Chapter Twenty Five: We've come a long, long, way.
Castle is so good with people.
Kate observes him with no little pride shining in her eyes as her husband makes the rounds of the twenty or so group members already in the room. She knows that he'd say the same thing about her, but she's under no illusions. She has nothing close to the natural affinity for people that Richard Castle possesses.
There's just this easy way about him.
She thinks of it, in fact has always thought of it as his innate 'Castle-ness'. A perfect blending of insatiable curiosity, charm, wit, focus, and general ease of manner that when he turns it on, turns it on you – makes you the focal point of it – makes him so endearing that he's almost impossible to dislike.
Even year's back - when she pretended she that she hated him. When she really didn't want him constantly following her around, that focus, that charm and intelligence that just oozed out of his pores disarmed her like nothing and no-one else before. Combined with his undeniable good-looks and those eyes, those damn all-seeing, bottomless ocean-blue eyes of his and the man was basically lethal.
She loves him fiercely for every beautiful facet of his soul, but even back when she didn't, when he was an annoyance, she still knew he was also the most charismatic human being that she'd ever met. And even now, even with today weighing on him so heavily, sorrow clearly written all over his handsome face - he's still that.
She watches him as he holds these peoples gazes, smiles for them. Reassures them, thanks them for worrying about him, shakes their hands and holds onto to them like he would do his family and she's just amazed, amazed and privileged to be what she is to him. It brings her this intense joy that bubbles inside her now, chases some of her trepidation away as she's happy witness to him able to be this man once again. His 'Castle-ness' has been restored, and Kate knows that her coming home, her fighting for him – for 'this' him – has everything to do with it, but she wants to believe that even if she hadn't found her way back the universe would somehow have ensured he'd find himself again.
Kate wants to believe that. Because he is just . . . he's everything.
She doesn't know it, but many sets of curious eyes fall away from the writer, only to make their way over to Kate.
She is watched. Watched and cataloged as her own eyes remain firmly fixed upon Castle. She's observed intently, but discreetly, as her focus on him never wavers. Pleased eyes notice the way that her face lights up, see the adoring little smile dancing helplessly across her mobile lips. People who have come to care about him see the stark difference in the man before them today, from the one they have so far known, and a sort of joyous relief spends infectiously all around the room.
They all know who she is.
The mysterious, the almost mythical 'Kate Castle'.
They knew instantly. And not just because she clearly arrived with their friend, but because of the new version they're seeing of what was considered familiar. The beautiful and blatantly obvious difference in him today that it's clear she's made.
All of them hoped he might be here today. It's a special day, a hard day, a day not all of them have seen yet, but that all of them will. And without exception, without judgment, each of these group members has promised to be there for all the others when their turn comes. To be there – for whatever is needed, and they're surprised, each person, not that he's here today, but that he's come solely for 'them'.
They don't understand it, not a single one – but they will do.
Castle greets the last of the gathered group and Kate's detective's instincts instantly tell her that this greeting is somehow different. It's subtle but she knows her partner well and there is a touch more eagerness in this greeting, and a touch more sorrow. The man her husband shakes hands with is pale as a ghost. Dark eyes in a white face, he looks haunted. He's unshaven, looks like he hasn't slept properly in weeks, a full head of dark hair that badly needs cutting, he's neglecting himself. She's seen it a hundred times before working homicide, the devastation of the recently bereaved.
It has the effect that it always does, hitting low in her gut as empathy flows fast through her and it's too much. It's way too much suddenly and panic rises thick and fast. Her reaction is an instinct - swallow it down, firewall it away because it feels like drowning, but she catches the bad habit mid-stride, gasps a breath and focuses all her attention back to Castle instead.
And it works. It steadies her instantly, and the overwhelming need to stop feeling recedes into background babble right then and there.
He's so very . . . gentle.
The sadness in his eyes has faded into determination and compassion. He holds the other man's hand between both of his. She can't hear what Castle is saying but when his companion turns to look right at her his face changes. The shell-shocked look vanishes as relief washes over his features; his mouth turns up into a soft smile as his dark eyes greedily drink her in.
Kate doesn't dare to look away. There's something too needy, too desperate in the appraisal so she forces herself to just smile back what she hopes is encouragingly. Eventually her resolve falters though, she seeks release and her husband's face and the look that he graces her with steals her breath away, and she blushes. She's doesn't know what she's done exactly, to earn that look of gentle pride on his face, but she'll take it. It feels so wonderful to see him look at her like that again, as if he thinks she's extraordinary.
Castle excuses himself, pats the younger man reassuringly on the shoulder and makes his way back to her side. She reaches for him instantly, slipping her fingers into the spaces between his as she migrates once more into the cove of his body. He slips an arm around her waist and guides her over to a chair, taking the one beside her and pulling their joined hands into his lap.
Every one else sits then, and the meeting finally begins.
She's not sure exactly what she was expecting, but as the meeting breaks up and people chat among themselves as they prepare to go their separate ways, Kate takes a moment to analyze what it is she's feeling, and in the end settles on – drained.
It's been a bit of whirlpool of feelings, listening to the others talking and sharing how their time since they last came to a meeting has been. The camaraderie, the kinship between these people really shouldn't have surprised her, and yet if she's being honest it kinda did. The open sharing of fears and perceived failures, all the same as hers, the ways in which people have overcome only to have something seemingly unrelated to the death of their child completely send them spiraling again.
It's heartening and unnerving all at the same time.
The way they all keep up on research, on statistics, the way they all participate in fundraising for an answer to a 'cause'. Castle especially seems to have committed himself to this avenue, and it seems so obvious to her that he would choose to do it, but until right now she honestly had no clue.
