After a few more minutes of standing amidst the wreckage of memories that have crashed down around him, Castle turns to her in the middle of the storm cellar.
"I'm ready to go."
Burke warned him that returning to his place of captivity might evoke an overflow of emotions, some difficult to deal with. He knew that coming here would potentially trigger memories that have remained locked away, including the ones his mind may have willingly helped the cocktail of Nieman's drugs suppress. And his therapist was right.
Castle has remembered years' worth of torture and devastation, anguish and hope, within the last couple of hours alone. But it isn't as excruciating as he feared. Not when he has Kate Beckett standing in front of him, reminding him that the blurs of images flashing through his mind are all part of a past that is now over, no longer his present.
Yes, the six years he spent here in this cellar with Tyson and Nieman in control of his life did happen. He unwillingly abandoned Kate on their wedding day, left her to raise their daughter alone. He lost so much valuable time, but there's no way to go back, to change it.
And he can't bear to agonize over it anymore. He can only move forward.
"Okay," Kate murmurs, but she hooks her fingers in the pocket of his jeans first. She withdraws the newspaper article he has tucked away inside, one of the few things that kept him motivated to survive throughout those last couple of years.
"Hey, wait," he protests when she produces a lighter from her back pocket, because yes, she definitely came prepared - knife snug against her belt, gun at her ankle, pepper spray on her hip. She doesn't know he watched her preparing that morning, strapping weapons to her body, but he had no intentions of stopping her. Not if the extra artillery makes her feel safe.
It admittedly provides him with some comfort. He can't count how many times he wished for a gun in the years he spent here. And they can never be too cautious, especially when they're on a piece of property that feels haunted by Tyson and Nieman's ghosts.
"You don't need it anymore," she says, her voice firm but calm as she holds the photo out of his reach. Her thumb snaps the lighter to life and he watches the flame reflecting in her eyes, doesn't try to snuff it out. "You'll never need this picture again."
The corner of the newspaper catches first, eating away at the margins, then the words of the article. Kate lets it spread, licking at the edges of the black and white print of her face, before she drops it to the concrete floor between them. It shrivels quickly, the orange flame flickering fierce for a handful of seconds before the clipping has but ash.
"And I hate that picture," she mutters, staring at the small pile of soot at their feet.
"Then you owe me a new one."
"Deal." Kate holds out her hand and he accepts the warm embrace of her fingers in the cold cell of a room.
He spares one last glance to the camera, the compact but powerful speakers positioned on either side. He went into so many rages, threw so many plates at those pieces of technology, tried to rip them down from the walls with his own hands. Especially in the first year, when they used to shred his eardrums with the blare of that wretched Vera Lynn song. A reminder, a warning for Kate.
"The footage the FBI found will be destroyed," she informs him quietly. "There's no use for it. Stephens promised me."
"Why should we trust the FBI's promises?" he mumbles.
Kate squeezes his hand, draws him back from that surge of bitterness. But he knows the FBI was the first to give up on him, and it's a struggle not to resent them for it, for leaving Kate to dive down the rabbit hole alone.
"You can trust Stephens," she insists, meeting his gaze evenly. "It's not just blind faith. During those first few months of your disappearance, we would both stay late at the precinct. Probably because I wouldn't go home and he felt guilty leaving me alone in an empty bullpen to stare at the murderboard." She lowers her gaze to their interlocked hands. "I remember asking him why he even cared. I could feel your case growing cold and I knew they were going to withdraw their resources soon, toss you into the missing person's pile, and I was… angry at him, because I felt like he was just humoring me. But then he told me about his wife."
Castle's heart stumbles for a beat, balances on the precipice of his ribs, threatening to tumble over the edge and sink to his stomach. He doesn't have to be a writer to know where this story is going, how it ends.
"They were both FBI agents, partners, and there was this case they were working - a serial killer targeting women across the country. The day it happened, they were following different leads, so he hadn't seen her for the most part of that day, but when she didn't come home that night, he knew something was wrong." Kate shifts closer to him, as if just the telling of the story makes her over-protective of him. It elicits a flicker of familiar unease in his guts, has him holding her hand a little tighter. "She had been kidnapped by their guy and even when they caught him, arrested him over a year later, they never found her. Stephens still doesn't know the truth, but he has a deal with the killer."
"A deal?" he echoes.
"Stephens visits him in jail every year in exchange for the location of a victim's body. He brings closure to a family every year, but he's still waiting for the day he gets his own."
"Shit," Castle breathes, raking a hand through his hair. He's unable to even fathom the agony Stephens lives with every day, the wondering. He glances back to Kate, witnesses the knowing gleam in her eyes, how their story could have turned out, and... he gets it. Rick sighs even as his heart descends deeper, scraping along his ribs and spilling into the acid of his stomach. "He saw the similarities, did whatever he could to save you from the same fate."
