WORTH WORKING FOR
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kate's hungry.
What she's hungry for, she has no idea. She and Rick just had dinner, and she definitely ate enough, but she needs…something else.
Something salty. No, something sweet. Something…
Fruity.
Strawberry.
"What're you thinking about?"
She looks up to find Rick watching her, a curious look in his eye. "Strawberry shakes," she blurts.
He blinks a couple times, obviously confused, and really, she can't blame him. They just got back to her place after going to the comfort food truck, where she got one of almost everything and ate every bite - and some of his.
She was ravenous, though; they just closed a case of a body burnt in a pizza oven, and for some inexplicable reason, all she's been able to think about the last couple days is food.
Except pizza. She's off pizza for the foreseeable future.
But a strawberry shake?
Yes, please.
"Remy's," she continues, slipping her coat back on.
Rick moves to stand in front of her when she reaches for the door. "They're closed this week, remember?"
"What?"
They're not closed, they can't be.
"Yeah. Remember, we were there Thursday, and they said they're renovating their kitchen this week? We can't go."
"But-" She frowns. "I want a milkshake."
Rick scrubs a hand down his face and opens the door. "I'll find something."
"Wait-" She starts to protest, but before she can, the door shuts behind him.
Her heart sinks.
They're both exhausted; she's barely sleeping and he isn't sleeping much more than her, waking up almost every time she has to get out of bed to pee, or just to move. He's been shadowing her every day, staying up late to write, and waiting on her practically hand and foot.
And now he's going out to presumably get her a shake, one she doesn't even want anymore.
She sniffles and swipes her fingers across her cheeks, surprised to find them wet.
And now she's crying over it.
Damn hormones, and damn that perfect man.
She pulls her phone from her pocket and texts him while she makes her way to her bedroom to change.
Come back. I'll survive without a shake.
She pauses at the door to the nursery and leans against the doorframe as she waits for his response.
Since she's been spending more and more time at Rick's place, the room is still mostly bare. Rick had the furniture delivered early in her pregnancy, and the walls have been painted with an almost identical mural of the one that's in his nursery, but none of the furniture has been assembled.
Frankly, every time she thinks about it, she gets exhausted and overwhelmed at the idea of having two of everything. Two nurseries, two sets of clothes and toys and diapers.
Two homes.
Her phone dings, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she reads his reply.
I know. Be back in a few.
Tone is notoriously hard to read in texts, but over the months, she's learned to read Rick's pretty accurately. He doesn't seem upset, even though he left with barely a word spoken.
The heart emoji helps.
Not for the first time, she questions what the hell he even sees in her, why he puts up with her.
Just last week, she told him that she was all in with him. No more hiding parts of herself, no more foot out the door. He even gave her a key, although she hasn't used it yet. They spend almost every waking - and non-waking - moment together; in fact, they only came to her place tonight so she could check her mail and grab some clean clothes. For all intents and purposes, she's basically moved in with him.
Maybe…
There's a nudge against her ribs, and she grimaces and presses a hand to her side.
At thirty weeks, she still has a fair amount of time left in her pregnancy, but damn if she isn't feeling every single thing. Every ache, every movement, everything. She's so ready to be done, to meet her son.
But, she realizes as she looks at the half-finished nursery, she's not even close to ready.
The sound of her front door opening and Rick calling her name pulls her from her thoughts, and she turns just in time to see the man in question walk up, cup in hand.
"Sorry," she says, grabbing his shirt and tugging him in for a brief kiss.
Rick smiles against her mouth, kisses her again before pulling back and holding out the cup. "Nothing to apologize for, Kate," he assures her.
She doesn't even want the shake anymore - she only wanted Remy's - but Rick took the time to get it. So she mentally prepares herself to be disappointed, and takes a sip.
Her eyes widen and she looks up at him, notices the proud glint in his eye.
"This-" She takes another sip. "Why does this taste like Remy's?"
Rick grins. "Because it is."
"But…how?"
"I called the owner," he explains with a casual shrug. "You know he only lives a few blocks away, right?"
"Um, no?"
He continues as if she didn't say anything. "Asked him if he could make one, and he did. Even gave me the recipe so I can make them for you. I don't have a machine, so it won't be exactly the same, but it should tide you over until they re-open."
