Title: Ephemeris, Epilogue
WC: ~3100 this chapter, ~44,000 total
Summary: "Kate hears herself asking questions. She sounds normal. She thinks she does, anyway, but it's all washing over her. Lanie's answers and all of it. She only holds on to pieces. Tiny pieces that she can fix in her mind."
A/N: This was my last WIP, so this will be my last entry. I'm leaving the journal up, but I won't be adding to it. Thanks to those of you who have been kind, supportive, and constructive.
Time snaps like a rubber band. She falls back into herself. There's so much to do.
There are things to tell Martha, because the hospital needs to know, don't they? Even if the words gather thick at the back of her throat, and her mind slows to a crawl, they need to know.
Martha has things to tell. Not the story, but what Kate needs to hear, though it's too little. Far too little, because they don't know. Not yet.
Tests, darling. Dr. Parrish says it's standard . . .
She has to go in a rush. There's a flood of apologies, Kate's end and Martha's, but they both have to go. There's so much to do.
Her weapon. She needs that. She wants it. She's on her knees by the workbench, smashing at the lock box long after it's open. Long after the gun is back in her hands, she slams the dull metal against the floor.
There's the scene to secure-because it's a crime scene, isn't it?-and she doesn't even know what she needs to know. What there might be at all. She takes pictures with shaking hands. Just the phone, and she hates even the weight of it-anything Cross has touched-but it's better than nothing. She leaves a message for Brady in the end. It's after hours and out of his jurisdiction, but he'll call. It's good enough for now. It has to be.
There's a conversation with Ryan that's as short as she can make it, and she's grateful that it's him. Grateful for his quiet questions and blessed, silent acceptance that she's ok, even as Esposito rails in the background. She's grateful that he listens when she says that what she needs is for them to come get her now.
"We're on our way." He says finally, and his voice breaks for the first time. "Beckett . . . Hold tight."
"Hold tight." She leaves the room behind somehow. She finds herself suddenly standing in the shadow of the house with no sense of how she got there. She listens to voices over the water, as they filter in on the wind. She smells smoke and salt and fireworks now. Furtive, defiant light and sound. More voices and the end of all that. She whispers the words to herself again under an eyelash moon. "Hold tight."
"I don't know."
She says it a hundred times, but it's like Esposito can't stop himself. It's as if asking and asking and asking again is all there is to keep him from burying the needle of the speedometer. To keep him from taking every frustration out on a dark, curving road that's mercilessly as long as it's ever been.
Ryan steps in-again and again and again-but his own nerves get the better of him. He falls back against the seat, his face blank.
"An ambulance? He just . . . showed up. A John Doe in an empty ambulance?"
She looks down at the phone. At the scatter of texts and a dashed off email from Alexis. They're all arriving out of order. Chaos on their end or something to do with whatever Cross did to duplicate the signal. Both, probably.
She reads off the address again. The name of the coffee shop and the little she knows about the two freaked out EMTs. The random jumble of facts.
"He just showed up," she says for the hundredth time, but not the last. Far from the last.
It's not sinking in. Not for any of them.
The boys flank her as she strides into New York Presbyterian through the Emergency Department. Her gaze swings left and right and finds nothing. They're not here. Alexis and Martha and Lanie.
Castle.
It's been hours. Of course they're not here. Not in this particular space, blinding white. Of course they're not, but it's crushing. The simple fact and another delay. More resistance. More, even now.
We can only give information to the immediate family.
Esposito's eyes go black and Ryan drops back a step. The noise of it all roars in Kate's ears. The out-of-sync chirp of monitors and voices crackling overhead. The clatter of change and the percussion of cans dropping in the vending machine next to the desk. Broken conversations and people in pain.
She's dizzy with it, but Lanie is there then. Like a vision, she drops her own title on the woman behind the desk and slips her arm through Kate's to smooth things over. She barks something at Esposito, even as she reaches out to give his fingers a discreet squeeze. She leads the three of them through twisting corridors. From elevator to elevator. She fills in the gaps where she can.
