Wander, Ch. 5, The Next Breath, a post-Squab & Quail WIP
Title: Wander, Chapter 5
WC: ~5600 this chapter; ~23,000 total
Rating: T
Summary: "But it's not just this April she hates. It's the last and the last and the last. Almost since he's been with her, though not quite." A short WIP (4 chapter) set after The Squab and the Quail (5 x 22). Light on references to the ep, and I know nothing about the rest of the season.
A/N: Remember how I said five chapters? Six is the new five. This got long. So six. Will still try to have the last up tomorrow. Also, See? Angst!Wimp. Nothing to worry about.
This chapter dedicated to the anonymous prompter on tumblr. (See end note!)
Here's Chapter 1, if you missed it.
And chapter 2.
And chapter 3.
And chapter 4.
He tackled the man. The shooter.
That's what Esposito tells him, anyway. He tackled him and they have the guy-the shooter-inside already.
Esposito is telling him lots of things. Too many things, and he can't hear half of them. Literally or figuratively.
The thought stumbles through Castle's mind and he barks out a laugh. It jerks his head forward and back and he feels sick. That's all too literal. He dips his head between his knees. He smells tar and exhaust and swallows hard against the nausea.
Esposito stops telling him things, and for ten seconds it's a relief. Ten seconds only, and then Castle is grabbing at his coattails.
Kate.
He grabs a fistful of Esposito's navy uniform coat and his hand recoils.
Esposito looks down at him in grim apology. Castle thinks he would panic about that if the world would stay still long enough. If he could hear anything or hold on to a thought long enough, he's pretty sure that look would have him freaking right the fuck out.
But the world won't stay still, and he literally can't hear much. He raises shaking fingers to the side of his head and comes away with blood. He remembers a clang. He looks to his right and there's a newspaper box with a wet-looking stain. He hit his head and his ears are ringing. He hit his head when he tackled the guy.
The shooter.
Kate. Kate.
He tries to stand. Oh. He's sitting. That's why Esposito is so tall. He's sitting and that's why the things Esposito is trying to tell him are coming from so far away. Slower now. The words are slower, but he's still trying to tell Castle so many things and it's all so far away.
Castle tries to stand, but Esposito plants a heavy palm on his shoulder and sits down next to him on the curb. He says something about an ETA and sitting tight. It's in his voice, too. Grim apology, but he's calm. He's calm and he's just sitting there on the curb. They're both just sitting there when Kate . . .
He must say it out loud. Her name. He tries to get up again and Esposito snaps. He snaps. There are a lot of words in a row and fingers clamped on his shoulder, holding him down.
Castle snaps, too. He twists around his fist swings up and he knows it's a really bad idea before it's halfway there. He tries to pull the punch but the world is moving too much and Esposito just lets it land and it's agony.
It's agony. More than it should be. Punching people hurts. He's learned that over the last five years. Punching Esposito should hurt a lot. It should hurt in a lot of ways, but this is more. More than it should be. It's agony, and something is struggling to make sense. Some important detail is kicking its way upward and trying to make sense.
"Vest," Castle shouts it. Loud enough that he hears it in both ears. Loud enough that the workmen and the cops taking their statements startle and turn. "You're wearing a vest."
Esposito's face clouds and clears the next second. He gets it. He looks like he might invite Castle to hit him again.
"Beckett, too," Esposito says, loud and clear and ashamed. "Vest did its job, Castle."
Castle thinks he must not have mentioned it before now. In all the things he's been saying, Esposito must not have thought to mention that she's wearing a vest. That she's not bleeding out. That she doesn't have two holes in her chest. That she's not dying in front of someone else.
"Ryan?" He remembers something. He picks it out of the disorganized mess of half-heard things. "Ryan's with her?"
Esposito's jaw twitches. He nods and tries to sound casual. "Told you, bro. Just a bump on the head and a little cut or something. She wakes up, she's gonna be pissed that we put her in an ambulance. Figured we'd let Ryan catch hell for that."