Kate can only stare as she processes all the information he just gave her. She doesn't know where to start - him knowing the owner, the owner living close by, Rick getting him to make her a shake, getting the recipe - so she just pulls him in for another kiss.
"God, I love you," she breathes when she pulls away.
Rick chuckles, and the low rumble sends heat rushing through her. Something in her expression must change, because he grows serious and steps closer, crowds her against the wall.
"Yeah?" he husks.
She nods and tugs him to her bedroom, where the shake is quickly forgotten.
The next week passes quietly: no crazy cases, just normal, run-of-the-mill murders, much to Rick's disappointment. Since she's working from the precinct for the rest of her pregnancy, Rick is mostly shadowing Ryan and Esposito for the hands-on case work, and spends his time at the precinct going over procedure and sitting in on interviews.
Which is why it's such a shock when, three days before his birthday, they're all called to the scene of a major explosion.
The scene is, in a word, awful.
Kate's seen a lot of terrible things in her years on the force. This isn't even her first mass casualty event.
But it is Rick's.
She stays close to him as they arrive at the scene, ready to pull him away if it looks like it's too much.
"Oh my God," Rick whispers as they duck under the tape and straight into the carnage.
She steps in front of him, stops him with a hand on his chest. "You don't need to be here or see this. You should go home."
He takes a deep breath, then clenches his jaw and shakes his head. "I want to be here," he says in a voice tight with emotion, shifting his gaze to her. "I want to help. I'll be fine."
Kate studies him for a long moment, then nods. "Okay. But if any of it becomes too much, or you need a break, step away for as long as you need to, okay?"
He nods, and she leads him into the scene.
The rest of the day is rough for everyone.
With the FBI quickly taking over the investigation, Kate and her team are tasked with interviewing the witnesses and survivors.
She and Rick are both quiet when they leave late into the evening, no closer to answers than when they started. Kate's exhausted, both physically - her son wouldn't stop pressing against her ribs, and it feels like every muscle in her body hurts - and emotionally.
Rick isn't much better; he got quieter as the day progressed and the statements piled up. She kept an eye on him, ready to encourage a break if it seemed like the situation was getting to him.
Much to her surprise, he steeled himself against the horrors of the day and pushed through. He even brings the witness statements home, per Gates's request, to review them for anything that could point to a suspect. She'll help how she can, but her speed-reading skills don't come close to his.
All she wants is to shower away the day and drink an entire bottle of wine. The wine isn't an option, obviously, but she heads to the kitchen anyway, finds Rick staring into the fridge.
"Hey," she says quietly, pressing her palm on his back and leaning against the counter next to him. "Let me order some dinner."
Rick's back heaves with a deep sigh, and he grabs a beer, twists off the cap, and shuts the door. "How do you do it?" he asks, leaning back against the fridge. "I know something like today doesn't happen all the time. But how do you see things like…" He scrubs a hand down his face. "Jesus, Kate."
She nods in understanding. "I know. I wish I could say it gets easier, but it doesn't. The best thing to do is teach yourself to put it away, to let it go, or it'll eat you up inside. Look, why don't you stay home tomorrow? I'll help you go through the statements tonight and bring in any findings."
"No, it's fine. I'm fine. I'll try not to focus on the ugly side of it. Truth is-" He pauses and sets his beer on the counter. "I haven't done a lot in my life that I consider meaningful. I write mystery books and graphic novels, for God's sake. But working with you, both on this case and countless others?" The corners of his mouth lift in a small smile, and his eyes soften, the haunted, hollow look fading. "It makes me feel like I'm actually making a difference."
Kate mirrors his smile and reaches out to cover his hand with hers. "Okay. Just know that if you need to step away, for any reason, do. No questions asked."
He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, brushes his lips across her forehead. "Thanks. I'll order us dinner."
"Okay. Hey," she adds, grabbing his hand when he starts to step away, "you're wrong, you know. Your books do make a difference." She lifts a shoulder in a small shrug. "At least, they do for me."
His brow furrows, but before he can ask for clarification, she lifts herself to her toes so she can give him a quick kiss. "I'm gonna jump in the shower. Order food, then join me?"
His gaze darkens. "Twist my arm."
"How you holding up?" Lanie asks a couple days later, draping a sheet back over the dead body in front of her.
