A/N: Still spoiler free, just! Aside from that one thing I saw! Hanging by a thread...
"Hand in hand, palm to palm and fingers entwined,
a kiss with the soul, not the lips, in my mind."
May 2014
She should feel ridiculous, but she doesn't. Heavy footsteps echo down the long corridor - fluorescent lights overhead making her squint as she passes underneath them - sighing wearily she trudges on, right now she doesn't feel much of anything.
People stop dead as she wanders by, their eyes wide, mouths agape and she barely feels it, barely registers the attention that falls on her with every step she takes. She doesn't stop to catch their gaze and the pity that comes at her in waves from the gawpers and onlookers rolls easily off her skin, like raindrops in a thunderstorm. She doesn't need it.
Her ears ring a little, yet she doesn't hear the whispers that inevitably follow her presence as she rounds each corner, the sharp inhales when new eyes catch sight of her for the first time, startled by what they see. She doesn't even take a breath to reply when someone asks if she's okay. She's alive isn't she?
Isn't she?
Kate holds her head high, blinking steadily, chest tight, feet a little sore and she keeps walking through the winding maze of hospital corridors, ignoring her dress when it snags on chairs or catches in the backswing of a closing door. She doesn't even pause to wipe the hair from her eyes when it falls pitifully across her face, nor the sweat that beads on her brow.
What's the point? She's already a complete mess.
The dishevelled bride.
That's what she heard one of the nurses call her, whispering to her colleague that it was creepy the way she wandered the halls without changing out of her dress, the way she shuffled aimlessly from room to room. Like a ghost.
She's not wrong, the unknown nurse, but Kate doesn't care, can't bring herself to glare or admonish the heartless woman, and her words are the last that penetrated the fog that has swallowed Kate up since.
It's quieter like this, her attention focused solely on finding her way back to Castle's side, to pressing her forehead to his. To holding his hand. To feeling like she can finally breathe.
She will take it off, of course, the dress that's ragged, torn and stained with blood, she's not insane, but so far she hasn't found the time, hasn't found the energy necessary to worry about herself and how she looks.
The only things that register are a bone weary tiredness, like an iron curtain that descends from head to toe, weight falling heavier on her shaken form with every determined step, and a need to be at the side of the man she loves.
There is a small sheltered place within her that craves nothing more than the sight of him, his smell and touch, his voice soft in her ears. Nothing else matters.
She walks on, an ever present rustle announcing her approach. More than likely the rumpled silk and taffeta, gauze and beading will slide down her body in frustration when the width of the skirt keeps her from moving fast enough through the narrow halls or close enough to the bedsides of the people she watches over. When the time comes she'll swap it out for scrubs or borrowed items.
Her wedding dress, suddenly and starkly an inconvenience.
It's ruined. Great chunks torn from the skirt, sleeves ripped and patterned with dust and rubble, marring the white and silver. Then there's the blood, under her nails and smattered across her skin, dashed across the skirt in a macabre splash of vivid color. Ruined.
Her eyes drop as she stumbles on, her hand flitting to her hair and she tugs a strand back behind her ear as she strides faster, the twisted sections that had been pulled back from her face now hanging in limp and pathetic waves that sweep her shoulders.
The veil is gone.
It belonged to her mom, a last minute surprise from her dad and the familiar scent of Johanna's perfume had risen from the box when Kate opened it. Tears spring into her eyes as she recalls the shake to her fingers, moving in awe as they trip trailed the delicate, paper-thin lace. And now it's gone, lost to the wind or carnage, she can't be sure, and she immediately chastises herself for thinking of something so trivial at a time like this.
There is a chain at her neck holding one ring and another wrapped snug on her finger and so far none of the people she loves are dead. She's lucky.
She's alive, they're all alive. She's lucky!
Battered, bruised and god, so tired, counting her blessings, she carries on.
The loss of a veil should be nothing in comparison, and at the next turn she leans heavily against the wall, pulling off the white heels that pinch her toes. Running her thumb over the pearlescent detailing, Kate tosses the shoes aside and ignores the memories that surge when she thinks back to the day she bought them, imagining Castle's hands running down her legs to pull them from her feet on their wedding night.
Too late now, their ceremony long since passed and she touches her hair again, forgetting. The veil's absence weighs heavily, more than it should, a bereavement all its own that presses at the little girl part of her heart. She wanted to keep it, treasure it, maybe one day pass it on to her own daughter and now it's gone.
Somehow that's the thing that gets to her the most. That small realization reminding her that's it not trivial, not at all. It's another part of her day stolen away.
Vision blurry she steps into the elevator and lays her head back against the cool metal as it climbs, the back of her throat burning with the sob she refuses to release. She should be married by now, she should be laughing and joking and getting steadily drunk with his hand in hers and everything perfect.
It's too much!
She should be Mrs.
