A/N: I had no plans to continue this story, however a few people asked for more and it got me thinking, and here we are. This will be the final chapter. A huge thank you to Leuska for all of her incredible help with this chapter, and thank you all for reading and responding to this story.
Her voice doesn't sound like her own when she says his name, but his face still breaks apart with joy.
"Oh, Kate."
There are people everywhere but she only sees him, his eyes wide with amazement as he presses a kiss to her hand.
"It's so good to hear your voice."
She tries to smile but falters, caught off-guard as she registers the child in his arms. She closes her eyes, so confused, because in Castle's grasp is a girl she doesn't recognise, a girl with dark hair and expressive eyes, and she doesn't understand.
She blinks repeatedly, her vision blurred with unshed tears as she attempts to make sense of it all, her chest tight.
Doctors and nurses crowd around her and Castle murmurs reassurances, his voice soothing even though she feels like she can barely breathe.
"Castle," she manages, unwilling to let go of his hand in the chaos, the only anchor she has.
"I'm here," he chokes out. "I'm not going anywhere."
Days pass, filled with tests and visits that she doesn't remember, but the doctors tell her that she's doing better, now. Yesterday she couldn't recall anything after the accident, not regaining consciousness or any of the following days, but today she knows what's going on around her, can remember Castle telling her this morning that she has been in a coma for a year.
A whole year.
It's too much to begin to comprehend.
But she's making progress, evidently, and she sees it reflected in the combination of hope and relief in her husband's eyes.
Then it's days of scans and tests and so many doctors, all of it more than overwhelming, but Castle's at her bedside at any given chance.
"Kate."
Today he's a child with a secret, his lips pursed in a giddy smile as he pulls his chair closer to her.
"Kate," he whispers again, when she doesn't respond instantly.
"Castle."
"Guess what?"
She rolls her eyes, goes to indicate that she doesn't want to guess, but he's too excited to keep it to himself.
"They said it's okay if I bring Eva to see you."
She inhales slowly, averts her gaze.
She doesn't remember anything of those first few days after she rasped out his name, can't form any image in her head of her daughter beyond the memories she has of her at just one month old. She's heard stories from Castle, descriptions of a toddler who is stubborn and indomitable, who won't slow down for anything, but she struggles to reconcile his words with the baby she remembers, and her heart rate quickens at the thought of meeting the girl.
"Really?"
He nods, his voice gravelly as he replies.
"Really."
Despite spending hours watching the doorway, she isn't prepared when she finally looks up to see Castle there, his hand clasped around their daughter's.
She takes a deep breath, stunned at the sight of the girl, who regards her father impatiently when he pauses a foot past the threshold.
Eva walks across the room herself, shirking Castle's guiding hand and moving straight for the bed.
"Momma," she exclaims, wanting to be lifted up, but Kate can't reach to grasp her, her arms trembling uselessly. Her heart twists, her inability to move more than a fraction paining her more than the exertion.
But Castle's there in a second, helping Eva onto the bed with care.
"There's your mom, baby," Castle whispers, stroking his hand across their daughter's head.
When his eyes meet hers they're misty too, and she offers him a watery smile before looking back to Eva.
"Hey, Eva," she says, her voice breaking. "My sweet girl."
Eva blinks, her eyes widening at the sound of her mother's voice, and she turns to her father seeking affirmation, reassurance.
"It's okay, sweetheart," he encourages her, taking Kate's hand, rubbing his thumb across her wrist.
Eva glances between them both before grabbing at her mother's fingers, reaching for her face.
"Momma," she murmurs, amazed but accepting, and Kate lets out a shaky breath as relief floods through her.
She sees Castle relax too, realises she wasn't the only one apprehensive about Eva's reaction, and she squeezes his hand as the nerves and adrenaline subside.
Eva settles down on the bed beside her, sighing contentedly, and Kate smiles, entranced, as tears slip down her cheeks.
Their daughter is so much like Castle.
She has sparkling eyes, is never quiet for long, and is her father's little shadow.
The girl isn't afraid of anything, and is seemingly unfazed by the fact that her mother is in a hospital bed, barely able to move, and that nothing about this is normal.
She babbles nonsensically, clambering all over the bed as Castle attempts to convince her to sit still for more than a moment.