Kate hears herself asking questions. She sounds normal. She thinks she does, anyway, but it's all washing over her. Lanie's answers and all of it. She only holds on to pieces. Tiny pieces that she can fix in her mind.
Beat up pretty bad.
Out of it.
Tests.
Coming around.
Won't know until . . .
They turn a corner. The narrow corridor spills out into the hush of a waiting area. Functional carpet and the awful upholstery of armless chairs all in a line. Another line at right angles and another at right angles to that. It all eats up sound and light after the echo and glare of polished tile, but more than that, it's a corner turned into another kind of place.
Intensive Care
She reads the low-hanging sign above the desk and hears her name, urgent and grateful before she can really make sense of it. Martha and Alexis surround her, as Lanie and Ryan and Esposito fade into the background. Staying close, but making themselves scarce. Standing ready for whatever's next.
"Fine. I'm fine," Kate says, though it doesn't do much to dispel the fear hanging on the letters of her name. She shakes her head. There's so much to tell. So much to ask, but later. Later. "Castle?"
It's all she can get out, but they hold each other tight. The three of them for a moment that's as long as it needs to be.
"Well he looks dreadful." Martha draws back to arm's length at last and shakes her head. "No cameras. No press for a while, that much is settled."
Kate laughs. She swipes a hand at her own cheeks. She's shaking, but it's relief. Faith that Martha being so perfectly herself means it's ok. It's going to be ok.
She looks to Alexis, absolutely fixed to Martha's side. Kate reaches out. She strokes the hair back from the girl's face. Alexis raises her red-rimmed eyes.
"He knows us," she says. She makes her voice firm, like they all need convincing. "He asked for you."
It's an absurd kind of kick to the middle of her. Air undecided, rushing in and out. He asked for her. She wasn't here. But she fights her way past it. Past everything that doesn't matter now. She gathers them both close again.
"He knows us," she whispers.
They have the waiting area to themselves. Ryan leaves, looking miserable about it, but Jenny's just back in the city with the baby, and the fire in the Hamptons made the news, somehow. He smiles, a little dazed, as Martha flings her arms around him. He lays a hand on Alexis's shoulder and says something her ear that makes the girl stand a little taller.
"We'll call," Kate says quietly as they drift toward Lanie and Esposito. "As soon as there's anything."
Ryan nods. "Tell him . . ." He trails off.
Esposito turns him by the shoulders and marches him toward the exit. "Got you covered. I'll make up something cool. Tell him you said it."
It's hard to be patient. Strangely hard to stay awake, suddenly. Adrenaline leaves Kate's body in waves and she leans into Martha. Esposito appears from nowhere and wraps her fingers around a cup of coffee like he knows the feeling.
"Want me to rough somebody up?" He looks at her hopefully. "Get some answers on what the hell kind of tests they're running all this time?"
"Javi!"
Lanie comes up behind to slap at him, but Kate smiles.
"Give them . . ." She screws up her face like she's thinking. She takes a sip of coffee. Enjoys the burn on her tongue, even though it's awful. "Twenty more minutes. Then violence."
The doors at the far end of the waiting area whoosh open like an answer. A small, dark-haired woman emerges. She hardly looks older than Alexis. Martha murmurs a name that Kate can't hear over the pounding in her ears and pronounces her darling.
"She's a resident," Alexis adds. "Neurology."
Neurology. Kate sounds it out. Tastes it on her tongue. Fear and possibility. Hope, because it has to be ok.
"Just me." The doctor holds up her hands apologetically as she approaches. "But he'll be up soon, I promise."
Martha picks up the young woman's inquiring look and slides a firm arm around Kate. "Dr. Heller. My daughter-in-law," she says, unfazed at the practically audible blink the claim draws from everyone who isn't Martha. "Detective Kate Beckett."
She leans into the title-into both titles-just a little, and it bears Kate up. She extends her hand and likes the woman for her firm grasp and the way she includes them all in the invitation to sit. She likes her for the succinct, no-nonsense way she lays things out and the fact that she looks to Lanie for help in translation.
