the gasp and stutter of a heart 10/11
Title: the gasp and stutter of a heart 10/11
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: I know, I'm sorry. But it insisted there be another chapter. I'll fix formatting issues after work today, promise.
Summary: He scrubbed until he was raw, but the blood wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t wash away, the guilt stained, a reminder tattooed on his skin.
the gasp and stutter of a heart 10/11
- -
Too late.
He was too damn late.
A second faster, just one, and they would have - no.
Not laughed it off.
They wouldn’t have laughed it off, but they could have. And now. Now. One damn second and he’s covered in blood.
Hers.
He’s covered in her blood, thick and hot and wet, once, now crusted and dry on his hands, caked beneath his fingernails. He scrubbed until his skin was raw, but the blood wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t wash away, the guilt stained, a reminder tattooed on his skin.
Rick feels the prickle of eyes watching him and he knows that they are. Her father, her friends, her family, his. But when he looks up their gazes are averted, downcast. Not even Ryan will meet his eyes across the room.
They blame him, he knows, all of them, and it’s the hardest thing to swallow - the fact that they’re right - because they should blame him. This is his doing, his own damn fault.
You didn’t pull the trigger, his mother’s voice, but he’s the one who put her in those crosshairs.
Too stupid and too proud and he couldn’t leave things well enough alone, could he?
No.
No, he had to prove he could be something for her, all those years ago, had to dig where he wasn’t wanted, to stir up the past.
And now.
Now his world is shattering around him and he just feels broken, feels less than whole, under the too-bright lights in the dull hospital waiting room.
The minutes drag as they sit, all of them, in hiccupping silence. His daughter is tucked under one of his arms and he doesn’t know how to break through the numb feeling to reach out to her. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to fix this. He doesn’t know they exist, even, and so he just holds her to him. He presses one hand flat against her back, holds her to his chest, and hopes his warmth can soothe her trembling.
“Will Kate be okay?” The question is a whisper against his skin, the little-girl voice he hasn’t heard in so very many years, and he doesn’t know, but he can’t tell her that.
“Kate’s strong,” he says, and it’s not a lie, but it’s not an answer either.
He wants to know, wants to think, but all he can concentrate on are those minutes in the grass. All he can think about are those fragile moments in the ambulance where Kate clutched at his hand and he tethered her to life with his pleas. A fraction too slow and all he can think about is how much of her blood poured out into his hands.
“What about-” His daughter chokes on the words, the rest of her question lost, strangled by the emotion he can hear in her voice, but he fills in the end of it for her -
The baby. My brother. Our family.
- And all he can do is press a kiss against the flame of her hair because he doesn’t know. He just. He doesn’t know.
He’s saved from answering at the arrival of a doctor but it’s nothing like relief, this thing that he feels. Terror, maybe. Anger. Desperate, aching fear.
It takes a push, a prompt from his daughter, before he remembers to stand next to Jim Beckett when they call for Kate’s family.
The woman introduces herself with a sad smile and a name he’s already forgotten. His face drains of blood and it spills over into his gut, thick hot acid and bile and twisting, terrible fate and all he can think is - Oh, God. No. - because it’s too soon. It’s much too soon to be anything like good news and he’s lost them.
He’s lost them both, hasn’t he?
The doctor looks to Kate’s father. He’s still listed as her next of kin because Rick was too slow - too slow with a ring, too slow in front of a bullet - and the senior Beckett’s face blanches.
Rick thinks the other man might collapse because - his daughter or his grandson. His daughter or his grandson. Pick, choose, that’s what they’re asking of him.
He watches as the older man buckles under the weight of it and -
“I’m the baby’s father,” Rick says.
- And, just like that, he shoulders Jim’s burden.
The doctor turns kind eyes on him, directs a gentle smile in his direction and all he can think is that she looks so young. Far too young to be carrying his everything in her hands. “Mr Beckett?”
“Castle,” he corrects. And then, “Rick.” No. “Richard.”
Every pair of eyes in the room are on him, he knows. Their gazes don’t waiver as he flicks his about, but there’s no courage to be found in the faces around him, just their own brand of fear compounding his own.
The young doctor tries to explain the situation to him, but it’s lost in a mess of words and all he hears is Kate or their child. She wants him to choose.
His heart or his blood.
Too much.
It’s too much.
It’s too much of a strain on her system. She’s lost too much blood. She’s too weak.
Kate might not survive the surgery if she’s still carrying the baby and they make it sound like a burden, a parasite, this child they already love.
It should be an easy decision, right? The baby can’t survive if she doesn’t. But. It’s too soon. Twenty-five weeks and he’ll still fit in the palm of his hand and it’s too goddamn soon.
It’s too much. Too much to ask of him.
His heart over his flesh. His flesh over his heart.
And he knows what Kate would want him to do, but he’s not that strong, is he?
No.
No, because he can’t live without her. But he can’t pick her over their son, either.
“Both of them.” The only answer he can give. “Please, save both of them.”
“Their best chance is apart,” she tells him and he nods his head, can’t find his voice, but she’s hesitating, waiting for him still.
“Do it.”
There’s a breath, a moment, a shared exhale around the room. Relief, maybe, that he’s made a decision, even if it’s not the right one. But he doesn’t share it, can’t breathe through the ache in his chest.
The doctor leads him to a smaller room, leaves him to sign away his son’s life and his hand hesitates. His scrawled signature is shaky, and he hates it, hates himself for it, but he tried and he failed and he can’t ignore the feeling that he’s going to lose them both.
