Episode insert for 2x13, 'Suckerpunch.'

Hurt/Comfort

Castle paces outside the ladies' room, warring with himself. He thought he could give her time, let her have the solitude she'd seemed to seek when she disappeared inside but he just can't; so much of this is his fault and he feels utterly helpless faced with the repercussions. He's sure he will never forget the desperation in her voice, the heart-wrenching sobs as she sat there helplessly, tears streaming down her face. He's the one who re-opened this Pandora's box, he has caused her this immense pain that he's convinced he can never make up for.

Then he hears her weeping through the door and he stops questioning altogether, instead pushing the door to swing wide open as he barges inside.

She doesn't even look up, just keeps viciously scrubbing at the blood on her hands, the water running pink as it circles the drain, her slender body wracked with sobs. He steps up to her, curving his fingers over her shoulder, like he'd done earlier when he pulled her off Coonan's lifeless body. He simply can't not touch her faced with the palpable, tragic sadness that radiates from her. She had to kill the man who killed her mother - an eye for an eye, one might think, but that's just not Kate, not the compassionate, complex woman he's seen shine through her outward strength and armor from the very moment he met her.

"Kate," he murmurs, can't keep the sorrow from his voice and a heartbreaking sob tears from her throat when she suddenly whirls around, falling against him. Her face buried against his chest, she clenches her fingers into his shirt, clinging to the fabric, leaving sopping-wet, soapy fingerprints smudged pink with remnants of blood.

All her weight sinks against him as her knees seem to give out on her and he wraps his arms around her, hugging her tightly to him, as tight as he can. His forearms cradle her back while he brackets her waist with his palms and it strikes him almost forcefully how tiny she is, so slight in his arms, belying the fierce strength that lives beneath her skin. He's never seen her as vulnerable before and it tears at him, his throat clogged with grief.

He hums soothing sounds, a string of meaningless words into her hear, filled with tenderness for this extraordinary woman. His thumbs brush her ribcage as he cradles her tightly while her sobs subside into small whimpers, while he practically feels her strengthen in his arms, fortified for the next battle.

And later that night, faced with his own mortality, his first real close call, with the phantom feel of the gun barrel still pressed into his spine, he scribbles words on a list, bullet points of all the things he still wants to do, and see, and accomplish, things he's always postponed or never thought he could have - some silly and some outlandish, some that are fun and some that are his innermost dreams, and when he gets to the top, there is no longer hesitation, not a second of doubt before he puts his pen to the paper and writes:

#1 Be with Kate.