"Slow down, Katie," he admonishes, but the glow of pride in his gaze is unmistakable as he watches his daughter.
"Katie?" She wonders.
Katie is her name. It's her childhood and her parents and now her daughter too, apparently. At least according to Castle.
"It's your father's fault, really," Castle says, regarding her with those little boy eyes, the ones she can never resist. He's not sure how she's going to react, evidently, but she doesn't even know what to say.
"She's so much like you, Kate. Your father called her Katie once, and the look on her face… It was like we'd finally gotten it right," he laughs, stroking a finger across their daughter's belly, causing her to erupt in giggles.
Kate turns to Eva, her arm resting weakly around her.
There's a mischievous twinkle in the girl's eyes that she knows all too well, a smile that melts her heart.
"You're wrong, Castle," she murmurs, her heart full. "She's just like you."
It all takes time.
Time and rehab and longer in a hospital than she ever imagined, and the agonisingly slow progress makes her frustrated, impatient.
She lacks the energy to hide her irritation, and still her husband is unfailingly joyous, never without a smile.
She could be in a terrible mood for the rest of her life and he'd just be happy that she's okay.
Somehow even that annoys her.
"Castle," she grits out, trying to get a hold of the emotions that are about to send her to frustrated tears. "Stop smiling."
His lips fall into a blank line, but his eyes are still bright.
"Why?"
She huffs out a sigh, can't find enough words to explain.
"It's too much. All of it."
She's unbelievably weak, only now learning to do things she used to do without thinking. She's missed a year of their lives, the first year of her daughter's life, and she's still stuck in a fucking hospital, unable to go home with them.
Nothing's how it was before and everything hurts.
"Kate."
He hugs her then, still so gentle with her, but she can't find it in herself for be annoyed at him when his embrace provides so much comfort.
"It's okay. Everything's okay."
Somehow when the words fall from his mouth, she believes them.
They all keep saying it's a miracle: her recovery, that she doesn't have any long term brain damage.
It's a miracle that Castle attributes to her character, her strength of will, but in reality, she's never felt weaker.
She just concentrates on the fact that she's going home.
Home, where her family is waiting, so pleased to see her.
They all visited – her father, Martha and Alexis, Lanie and the boys – but it's different, being home with them.
It's the closest thing to normal she's felt in months.
They chat quietly while Castle tends to Eva, demonstrating a routine that she doesn't know and isn't a part of. She swallows the feeling that they don't need her here, tries to banish it altogether. She knows it isn't true, that he's just trying to make things as easy as possible for her, but she can't help but wonder what their lives might look like if she hadn't ducked out to grab groceries that night. If she'd just stayed home, if she hadn't been at that intersection at that split second in time. If she'd never been gone at all.
She tries not to be bitter about it. Tries to focus on the miracle they've been handed; the fact that she's here to see her daughter grow up, even if she missed a year of her life.
But some days it consumes her, the frustration and anger that Eva is walking and talking and she didn't get to witness any of it for the first time.
"Momma," Eva whines, tired of sitting still so long, and Kate holds her closer, covers the girl's face with kisses before letting her crawl down off her lap.
She has Castle to thank for the fact that her daughter even knows who she is, but he refuses the gratitude, as if she could expect nothing less of him.
She remembers him, when the frustration threatens to overwhelm her. Her husband who never gave up hope, who never stopped bringing their daughter to visit, who went through hell and still puts up with her when she's angry instead of grateful.
Eva staggers over to the toys that litter the living room floor, perfectly content, and Kate leans back in her chair, attempts to focus on the present.
"Hey."
Castle comes up behind her, kisses her cheek.
"Dada," Eva exclaims, approaching him with a plastic truck in her outstretched hand.
"Thanks, baby," he grins, taking a seat on the floor in front of her chair, his shoulder brushing her leg.
Eva makes a whole production of it, bringing all of her toys to Castle so they can play together, and he responds perfectly, knowing exactly how to do this.
The last thing she remembers she had a one-month old daughter, and now she looks at Eva and still can't believe it's really her.
She's not familiar with it, with any of it, and the feeling of inadequacy that descends when she sees Castle with Eva is a fist around her heart.