"Physically, he's in remarkably good shape overall. The care he received was quite . . . competent. Military?"
It's half a question. She looks from Kate to Esposito. They share a look in turn. Something that's not even a nod, but he excuses himself. He'll check in with Brady. Get the local chief on it. He'll take care of that and bring the whole damned room here if they need to.
"We're . . . working on what exactly happened after the accident." Kate turns back to the doctor. To Martha and Alexis and the things they're steeling themselves for. "He's been . . . Whatever you need to know . . ." She trails off, helpless.
Heller nods. She takes it in stride and moves on. "Most of the physical trauma is healing well. Ribs, the right radius and left humerus. Everything other than the left femur. An orthopedist will make the call on that. Tomorrow," she adds hastily as they all sag into one another, battered by the thought of more tests yet to come. "Tomorrow at the earliest, but we're probably looking at a surgery to realign and stabilize."
Kate gives her a grateful smile. She takes a breath, then. A running start at the thing it scares her most to ask.
"Alexis said . . ."
The words go. The air for them and the will to bring them into the world. Alexis squeezes her hand. She takes up the burden.
"He seemed to know us," she begins uncertainly. "He seemed . . . aware?"
Heller is silent longer than any of them can stand, but there's something soothing about the time she takes when the answer comes at last, calm and measured. It has the ring of careful truth and hope underneath.
"Cognitive function, memory. That's obviously our biggest concern. He's been . . . somewhat overmedicated from our perspective, but that was probably wise given the limitations for care." She cuts herself off. Stows away the extended disclaimer when she catches Kate's sharp look and a shift in Lanie's posture. She moves on. "He's responsive across a broad range of tests. That's good news."
"But there's bad news." Kate sits up straighter. She leans in, carrying strength forward. Alexis's hand on one shoulder, Martha's fingers reaching for hers.
"There are deficits we'll need to assess further. For right now, we know his speech is slow to come and disordered." The doctor holds up a hand. "Some of it's disorientation. Grogginess from the drugs. But we suspect aphasia from the head trauma."
"Aphasia." Martha's alarm radiates out from her, even though her voice is low. "Like with a stroke?"
Kate fights down a sharp wriggle of horrified amusement. A silent Castle. The thought is awful. Just awful.
"Similar, but not quite the same." Dr. Heller takes a moment to read them. To see how much they're ready for. Kate wonders herself. "First, it's more properly dysphasia. He knows the names of things-the words he wants-but something else pops out of his mouth. A related word or something that starts with a similar sound."
"That's good, right?" Alexis looks from Heller to Lanie and back. "It means it's likely things are still working and his brain is able to find ways around . . ." She stops herself. "Problems."
Her voice is soft by the finish of it. Damage. It's the thing none of them is saying, but the doctor nods encouragement.
"Yes. It's a good sign, and he's asked for something to write with." She says it like she understands. Like she knows how much weight the simple fact carries. "He's as quick and accurate with the white board as pain and the splint will allow."
"Splint," Kate repeats. "Right radius . . . should he be writing?"
"No," Heller says sharply. "But he's very persuasive." She gives them a full-on smile. One Kate knows. They all know it, because the world loves him. "He likes the four-dollar words."
A ripple of laughter that runs through the three of them at that. Kate, Martha, and Alexis. Lanie smiles. She rests a hand on Kate's knee, and her voice cuts through it. Steady and neutral, but serious. "Recovery?"
"Speech therapy and time," Heller says. That's steady, too. Confident, even though she warns them again about tests. Further assessment. "There's a good chance it'll all come back."
Somehow it's this that breaks them all at once. A wholly different kind of relief that's heavier. That comes with what next? attached to it. Lanie murmurs that she'll be nearby if they need her. That she'll bring Esposito up to speed. She slips away to give them their privacy.
Kate's head drops and she feels Martha's cheek against her shoulder blade. Alexis slips from her chair to crowd in close.
A good chance.
Visiting hours are over.
