The words would echo in his mind for an eternity, and more.
"Beckett, what do you want?"
"You."
She was cold; beads of rain still clinging to her ice-cold skin, dripping from her hair.
But her kiss was hot; like a fire burning in his veins.
"I just want you."
His heart pounded against the cage of his ribs, each beat so strong he could feel it in his throat.
"This is, uh... over. I'm done."
He had known, even as the words spilled so angrily from his mouth, that he wasn't. He'd never be done: not when it came to Kate. Here he was, diving right back into the very depths of his addiction with not a single thought for what might come next. When the sun came out, when the storm clouds drifted away, where would she be? Where would that leave them? A smart man would have stood his ground, would have walked away and stayed away.
But he never did care much about smart.
And there had been a flicker of something in her eyes, something that told him this time was different. There was a truthfulness, a vulnerability there: she wasn't going to fight this anymore, wasn't going to keep pushing him away whenever he got too close to seeing her; the real her.
He would hope and pray and bargain with whatever higher power had brought her to his door that what he was seeing was true, for nothing in this world could ever compare to this, to her. Nothing would ever feel as good as her hands in his hair. Nothing would ever taste as good as her lips on his.
Nothing would ever be as right a this.
He followed – silenced by disbelief – as she led him toward his bedroom, so sure of what she wanted in this moment. He waited for it, for the inevitable realisation of what was happening; for her to freeze up, to back down, to run away. He didn't want to think so negatively, not right now. But he had to be prepared, had to be ready to not stop her if she did. It might kill him, but this was her last chance.
A chance she didn't seem to have any intention to waste. Her determination was evident in the purposefulness of each move: the way she undressed so slowly; the way she followed his lead; the way she gave herself to him, to make her his. Because words were never her thing, they were his. This was how she communicated, how she told him I love you, too.
And so, he let go of his reservations, let go of his doubts, and lowered her onto his bed.
She wanted him; he would happily give her that.
His hand moved between their bodies, slowly undid each of the remaining buttons of her blouse until he could remove the soaked material from her shaking body. He pressed his palms to her, let them roam freely over her torso: both an effort to warm her and learn her. That was his goal for tonight: learn her. Each curve, each scar, each freckle. He wanted to burn it all to memory, to be able to recall the sensation of her skin against his as easily as he could recall her coffee order. Each touch, each taste, each sound.
The rain outside pelted against the windows. The ting, ting, ting of heavy droplets against glass was loud enough to drown out the chaos of his mind without drawing his attention from the sounds of them: the heaviness of each breath, laced with lust; the neediness of each moan when he touched her in the right spots, kissed her in a way that felt brand new; the pure, unadulterated love in the way she whispered his name and pleaded for more.
All to the romantic soundtrack of… Taylor Swift?
He pulled away from the woman in his arms, caught off guard by the unmistakeable notes of The Best Day, a song his daughter had set as the custom ringtone on his phone months ago claiming it was her favourite (excluding the song she and her boyfriend had dubbed their song, of course). But, no, his ears were not mistaken and the song continued to echo through the loft. He hung his head low, forehead resting on Kate's shoulder, and groaned.
"That's Alexis, right?" Kate asked. She carded her fingers through his hair so casually, as if it were something she did every day. "You should get it."
Or… he could ignore it.
The temptation to do exactly that was strong, until his paternal instincts finally kicked in.
"Don't go anywhere," he whispered, then pressed a kiss to Kate's jaw.
She giggled – giggled! – and shook her head. "I won't."
He rolled off the bed, jogged toward the living room in search of the phone he had placed down… somewhere. He found the phone – on the kitchen bench, of course – and hit the answer button before pressing the device to his ear.
"I told you, Alexis, I'll be fine." He smiled to himself: he was more than fine. "Don't worry about –"
He went silent, smile dropped from his face in an instant as he listened to his daughter's garbled chatter.
"Alexis; are you- are you drunk?"
Within seconds, Kate was standing at the bedroom door; her eyes wide and on him. Her surprise at his daughter's antics – so unlike her – was as evident on her face as he was sure it was on his.
"What's the address?" he asked as he scurried to the office to find a pen. "I'll come get you." He wrote the address on the back of an envelope; the closest thing of non-importance he could find. "Stay right where you are, I'll be there as soon as I can. Ale-Alexis?"
She had hung up.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and turned to head back to the bedroom, to find Kate had followed his journey and was now standing – still leaning – against the door to the office. He stopped, looked at her with a soft, apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry."
