Disclaimer: Not mine. Bless ABC!

Author's Note: My apologies for taking a bit longer than I intended to in writing this chapter. This week my mother suffered a minor stroke (she's only 64), so I found myself visiting her in ICU. Thankfully, she is well on the road to recovery, but it was still a blow to my family. I am so grateful that she's going to be okay. I had already started this chapter before she fell ill, but writing it became personal very quickly.

Stand With Me

Chapter Three: The One He Saved

Kate Beckett woke with a start and instinctively reached for the weapon on her hip, but a soft touch on her wrist stayed her hand.

"Easy, Detective. You're safe."

Kate blinked twice to adjust her eyes to the half-light of hospital room and immediately recognized the silhouette of Virginia, the Head Nurse of the graveyard shift, standing over her.

"Is Castle …" her eyes widened with panic and immediately sought out the figure of the man on the bed across the room.

"Mr. Castle is fine," Gin's calm voice reassured her. "You were having a nightmare."

Beckett breathed a sigh of relief and eased back into the chair she had been sleeping in. She rubbed her eyes wearily and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I hope I didn't wake anyone."

"You weren't loud enough to be heard outside of this room," Gin promised and handed Kate a cup of ice water. "I was checking Mr. Castle's vitals when you became restless. I thought it better to wake you rather than let the demons continue their torment."

Kate drank gratefully from the cup. Her throat was raw from the day's emotions, and the ice water acted like a soothing balm. "Thank you."

Gin watched as Kate took another long sip from the cup, assessing her fluid intake. "You're welcome. There's more in the pitcher next to you."

"Not just for the water."

Gin nodded gravely. She had been a critical care nurse for over 20 years, had seen some of the most horrific traumas that could be inflicted on a human body, and yet it was often the emotional damage that was the most long-lasting – especially for the patient's loved-ones. And from what Gin had heard of the events at the cemetery that morning, it was little wonder that Detective Beckett was already experiencing nightmares.

"How is he?" Kate asked, turning her attention back to Castle.

"He's doing as well as can be expected right now. Dr. Herod has ordered another MRI tomorrow to check on the pace of the swelling near the spine. Blood pressure and pulse ox are good. Temperature's a bit above normal, but according to his mother, Mr. Castle has always run a little hot."

Kate nearly choked on the water she had been swallowing. She coughed raggedly in an attempt to clear her throat, and Gin looked at her with a raised eyebrow when the young police detective started to laugh. "It's just that Castle has spent the last three years trying to convince me of my 'hotness'," Kate said, attempting to explain the inside joke.

Gin appraised the sleeping man's face. While she had read each of the mystery writer's books, she had never met him in person. She wasn't one to stand in line at book signings and certainly didn't party at all the New York hot spots that a famous novelist playboy might frequent. Nevertheless, now that Gin took the time to actually look at him, she noticed the vast difference between the photo-shopped publicity photos that adorned the back of his novels and the man himself. It had nothing to do with the subdued hospital lighting, the tubing of the ventilator that breathed for him, or even the effects of the heavy sedatives that kept him in the medically induced coma. Richard Castle's face was a very human one. Very real. And if the reactions and comments of his family were anything to judge by, he was a very loving and charismatic man.

"I wouldn't say 'hot'," Gin finally said having completed her assessment. "More like …"

" … ruggedly handsome," both women said at the same time.

Kate and Gin smiled at one another, and Gin allowed herself a small chuckle before she collected her kit of supplies, PatientTrak computer, and headed for the door of the private room. She had gotten Detective Beckett to laugh. Always a good sign. In her mind, in CritCare, it was just as important to tend to the family as it was the patient. "I've requested a tray of food for you from the night kitchen. Eat, and then get some rest," she ordered in such a voice that Kate knew it would be pointless to argue. "Tomorrow will likely be another long day."

Leaning her head against the cushioned headrest of the overstuffed lounger – the Critical Care Ward clearly spared no expense for the comfort of its patients or their visitors – Kate closed her eyes and considered the nurse's parting words. Another long day in a week of endless days. How much more could any of them take before they broke completely?

Alone with her thoughts, it wasn't long before the ambient noises of the room caught her attention. She opened her eyes again and stood. Ice chips rattled against plastic as Kate set the empty cup she had been clutching in her hand on the table next to the water pitcher and approached the side of Castle's hospital bed.

Hours earlier, Kate had entered this room at the side of Castle's mother and daughter. Her right hand still ached from Alexis' death grip at seeing her father for the first time since the shooting. Though she was nearly an adult in age, all of the young woman's childhood fears of losing the parent she loved the most came flooding to the present. Alexis' body trembled with nervous energy, and the black dress she wore served only to heighten the pallor of her skin. As she lurked at the foot of the bed – fearful of getting too close – Kate thought that she looked far younger than her 17 years.

