There should have been signs.
There should have been some ominous change in the atmosphere to foretell this grotesque turn of events.
If the tales of epic romances and such are to be believed, he should've realized something was discordantly wrong, shouldn't he?
And yet, he's brought down to his knees on the white of the airport floor when Ryan's twenty-third call manages to catch him.
"Castle, thank god! Your phone was switched off for so long, I guess your flight just landed. Listen, you need to get here. There's so much blood –just, just get here, okay? Presbyterian. It's Beckett, she's been shot."
Shot.
She's been shot.
There were no signs.
The woman, whom he was in love with, whom he had pined for for the past year, had lain bleeding on the ground with a bullet in her body, and he'd had no fucking clue. He hadn't even been there, right next to her, where he belonged.
Her shadow.
The word is ash in his mouth.
For the millionth time since that night at her apartment, he curses himself for leaving. A trembling breath moves past his lips as he makes his way out of the terminal exit, searching aimlessly for a board with his name on it, his mind projecting images of what today would've been like if he'd stayed.
If he'd been her partner, her shadow.
He would've cradled the fragile column of her neck in his palms, smoothed the rebellious locks of hair back in their place behind the shell of her ear. He would thread their fingers together in a desperate attempt to tether her as her blood seeps out, spreading a death-like pallor over her skin. He would say to her all the things he's left unspoken for so long. He would foolishly put his heart on the line as hers stops beating.
I love you, Kate. Please don't leave me.
It's a mystery how his weak knees manage to strain his fumbling weight as he stuffs himself in the town car.
Alerting the redheads who are vacationing in the Hamptons of the incident still doesn't help the situation sink in.
Shot.
Despite his bribes to the driver, it takes them more than forty five minutes to get to the hospital -five more to locate the reception with his luggage hanging over his shoulder like dead weight.
"Kate. Detective. She's a –she's a detective. Katherine Beckett. She was brought in here an hour ago, maybe? Detective Beckett, where is she?"
"I'm sorry, sir, if you're not family, I can't divulge that information. Are you family?" the blonde at the desk questions.
"No, you don't understand. I need to see her, she-"
"Castle!" he whirls around to be faced with L.T., the man in his dress blues, distressed but apparently relieved at his arrival. "He's with us, Miss Johnson," he informs the nurse who shrugs before losing interest.
"Detective Ryan told me to wait for you here, in case you showed up," the officer states, as he navigates the floors and corridors till they reach the surgical ward. "It's good to see you again, man. Just hope it could've been under different circumstances."
He stumbles his way to the group huddled around the far end of the hallway, the strap of his carrier slipping from his shoulder, the thud echoing down the hushed hallway till all eyes are on him. The defeat pouring out of each one of them makes his chest clench, every breath like acid down his throat.
"Is she –no," he stutters, can't bare uttering those words. "How is she?"
No answer.
He should have expected hostility on his return from this close knit family he had once been a part of. Ryan looks relieved to see him, throwing a grateful, if hesitant, smile his way. Esposito sits beside a man who's frame is sagged to the point where he's almost out of the chair. Castle assumes he's Beckett's father. The grey doesn't shadow the strikingly familiar jaw line. The sunken eyes give up their quest and return to burning holes in the tinted carpet of the floor.
But it's the distrust in Esposito's that sets him on edge.
Lanie steps forth, smoothing her hands along the creases in the black fabric of her dress, tracking him with wary, misty eyes. He holds his breath as he waits for her to deliver the news that he's certain will splinter his world.
With just a foot of distance between them, she flings her arms around his neck, compelling his hands to lock behind her back as he shushes her on instinct.
"She'll be really happy you're here, Castle," her whispered words against his skin make him hug her tighter.
"Lanie, what happened?"enquires his hoarse voice, as they make their way to the nearest bench.
"Sniper. At the funeral. Shot her when she was –when she… She was still giving the eulogy, Castle," her words crack and he feels her slump against his shoulders.
"God, the look on her face," he hears her continue, and for a moment he wishes she wouldn't. Can't bear to imagine those haunting, green eyes widen as the burn of the bullet makes itself known. "She looked so surprised, you know? And she was all alone. We were seated and then Javi wouldn't let me go until it was certain the shooter wouldn't open fire again. Damn it, we should've been there."
He can picture it with quite ease, had perfected the craft of daydreaming about his muse over the year. He sees her standing on a podium in her uniform, which would've looked adorable on her, delivering words with a powerful cadence he knows she possesses, captivating any willful audience.
"Castle?"
He releases a confirmatory hum, as his head thuds against the blue veneer of the walls.
"By the time I got next to her, she was almost unconscious."
Why is she retelling this horrific tale to him in such detail? It's not possible for his heart to cleave any further.
"But she kept whispering your name, Rick."
He stands corrected.
His spine coils till his head is between his knees, a futile attempt to have the blood thaw and start meandering down his veins again. He's frozen.
She called for him.
As she lay dying on the ground, alone, he was her last conscious thought, and he wasn't wasn't right next to her, where he belongs. Giving life to the words that have been etched in his soul since the first time she'd kissed him. Pressed him up against her door and plundered his soul with hers.