Kate smiled, stepped forward and cupped his cheek. "It's fine, Rick."
She kissed him; a sweet, delicate kiss to his lips.
"Go. Take care of your daughter. Come find me once you're free."
He watched as she fixed her clothing and walked toward the front door. With her hand on the handle she stopped, looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.
"Take your time," she told him. "I'm not going anywhere."
And he believed her.
It was still relatively early, considering she only arrived home from Castle's loft around 2am this morning.
A few hours sleep and a long, hot shower were the only things keeping her from spiralling right now.
That, and Castle.
When she had shown up on his doorstep she honestly hadn't expected to be let through the door. He had been so angry – angrier than she had ever seen him before – and she had been so sure that he would send her away. Still, she had to go, had to try to explain herself, had to fight for one last chance.
She could see that he was hesitant. Even after her apologies, even after her admission that all she wanted was him. She couldn't blame him, though. One foot out the door, that's how she's always been and nobody knew that better than Castle did.
But as she left she promised him that she wasn't going anywhere, she was in this. She just hoped that he could find it in himself to trust that; to trust her.
Now, all she could do was wait.
She didn't have to wait long, however.
9:15am and there was a knock at her door. For a very short moment she considered that maybe it was Maddox, come to finish the job once and for all. Logically, she knew he probably wouldn't be knocking on her door. Still, she was hesitant.
She walked slowly, her hand pressed to her stomach in a futile attempt to calm the violent churning of nerves, and peeked through the peephole in her door. Through the fishbowl lens she saw a very nervous-looking Castle holding two take-out coffees.
With a smile – and an overwhelming sense of relief – she opened the door.
Castle spoke before she even had the chance to greet him.
"I am so sorry about last night!" He stepped over the threshold and held out one of the coffees.
She accepted the beverage and shook her head. "Don't be sorry, Castle." She stepped aside so that he could come inside, then closed the door behind them. "How is she this morning?"
"Regretting a few of the choices she made," he said with a chuckle.
She smiled, reassured by Castle's nonchalance.
"My little girl's first hangover: quite the milestone," he said sarcastically. "Nothing some aspirin and a day of rest won't fix. Good news is I think she has decided the party scene is not for her."
She smiled, laughed – he could always make her laugh – before growing serious again.
"I think it's great that she called you."
"Yeah," Rick sighed. "Can't be too mad, right?"
"She's a smart kid, she did the right thing." She smiled. "You're a good dad."
Rick smiled. "You buttering me up for something, Beckett?" he joked.
She shook her head.
Ricks eyes drifted slowly down her body, then back up until their eyes locked. Images of last night replayed in her mind; the way he kissed her, the way he touched her, the smell of his cologne. It was all so vivid in her mind and the memories stirred up those nerves in her stomach again.
"So…" Rick said slowly, dragging out the too-short word. "About last night."
"You want to talk about it?" she asked.
Talking: that's what they should do. But she had very little interest in talking.
"N-not really," he stammered, his voice thick with suggestion.
His eyes wandered, again, his thoughts painted so clearly on his face.
She stepped closer, took the button of his shirt between two fingers, and began to toy with the disk. "Me neither."
Castle curled his index finger under her chin and tilted her head. Her heart skipped a beat as he leaned in – torturously slow – to kiss her.
She closed her eyes and waited, anticipation coursing through her veins as she looked forward to the warmth, the tenderness of his lips against hers.
Knock, knock!
"You have got to be kidding me," Rick groaned.
She stifled her laugh – she found Castle's disappointment adorably amusing – and cleared her throat.
"Who is it?" she called out.
"Beckett, it's Ryan!" They heard from the other side of the door.
She looked at Rick – and he looked at her – and they both frowned, curious as to why Ryan would be at her place.
"Act normal," she warned as she walked to the door. "If that's even possible for you."
Castle scoffed and she watched, waited as he adjusted and readjusted his stance as he tried – and failed – to act normal. It was almost as if the ability to stand casually had evaded him completely in his time of need. She rolled her eyes and opened the door.
Ryan smiled and, after she gestured for him to enter, walked into her apartment.
"Hey, Castle. What are you doing here?"
"I was walking by… the neighbour… hood," he stumbled, trying to find the right wording for his excuse. "I only live twenty- I ha- What are you doing here?" he asked, switching up tactics.
Ryan turned back to face her, an apologetic look on his face. "I need to talk to you about the case."
"Ryan, no." She stepped forward. "I-I've resigned."
Castle looked at her, shocked and confused. "Wait, what?"
