May 4th
She tossed and turned all night, sleep evading her despite her desperate need for it. She tried to quieten her thoughts, to slow the pace of her mind long enough to succumb to sleep, with little success. Each time her body stopped fighting, slipped into slumber, she was woken by a violent wave of nausea.
Now, the sunlight was peaking around the edges of the blackout curtains. The promise of tomorrow had arrived too soon, filling her with dread for what the day ahead would hold.
She pulled herself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. The change in position sent a surge through her body: nausea to her stomach, dizziness to her head. She closed her eyes, focused on her breathing, and wished for an end to this unfortunate illness.
But, that's right, this wasn't illness. This was life now, for the foreseeable future. Six to eight weeks, usually, the doctor had said. Six to eight weeks of slight nausea was to be expected, was common. For the past week it had come and gone in waves, but each wave was growing stronger, more persistent.
Her stomach churned - cartwheels, over and over - and her breathing techniques couldn't save her now. She felt the clench of her abdominal muscles, the pull in her throat as the bile rose, burned. She swallowed it down, but it persevered. Hand over her mouth, her other arm wrapped securely across her stomach, she made it to the en suite just in time.
She rode the wave until it passed, slumping against the cool glass shower door once the uncontrollable heaving subsided. She wiped the beads of sweat that congregated above her brow, took slow and steady breaths. She allowed a few short minutes of recovery, summoning her strength, before reaching up to turn on the shower. Mist of cold water ricocheted off her arm, spraying her face, cooling her, a welcome relief.
She hoped - prayed and begged - that this wouldn't last long. Six to eight weeks of this, what a nightmare.
A shower had her feeling more human. Less fatigued, less nauseated, more capable of making it through the day.
She rummaged through the cupboards in the kitchenette, searching for something edible, something that wouldn't trigger more sickness, but there was nothing.
She moved to the lounge, slumping down into the corner of the couch. She considered putting on the TV, watching something mindless, but she didn't want to wake Castle. Maybe now that she wasn't feeling as sick, she would be able to get a little more sleep. She shuffled her body along the couch, putting her feet up on the cushions and laying her head down on one of the decorative pillows. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. This was fine, this was comfortable. Maybe, this might actually work. She shuffled again, rolling onto her side.
Nope.
Her eyes shot open and she sat upright, quickly. With a deep, slow breath, she stood and moved back toward the kitchen. She needed something in her stomach, and fast. She picked up the hotel telephone, pressing the call button for concierge and holding the piece to her ear.
"Good morning, Mister Castle. Thank you for calling reception, how may I help you?" Maurice's voice sung through the speaker.
"Hi, Maurice," she started.
"Oh, my apologies, Miss Beckett. How are you this morning?"
"Uh, good, thank you. I, uh, I was just wondering if there were any grocers or convenience stores close by that are open this early?"
"That would depend on what you were after. There is a little mini-mart, about three blocks away, but they do not usually carry a lot of variety."
"I was just wanting some saltine crackers or something."
"Oh, say no more. I will have some sent up to you right now."
"Oh, uh, thank you."
"Not a problem, Miss Beckett. Is there anything else I can help you with, at all?" She paused for a moment, considered... but no, she can't ask for that. Maurice must have sensed her hesitation. "Anything at all. Can't do is not in my vocabulary," he quipped with a smile she could feel through the phone.
"I don't want to be a nuisance-"
"Never. What can I do for you?"
Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door.
"Good morning," Maurice greeted when she opened the door. He stepped aside, making way for two men to wheel in a large whiteboard, almost identical to the one she used at the precinct. She smiled as they set it in place and sat a small box - filled with markers, magnets and a whiteboard eraser - on the coffee table.
"This is perfect, thank you." She handed a cash tip to the two men as they walked out. It was probably peanuts compared to what Castle had been handing out, but still, it was something to show her appreciation.
"Also," He reached for the cart that was parked just outside the door. "Your crackers."
He presented her with a small package of plain salted crackers, which she accepted gratefully. "You're amazing, Maurice."
She would never admit it to Castle, but she was glad he had talked her into staying here with him.
"If you happened to be interested, my sister swears by cinnamon," he informed her. She looked at him, unsure. The subtext seemed clear, but maybe she was imagining it. It was a bold assumption. Her desperate need for saltine crackers at five o'clock in the morning didn't necessarily mean anything. She felt exposed. "You know, for travel sickness," he added, subtly alluding to the fact that he would be discreet about any admissions made.
She hung her head, dropping the deer in the headlights expression and mustering a smile. "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."
"If you need anything else, please do not hesitate to ask. You are not a nuisance."
She smiled warmly as he took his leave, closing the door behind him. She turned to face the whiteboard, taking a deep breath.
It took her an hour to set up the makeshift murder board. An hour of planning, calling, following up... and nibbling on salted crackers to fight off the returning waves of nausea.
Castle walked out of his room - sleepy eyes, messed hair, dazed facial expression. She couldn't help but smile. It was so... cute, the way he tussled his hair and tried to take in his surroundings with barely-open eyes.