She should be basking in the congratulations of everyone that knows them, in the I told you so's and we knew it's of all the people who wholeheartedly believe they saw it coming before she did.
She can't breathe.
Kate tugs at her neckline, feels like it's choking her, her heart thundering in its desperation for freedom. Her hands shake as they lift, pressing cold fingers against her suddenly fevered skin as she pulls the neck away from her chest and breathes deep.
She should be so many things, but she's not!
It's too tight, her chest barely moving, but she does it again, and again and again until it works. Soft air over her quivering tongue getting her through it, quietly.
She stays calm. Fights the battle from within.
She doesn't claw at her own skin or tear at the seams. Instead Kate smoothes the material flat over her breasts and across her stomach, making herself feel the way it sits over her body, giving herself the time she needs to find balance again.
The doors open once more and she steps out, veiless, shoeless, the dishevelled bride, her breathing under control and her heartbeat almost regular and absolutely every ounce of self control she has mustered through the darkened halls falling away instantly at the sight of him.
At the end of the long corridor Castle stands, his body angled away from her, a hand running down his face as he breathes hard. Darkness has washed over him, she can see that, her feet dragging her from the confines of the cramped elevator, a magnetized pull guiding her to his side.
Her voice breaks around the lifeline of his name. "Castle" a resonating echo that bounds down the hall, taking her to him faster than her exhausted body will allow.
He turns toward her slowly, body stiff and almost dazed in his appearance, unbelieving. It's only been a few hours that they've been apart but it feels like a lifetime.
It takes Castle a few seconds to accept she's real and then the cloud lifts, visible pain dying away at the sight of her and his smile is weak but instant, tender and wide, his obvious sigh of relief quickening her pace.
Kate's heart splinters in beat - loud, obnoxious - regulating the closer they get and Castle closes his eyes, touches a hand to his chest - covering his own heart in unspoken understanding - as he reaches for her. His outstretched fingers the only home she needs.
She stumbles into him and he collides with her and for a long moment in which only they exist they wrap themselves up in each other, arms so tight they might never let go.
Heavy breath crushes their chests together and without knowing she's even been lifted, Castle sets her back on her feet and strokes over her face, claiming her hand immediately, desperate for the contact.
Kate takes it with pleasure, her own desire to be near him only increasing now that she has him in her arms and she squeezes his hand, thick and strong digits stretching the gaps between her own as their fingers intertwine, warmth, like love, suffusing her skin.
One soft tug is all it takes to bring her back to his side.
He holds her in silence for a few seconds longer, taking her breath away as her eyes devour him, comforting herself that he's okay.
His shirt collar is open, tie undone and hanging limply around his neck. He's a little rough around the edges, the groom just as rumpled and drained as the bride, and they should be married by now. He should be cracking jokes and teasing her and breathing dirty, delightful promises into the shell of her ear as they twirl.
They should be sharing their first dance right now.
It's all too much and Kate says the only thing she can think of to make it better.
"They're all okay." She breathes in awe, brushing her lips over his knuckles as he lifts his hand to her face, sighing as the angles shift and the tilted world doesn't right itself or become perfect in his presence, it just keeps on spinning, spinning for everyone they love.
It's miraculous.
"How?" He asks, and her fingers curl within his, chest easing as she inhales deeply and lets him draw her into his embrace. His skin is warm and familiar, his hand in hers a tether that keeps her where she should be, where she's supposed to be. By his side. Alive.
She cannot bring herself to let go of his hand.
"I don't know." Kate answers honestly, not sure she cares beyond the fact that they are all okay and her focus becomes the warmth of his fingers between her own, the soft sigh of their palms as they slide together.
Their knotted digits twist together like vines, and he holds her close, his gentle caress telling her he wants to ask how she is and a million other questions that she doesn't have the energy for. Her relief is palpable when he doesn't, glad he takes the hint in the press of her fingers and the slow blink when his eyes drift over her face.
Instead, concerned, Castle tugs her down with him, both of them collapsing wearily into the plastic chairs of yet another hospital waiting room. Her eyes start to close and he startles her when he speaks.
"We will do this again, you know that, right?" Castle squeezes her fingers, waiting until she lifts her head to look at him, truth vivid in his tone and shining eyes, "I will marry you."
Her focus drops to their fingers, to the way he holds her hand, the way he gifts her with strength in the simplest touch and she smiles, her head dropping to rest on his shoulder.
"Kate? Tell me you know that?"
She finds peace in watching the slow stroke of his thumb across her wrist, likes the way their skin feels pressed together, the way they hands fit like puzzle pieces. She's silently in love with the way their palms come together, the way they kiss.
There's no doubt in her mind, it's not even a question, and her reply comes, loud in its significance, yet simple, quiet and honest. The words she has wanted to say all day.
"I do, Castle."
She squeezes his fingers.
"I do."