She looked at him, wanted to explain – explain more than she had last night, which wasn't nearly enough – but now wasn't the time. She turned her focus back to Ryan.
"I'm done," she stated as firmly as she could.
Something niggled at her; an awful feeling that she couldn't quite pinpoint. Regret, sorrow, frustration; she wasn't sure.
"Look, I hope this isn't because of Gates," Ryan said and Kate shook her head.
"Why Gates?" Castle asked. His question was ignored.
"Or because of what I did," Ryan continued.
"What did you do?" Castle asked Ryan, his voice instantly harsher than it had been before.
"Castle," she hushed him, shooting him a warning glance before once again turning away. "Look, Ryan, I get it. You were just trying to keep us safe."
"I still am," Ryan said. His voice was pleading for her to just hear him out. "And this guy that threw you off the roof –"
"I'm sorry, the what now?" Castle all but shrieked.
"Rick!"
"Thrown off a roof, Kate?" he asked angrily. "You forgot to mention that part."
"No, I told you: I almost died," she defended. "You weren't all that interested in the details."
"I– wait…" He paused; his eyes dropped to her torso as he put together the pieces of the puzzle. "Is that what all the bruising was from?"
She could see, in the corner of her eye, Ryan's frown as he gave her a once-over. Not a single bruise was visible in this moment and she knew it.
"What bruises?" he asked.
She and Rick both remained silent, frozen in fear of being exposed so soon. She turned her head – slowly – to face Ryan, just in time to see the realisation dawn on his face.
First, he seemed embarrassed: obviously coming to the (correct) conclusion that the bruises were hidden by her clothing. He at least had the decency to peel his eyes away from her in that moment. Then came the second realisation, the one she had been dreading: that Castle had somehow seen those markings last night. His eyes darted back to her; his jaw dropped ever so slightly.
Credit where credit is due: at least he tried to hide the smirk on his face.
"I, uh- anyway." Ryan shook his head: literally shaking it off as he returned to business. "He's still out there. I know what this case has done to you. I'm not asking you to jump back in. I just want to show you something, that's all."
"Ryan." Castle sighed and looked at Ryan, his eyes pleading with the detective: please don't make her do this.
"I'm sorry." Ryan pulled a photo from the file in his hands. "This is a copy of the photo Maddox took from the Montgomery's wedding album. You're familiar with the guys that Roy ran with back in the day; I just need to know if this is one of them."
She looked at Castle, hoping he could read the apology in her eyes, then she stepped closer to Ryan to look at the photo.
She searched every corner of her memory, but this guy just didn't seem familiar in any way. She shook her head.
"I've never seen him before."
She barely even had time to register the disappointment settling over her like a weighted blanket when she heard Castle's voice.
"I have."
She turned to him, confused. How was it that he knew someone from Roy's past, someone that she didn't know?
And then it dawned on her.
Anger flooded her body, heated her cheeks and made her every muscle fill with tension as she was reminded of the deal he cut for her life. He was a part of this, a part of the conspiracy working against her. He had been working against her for so long, she wasn't even sure how long exactly.
"This is him?" she asked, frustrated even more when her voice cracked under the weight of her anger.
Castle looked at her – fear etched into the features of his face – and nodded. His wide-eyed, tight-lipped expression dissolved her anger: she had never seen him look so scared before. And she remembered why he did it.
Because he loved her.
"Are you sure?" she asked him, hoping – praying – for one tiny little sliver of hope.
He could see it, too: the desperation in her eyes. Regretfully, he nodded again. "He's older now but it's definitely him."
"What are we talking about here?" Ryan asked, reminding her of his presence.
She turned to Ryan and sighed. "You should sit. Castle has information."
Ryan looked at Castle. Confused, but he waited patiently as the writer's eyes remained glued to her.
"Kate –" His voice shook and he stepped closer to her. "If we don't –"
"Rick." She stepped forward, shook her head.
Don't say it.
"If we don't get to him before Maddox does…"
She nodded, understanding his concerns even without him voicing them.
If they didn't get to this guy before Maddox did, she would never be safe again…
She closed her eyes as she quietly recounted the events of the past 24 hours. So much had happened, it felt like she had lived several lives in such a short amount of time.
From hanging from a rooftop, to quitting her job, to the hours of reflection that had led her straight to Castle's arms.
It was supposed to be over. She was in the arms of the man she loved. How did they go from loved-up bliss to helplessly awaiting their death.
Her wrists ached, the zip-ties pulling tighter and tighter as Castle tried desperately to free her, sawing through the thick plastic with a drywall screw.