She's hugely grateful though. It comes to her on an exhale as he squeezes her fingers that he's been holding this entire time, then he lets go her hand and stands to make his rounds once more – this time with farewells in mind. She lets go of him easily, but reluctantly, staring at the floor in his absence as she tries to sift through the avalanche of realizations fogging up her brain.
She understands – everything – so much better now, of that she's certain. From her husband to what happened to Jack, to how every single parent here felt that same mix of blame and shame as she did. There's a sense of lightness that comes with knowing that her reaction wasn't unique, just perhaps longer in duration and more extreme. A sense of triumph even, hearing how many marriages fold under this pressure, houses of cards caught in hurricanes – but they didn't, they didn't, in the end.
She gets why he's clung to them in support, all of them, and how in turn they've clung to him. These are friendships born from tragedy, forged in pain; it's a bond she knows will not always be necessary, but one that will always remain unbroken. These people helped Castle hold onto the core of himself, they gave her a husband to come back too. Grateful is most definitely what she is, stunningly so.
"Hi."
The greeting is shy, quiet, unabashedly nervous, but it breaks through her silent contemplation effortlessly anyway. Kate startles, gaze jumping immediately from the linoleum floor to a pair of dark eyes set in a pleasant face.
Castle's companion from earlier stands before her, and Kate senses an importance to his seeking her out. Somehow she knows that this man is the very reason Castle was so pleased she was coming here.
Kate pushes to her feet and holds out her hand, "Hi," she says back, with a smile in her voice. "I'm Kate," she adds, "Nice to meet you."
"Pete." The man offers, looking down at her hand he extends his own and when they shake it feels to Beckett like his fingers are shaking.
"You're Rick's wife." Pete says the words with this relief in his voice that Kate completely doesn't understand.
"I am," she says gently. "Are you, I mean you seem . . . Are you okay?"
Pete nods his head emphatically; his dark eyes are brimming though when he looks back at her face.
The skepticism she's feeling must telegraph because Peter blinks back his tears and suddenly finds a smile that changes his whole demeanor.
"I'm sorry, Kate. I'm must be weird-ing you out and hey, can we sit a moment do you think?"
Kate looks around and no-one seems to be in a hurry to leave, the group has just broken off into sets of conversations and Castle seems engrossed with a couple on the far side of the large room. She turns back to Pete with a nod and smile, drifting back into the chair she was previously sitting in; Pete assumes the seat beside her.
He takes a deep breath and introduces himself again more formally.
"Peter. Peter McQuade."
"Kate Castle," she replies. She goes by 'Beckett' at the precinct still, but everywhere else - including her own head and her own heart - this is who she is.
"I'm so happy to see you here. My wife-" he stops, voice breaking and Kate gets it, understands what Castle told her cryptically earlier, that she couldn't know what hope she might be able to bring. She reaches for Pete's hand and lays her own over the top of it, and this time as her natural empathy surges to the surface it brings nothing with it but a calm compassion, and the strength she needs to do this.
"Rick must have shared with you how I reacted when our son died," she begins quietly. Her hazel eyes are full of memories and regrets as they hold steady on his.
Pete nods, still voiceless and Kate senses the newness of his loss. How recent and raw all of his pain really is.
"I'm so sorry this happened to you," she says, and a watery smile finds Pete's mouth.
"I'm so sorry this happened to you, too. It's been a year? Is that right?"
Kate inclines her head. "A year ago today," she replies, and she hears an acceptance in her own voice that she can barely fathom. It still hurts like hell, on some level it always, always will but she's found her peace with it. "Your loss is recent," she says quietly, no question to it.
Pete's lips trembles and Kate's fingers curl more tightly to ground him.
"Five weeks and two days ago," he whispers. "Sophie was eight months old."
Kate takes a breath and waits, years of experience guide her and she knows he wants to tell her, to share with her why he's finding such hope in her mere presence here.
"My wife left and she hasn't come home. She won't talk to me, Kate. She won't cry. You've been there, you did the same thing . . . I just need to know why? What I'm supposed to do? How I'm supposed to help her?"
Beckett bites her lip. She feels his frustration, his pain, his confusion all battering at her. She looks in his dark eyes and sees Castle's blue ones looking back instead. She can't speak for his wife, but she can share her own story, she can tell him what she needed from Castle. What she hoped for when she was buried and fighting to find a way back.
"Take care of you," she tells him. Her eyes lit with determination. "Reach out and let her know that you are waiting, but take care of you. I promise that's what she needs most for you to do."
"I want to help her," Pete counters. "I want her to come home; I want us to be in this together, Kate. Last time I came here was the first time that I'd come, and Rick, he was the one who could listen, the one who understood exactly where I was coming from. He was reluctant to tell me that you'd left like she did – just gone and never coming back. I think he was worried he might do more harm than good. But he was an ear, he was a friend, and he was coping even though I could see how much finding that strength was costing him. But now here you are, Kate. Like a miracle, and I see the difference in him and . . . "
"And you want that."
Pete nods, "Desperately. I've lost my little girl. I want my wife back."
"Then please just keep believing it can happen," Kate tells him, conviction rings clearly in the words. "Have faith in your love for each other and hold on to that even when it feels impossible, because all I can tell you, Pete, is that I was always trying to find my way home to him." Her eyes leave Peter's as she senses Castle suddenly back beside her and turning her head she finds herself looking into peaceful, gracious eyes as she says, "And if two people believe in something, if they really believe, Pete - then even the impossible is possible."
Castle bends and his lips find her forehead, the warmth of them sinks sinfully into her skin. When he straightens he finds Pete watching them both so hopefully, and the writer smiles, nods his head towards his wife.
"What she says," he adds.