When she wakes up.
Castle feels sick again. The world swims around him, heavy and loud and wonderful. Wonderful in comparison.
When she wakes up.
He hangs his head between his knees again and breathes. He can breathe now. He can listen, and most of the things Esposito is saying make some kind of sense. Most of them make sense.
"Feels random," Esposito says carefully, and that doesn't make sense. The words do, but not the weight of them. Not the way he's laying them out so precisely. Not the way he's saying more than he's saying. Castle turns his head slowly, and Esposito sees the question. "Suicide by cop, probably. Some crazy. Don't know much, yet, but no reason to think he was going after Beckett."
That sinks in. It makes sense, and the world is heavier and lighter all at once. It's not Bracken. It's probably not Bracken. Some crazy. The world goes light and heavy again.
Some crazy could walk up and shoot her any day of the week.
"Why am I here?" Castle looks around wildly and his head protests. The ringing gets louder and louder and there's black at the edges of his vision.
"Waiting on your ambulance." Esposito looks around, too. "Should be here by now, but they can't get closer than the corner."
Castle grabs his sleeve. "No ambulance."
"Hell yeah, ambulance." Esposito peels his fingers away.
"No ambulance," he repeats. He scrubs a hand over his scalp and regrets it instantly. It hurts. There's a bump and a disgusting mat of blood in his hair. Pain radiates out from it. "Javier."
"Dude, don't even." Esposito shakes a finger at him. "You look like you're about to puke. You think I'm gonna let Beckett kick my ass when you keel over from a concussion?"
"They won't let me see her," he says desperately. "If I go in the ambulance they'll be all 'How many fingers?' and shining lights in my eyes."
"Yeah, they will. 'Cause that's what you do when someone has a concussion." Esposito's using slow, loud English on him now.
Castle looks for somewhere to punch him that won't hurt so much, but it's no good. He needs to see her. He needs to see her and for that, he needs Esposito. Punching is not a good idea. Not that punching Esposito is ever a good idea.
"Javier," he says again. "I'll go . . . my head is killing me. I'll go. But after. I need to see her first."
Esposito rolls his eyes and hauls himself up from the curb. He extends a hand down to Castle and hauls him up, too.
"Fine. But you puke in my car? Concussion's gonna be the least of your problems."
She hates this nurse.
Everything is fuzzy and everything hurts. It feels like someone's kicking her in the chest every time she breathes and that's not helping the fuzziness. She can't get enough air and that's not helping at all.
It's slow, though. Her breath is shallow, but slow. It's not a panic attack. She has the though and doesn't know why. She doesn't know why her mind went right to that. It's too hard to figure out, so she lets it go. She goes on breathing and wondering why it hurts so much.
She's hardly sure of anything, but she really hates this nurse.
He keeps putting her back in the bed. She swings her legs to the side and she's going to get up any minute now. She stares down at what she hopes is the floor, and she just needs a fucking minute to remember which way is up. But he keeps putting her back in bed.
There's something she has to do. She needs to be up, because there's something she's supposed to be doing right now. She's told the nurse a dozen times already. In pieces, sure, but she's told him about the thing she needs to do, and he keeps putting her back in bed. And he won't tell her what it is. He won't tell it back to her. Whatever it is she needs to do.
So, yeah, she really fucking hates this nurse.
He keeps putting her back in bed, but he won't leave her alone. Every time she closes her eyes, he's there. He's chattering in her ear about how she needs to stay awake. And he pinched her. He pinched her hard when she started to nod off anyway. She tried to slap him and she missed by a mile, and she hates him.
The doctor comes and Ray-Ray? His name is Ray?-smugly notes that he told her so. That she had to stay awake and the doctor would be there soon. Ray is smug, but not for long. The doctor is snapping at him now. His name is definitely Ray and she holds on to that like it's some kind of victory.