- -
TBC…
- -
Previous Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine
Author: dave7
Rating: M
Characters/Pairings: Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fandom: Castle
Spoilers: Season Three.
Notes: I know, I'm sorry. But it insisted there be another chapter. I'll fix formatting issues after work today, promise.
Summary: He scrubbed until he was raw, but the blood wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t wash away, the guilt stained, a reminder tattooed on his skin.
the gasp and stutter of a heart 10/11
- -
Too late.
He was too damn late.
A second faster, just one, and they would have - no.
Not laughed it off.
They wouldn’t have laughed it off, but they could have. And now. Now. One damn second and he’s covered in blood.
Hers.
He’s covered in her blood, thick and hot and wet, once, now crusted and dry on his hands, caked beneath his fingernails. He scrubbed until his skin was raw, but the blood wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t wash away, the guilt stained, a reminder tattooed on his skin.
Rick feels the prickle of eyes watching him and he knows that they are. Her father, her friends, her family, his. But when he looks up their gazes are averted, downcast. Not even Ryan will meet his eyes across the room.
They blame him, he knows, all of them, and it’s the hardest thing to swallow - the fact that they’re right - because they should blame him. This is his doing, his own damn fault.
You didn’t pull the trigger, his mother’s voice, but he’s the one who put her in those crosshairs.
Too stupid and too proud and he couldn’t leave things well enough alone, could he?
No.
No, he had to prove he could be something for her, all those years ago, had to dig where he wasn’t wanted, to stir up the past.
And now.
Now his world is shattering around him and he just feels broken, feels less than whole, under the too-bright lights in the dull hospital waiting room.
The minutes drag as they sit, all of them, in hiccupping silence. His daughter is tucked under one of his arms and he doesn’t know how to break through the numb feeling to reach out to her. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to fix this. He doesn’t know they exist, even, and so he just holds her to him. He presses one hand flat against her back, holds her to his chest, and hopes his warmth can soothe her trembling.
“Will Kate be okay?” The question is a whisper against his skin, the little-girl voice he hasn’t heard in so very many years, and he doesn’t know, but he can’t tell her that.
“Kate’s strong,” he says, and it’s not a lie, but it’s not an answer either.
He wants to know, wants to think, but all he can concentrate on are those minutes in the grass. All he can think about are those fragile moments in the ambulance where Kate clutched at his hand and he tethered her to life with his pleas. A fraction too slow and all he can think about is how much of her blood poured out into his hands.
“What about-” His daughter chokes on the words, the rest of her question lost, strangled by the emotion he can hear in her voice, but he fills in the end of it for her -
The baby. My brother. Our family.
- And all he can do is press a kiss against the flame of her hair because he doesn’t know. He just. He doesn’t know.
He’s saved from answering at the arrival of a doctor but it’s nothing like relief, this thing that he feels. Terror, maybe. Anger. Desperate, aching fear.
It takes a push, a prompt from his daughter, before he remembers to stand next to Jim Beckett when they call for Kate’s family.
The woman introduces herself with a sad smile and a name he’s already forgotten. His face drains of blood and it spills over into his gut, thick hot acid and bile and twisting, terrible fate and all he can think is - Oh, God. No. - because it’s too soon. It’s much too soon to be anything like good news and he’s lost them.
He’s lost them both, hasn’t he?
The doctor looks to Kate’s father. He’s still listed as her next of kin because Rick was too slow - too slow with a ring, too slow in front of a bullet - and the senior Beckett’s face blanches.
Rick thinks the other man might collapse because - his daughter or his grandson. His daughter or his grandson. Pick, choose, that’s what they’re asking of him.
He watches as the older man buckles under the weight of it and -
“I’m the baby’s father,” Rick says.
- And, just like that, he shoulders Jim’s burden.
The doctor turns kind eyes on him, directs a gentle smile in his direction and all he can think is that she looks so young. Far too young to be carrying his everything in her hands. “Mr Beckett?”
“Castle,” he corrects. And then, “Rick.” No. “Richard.”
Every pair of eyes in the room are on him, he knows. Their gazes don’t waiver as he flicks his about, but there’s no courage to be found in the faces around him, just their own brand of fear compounding his own.
The young doctor tries to explain the situation to him, but it’s lost in a mess of words and all he hears is Kate or their child. She wants him to choose.
His heart or his blood.
Too much.
It’s too much.
It’s too much of a strain on her system. She’s lost too much blood. She’s too weak.
Kate might not survive the surgery if she’s still carrying the baby and they make it sound like a burden, a parasite, this child they already love.
It should be an easy decision, right? The baby can’t survive if she doesn’t. But. It’s too soon. Twenty-five weeks and he’ll still fit in the palm of his hand and it’s too goddamn soon.
It’s too much. Too much to ask of him.
His heart over his flesh. His flesh over his heart.
And he knows what Kate would want him to do, but he’s not that strong, is he?
No.
No, because he can’t live without her. But he can’t pick her over their son, either.
“Both of them.” The only answer he can give. “Please, save both of them.”
“Their best chance is apart,” she tells him and he nods his head, can’t find his voice, but she’s hesitating, waiting for him still.
“Do it.”
There’s a breath, a moment, a shared exhale around the room. Relief, maybe, that he’s made a decision, even if it’s not the right one. But he doesn’t share it, can’t breathe through the ache in his chest.
The doctor leads him to a smaller room, leaves him to sign away his son’s life and his hand hesitates. His scrawled signature is shaky, and he hates it, hates himself for it, but he tried and he failed and he can’t ignore the feeling that he’s going to lose them both.
- -
TBC…
- -
Previous Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine