A/N: Filler scene, might add to this, not sure yet. Just clearing out some of my older stuff - I do have 3 parts, but they need heavy editing and I don't know if I want to commit to that tbh.
Enjoy : )
LINCHPIN
It's all a blur. A foggy montage of memories that, if it weren't for the burning sensation in her lungs from inhaled river water, she wouldn't believe were real.
He was dead, she was sure of it.
He had been under for too long, searching for her gun because she had lost it.
He could have saved himself. He could have found a way out, without her.
She had killed him. And that had made accepting her fate that much easier.
Because, if Castle had died, if he had died trying to save her...
There was no moving past that.
But he didn't die. He saved her, she thinks. No, she was sure of it.
Because who else could it have been?
She remembered being dragged out of the car, desperately kicking her legs. The water filling her lungs, heavy and suffocating.
She remembered hoping she was heading in the right direction as everything faded to black, that first gasp of air when they reached the surface, his arm around her as he pulled her to safety.
She remembered lying on the hard concrete, his hand cold against her face as sirens came into focus. And then she was swept away by paramedics.
Someone had heard the gunshots, seen the collision, called the police. An anonymous saviour. She would eventually look into that, thank them... one day.
She knew the procedure, she knew what she had to do, but she was agitated beyond reason. She just needed to be near him, touching him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he took each breath. She needed that proof, that constant reminder that she hadn't lost him. Because she was so sure she had.
Finally, she was free. Statements given, questions answered, medically cleared, for now. But she was still soaking wet and freezing cold, shivers rolling through her body despite her attempts to keep them at bay.
"Go home. Get dry, get warm. The last thing you need is to catch pneumonia."
But she had a job to do, a murder to resolve. Three, actually. She wouldn't stop now.
They shared a cab. She wasn't expecting him to come back to the precinct, but when he climbed into the back seat beside her, she gratefully accepted the company.
"The Twelfth Precinct, please." She gave the address.
"No." He gave the driver her address, instead.
"We will go to the precinct after," he reassured her before she had a chance to argue.
She watched him for most of the journey to her apartment building. Watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, both grateful for his easy breathing and slightly jealous. For her, each breath burned deep within her chest. Although, she knew most of that pain was mental. Trauma: it's a hell of a thing, the way it lingers. The way it taunts you. The way it reminds you of everything you wished you could forget.
He inched his hand along the seat between them, his fingers brushing against hers. He was nervous.
"I'm okay," he whispered.
She peeled her eyes away, looking out the window. She was staring, too much. She hated the thought that she was making him uncomfortable.
But he could have died. They could have died. How close had they been? How many times can they tiptoe the line between life and death before one - or both - of them steps too far and is gone forever?
In her silence, he garnered the courage he needed to wrap his fingers around her hand with a gentle, comforting squeeze. A simple touch of hands that started a chain reaction. A rush of adrenaline, the pounding of her heart. She was alive, but her thoughts were spiralling to a dark place.
Dark, like the depths of what could have been their watery grave.
His eyes on her, the seatbelt across her chest. It was all too much. She needed to feel steady ground beneath her feet. She needed to not be stuck in the car.
She tried to subtly pull the belt from across her chest - to relieve some of the pressure that sat there - but when it hitched and wouldn't budge, she panicked.
"You can stop here." Her voice wavered, giving away exactly how shaken she was by it all.
Yesterday morning, everything was fine. She was fine. Her world had been shaken, turned upside, too quickly, she couldn't find her footing anymore.
The cab driver pulled up to the curb. They were a block away from her apartment building, but she had to get out. The car had barely stopped when she pushed open the door and stumbled onto the curb.
Her legs moved fast, working to steady her stride, to get her where she needed to be as quick as possible.
The cab came back into her view, driving past her to re-join the flow of traffic. She couldn't see Castle in the back seat - she wanted to slow down, to wait for him, but she didn't.
She could hear him calling her name, but she couldn't stop. Not yet, she had to get to safety. To the surface.
She had to breathe, but each step made that more difficult. Every few steps, she upped her pace. Every jagged intake of breath felt like a desperate fight for her life. She couldn't pull herself out from this one.
She finally reached her building, pulling on the door that was labelled push. The door that she used every single day, without issue. Everything felt backwards.
"Beckett!"
She leant against it with her whole body. It was too heavy to simply push, the printed instruction taunting her.
"Kate!"
His voice was louder, clearer, closer. She heard the soft thud of the door against him as he pushed through it.
She jabbed at the elevator button, focussing on the stinging behind her eyes, the burning in her chest, the reminders that she was alive.
The carriage took its time, even on a good day, but this felt impossibly slow.
"Kate."
His hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her toward him forcefully. She knew he wouldn't have intended that, that he probably used that much force expecting her to pull away, to resist.
She placed her free hand on his chest to stop herself from falling into him.
"What's wrong?" he asked her.
"What's wrong?" She echoed, a crack in her voice. What's wrong? Was that some kind of joke? "Castle, I-"
She placed a protective hand over her chest, her scar. Her heart pounded under her palm.
She sucked in a desperate, shaky breath.
"I can't breathe. I-it hurts." Her voice broke as her composure fell and tears rolled down her cheeks. "It always hurts."
He pulled on her wrist and she fell into him, burying her head in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.
"I was so sure I had lost you," she cried into his shirt.