Stay with me, Kate. I love you. Please don't leave me.
The doctor's voice booms along the corridor, and it's time to find out if she did.
"Mr. Beckett?"
He trips on his clumsy feet, checks his reflection in the glass doors, and prepares himself for what lies on the other side.
The sight knocks the breath out of his lungs.
Even with the purple smudged beneath her eyes, only a frail paper gown covering her shallow frame, she manages to look like a bohemian beauty. He's missed her so much and it's making itself known as it manifests into a knot in his throat.
"Castle?"
The disbelief lacing her voice stings at his heart.
"You're here?" she squeaks, trying to sit up despite the binding restraints of the machines attached to her fragile body. Her fingers run through the fringing curls escaping from her messy French braid, her eyes running over him, lips parted in shock.
"And you're staring at me. I must look… really bad."
He shakes his head, hesitates to reply, can't form words around the lump in his throat. "No, I just. I never thought I'd see you again," he admits, moving towards her, defenceless against the pull she has on him. "I've missed those eyes."
The objects in question widen at his response, her cheeks streaking a few shades pinker.
He clears his throat, hoping to blow past his awkward exposure. "Hey. I, uh–heard you were opening a flower store, so I thought I'd pitch in," he offers as he places the carnations on the bedside counter and settles himself on the visitor's chair.
It elicits a reluctant smile on her lips and he wants to kiss its edges, frame it so it stays.
"They were all here when I woke up. I think they're mostly from the precinct. I don't think I'm going to live this one down, Castle."
"Oh, probably not."
She keeps stealing glances at him, her eyes flickering to his and then shying away. As if she can't believe he's really here. It hurts, somewhere deep inside, to know he furnished those seeds of doubt.
He'd once let her dictate the terms of their relationship -left when she said it was over, hadn't even tried to fight for it. For her.
He's not making the same mistake twice.
He gathers up his courage and tentatively moves his hand to hers, ghosting his pinkie along its contours. She shudders, as if burnt by his touch, hissing at the jarring movement it causes.
Not his finest moves, but at least he knows he still has the same effect on her as she does on him.
He offers a sheepish look when she glares at him through her tired eyes, biting her chapped lips to conceal the smile that's begging to be broken free.
Just as soon as it appeared, it vanishes right in front of him. The smile distorts till it's something solemn, haunted. He's left wondering if physical contact is too much, too soon. As innocent as it was.
"Castle, should you really be here?"
A chill climbs up his spine, his mind conjuring up doctor-boyfriends and disapproving fathers. He couldn't even hold the man's eyes yesterday, the grief in them was overpowering, contagious. Still can't fathom what his first lines to him should've been.
Hello, sir. I'm the guy who wrote a book about your daughter, looked into the case she'd begged me not to, slept with her, and then left to tour and write in Europe.
Instead, he'd chosen the coward's way out, shrunk into the background, avoiding any time alone with him.
As for the boyfriend, who has been suspiciously absent throughout this ordeal, he won't deny the jealousy but it tempers down to the fact that she deserves better.
She deserves someone who shows up, who keeps showing up, no matter the number of lands or oceans between them.
Someone like him.
"Is it Josh?"
She releases a frustrated growl, her head falling back to her pillow as she rolls her eyes at him.
"This is bigger than you being jealous of my ex, Castle," she smirks with a shake of her head, the words doused in familiar sarcasm.
Ex?
"Pfft," he spits, going for nonchalant. "Me, jealous? Of someone who's Facebook profile says he likes to 'jog for fun'? Yeah, fat chance."
A crinkling laugh peels out of her, illuminating her whole face, and the caged bird in his chest soars with pride. He put that there –the breathless, dazed look that she's donning, one that says you're a goof.
"Ah, been stalking people, have we?" she smiles, eyebrows arching up in challenge. "I see Europe has done you some good. This what Black Pawn pays you for?"
He garners up his best boyish grin, accompanies it with a half-hearted shrug, earning another eye roll from her. Man, has he missed those.
After far too short a minute, her grin subsides, the encoring grief taking its place.
"There's a guy who wants me dead, Castle. This is hardly the time for you to come back, if ever… I. I don't know," she sighs, exasperated, indecisive.
"And you left. For Europe. You left and then you didn't come back." Her voice gets smaller after every syllable, fingers busy playing with the threads of the hospital sheets. It makes her appear so small, broken.
"It was just a fight, Castle. You didn't have to punish me for eight months with no calls or texts," she mumbles into the air, gaze flicking up to his, gouging for his reaction before shriveling back in her shell.
She's breaking his heart.
He remembers her floundering with the straps of her nightgown, trying to cover up what he had already seen and thoroughly ravished earlier in the evening. Her eyes never once met his after they'd glided back down from their mutual highs. Just a whisper of 'you should leave now' thrown over the creamy flesh of her shoulder. He'd gaped at her, dumbstruck at her words as the moonlight illuminating her curves was shielded by the blue satin of her gown.
"This was the right way to say goodbye. We're over, Castle. Go write your spy."
A soft click of the bathroom door closing and she'd disappeared behind it before he could even comprehend her words.
