they went down, his body encompassing hers. She's not even bruised from hitting the ground, so complete was his protection.
He was a shield around her. And now he's a beached thing in a hospital bed, breathing roughly, struggling for consciousness.
His eyes, fixed on the ceiling, start to drift down to the faces before him. His mouth opens and the sound that comes out is broken.
Alexis is crying.
Kate presses her hand to her sternum, breathing past the ache of empathy. She knows, she knows, but at least Alexis gets to keep her father. At least her parent didn't die.
"Lex..." he slurs.
"Hey, Daddy," Alexis gulps. She's wiping tears and leaning in, hugging his neck, and Kate can see the wince that flashes deep and feral in his eyes.
It's not her place to remonstrate, but Martha doesn't seem to see it. Martha is hanging on Alexis and causing both of them to press down into him until his face twists.
"Hey, okay, okay," she says finally. "Easy. Easy." She has Alexis by the elbow, and the young woman is struggling to remain apart, obviously not happy with Kate but at least recognizing the need for a gentle touch.
And that's when his gaze slides to her. His eyes are cool blue relief, relieved, and he sighs. "Thanks," he croaks. "Saved me."
She chews hard on her bottom lip to keep it contained, frowns down at him. "Other way around, Mr Castle. You saved me."
"Must've been good," he husks, and his eyes drop shut. "To bring a beautiful doctor to my bed."
But it's all slurred and he's gone.
He doesn't know her.