The canned announcement rings out over and over again. It scrapes Kate's nerves raw, though no one seems to question their outpost in the waiting area. They get some sidelong looks, and every once in a while, steps falter. There are hushed discussions off to the side, and she's afraid every time. Afraid that that they'll ask.
Aren't you . . . ?
So it's true, then . . .
I knew he couldn't be . . .
She's afraid of more than that. Of what comes next, except she can't be. Not right now. She can't be.
No one approaches until heavy sigh of the double doors sounds again and a large man in scrubs makes a beeline for them.
"One at a time."
Martha and Alexis are urging her up before he's even finished saying it. They shush her as she tries to protest.
Darling, we've both already . . .
I promised. He asked for you . . .
She goes. She casts one guilty glance behind her, then she's racing. Quick steps to keep up. She follows the man's broad, blue back down another polished hallway. Leonard. That's what Alexis called him.
"Will they . . . " She stutters. She makes a helpless gesture back toward the waiting area. "After I . . .?"
"Visiting hours are over." Leonard's head swings around. His voice is gruff, but he winks. "Then again, everyone important left a while ago. One at a time."
Kate smiles wide enough that it hurts. It feels like the kindest thing anyone has said to her in weeks. She wants to throw her arms around him, but he comes to a stop in front of a wide door. The details draw her in. The scarred kick plate and the awful shade of mauve above it. The bent metal blinds covering the narrow window. She can't see anything inside.
Her fingers drift up of their own volition. They find the transparent plastic holder. The bright orange folder inside. The letters of his name.
"He's a troublemaker." Leonard lifts his chin toward the door. "You'll keep him in line?"
"Promise," she says. It's a whisper the first time. Her voice failing her, because she can't quite believe it. She can't quite believe this isn't another empty room. Another heartbreak. But Leonard scowls and she reaches for belief. She finds it beneath everything. Beneath fear and uncertainty and pain. Belief. It's been all along.
"Promise."
She pushes through the door, eager and terrified at once.
It's a small room, dim save for the glow monitors and one sconce high above the bed. After the wide, strange hush of the waiting area, it's loud and close. The steady piercing beep of his heart rate. The rush of air in and out of a blood pressure cuff. His breathing.
His breathing.
She closes the distance in halting steps, and her fingers wrap tight around molded plastic railing. His eyes are closed. His face is half turned away, and even so she sees how thin he is. She sees the hollows of his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. Lines marring his forehead and more carved deep on either side of his mouth.
Pain, she thinks. He's been in so much pain and alone all this time.
But he turns the second she's near. A sharp inhalation and that instant of satisfaction the exact moment he knows she's there. It's so like a hundred mornings she's woken him without a word or touch that she's smiling hard when his eyes open.
Her smile. It's the first thing he sees. He blinks hard to focus, and she's glad that it's the first thing.
"Castle. Hey." Her hand creeps through the hills and valleys of the blanket. It slips over his skin, alighting for just a moment on the tape where the IV goes into his arm. On the rough surface of the short splint that wraps across his palm.
He catches her fingertips. A slow, deliberate curl of his own, and she can tell it hurts him. She sees the flicker of pain on his brow, but he won't let go. It's too much. Four points of contact. Her own cool skin meeting the warmth of his. The determined way he holds on. It's almost too much.
"Found me," he says. It's loose. Sloppy, but smug underneath. A smile of his own, even if his mouth is too tired to curl up at the corners. "Kate. Knew you . . ."
She feels the words fail him. The weak flex of muscle and restlessness traveling through him. Creases in his forehead, as his eyes flick to the bedside table. The whiteboard is there. A single word across it in huge, shaky capitals. EXCRUCIATING.
She's laughing even as tears spill down her cheeks. She leans away from him. She reaches for it, but he tugs her back. It's as much force as he can muster, and the lines of his face smooth right out when she stills. He smiles full on this time.
"Found me."
A/N: So, that's it. A lot of words under the bridge when I intended to write Perigee as a one-shot back in June. I have a start on a one-shot to book end the series, but I'll post that as its own piece. Thank you for reading.