It's fun. The doctor yelling at Ray is fun at first, and then it's not. Then it's loud and she just wants the doctor to shut up. But it goes on and on and she feels sorry for Ray. And then Ray drops way down on the list of people she hates, because it turns out the doctor is yelling at him for not getting her out of her vest.
The two of them tear at the velcro and the sound is deafening and when they peel it away, it's like her blood is made of hammers and whatever Ray's faults, it wasn't his idea to get her out of the vest.
She shivers while the doctor pokes at her ribs. She shivers and grits her teeth. Ray gives her a sympathetic look hangs a blanket over the bed railing. She hates him a little less and the doctor a little more when he makes her sit up and move her head around.
The doctor asks her stupid questions and it hurts to focus-it hurts to do anything-but she answers them all. The doctor shines a light in her eyes about a million times and she really hates him now. Ray is an angel and she hates the doctor enough to wonder where her weapon is.
Weapon.
It comes back to her. The guy had a weapon. She jerks away from the doctor and he yells at her. Quietly, but it's still yelling and how that works is way too complicated.
The guy was yelling, too. And he had a weapon. He already had it in his hand when he started yelling, and she wouldn't have been able to get to her own even if it hadn't been for the dress uniform and the stupid new holster. She wouldn't have been able to get to it before he shot her.
He shot her.
She looks down at her chest and it's hideous. A spreading magenta pool with two furious epicenters and her scars. Her scars. Her fingers land on the darkest part of the new bruise, and she doubles over at the barest touch.
He shot her. She'd never seen the guy before in her life and he shot her. Twice.
"Castle!"
Ray whisks the curtain back and she wonders when he left. She wonders when the doctor left and how she got into a hospital gown. She wonders who tucked the blanket around her and why everything still hurts.
Ray tells her to take it easy and she starts to hate him again. He hands her Tylenol and a little water. And, seriously, Tylenol? She feels like someone took a jackhammer to her from the waist up and he's giving her Tylenol. It's not even the Canadian good stuff.
She has a concussion. They must think she has a concussion.
She starts to hate Ray again, and it's not about the Tylenol. The Tylenol is . . . helping? It might be helping a little. And he gave her water. It's not about that. She starts to hate him again because he won't listen.
She needs to know where Castle is. He was right across the street. He saw her get shot. For all she knows, he might've been shot. Her breath drags in and her heart is a sharp, agonizing report against her bruised ribs and that's a panic attack. It's at least a great start on one.
She needs to know where Castle is. She needs to see him, and Ray doesn't seem to give a shit about that.
He wheels a tray over next to the bed. He gives her something to throw up into if she needs it. He tells her to take it easy and says he's pretty sure no one else is shot. He's pretty sure. He grabs her around the calves and puts her back in bed and says that even if they were-even if someone else was shot-it's not her problem.
He tells her to rest. She shoots back something garbled about him pinching her, but Ray just waves as he pulls the curtain shut behind him. He tells her she's cleared to rest for short intervals and promises to be back to pinch her.
Yeah, Tylenol or no Tylenol, she hates Ray.
Her head falls back on the pillow. It hurts. Even that hurts.
She needs to find Castle, but everything hurts.
He is so going to owe Esposito.
They march through the hospital corridors and no one-no one-tries to stop them. He cleaned up as best he could with the first aid kit in the cruiser, but his collar is crusty with blood and his shoes reek of tar. Still, no one so much as questions them.
Security waves them through doors and nurses divert them to lower traffic hallways. No one asks any questions at all.
Castle wonders how much is the dress uniform and how much is just . . . Esposito.
He votes Esposito. He'll be damned if he owes that fucking uniform. He'll he damned if he owes it one fucking thing.
He's writing a check the first chance he gets. An endowment for new ones. The whole precinct. The whole force. Something in green or grey or puce or whatever. Anything but navy.
They turn a dozen corners and Castle is lost. He'd have sworn the signs put the ER behind them, but Esposito isn't slowing down. He trots to catch up and his head pounds.