"I'm okay. I'm right here," he whispered the reassurances as he stroked the still-damp mess of curls. "You're okay, too. We're both here."
He could feel her measured breaths, each one gradually growing steadier and more efficient.
The elevator door opened and closed again, neither one of them moving. He'd stand here forever, if that was what she needed. But after just a few minutes, she pulled herself from his arms, wiping the tear streaks from her face.
She pressed the button calling the elevator back to them, but when it came she didn't move.
He wrapped his arm around her and guided her into the carriage.
When they reached her apartment, he dropped his hand from her waist, grabbing her hand and leading her straight to the bathroom.
"You need to get out of those wet clothes," he instructed. "A shower will help warm you up."
He dropped her hand and started the shower.
She watched as he adjusted the taps, placing his hand into the stream of water to check the temperature.
Once he was satisfied, he turned back to face her. "I'll make you something to eat."
She could convince herself that her apartment was her safety net, her comfort. That's why she was already feeling better. More herself, than before.
She could convince herself it had nothing to do with him being here, taking care of her, nothing at all, but at this point, why bother?
Right now, fuelled by heightened emotions and residual adrenaline still coursing through her veins, she didn't want to wait any longer.
They had danced around this for so long.
As he began to walk away, she tentatively placed a hand on his chest.
He stopped, looking at her with solicitous eyes.
"Talk to me, Kate," he tried to encourage.
She shook her head. "I don't want to talk."
Her fingertips moved up until they found a shirt button. She toyed with it for a moment, eyes fixed on the small navy disc between her fingers, waiting for him to stop her, but he didn't. With just a slight manipulation of the material, the button popped open.
She looked up at him - the dark look of desire, of want and need, staring back at her - and smiled.
His eyes dropped to her lips and he reached out, his hand at her hip, guiding her toward him.
She pressed herself against him, locking her lips to his.
His fingertips dug into her hips, encouraging her as she continued to work on unbuttoning his shirt.
He slid his tongue along her bottom lip.
She stepped back and for a moment - just a brief moment - he thought she had changed her mind, but she smiled mischievously and tugged on her blazer, pulling it from her shoulders.
He followed suit, shrugging off his now fully unbuttoned shirt.
He stopped the task of undressing himself, watching her as she pulled her top off over her head. His eyes wandered, taking her in.
"You okay?" She asked, noticing he had stopped.
"Y-yeah," he stumbled, eyes still on her body, on her chest, her scar.
He reached out, hovered his hand over it hesitantly.
She wrapped her fingers around his, bringing them to rest against her. He could feel her heart pounding furiously under his palm.
"Are you?" he asked.
She nodded, a smile tugging at her lips.
"Good," he whispered.
He cupped her face with his free hand, kissing her fervently. His hands drifted down, roaming her body - her arms, her waist and hips, her back - exploring every inch of exposed skin, yearning for more. He pulled at the waistband of her pants and she moved to rid herself of them.
He lifted her onto the vanity, standing between her knees.
She wrapped her legs around him, hooking her ankles behind his legs and using them to pull him closer.
He gripped at her, shifting her hips closer to the edge of the vanity until he could feel her against him. He traced kisses along the line of her mouth, across her jawline and down her neck. His soft nibbles at her collarbone drew a soft moan from her, the swirl of his tongue soothing the pain as quickly as it was inflicted.
Things were moving fast.
His hands rested on her thighs, his thumbs grazing gently across her skin, inching closer to material of her underwear.
She undid the buckle of his pants, slipping her hand in between their bodies, brushing against him.
He slid a hand up her stomach, across her rib cage and around her back until his fingers rested against the clasp of her bra.
"Hold on." She pulled away from him. "Bottom drawer."
She pointed beneath where she was seated.
He bent down, pulling open the drawer. Razors, soap, moisturiser... and a condom box.
"Ah, good idea."
He grabbed the box and kicked the drawer shut. He gave the box a little jiggle, but he didn't hear anything. He shook it again, still nothing. He opened it.
"It's empty," he said, staring down at the carboard packaging in his hands.
"What?"
"There's nothing in it," he reworded his statement. "It's empty."
She snatched the box from his hands, looking inside.
Shit.
She slumped back against the bathroom mirror, gnawing at the inside of her bottom lip. She could have sworn she had some left.
She sighed, remembering.
"Lanie..."
"Lanie?" He repeated, confused.
"You know what? It's a long story, but, I gave them to her. A joke, I guess, about..." her voice trailed off as she wondered if this was something she even wanted to share with him. "A joke about how I haven't been needing them lately."
She closed her eyes and dropped her head back, softly tapping it against the mirror.
"Oh," he said, realising what she meant.
This was... awkward. To say the least.
She took a deep breath.
"The shower's still running," she whispered.
"Right."
He turned to face the shower, filling with steam as water continued to run.
"Yeah, you should, uh. Uh, I should - I should go. Home. Get changed."
"Yeah." She sucked her teeth while he awkwardly buttoned up his pants.
"I'll meet you back at the precinct?" he asked.
It felt wrong to just walk away right now, but they were both wired - emotionally and physically - and some space before heading back to work might do them a world of good.
She scrubbed her hand over her face, inhaling deeply and holding. "Mm-hmm."
He picked up his shirt and left.
She exhaled, finally, internally cursing herself for letting the moment pass.
Once she heard the front door shut, she slid off of the vanity, undressed, and stepped into the warmth of the shower.