She nods, offering him a rueful curve of her mouth. "That's the conclusion I've come to, yeah. So, while I understand how having faith in people, in their promises, doesn't hold much merit anymore, you can trust in his, Rick."
"I trust anyone you're willing to vouch for," he murmurs, especially when it's someone like Stephens. "Now, let's go. I've had enough of this place."
Kate hums her agreement, sweeps her fingers over what was once his bed. Like leaving her grief in the sheets.
"Yeah," she confirms, abandoning his bed, his cell, and leading him up the stairs into the sunlight. "You have."
Kate sits close to him on the ride back to the city as they leave the hell of the cabin behind, her thigh flush with his and her head flirting with the idea of leaning on his shoulder. She gives in pretty quickly despite Stephens's presence in the front seat, lets her cheek fall to the round edge of bone. It isn't exactly her style, to crave the proximity, to cling in any way, but Castle is warm against her side, welcoming of the contact, and after the morning they've had, she needs it too.
Stephens pretends not to notice, driving efficiently to beat afternoon traffic, and they arrive back in New York before noon. The agent drops them off at the loft without her having to ask and Castle offers an invitation to join them for lunch, but he declines.
"I took the morning off, but I'm needed on another case," he explains with an apologetic quirk of his lips. "While I wish it had been under different circumstances, it was a privilege to work with you, Detective. And to meet you, Mr. Castle, to help in whatever small way."
Rick stretches from the backseat to shake the other man's hand, hoping the agent can feel the gratitude in the squeeze of his palm. Because he owes Mark Stephens a lot, far more than he knew.
"It was an honor to have such an exceptional agent working my case with Beckett. Truly, thank you for all you've done."
Stephens nods, hints of appreciation emerging from the shadows across his face. After hearing Stephen's history, Rick understands the darkness that inhabits his features, but he hopes that one day the light can breach his gaze again. "Keep in touch and stay safe. Both of you."
Castle follows Kate out of the sedan, waving to Stephens as he merges back into traffic.
"I like him," Rick announces once the black suburban is out of sight and they're standing in front of the loft. "We should hire him for security if we ever need it, like for our next-" But Kate is tugging him in the opposite direction of the loft, her hand fitting effortlessly into his. He laces their fingers, trots after her nonetheless. "Where are we going?"
"To the subway," she tosses back over her shoulder, looking almost mischievous. It ignites something exciting and warm and good in his chest to no longer see the agony from this morning in her eyes, to see a smile stretching across her lips.
He feels strangely at peace after their trip to the cabin, revisiting his cell and reclaiming his memories, but he feared the effect it might have on Kate, that she wouldn't be smiling for a while.
She's proving him wrong.
"The subway. Care to be more specific?"
Kate drags him up the street and he picks up the pace, catches up to her and earns the loop of her arm through his, the press of her body into his side. "Nope."
They descend down the stairs of the Prince street station and she swipes her metro card twice at the turnstile, slows to a standstill with him on the platform where the Q train will soon come to a stop.
We took the Q train and we went up to Coney Island.
"Are you taking me to make a stick person?" he inquires, watching the corner of her mouth curl with delight.
"If you want," she murmurs, the apple of her cheek rising with her smile. "Today was hard, pretty devastating at times, and I - I don't want to go back to the loft and think about it anymore. I want to take you to Coney Island, walk up and down the shore, go into the park, and remind us both of our possibilities for joy, even after everything."
The screech of the train fills the air, the shine of the light emerging from the dark end of the tunnel. The curls of Kate's hair sweep to brush along his shoulder, whisper along his cheek as the force of the train billows past them.
They board with a slew of other New Yorkers eager to reach their destination, flowing into the car with the crowd and slipping into an empty spot to stand. Castle holds onto one of the poles, trails his other hand down the inside of her arm to tangle their fingers. Kate leans into his side to maintain her balance as the train lurches on the tracks, squeezes his hand in response. Once the noise has quieted and they're swaying to the movement of the car, he looks down at her.
"Kate," he murmurs, and her gaze flickers up to meet his. Her smile is soft, at ease, and he can't help covering the small patch of space between them to press his lips to hers. "You're my reminder."
She releases a breath against his mouth, her lashes fluttering, and he migrates his lips to her forehead, dusts another kiss between her brows.
"Also, Lily is going to kill us for going to Coney Island without her."
Kate exhales a chuckle against his cheek and hooks her fingers in the belt loop of his pants. "That's why we'll make it up to her by going to the Hamptons for Memorial Day weekend."
"Yeah?" he grins, lowering his gaze once more. She shrugs, but the smile is still strung across her lips, so languid and lovely. He doesn't think he's seen her this relaxed in… well, years.
"Yeah, this is the last week of school. I think we could all use a vacation."
A laugh breaches his lips. God, she could not be more right. Leaving the city with Kate and his daughters for his secluded beach paradise in the Hamptons-
"In that case, I look forward to seeing you in a bikini again."
Heaven.