"I am barely making a dent with this thing," he complained as he ran his finger over the zip tie that had their hands bound behind their backs.
She sighed, disappointed. Not that she had expected it to work, but she had tried to remain hopeful. Castle had this uncanny ability to luck his way out of these situations: she had been hoping that luck would be on their side today. She was about to say something encouraging when she heard a noise in the distance.
"Castle, I hear footsteps." She could feel that last shred of hope draining from her body. "He's coming. Hurry."
The speed of his sawing sped up, the plastic zip tie cut into her skin. The pain, the fear, the rapid thumping of her heart: they were signs that she, that they were still alive and despite how nauseating they all were, she would live in this terror-filled moment forever if that was the only alternative.
She wasn't ready to die; wasn't ready to say goodbye to Castle.
"If we got murdered right now, I'd feel so ripped off!" Castle grumbled, as if he could read her mind.
The frantic sawing of zip ties stopped and Castle turned around. She turned, too.
"Yeah, me too," she whispered, unsure of what else there was to say.
But Castle smiled and she couldn't help but smile back at him. If his smiling face were to be the last thing she saw, she wanted to at least give him the same.
He stepped closer to her. "I'd die happy though. Extremely sexually frustrated; but happy."
And she laughed.
In the face of death, she laughed.
Because it was Castle. He could always make her smile, he could always make her laugh.
She leant forward, captured his lips in a quick but heated kiss before she pulled back and confessed the truth that she couldn't quite bring herself to say last night.
"I love you," she whispered.
The door opened and they both held their breath, waited for death.
"Am I interrupting something?" Esposito asked, a quizzical expression on his face.
He stepped up beside her; his concern radiating uncontrollably from his body. Kate had tensed visibly the moment she sensed him step into the room, but relaxed when he cautiously wrapped his arm around her waist.
"I finally figured out who he is – the guy who killed my Mum – and there's nothing I can do about it."
They both stared at the TV, at the image of the man who had hired Coonan to kill her mother.
He wished he could make this easier for her, better. But they both knew this was out of their control.
"Did Ryan talk to you?" she asked. "Did he check those security cameras around Smith's room?"
"Yes."
She turned around, expectantly. "And?"
He sighed. "The cameras were disabled."
The tension in the air – already thick and making him claustrophobic – grew tenfold as he waited: for what, he wasn't quite sure.
"Okay," she whispered as she took several small steps away from him. "So, they're coming for me."
The truth they both knew but hadn't wanted to acknowledge.
She hung her head low and pinched the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb.
He wouldn't let her do this, wouldn't let her spiral into a pit of despair. It wasn't over yet, not if he could help it. He stepped up to her side again, put his hands on her waist.
"Let me take you somewhere, Kate. Some place you'll be safe."
He could hear the fear, the pleading in his own voice and he hated how desperate it sounded but yes, yes, he was desperate. She turned in his arms and dropped her head to his chest, allowed him to hold her, to comfort her.
"I'll never be safe," she whispered.
He cupped her face, forced her to look into his eyes. "Don't say that," he pleaded. "Don't you say that. We can run."
"No, we can't." She shook her head and tears fell from her eyes. "You have a family, Castle. And, my dad…" She took a slow, steadying breath. "And Bracken. He'll just find us, anyway. There's no point."
He pulled her in, wrapped his arms around her body and held her tight. Nothing scared him more than the realisation that she – the ineffable Kate Beckett – had already considered running (a helpless and desperate act) and considered it to be nothing more than a futile attempt at prolonging the inevitable.
Nothing scared him more than the possibility that maybe she had given up.
"I won't lose you, Kate."
She shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere, Castle." She pulled away, just enough to look up into his eyes. "Not without a fight."
And she kissed him, as if her words alone weren't enough to show how much fight she had left in her. It was passionate, and reverent, and tender. It was everything she needed to tell him, to show him, and more.
"I don't want to focus on the bad, Castle," she whispered, her lips brushing against his jaw.
He understood what she was asking; and he would happily oblige. His hand glided down her arm and he slipped his palm into hers, intertwining their fingers.
tonight, they'd focus on them.
"What bad?" he asked, a smile on his face. "It's just me and you; nothing and no one else exists." He began to step backward, leading her toward her bedroom. "Just me and you," he whispered.
When they reached her room, stood hand-in-hand by the foot of her bed, he tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.
"I love you, Kate."
She smiled, touched the tips of her fingers to the curve of his mouth then replaced them with the gentle brush of her lips.
"I love you, Rick."