He's better. The world isn't swimming anymore. He sidesteps a garbage can and barrels into a doorframe just as he thinks it. The world isn't swimming as much. And he can mostly hear again, though the sharp tweet that comes before the PA clicking on feels like it's drilling right into his brainstem.
He's better, but he's still lost and he's grateful that Esposito knows where he's going. Or at least looks enough like he knows that no one is stopping them.
He's waiting to lose it. He's waiting for déjà vu that doesn't come. For a blood trail on the floor with undulating wheel tracks in it. For the string of curses and pleas trailing after Lanie. He's waiting for the stitch in his side from running after the gurney taking her farther and farther from him. He waits for all of that and he's grateful for the pace Esposito sets. It leaves him no time to think, and he's grateful, even though his head is pounding.
It's not the same hospital. Maybe that's what nothing he's waiting for comes.
It's not the same hospital. It's closer. They took her to one right by the precinct. No level-I trauma center here. She didn't need it. She doesn't need it. She was wearing a vest and she's fine. She's going to be fine.
They make it all the way through the swinging ER doors before they run into any resistance at all. A tiny blonde nurse puts herself in Esposito's path. Espo snaps his uniform jacket at her, flashing his shield, and she snags him by the elbow.
Esposito pulls up short. Castle blinks, impressed.
The nurse asks where the hell they think they're going. Esposito says they have a detective who was brought in less than an hour ago and he needs a status report for the Captain. The nurse folds her arms. She's not impressed. With Esposito or the uniform. She doesn't blink.
"We both know that information goes out to his family only, Detective."
"Her family," Esposito shoots back. It's pointed, and it works. The nurse blinks. He presses the advantage.
"This is the husband right here." Esposito jerks a thumb over his shoulder
Castle just stands there. Husband. He blinks again. Husband. He's still standing there.
Esposito glares at him. He doesn't turn. He's still facing the nurse. But he's glaring at Castle just the same. Husband.
"It's . . . yes. It's ok. My . . ." He feels the smile spreading over his face. He can't help it. It has to look strange under the circumstances, but he can't help it. He's the husband. "My wife would want-will want-Detective Esposito kept in the loop."
The nurse eyes them both skeptically. They're losing her. Castle can see it. Any minute, she's going to check forms or call somebody and they're going to keep him away from her. The world gets heavy again he lets it show.
Jim. He'd be her next of kin. It's not the same hospital and Castle can't think how that would work. How they would know who to call, but it would be Jim if they did. His chest squeezes and his head pounds. They'll call Jim. Some doctor or a terrifying little nurse will call and say his daughter's been shot and he . . . he doesn't want that. That shouldn't happen.
He can't let that happen. He should be the one to call her father. He wants to be. He wants to start out with the news that she's ok and explain what happened. He wants to smooth over the details and give him assurances that she's not alone. That she'll never be alone.
"Please," he says quietly and the unsteady tone is real. "Can I see my wife? I was there. I watched . . . I just need to know for myself that she's ok. Can you . . . Esposito?"
"Got it handled. Gonna hunt up Ryan and head back to the precinct. Let the Captain know Beckett's ok. See about our guy." He raises his eyebrow at the blonde. "Nurse?"
Castle moves forward. Like it's already settled. It is. It's settled, and nurse or no nurse, he's three seconds away from going curtain to curtain until he finds her.
But the nurse scowls and moves to a nearby counter. She shuffles clipboards and Esposito lets out a breath while her head is down.
Castle lays his hand briefly on his shoulder. "Thank you."
Esposito gives him a curt nod.
"She's doing well, Mr. Beckett."
"Castle." He bites his tongue a second too late. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Esposito shaking his head. "She . . . uh . . . my wife kept her name."
The nurse gives him a sharp look and he holds his breath. Her head drops back to the chart and he lets it out.
"Thoracic bruising, of course. Grade Three concussion, but that's because she lost consciousness. No obvious cognitive effects. Reflexes good." The nurse raises her head. "They probably won't be able to get her in for a CT until later, and I suspect they'll want to keep her overnight . . ."