Somehow she envies her husband for being such a natural parent, and that only compounds the guilt.
"I'm going to lie down."
"Kate?"
She waves off his concern, knows it won't stop him.
She's barely seated on the edge of their bed when he comes after her.
"Kate."
"I'm not good at this," she grits out, ashamed of the confession.
"Yes you are."
He's affronted by the mere suggestion, so ready to disagree, and she leans back on the mattress, so tired.
"You're amazing at this."
He wants to push the point, needs to, but she can't hear it.
"Castle-"
"Eva loves you. She loves you so much."
"She doesn't know me," she disagrees. "I don't know her."
She regrets the words instantly, because his whole face drops. She knows he did the best he could, that he did more than she could ever ask of him, but it doesn't change the fact that she's only now getting to know her daughter.
"I'm sorry."
She's sorry for everything, now.
Sorry for not being there. For not being a good enough mother, not being a good enough wife. For not being grateful enough for this miracle. For being so weak.
"Don't be sorry," he implores, crawling up onto the bed beside her. He lies on his side, his gaze so tender, and she turns away.
Sometimes it's too much, the way he looks at her. As if she's capable of anything.
"Hey," he strokes a finger down her cheek, draws her back to him. "You have nothing to be sorry for. This is a lot to get used to. It will all just take some time."
She breathes deeply, giving him a small nod. She wonders what she ever did to deserve this man.
"I hate that I missed it. All those milestones."
"There will be more milestones. So many more. And you'll see every one."
She pulls him close for a kiss, hopes that it displays the gratitude that she can't put into words.
"She-"
"She won't remember it, Kate," he cuts her off, reading her mind.
"I will."
Tears spring to her eyes and she presses the heels of her hands to them, willing the tears to recede.
"Kate," he begs.
He hates seeing her like this, she knows. But she can't help it, the regret too much to take.
He has every moment documented. She's seen every milestone in videos and photos, but it's not the same.
He gets up slowly, walking out into the living room and returning with Eva, lifting her onto the bed.
"New memories, Kate. That's what we've got. That's what we should be thankful for."
She can't disagree, not when Eva crawls over to her, demanding to be held.
"Baby," she gets out, breathless as she sits up slowly, letting Eva settle in her lap. "Oh, I love you."
The ferocity of it still takes her by surprise. The way her heart bursts with just one glance at the girl.
Eva exhales softly, burrowing closer, her hand fisted in her mother's shirt as her eyelids droop.
"Almost nap time," he murmurs, watching as Eva begins to drift off.
"Rick."
He looks up from Eva, smiling warmly.
"I love you."
It's the one thing that hasn't changed, that never will.
His lips meet hers in a gentle kiss, his palm at her cheek.
"I love you, too."
"I think we went overboard, Castle."
He falters, smiles at the sound of the teasing lilt to her voice and glances towards his wife, confirms that she's really here.
It's been a year since she opened her eyes and came back to them, and it still feels too good to be true.
"Castle?"
"Hm?" He refocuses, and Kate joins him beside the admittedly massive pile of presents that their daughter has yet to unwrap.
"I think we got a bit carried away with the presents," she repeats, dusting a kiss to his cheek.
"I don't think so," he shakes his head, leans into her. "She only turns two once."
He allows a faint memory of last year, of the three of them celebrating Eva's birthday in that small room, before he turns his attention to the present, where his wife is smiling beside him, her head on his shoulder.
"Incoming," Alexis calls, as Eva bounds down the stairs all too quickly, tugging Alexis's hand and chanting about presents, completely unstoppable.
But Kate slows her with a single look, situates the girl between the two of them, even as she bounces up and down.
"Look, Momma," she implores, tugging at the floral dress Alexis dressed her in.
"Beautiful, Katie," she grins, kissing Eva's nose and making her giggle, delighted to be the centre of her mother's attention. It distracts her from the presents, long enough for Alexis, Jim and Martha to get settled in the living room, and then it's utter chaos, Kate laughing loudly as Eva demolishes the wrapping paper, squealing over the abundance of gifts.
She's a whirlwind, their daughter, increasingly stubborn and fiery with each passing day, terrifyingly fearless.
He takes Kate's hand, squeezes it softly.
He's never been more grateful that she'll be there to share it with him.
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