49Thanks to all of you who reviewed, favourited and followed, and who wanted me to continue.
Huge thanks to Prim-Rue94 for letting me send this to her for her opinion, and for telling me to cut the description :P Also thanks to Vicky who puts up with my constant whining about everything :P
I don't own anything you recognise.
Beep.
Warm air on her face, prickles on her arms as thin needles invade the pale skin that has protected her for so long, thumping in her head as blood pulses around her body in an effort to save her.
Beep.
Twitching, lolling, flopping; that's all he can see. Her head lies lifeless on the stretcher, cherry red lips sheltered by the skeleton of an oxygen mask, eyes fluttering as her energy wanes.
Beep.
She can't breathe. Her chest is constricting, her throat is swelling, her eyes won't open, her fingers won't move, she can't move, she can't get out of her attacker's grasp, she can't move, she can't save Castle.
Save Castle. Save Castle.
That's all she can hear.
The shot ricocheting through the bone that shields her fragile thoughts barely dents the echoing phrase as it drums into her mind, her body, her soul.
Save Castle.
Beep.
Save Castle.
Beep.
Save. Castle.
He sits there. His hands are covered in blood that is not his, bright scarlet against the dull grey of the hospital floor, sticky and congealed and everywhere all at once – except the one place it should be.
He stifles a whimper with the back of a bloody hand. His eyes simmer with terror and hope and pain and love. He can't lose her. Not now, not after everything they've been through. Not now.
A succession of quick, high-pitched beeps startles him and his head jerks up, searching for the threat that has not quite left them, even here in this place of sanctuary.
He finds nothing, only the welcome loneliness of his memories as the shrill shriek fades like the life of the woman he is waiting for.
Waiting. Always waiting.
They get the call just as they are leaving the precinct. It takes several goes for Castle to get the whole story out: but the words 'shooting', 'Beckett', and 'hospital', are enough to get them pelting towards a car and switching on the sirens – protocol be damned.
Not again, races through both Ryan and Esposito's minds. There is no doubt that it was another attempt by Bracken to take their friend's life.
"Call CSU, canvas the scene. Keep everyone out of there. That son-of-a-bitch is mine," Esposito snaps down the line, freezing the rookie on the other end with the venom laced into the sharp tone. Ryan jiggles nervously next to him, checking his phone constantly for any updates from Castle, only to be met with a blank screen and silence.
They crash through the automatic doors of the ER and are greeted by the sight of a lone figure sits, head cradled in painted palms, oblivious to the concerned stares of the men hovering above. Kevin sits down next to him, the cold, hard plastic digging into his back and he adjusts slightly, elbows on knees, peering up into his friend's sweating face.
"Castle?" he prompts gently. When there is no reply he looks up at Javi, who crouches down and taps Castle's foot with a finger.
"Yo, Castle," the Hispanic detective murmurs. "You ok?" There is a whimper. "Beckett in surgery?" A nod. It's obvious that's all they're going to get. With a sigh, Javi eases himself into his own chair and they wait.
"Family of Kate Beckett?" The question splits the silence, and in unison they all look up to see a serious looking man eyeing them from the top of a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Castle stands up, the movement jerky and uncoordinated and stumbles towards him, clutching at the air around him as he dives into the realm of answers and relief and knowing.
The doctor doesn't ask for confirmation of his exact relationship with her – the gaunt, worry-filled eyes telling the story of the bond between the victim and the survivor. To him, that's all they are. Another couple, torn apart by a single moment, unsure whether they'll get out of the niche of hospitals and therapy and nightmares.
But they've been here before. They can do this, and this time, they'll be a team, side by side, doing what they do best – partners, in all sense of the word.
Castle is led through to a sterile white room, complete with bleeping machines and folded corners, directed to the plush armchair beside the bed. He opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again when he catches sight of her pale, limp body, swaddled in crisp sheets, wires and tubes and things attached to her that make her look innocent and untroubled. He tries again.
"How is she?" he croaks. He is sent a solemn look, at which he flinches slightly and returns to studying her still form.
The doctor begins his explanation and Castle tunes the long, medical words out as he fixes his blank stare on the far wall – only to refocus suddenly as he registers an alarmingly familiar phrase from the hours of research for his books.
"Hemiplegic? As in, paralysed?" he stutters. The nod confirms it. A sympathetic paw is placed on his arm and he takes a deep breath. "How bad?" Mild annoyance flashes in the doctor's eyes – perhaps, Castle contemplates fleetingly, he has already explained Kate's exact condition.
"The bullet hit her left temporal lobe," the doctor continues. "Usually it's a fatal injury, but she's a lucky one. As I said, we suspect she'll be paralysed on the right hand side, and as the temporal lobe-"
"-is responsible for communication, comprehension and memory, she is likely to experience impairment in those areas," Castle completes dully. The doctor's eyebrows rise slightly in surprise.
"The left side is responsible for mentally identifying objects and processing words or thoughts linked to those objects. It also influences emotional stability and memory retention. Because of this, it is likely she will have difficulty linking memories to people, as well as difficulties in expressing herself through speech. If she recovers to the point that she can process her emotions, her moods will probably be inconsistent or unpredictable."
All Castle can think of is 'If she recovers'. Not when, if. And that terrifies him.
The other man sighs. "Patients with injuries like this often retreat into clinical depression. If she ever gets out of here, the likelihood is that she will need full-time care. It's best to start looking into options-"
"No."
The doctor pauses mid-flow. "Excuse me?"
"No." The reiteration is stronger this time, more assertive. The doctor shifts his weight from one foot to the other – never, in all his time in the department has someone interrupted him. "No – I can't – I won't – Kate won't need options. You don't know her. She's strong. She's determined. She's going to get better, and go back to work, and still be the best damn homicide detective in the 12th, and we're going to get married, and, and, and – and she won't need options because she's my Kate-" Rick was sobbing now. Sobs that wracked his body with emotion he had been too scared to reveal before – but now, the magnitude of the situation had set in and seeing her lying in that bed while they talked about options and full-time care didn't seem right without her involved in the discussion. He just hadn't realised she wouldn't be involved in anything much for a while.
And it breaks him.
Thoughts?