Esposito lets out a snort. "Little woman's not gonna be happy about that, Castle."
"Not gonna be happy when I tell her you called her 'the little woman,' either," he shoots back. He's grinning. Esposito is, too, and he wonders if he's half as terrifying. Castle turns to the nurse. "I can see her?"
She checks the chart and gives him a number. "Your wife is in Exam Room 12."
She gestures, but Castle is already gone.
His wife.
He skids to a halt in front of the curtain. There's just a curtain. "Exam Room" is an overstatement and the place is loud. He takes the curtain in his hands and spreads it as quietly as he can, but the metal rings clatter and he winces. Everything's so loud.
The second he sees her, he knows he's going to do something stupid.
The dark circles rimming her eyes are the only color in her face, and her forehead is lined with pain. The blanket barely rises and falls with her breath and he knows he's going to do something stupid.
He stands there with a fistful of curtain in each hand and doesn't make a sound. He doesn't think he makes a sound, but her eyelids twitch and flutter open. He's still standing there.
It takes her a second to focus, but the corners of her mouth turn up and some of the lines let go. She lets out a breath with his name on it. Her eyes drift shut again, but she's still smiling and he is definitely going to do something stupid.
"I love you." He's at her side with no idea how he got there. No idea how he closed the space between the curtain and her. He's leaning over the bed, and his hands flutter uselessly above her face and over her shoulders. She's still smiling a little, but it looks like everything hurts and he's afraid to touch her.
"I love you," he says again. Not necessarily because he wants to. Not necessarily because he thinks it's a good idea. Because he has to. He has to, and he probably should explain. "I wanted to say that before. The first time I saw you. . . After. In the hospital. Last time. When I saw you in the hospital, I wanted to say it more than anything. And this time . . . I'm . . . I guess I'm getting it out of the way. So, I love you."
His jaw shuts with a snap and he closes his eyes. His hands are afraid, but his mouth isn't, apparently.
He hopes that it. The stupid thing he knew he was going to do. He hopes it is and he knows it isn't. He knows he has not yet begun to do stupid things.
He opens his eyes and she's staring up at him. She's chewing the inside of her lip. Considering him. She waits for him to look at her. She waits until she has his attention. She says his name and he moves closer.
She pats the bed and he sinks down. Just his hip and thigh and he's sort of hovering. It's awkward but he's afraid everything hurts and he doesn't want to jostle her. His hands are still afraid.
She gives him a look and says his name again. He laughs and wonders how many different ways she can say his name. He'd like to find out. He's determined to find out.
For the moment, though, he compromises and moves down by her knees. There's a little more room for them both there. He settles in.
Her eyes close and she turns her hand over on the blanket. A demand, and he's happy to comply. He rests his own palm on top of hers. Her fingers curl and lace between his, and he finally feels like he can breathe again.
She says his name and he murmurs, "I'm here."
She tells him she's tired. That everything hurts. That she hates someone named Ray and she hates the doctor more. He listens. He holds her hand and tries not to laugh. It's disjointed and every third word seems to be his name. He's ok with that. He's making a list of all the ways she can say his name, and he's more than ok with that.
Her voice gets fainter, and he panics a little. She was sleeping when he got here. He thinks she was, anyway, and they left her alone. No one's been by, so it must be ok if she sleeps. It must be, but . . .
She says his name. It's sharp this time and she tells him she's cleared to rest for short intervals. It's . . . specific. It sounds like she's quoting someone, so it must be ok, but he doesn't know what a short interval is.
He doesn't realize he's said it out loud until he sees the frown. Until he sees she's looking at him and she's annoyed and he feels so much better, because it's normal. It's so normal.
She says his name and tells him not to complicate things. He's about to protest. He's about to argue with her because he's so relieved. He's about to argue with her-with her concussion really-when her eyes open wide and clear.
"Eighty-seven minutes," she says. "Eighty-seven minutes is a short interval."