Thankfully, Lanie had had enough foresight to predict the teenager's reaction and had joined them for the first visit, gently explaining the purpose of all the tubes, wires, and drips that were connected to the young girl's father. The respirator is definitely scary looking. The medications keeping him in the coma depress his breathing to the point that he can't breathe for himself, so the machine takes over until he wakes up. No, it doesn't hurt him at all, and if it did, Castle would probably wake up from the coma long enough to complain about it.

Alexis' hold on Kate's hand eased incrementally through Lanie's tutorial, and by the time the ME had finished, Alexis had released Kate's hand to cautiously approach her father's bedside to gently take his instead.

Kate's eyes welled with tears at the memory of Alexis', "I love you, Daddy."

Esposito and Ryan visited for just a few minutes, chiding the comatose man for not being smart enough to tackle Beckett at the legs instead of at the waist and avoid getting shot altogether. Jim Beckett entered awhile later and stood silently next to the bed, his keen eyes weighing every inch of the man who had risked his life to save Kate's. After what seemed like three forevers to Kate, Jim rested his hand on Castle's shoulder.

"Thank you, Rick," he said, his quiet voice nearly impossible to hear over the whoosh-hiss of the respirator. "Thank you for my daughter." Jim's tone was tinged with both sorrow and gratitude, and it was all that Kate could to swallow her tears at the sound. Martha and Alexis were not so successful.

Esposito and Lanie had escorted the pair of exhausted women home a few hours ago and would stay the night inside the loft. A pair of Ryan's "cousins" would stand guard outside until such time as private security could be arranged for the two women's safety. All had agreed that though Kate had clearly been the sniper's target, they could not assume that Castle wouldn't have eventually become a target himself. After all, the author had kicked the hornet's nest of conspiracy that was Johanna Beckett's murder, and the criminal mastermind at the center of it was bound to harbor a few resentments. The chilling fear was that if "they" couldn't kill Castle, what better way to make him suffer than to go after his mother and child? The detectives of the 12th simply weren't willing to take that chance.

"You sure know how to stick your foot in it, Castle," Kate said to him, fingering the textured plastic of the hospital bed's guardrail for a moment before she pressed the button to lower it. He remained motionless in the bed save for the rhythmic falling of his chest caused by the whoosh-hiss – whoosh-hiss of the ventilator. However, after three years of witty banter with the man on all manner of subjects, Kate could all but hear his rejoinder.

What'd you expect me to do?

"I don't know, Castle. Maybe leave well enough alone?"

It was killing you, Kate. Not knowing.

"Better me than you."

I don't accept that, Kate. Besides, this isn't exactly how I pictured it would turn out when I tackled you.

"Why, Castle? Why'd you do it?"

Had to.

"That's not an answer, and you know it."

You know why.

"Tell me!"

But the ghosts of conversations past would reveal only so much to Kate. Some answers – those to the most difficult questions – would just have to wait.

Kate studied his face as shadows played hide and seek with the light of the monitors that flashed their myriad colors and displays. A long scratch marred Castle's skin from just below his right eye to the corner of his mouth, and there was some slight bruising across that cheekbone. Kate wished she could say that he just looked like he was sleeping. She had seen him asleep before, and Kate could see none of the relaxation and peace that settled into his face when he slept. In spite of the medications that had sent him into the netherworld of the coma, there was a noticeable tension in the muscles of his forehead and neck, and the tightness of his mouth had nothing to do with the intubation tube that ran from his throat to the machine that breathed for him. No, Kate had seen this look that night in the warehouse freezer where they nearly froze to death in each other's arms. Richard Castle was waging an internal battle to stay alive in spite of the odds.

Her hand trembled with indecision for a moment before Kate reached out to caress Castle's chin with the back of her fingers. She smiled slightly at the stubble that was forming there. It only added to the "ruggedly handsome" moniker that Castle was so fond of throwing around. The pads of her fingertips traced the strong line from his jaw to his ear and slipped gently into his hair. She had touched him this way only once before, but she had been so caught up in the intensity of their kiss and the feel of his mouth on hers that she couldn't remember if his hair had been this soft. Kate leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to Castle's temple. The slow rhythm of his pulse beat against her lips, and she rested her forehead against the side of his head. She breathed in the scent of him – that uniquely Castle smell blended with the less soothing antiseptic scent of the hospital – and then with practiced fingers, she removed the leather band at her wrist without looking, slid her hands down Castle's forearm, and buckled her father's watch around his wrist.

For the one he saved.

"It's not your time yet, Castle. You hear me?" Kate whispered in his ear. "It's ours … so don't blow it by dying on me."

Kate pressed another kiss to his cheek before pulling a chair closer to his bedside. She rested her head against it's back, and after a few moments fell asleep to the rhythmic sound of the ventilator – Castle's fingers lightly clasped in hers.

Author's Note: I'm sorry if you find any inconsistencies with details in this chapter and canonical events from the show. I'm still catching up on several episodes that I missed during seasons one and two, so any errors are purely from ignorance rather than a deliberate attempt to screw things up.

In any event, I hope you have enjoyed this chapter. As always, reviews are SO wonderful! Please let me know what you think.

~ Sarah