"Wow! Somebody's up early," he mused once he had adjusted to being awake.
"Good morning."
"What, did you pack a murder board?" he asked, amused, walking over to join her.
"No: Maurice," she explained.
"Ah, he is amazing, isn't he?" He sat on the arm of the chair, waiting. She turned to him, smiled. "What? No rundown? It looks like you've had a very busy morning," he added.
"I'll let you wake up properly, first. Have some breakfast. No need to jump right in."
Her relaxed, easy-going attitude had him stumped, to say the least, but he wouldn't argue. Knowing when to pace herself, when to slow down to avoid burnout, well it wasn't exactly her strength.
"Good idea. Need the right fuel to get through the day," he quipped, heading to the kitchen. "I can cook, or we can order room service, up to you."
"Oh, uh, no thanks. Just you," she said, apologetically.
"Did you already eat?"
She looked to the half-eaten packet of crackers, then back to Castle. "Uh, kind of."
He followed the path her eyes took, noting the bland snack for the first time. "Are you not well?" he asked, concerned.
"I'm fine." She offered her best smile, tucking her fidgeting hands into the pockets of her jeans.
"Kate, If you need to rest-"
"I'm fine, Castle," she urged, growing irritated by his desire to coddle her. "Can you just have breakfast, please? We have work to do."
He took a deep breath. God, this woman was maddening.
He grabbed the carton of eggs from the fridge, and a few of the fresh vegetables Maurice had organised for them yesterday, and placed them on the counter. Grabbing the instruments he needed, he began to make himself an omelette.
She walked to the island counter, sitting at one of the stools and watching on as he worked. He was avoiding the usual chit-chat, but otherwise didn't seem off. He didn't mention last night, the call, didn't seem tense about anything. Usually she would take that as a sign to just move past it, pretend it didn't happen. But she was actively trying to move away from old habits. So, reluctantly, she brought it up.
"I'm sorry about last night," she started, breaking the silence.
"We discussed why it wasn't a good idea. I told you, I'm happy to wait until we know for sure, if that will make you feel more certain about things. There's no need to apologise."
She frowned, shook her head. "Not that."
He halted his meal preparations, looked at her, confused. If not for that, then what?
"The phone call," she explained.
"Oh, that." He moved his focus back to his breakfast. "Again, there's no need to apologise."
"I don't even know why I answered..." her voice trailed off as she tried to think of her reasons. Reasons other than just wanting to hear his voice.
"Kate," his voice was low, questioning, did she really not understand? He searched her eyes for any sign of understanding. All he found was confusion. His heart broke for her. "Look at where we are, why we're here."
Her stomach tightened, a painful twinge, guilt. She didn't answer the call, and now Royce was dead. It was too late, she would never see him again, never hear his voice, never learn to forgive him for his mistakes. They will never not be estranged.
"No one can blame you for needing to answer that call last night," he added with a comforting smile. "I certainly don't."
Her reasons - needing to hear his voice, know that he was okay - they didn't seem quite so pitiful now. "I didn't think of it like that," she confessed.
"You know, sometimes I swear you forget you're human, forget that you have emotions and insecurities. All the awful human faults."
She laughed. "Trust me, I don't forget. I just like to ignore them. It's been a real winning coping mechanism so far."
"Yeah, I don't think that's ever blown up in your face before," he added, sarcastically, as he flipped his omelette.
He tried to have more self control, to mind his own business and for once in his life, not pry. But the deep-in-thought expression that crossed her face had his brain whirling with the possibilities.
His stomach clenched nervously as he risked his question: "Was he, uh, is everything okay?"
"Um, yeah." She leaned on the countertop, collecting her thoughts. "He had been drinking," she added.
"Oh." The statement hadn't clarified anything. Was he drunk, or just slightly buzzed? Was the call intentional, or had he dialled the familiar number out of habit? Was he relieved she answered, happy to hear her voice? Or was he mad, still processing their split? So many questions crowded his mind, but he knew better than to push.
"I have to go," she whispered after a few moments of silence. He was confused, had he pushed her too far with his question? "The smell," she explained.
"Right," he said, noting the rather strong aroma of egg and spice coming from the pan. "Sorry."
"It's okay, Castle," she reassured him. "I think maybe I just need some fresh air."
She gathered her things - phone, card, keys - and headed to the door.
"I'll have the place smelling like roses by the time you get back," he promised. She scrunched her nose, involuntarily grimaced at the thought. "Or, nothing. I'll have the place smelling like nothing at all. No possible triggers here, you have my word."
She sighed, he was trying so hard. She paced toward him, powering through the sensation deep in her gut, and wrapped her arms around him. He held her tight, breathed her in, savoured the moment as long as she would allow.
"I'm sorry," she whispered against his chest. She pulled from his embrace, looking him in the eye. "I appreciate it. All of it, everything you're doing. Thank you."
She pushed away from him, the need to get out becoming too much, and made a beeline for the door. She offered him one last smile, before leaving.
He was surprised by how well she managed to hold herself together throughout the day. She must have been right - fresh air had done her a world of good. The end of this case being within reach was probably a contributing factor, too, if he was being honest. He knew he sure as hell felt better knowing what Ganz's plan was.