"How'd you figure that, Beckett?" It's too tempting. He should shut his mouth. He should leave her alone and let her sleep, but it's just too tempting.
She looks him like he's an idiot. "Ninety minutes is long."
He laughs softly. It's normal, and he's weak with relief. "Can't argue with that. Eighty-seven minutes. Sleep, Kate."
She does. He thinks she does, but there's his name again she makes him promise not to pinch. He resists the urge to clarify that this is a concussion-only rule. He resists and promises not to pinch.
She settles. She says his name. She tells him something or extracts a promise and settles again. It happens half a dozen times, with more and more minutes stretching out between them until the last. Almost the last.
"Castle," she says and thank you comes a little while after.
He shushes her. Lulls her with soft syllables and strokes his fingers over her wrist because that seems ok. That doesn't seem to hurt.
"Castle," she says one last time and it stands alone. It doesn't come with a question or a story or something she wants him to promise.
It's just his name, and this time, it sounds like I love you, too.
Ray wakes her up.
He's not pinching her. At least he's not pinching her.
He's talking to himself, though. That's what woke her up.
He's loud and bossy and she wants to yell at him. She wants to tell him to take his soliloquy outside and she wonders about the word. She wonders where that came from, but mostly she wants to yell at Ray.
It's off the table. Yelling probably, and soliloquy for sure. Her mouth is dry and sticky all at once. She wants to open her eyes so she can at least glare, but they're crusted shut. She hurts everywhere, and she thinks she must have been crying in her sleep.
Now she really wants to yell at Ray. Him and his stupid Tylenol.
She raises her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes. To pry them open. She tries to raise her hand, but there's something in it. Something heavy and warm and a wave of tension rolls out of her body. It takes some of the pain with it.
Ray's not talking to himself. He's yelling at Castle. It's comforting. It's the most comforting thing she can imagine at the moment.
Castle. She tugs on his hand. His hand. That's the heavy thing in hers and that's good. The bed shifts as he follows. She tugs the knot of their twined fingers up under her chin. She holds up the weight just over her chest and tries to make words come out of her mouth.
She tries. She moves her heavy tongue against her teeth. Side to side and up and down and she thinks she can make this work. For one or two words, she thinks she can make this work. She thinks. She tries to think, but it takes so much energy that she feels herself fading out again. She's fading out and she wants to say something first.
"Castle." She's proud of that. His name with all the letters in place. She feels good about that, and it gives her the strength to pull his hand in close. She brushes his knuckles just over the scar between her breasts-just barely-and braces for the pain. It comes and she grits her teeth, but it's not as bad.
It's not as bad and she feels like she can do anything. She can certainly give him more words. Just one or two. She doesn't think about it. She doesn't waste the energy. "Not dying."
"Not dying," he says it over and over again.
She can hear the grin in his voice. She can feel the relief pouring over her as his lips brush her forehead and oh, that's incredible. So much better than Tylenol. So much better than stupid Ray.
"There. You've talked to her," Ray says. Stupid Ray. "Now you have to leave."
Stupid Ray sounds pissy. It makes her smile.
It would make her smile if she could move her mouth at all. But the words really took it out of her and she can't. She can't move her mouth right now, so she lies back and enjoys it. The low rumble of Castle's voice and his hand in hers. The dip of the bed to one side of her and a lone spot of warmth.
She's freezing. She realizes she's freezing, and something about that must make it out of her mouth. She hates that she wasted words on it, but she's freezing. Castle's volume notches up and then there's the blessed relief of another blanket settling over her and she has to admit it might have been worth it.
He's talking to her. Ray's voice drones on in the background, but Castle is talking to her like Ray doesn't exist. If she had more words to waste, she'd tell Ray to suck it, but she doesn't.
Right now, she doesn't have any words to waste, so she lets Castle's wash over her. Something about eighty-seven minutes. That makes her want to smile, too, but she can't remember why.
His voice drops low again and she loses the words. But he hates Ray, too. She can tell, and she's never loved him more.