Kate exhales slowly and looks around the room at the sheet-covered bombing victims. She knows the exams are done, that bodies are just waiting to be stored or claimed now that they've solved the case. But sadness still churns in her gut, the bittersweet feeling of knowing that, despite the families having answers and getting justice, they will never feel whole again.
She knows that feeling all too well.
"I'm okay," she says after a long minute. "Cases like this are always tough. The senseless destruction. Look, can…can we talk about something else?" She lowers herself into a chair by Lanie's desk. "You and Espo looked pretty cozy at the Old Haunt last week," she teases, managing a smile when Lanie flushes.
"Nothing to tell," Lanie fires back. "We may have different ideas of what a relationship looks like, but that doesn't mean we can't hook up when the mood strikes. What's this I hear about your man giving you a key?"
It's Kate's turn to flush, and she shifts her gaze to a spot on the far wall. "You heard right," she says quietly.
"And? Are you okay with that?" When Kate glares at her, Lanie shrugs. "You've never reached the key swapping stage, at least not as long as I've known you," she points out.
"We didn't swap," Kate mumbles, her cheeks burning.
"Hmm?"
She rolls her eyes and meets Lanie's knowing gaze. "I have his. He doesn't have mine."
"Why?" Lanie asks.
"It's just…I don't know. It's intimidating. Scary."
"You're cautious."
Kate nods. "Exactly. My relationship with Rick, it's different from others. I've never felt this way, and…" She runs her fingers through her hair. "I've spent so long treading water with him, holding myself - us - back, and I don't want to anymore. But I don't know how to do this, where to go. Actually, I think I do. But there's still this part of me that's waiting for it to blow up. No pun intended," she adds, nodding her head towards the bodies.
Lanie nods and sets her clipboard down, leans against the edge of her desk. "You've told him how you feel."
"Yes."
"And vice versa."
The corner of Kate's mouth quirks. "Yes."
"He gave you a key to his place. It doesn't sound like you guys are treading water anymore, Kate." Lanie shrugs. "It sounds like you're in this. At the very least, he is."
The brief panic that rushes through her must show on her face, because Lanie sighs and pulls out a chair to sit next to her.
"I know that freaks you out," she says. "You think having a kid with the guy makes it more complicated. And maybe it does. But I gotta tell you, from what I've seen, what you've told me? Unless you've left out a whole hell of a lot, he isn't going anywhere."
"You're right," Kate mutters. "I know you're right, but what if-"
"But what if, I know." Lanie pauses and motions to the room around them. "Ten years, I've been working here, keeping them company for a night or two, on their way to wherever we're all going. They all had plans. Things they were gonna get around to, things they decided not to do because they were afraid that something would go wrong."
"You know more than anyone how short life is, how it can change on a dime," Lanie continues. "But you're holding yourself back based on hypothetical 'what ifs.' How long are you gonna let yourself do this?"
Lanie's words hit her like a freight train. She's had similar conversations with Dr. Burke, about letting go of her worries, of her tendency to assume the worst, how she self-sabotages her personal life due to perceived failures in her professional life.
She's also learned how to recognize when she's doing it, and has been working like hell to reframe her thinking. She's made a hell of a lot of progress, but sometimes…well, as Dr. Burke has said, healing is a process, and it isn't linear.
"Have I really been holding myself back?" she asks, knowing the answer as soon as the words leave her mouth.
"Mm-hmm."
"Shit," she whispers. Unable to sit still anymore, she stands and paces across the room. "God, it's like every time I take a step forward, I freak myself out and run backwards. I've convinced myself that I'm holding back to save us both from some potential heartbreak." She stops pacing and meets Lanie's knowing gaze. "I've been sabotaging my own happiness."
"Mm-hmm," Lanie agrees, nodding. "So, you gonna stop doing that, or what?"
APRIL 1
There is no reason for her to be nervous.
They've spent plenty of time at her apartment, Rick filling the space with his infectious joy since the first time he set foot inside her door. She loves seeing him in her place, turning it into more of a home than it ever felt like before.
No matter what she thinks, though, she can't help but wonder if he feels the same way when he has to wait for her to let him in.
Well, she thinks when she hears the knock on her door at precisely seven, that ends tonight.
Despite having spent most of the day with him at the precinct, her heart does a funny flip when she sees him.
God, she doesn't deserve him.
She will someday, she hopes. She'll work towards deserving him for as long as it takes.
Even if it's the rest of her life.
She shakes her head at the thought, bringing herself back to the here and now, to the man she loves, the father of her child, on his birthday.
"Hey," she greets him, gripping the front of his shirt as he leans down to brush a kiss across her cheek. She holds him close when he starts to move away, lifts her mouth to his for a long, slow kiss that quickly sends warmth through her whole body.
Rick moans quietly before breaking the kiss, and he gazes at her with dark, hooded eyes. "Hey," he rasps.
Kate takes a deep breath to center herself again. "Happy birthday," she says before she forgets - not that she would, especially since she, Ryan, and Esposito put together a small celebration at the precinct.
She steps aside now so Rick can come into her apartment, and she leads him to the kitchen, retrieves a wine glass from her cabinet. "Red?" she offers, motioning to the bottle of wine she picked up on her way home.
A bottle that she knows he loves, and that put a serious dent in her grocery budget.
Rick's face lights up as he reads the label. "Oh, good choice. You don't mind?"
"Not at all."
"And steak?" he exclaims, looking at the meat currently resting on the counter, almost ready to go in the pan. He looks up at her, that ever-present grin on his stupidly handsome face. "You spoil me, Kate."
She shrugs. "It's the least I can do on your day. I'll try not to have a panic attack this time," she jokes, thinking back to her own birthday, when she had such a difficult time accepting anything from him that just an offer of dessert sent her into a tailspin.
Was that really less than six months ago?
She quickly counts in her head.
God, less than five months ago. Time sure flies.
She pulls herself out of her reverie, and her face warms when she notices the soft, if concerned, look in Rick's eyes. "Sorry," she says quietly, pressing a hand to his cheek. "Got lost in thought."
He lifts a hand and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, brushes his thumb across her cheek in a now-familiar - and always welcome, she realizes with a startle - move.
"Put it out of your head, Kate," he whispers. He leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead.
She leans into his embrace with a content sigh, and she lets him hold her for a long moment before she steps back and takes his hand, tugs him further into the kitchen. "Sit," she instructs, motioning to the stools on the other side of the high counter.
He protests, offering to help, but when she just lifts her brows and props her hands on her hips, he rolls his eyes and follows her instruction.
"How's your mom?" she asks, turning to the stove. "Rehearsals going well?"
Rick grins, and her heart swells at the pride on his face.
When Martha's contract with the Pippin tour ended last month, she returned to New York full-time. She loves touring, she'd explained, but she decided that being close to family, especially with her first grandchild arriving soon, was more important. She's still looking for an apartment in her price range, but she got a role in a new production of Mousetrap, which began rehearsals just last week.
"Maybe this time, I'll actually understand it," she'd joked when she got the part.
"So far so good," Rick says, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a sip. "Oh, she wants to know if your dad wants a ticket for opening night. You're coming, right?"
Kate grins. "Wouldn't miss it," she assures him. Before she forgets, she grabs her phone and sends a quick text to her dad. "He'll let me know tomorrow if he can come," she says when Jim responds.
Rick falls silent, then, his gaze dropping to his glass, his thumb tracing the rim.
Kate glances at him, notices the somber, almost haunted look in his eyes, and reaches over to cover his hand with hers. "What's wrong?" she asks quietly.
He shakes his head and attempts a smile, but it doesn't remotely reach his eyes, so she moves around the counter and slides onto the chair next to him.
"I dreamt about them last night," he says, flipping his hand under hers and curling his fingers around her palm. "About the victims. And I went to the site after we left the precinct, to the memorial that's up. It's just so…" He sighs, his gaze shifting to the counter. "All that destruction, all those victims, because a reporter wanted a good story?" He shakes his head. "What the hell is wrong with people?"
Kate rubs a hand across his back, rests it between his shoulder blades. "Unfortunately, people like that keep me employed. Let me ask you something." When his eyes meet hers, she continues. "When you're writing, when you plan out the murders in your books, do you dwell on them later? Do they stick with you?"
Rick shakes his head.
"I know it's not the same, because fictional crime and victims are a lot different than real life. But whatever you do to put it away when you aren't working, that's what you have to do."
"Yeah, and for the most part, I am. But I can't help but think, what the hell are we doing?" He turns in his chair to face her, places a palm on her belly. "The world's a mess, Kate. We see it every day, you more than anyone I know. You know first-hand how shitty it can be. How can we bring a kid into this?"
"Well, we didn't exactly do this on purpose," she tries to joke, motioning to her belly. Rick just rolls his eyes, and she turns serious, places her hand over his.
"You're right," she agrees. "We live in a screwed up world. We really have no right to bring someone else into it, to subject him to wars and fighting and all the bullshit we see everyday."
"But, Rick, there's also goodness and light." She cups his jaw with her free hand and lifts his gaze to hers. "Family, friends. The everyday magic of life." Her lips lift as his gaze softens with every word. "You," she whispers, squeezing his hand. "Even before we met, you were a ray of light. Your books helped me out of a dark place."
"What do you mean?" Rick asks, his voice rough with emotion.
Her vision blurs, unshed tears filling her eyes. "After my mom died - after her case went cold, really - I fell off the rails a bit. Dad was drinking more, I just…" She trails off, her mind drifting back to those first few years on the force, when she ran herself ragged trying to solve the case in her rare free time.
She's told Rick how that time was, how a close call with a suspect gave her the reality check she needed to go to therapy and put the case away.
But she didn't tell him everything.
"One day after therapy, I decided on a whim to stop at the library. It's always been one of my favorite places, so quiet and peaceful, a place to just forget the world for a while."
"Anyway, I ended up in the fiction section, in the C's-" She can't help but smile at the cocky smirk that appears on his lips, despite the tears shimmering in his eyes. "When I read 'In a Hail of Bullets,' it reinvigorated me. The good guys won, the bad guys were punished, justice prevailed." She shrugs. "And I've bought and read every book since."
"Your books changed my life, Rick," she whispers. "They pulled me out of a deep, deep depression - well, they helped - and helped show me that there can be good in the face of evil, light among the dark. And now, all these years later-"
She lifts her hand again, brushes her thumb across his wet cheeks before cupping his jaw. "You saved me again."
Rick covers her hand with his and leans forward to rest his forehead against hers as he takes a deep, shaky breath. "Well, shit," he rasps, earning a chuckle. "Fuck, Kate. I don't even know what to say, except how the hell didn't you recognize me when we met?"
She scoffs and shoves his shoulder, rolls her eyes when he laughs. He grabs her hand and presses a soft kiss to her palm, and her heart skips a beat when he gazes at her with darkening eyes.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thinks that she needs to start cooking soon if they want to eat at a decent hour. But she finds herself tugging him up when she stands, and she leads him down the short hall to her bedroom.
His free hand slips under her shirt and palms her waist, but before it can move farther up - or down - she lets go of him and grabs the small, wrapped box on her dresser.
"I don't get to unwrap you?" Rick teases, his gaze slowly traveling down her body.
Arousal hums through her at the needy look in his eye, but she hands him the present instead. "Later."
He sits on the edge of her bed, gives her a curious look as he slides his finger under the paper. "You didn't have to get me anyth-"
She gnaws at her bottom lip as he opens the box and freezes.
"Kate, is this-"
She nods as he takes the item out. "A key to my place," she says, joining him on the bed. "I've been doing a lot of thinking since you gave me yours. And I've come to realize that my tendency to freeze or retreat at any sign of progression is fear. Despite all the work I've been doing, I'll probably always have to work through that fear of the unknown, of heartbreak. But this-" She taps a finger on the key. "This is a step forward."
"I want you to feel welcome here, like you can come and go as you please. Walk right in, instead of waiting for me to let you in."
His breath shudders at her words, and it doesn't escape her that the key is just acting as a symbol for what he's already done with her heart.
Her name falls from his lips on a sigh, and he cups the back of her head, brings her mouth to his. He deepens the kiss immediately, and she moans and grips his shirt as she leans into him.
The box and key fall to the bed as he shifts to face her, and his hand drops to her thigh, slides up to her hip. Before it escalates further, she slows the kiss until she pulls away, and she manages to stand.
She tugs on his hands. "Dinner first. Then dessert."
A/N: Apologies for the delay. It's been done for awhile, but I wanted to get more of the next chapter written before I posted, then I wasn't able to post for a couple weeks...anyway, yes, I am still diligently working on this, don't worry!