"Kate," he drawls, head hanging in shame as he remembers the way they handled the situation. "I'm so sorry. I am. Moving was just a knee-jerk reaction, okay? They wanted me to get an authentic feel for Bond, and I dumbly agreed because I thought you and I were done. And then I made the mistake of telling Alexis the very next day about Europe, and once I did there was no coming back. You know her, once she sets her mind on something, it's impossible to say no to those big, manipulative, baby blues of hers. She got so excited for a semester abroad, I couldn't say just say no, you know?"
Her eyes soften, the fire in them dying down, and a hint of a smile graces her pink lips. A tiny, precarious thing that she smothers when she voices her next question.
"Why didn't you call?"
"The first few months were so overwhelming," he supplies, gentle eyes pleading hers. "By the time things settled, I got a call from Ryan and I found out about Josh. So I thought you'd moved on and there was no point anymore. I don't know, it sounds pretty slim now."
She closes her eyes, gulping down before she pivots her face to stare him down.
"Kate-"
"Castle, I'm really tired right now," she states simply, no emotion swirling in the golden flecks of her eyes.
He has to reign in the flame inside his chest that wants to surround her, wrap himself around her till she's his. He has to stifle the need to say no you're not, you just want to hide from your feelings.
"Castle, go home. I'll call you, okay? I just want to sleep now," her mumbled words against the pillow bring him back to his surroundings. This brittle, more wounded version of the woman of his dreams urging him to leave her alone.
Never again.
He figures he could roam around the cafeteria for a while, the absence of solid food in his diet becoming a cramping reminder. With that in mind, he gets up from the chair beside her bed and, because he needs to soothe his heavy soul, he leans down to rest his soft lips against her temple. Stays to breathe her in, even as she stiffens under him.
"I missed you, Kate."
The words ghost against her skin, and he departs before her translucent eyelids could crease any further.
She rouses disoriented, her chest on a slow simmer. The beeping won't stop. There are cold hands on hers and she squeezes them on instinct, trying to hold on lest the fire roaring inside of her chest engulfs her.
The pain resides till it's a low flame after a few minutes. All the while those hands ground her, bending and molding around hers till they are entwined.
She opens her eyes to the skies stretching above. Such a thunderous, cerulean blue. Her lashes flutter till the swirling dots clear from her vision to reveal his face inches from hers.
His eyes, oh, how she's missed them.
Her fingers sail through the meagre space between them, till they land on the rough five o'clock shadow curving around his cheek. She traces her tips around the dark bruises beneath the shell of his irises. The lids fall down, cloaking them, when she moons over the line of his nose, scaling its edges.
Her hands framing his face propel him down, closer, closer, till she can kiss the curtains of his eyes. She whispers the kiss along his skin, feels it tremor against her lips and she never wants to stop.
Feathering her lips across his eyes, his cheeks - a frenzy in her movements now that cannot be quelled. He's panting, the short puffs caress her neck, and she wants his lips on hers now.
His hands grab her shoulders with a fierce grip and she thinks this is it, the kiss she's been fantasizing about for over a year, the one where they will annihilate each other's souls for anyone else, ruin themselves in the best way possible. Instead, he halts her and disengages, heaving as he does so.
It's the wrong way. He needs to move closer, on her, with her. Her blood is still singing, skin pulsing under the pads of his fingers. She's missed him so much. It's a physical ache in her soul.
Castle, Castle, Castle.
Wait.
"Castle?"
"Stop, Beckett," he pants. "You're flooded with drugs; you don't even know what you're doing. We can't do this right now-"
His lips are curling against incomprehensible syllables, and she can feel the blush heating up her skin. She buries her head in her palms, bending sideways to squash it against the pillow. It does nothing to sheath her from the nervous chuckle that escapes from his undoubtedly proud face.
His stupid, gorgeous face. The one she almost just made out with on her hospital bed.
"Didn't I tell you to leave? Castle," she whines, the desire to pin it all on him and her doped up brain overcoming her with a force.
He laughs, the rich notes booming across the room till they embed in her heart. She's missed him so much.
"I did, a year ago. Look where you end up when I leave you alone for too long?" he says, a phantom grimace in place, wondering whether they're ready to joke about it yet.
She remains quiet, studying his form as he takes his chair and moves it closer to the rails of her bed. Silence blankets them and they are left with their raw, cavernous expressions open for interpretation.
"Are you really here?" she whispers, coiling her palm around the sterile white bar on the periphery of her bed.
"I am."
His hand travels to the metal frame, resting a few centimeters from her.
"You gonna leave again?" her words slur, as the cocktail of drugs in her system draw her towards another slumber.
He sighs, locks his pinkie with hers, trepidation coating the words that escape from his mouth. "Where would I go? All my paths lead back to you."
Her somber, mournful look dissolves till it's a radiant, dopey smile gracing her face and he feels his heart defrost, the shackles of his ribs shattering like the ice between them. He flashes her his brightest one in return, watches as she tries to battle the pull of sleep in her drooping eyes.
"Sleep, Kate."
He'll be here when she wakes up.
AN: I'm ridiculously happy that so many of you seem to like this story.
Ericka, thank you for existing and making everything i write actually readable. :)
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