She should tell him that. That's what she should have told him. It's what she should have used her words on, instead wasting them. Not dying. Of course she's not dying. No one's dying, because that would be stupid.
She squeezes his hand because it feels urgent. She should tell him that she loves him, but even with him bending over her now, even with his breath warming her cheek and his words in her ear, she can't really make her mouth work.
She squeezes his hand, and his arm slides behind her neck. She braces for the pain and it's there. It's there but it's not as bad, either. Not with the bulky certainty of him cradling her. He sits her up a little and there's something hovering right in front of her lips, something flicking and elusive and annoying.
She picks the word Water out and manages to crack one eye open a little and then the other what feels like hours later. She tries to look at him, but he's too close. Her eyes cross and he laughs. She'll get him for that. Later, she'll get him for that.
But right now there's this thing at her lips that turns out to be a straw and Castle's voice is persuasive in her ear. He's coaching her through something that should be easy, but she's so tired. She's so tired, but she tries anyway. Cool water floods her mouth and slips down her throat. It's amazing.
She smiles and feels some of it dribble down her chin. Castle's laughing again. He dabs at her skin with something rough and she hates him a little for laughing. She hates him for making her keep track of another thing she'll have to get him for later.
He eases her head back on the pillow and it hurts so much less than before. So much less that it's practically euphoria. It's heavy and intoxicating and she's falling backward. She squeezes his hand and tries to stay with him, but it's no use. She's falling.
She hears Ray again. His voice is pinched and sharp and annoyed. Pissy, she thinks, and that has her bobbing back up again.
She hears Castle. Stubborn. That's Castle's stubborn voice, and she almost feels sorry for Ray. Whatever Ray wants, he's not going to get it.
She thinks about saying it. Ray's not so bad and she'd like to save him the trouble. She'd like him to shut up, too. She'd like to save them all the trouble and she thinks she has a couple more words now.
She licks her lips, and thinks about the shape of the words. Don't bother. That's what she's about to say, but Castle's voice cuts in, low and sharp and absolutely clear.
"Thank you, but I'm staying with my wife."
Her brain grinds to a halt and she expects it to hurt any second now, but it doesn't. Wife. She holds the curious word in the center of her mind and it doesn't hurt. It's strange, but it doesn't hurt. It's still, then it's in motion. It tumbles through the center of her mind and she sees it from any number of angles. None of them makes any sense.
Her tongue changes course and she feels her eyes open. She feels them blink and the image in front of her clears.
Castle. He's not so close now and there's just one of him. Just the one, and he looks terrified.
"Castle," she says and she hopes it's . . . comforting? Reassuring? Something like that. He looks terrified and he shouldn't. She'd tell him that, but she's falling backward again and she thinks she only has one word.
"Wife," she says.
One word before she falls backward into sleep.
A/N: Couple things.
First, I was talking with my dad about dress uniforms in my stealthy, on-the-down-low-type way, he reminded me that when vests became the daily standard (as they were not for most of his career), they were required for dress inspection, too, and they had to be worn under both coat and shirt. Chafey! My mom made him a cover for the vest out of one of his worn daily use uniform shirts, a convention that took off in his district. Most likely to the annoyance of other spouses who suddenly found themselves expected to make them. He had to buy a whole new dress uniform once the vest was required, because the old didn't fit over it. He always complained that the new dress uniform never did fit right.
Second, at this point I should acknowledge and thank the anonymous prompter on Tumblr. I've held off doing that for somewhat obvious reasons, but here is what sparked this story:
"If you take anonymous prompts, I'd love to see a fanfic about Beckett getting shot during an ambush, Castle witnessing and can't get to her, and he doesn't realize she has her vest on with her unconscious body with him obviously freaking out. Then maybe some smut later for reaffirming life, cause that's the best kind!"
I make no promises on the life-affirming smut front, but Brain obviously liked the general idea. And I am clearly not to blame for shooting Beckett in the chest. Let's all remember that.