He also felt a hell of a lot better now that she had let Seeger in. She wasn't alone, anymore. She had back up - actual back up with actual authority. Someone who could take the lead, keep her safe from - well - herself. There was no need for her to be on the frontline anymore, no need for her to run headfirst toward the danger.
But he could still see the fire in her eyes. She was close, so close to catching Ganz, to getting justice for Royce. She wasn't going to stand down now.
The pier was crowded, unsurprisingly. That alone had Castle's stomach in knots. Ganz could be anywhere; he could easily blend into the crowd. Beckett's eyes scanned for him, too focused, like tunnel vision. She was moving further and further away from the team, each extra inch of distance between them stirring the anxious pit in his stomach.
He pushed his legs to move faster, breaking out into a jog to catch up with her.
"Beckett," he called, but she ignored him. "Beckett!"
He reached out, grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her toward him. Her eyes stopped searching the sea of people surrounding them, seared into him instead.
"What?" she demanded. He had broken her focus, turned her anxiety into anger. He was in her way, again. Why was he constantly in her way?
"Beckett, please," he begged. "Leave this to Seeger and his team."
She looked... hurt. Like he didn't think she was capable.
You're torn up
Montgomery had doubted her, too.
A little too eager, a little green
Even Ganz could see right through her act.
"I'm fine, Castle." She measured her voice. Swallowed the anger, tried to hide the uncertainty. "I can do this."
"You don't have to," he urged. She stared into his eyes, considering his plea. "Please, let Seeger handle it."
"I can't do that," she admitted. It broke her heart, the fact that she couldn't walk away from this. She knew she should, for him, for her and for this baby, but she couldn't.
Seeger's voice broke through the tension. "We have eyes on the buyer," he informed them. "You ready?"
She didn't break eye contact with Castle. She put everything she could into silently telling him that she was sorry, so sorry.
"Yeah, I'm ready," she said. She finally broke her eyes from his, moving quickly to back Seeger up.
She had expected Castle to walk away. How many times could she do this to him, how many times could she let him down, disappoint him, before he would walk away and never come back? But as she rounded the van, he was by her side. When they cuffed the buyer, recovered the bullets, he was there.
She wished that was enough. She so desperately wanted to be able to look at him and feel satisfied. But all she could think about was Ganz. Ganz was getting away; he had slipped through the cracks and Seeger didn't care.
The shadow of a ghost caught her attention, shifted her focus to the stalls that lined the pier. Disappearing behind a popcorn vender, she couldn't believe her luck, was Ganz.
Her feet lead her in his direction, as if acting of their own accord. She had no plan, her back up was otherwise occupied. This was reckless, and she knew it. But she wasn't about to let him out of her sight.
She kept her distance, tried to remain unseen, but she could see the change in his demeanour. The change in the way he carried himself. He grew tense, paranoid. He could sense her. She reached for her gun, pulled it from the small of her back, where she had tucked it away in the waistband of her jeans. She kept her piece pressed to her thigh as she walked, trying not to draw attention from the crowd.
He started to run and she was after him, before she had time to register. She still had no plan, and she was sure he knew that, the same way he knew she was a cop at the pool. Her legs were burning, pleading with her to stop, too tired for this. She was losing him, slipping through the cracks.
He made a sharp turn, heading straight for the side of the pier. With ease, he launched himself over the side, disappearing from sight altogether. She could follow him over, stick the landing with ease. She is, after all, trained to do so. She's wearing reasonable shoes and the landing below is soft sand. Instead, she stops. She leans over the guardrail and watches as he gets away.
She couldn't breathe.
But she had back up, thanks to Castle. She can hear them. Through the constant hum of noise, the voices, the fun, she can hear Castle's voice calling out her name. It's the push she needed, the motivation to fight her body's fatigue. She pushes off the railing, running down the length of the pier until she is on the beach. She doubled back, ran toward where she last saw Ganz. She heard the gunshot echo through the air and fear filled her chest.
"Castle!" she called as she pushed her legs to move faster, faster. She can see them, the uniformed LAPD officers surrounding the body. "Castle!"
"Kate," he called out, running toward her.
Seeger pulled Ganz from the ground, cuffed him and lead him away. It was done, she could put this to rest.
"I thought you were going to jump," he quietly confessed.
"So did I."
"Are you okay?"
Not even close, but she was getting there. "Yeah."
May 5, 2011
An hour into their flight, Castle was fast asleep. She couldn't blame him - he had been up all night, checking in on her, comforting her through waves of nausea and melancholy. His body was crashing after a long few days of having to be on high alert, of having to constantly be worrying about her.
She pulled Royce's letter from her pocket, reading over it again. And again, and again. If only...
If only Royce could see how horrible his timing was. How, if he had worked up the courage to send this letter just two months earlier, maybe he could have saved them from the heartache they were experiencing now. She knew it wasn't that simple, though.
She didn't want to be scared, but she just couldn't fight off this fear. She tucked the letter away, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.
She just wanted to go home.
