Will you catch me if I'm falling
Will you catch me if I'm falling
Will you catch me 'cause I'm falling down on you

"Round Here" – Counting Crows

Numb.

She's numb.

To damn near everything.

The searing pain that should have set her shoulders afire and left her fingertips scorched in their wake hasn't warmed her at all. The sharp bite she should feel at the top of her spine, the reminder of angry hands around her neck, the ache of each landing on an unforgiving rooftop – none of it is there as a warning or rebuke.

With another moment to think, she realizes she can't feel the anger that brought her to this point either. The blind rage and belief in revenge forcing her to cling to life now are no longer wrapped around her lungs. The hatred she's bled has suddenly scabbed over, tears of vengeance dry for the first time in 13 years. She almost doesn't know why she's insisted upon keeping the hurt so close to the surface when she feels so much better without it.

Now her face is contorted with something else and when the loneliness strikes, fierce and breathtaking, she knows she's not nearly numb enough.

"Castle," she whispers.

She won't give up, of course, will hold on with the same stubbornness that got her here, but grief is heavy and her hands may not be strong enough to support the weight of what might have been. She recalls the obstacles that have kept her away from Castle all this time – a few of them real, but most fabricated by fear – and swears she'll make things right if she can just find a way to survive. All their longing and denial and laughter and fighting can't end this way, and she chokes on regret when one exhausted arm gives out.

The distant shout of her name keeps her from falling.

"Castle!" she screams in response.

"Beckett!"

Her voice is sharp and pleading, seeking salvation from the partner who'd said he was done.

When he begs her to hold on, her body burns with a thousand reasons to do just that.

Time runs out just as he reaches her, her fingers slipping from the ledge the second before he grabs her wrist and pulls her to safety. It's a rush, the manic relief coursing through her veins, and she knows she's trembling with it, her cheeks flushed and hot. In the chaos, she meets the damning glare of Captain Gates and is jostled by the team of ESU officers as she attempts to connect with solid ground, but it isn't until her eyes lock with the icy blue of Castle's that some part of her wonders whether she was better off several moments ago.

At least then she had hope.

He's gone before she makes it back to street level, disappearing quickly enough to make her wonder whether she'd imagined the rescue entirely. She finds Esposito propped against a waiting ambulance and joins him there, still scanning the sidewalk as though the view will change.

"Graduation," he reminds her.

She glances at her watch. Fuck. Not only did Castle have to pull her from the ledge of a building, but he had to make himself late to his daughter's ceremony to do it. Just one more reason for him to be furious with her.

"Did he say anything to you before he left?"

Esposito snorts in response. "Didn't even look in my direction. He mumbled something to Ryan and took off."

There's barely time to acknowledge him with a nod before paramedics separate them to give cursory exams and release the two detectives to Captain Gates. Their presence is demanded back at the precinct and neither of them is interested in delaying the inevitable, so they bail from the scene as soon as they're given the all-clear. The ride back is silent and it's not the first time she's been grateful for Esposito's willingness to leave her alone when she needs it most, but the quiet also gives her time to think about the man who has rarely given her any space at all.

The man who has suddenly given her far more space than she wants.

Her brow furrows as she considers everyone she's lost over the years, all that she almost lost in her fight with Cole Maddox, and everything she still stands to lose in the coming hours. There's a strange peace that comes with honest reflection, and by the time she stands in front of Gates and brushes her thumb over her badge, her decision to resign has been made, and it doesn't feel like a loss at all.

But loss or no loss, finally returning to her apartment reignites the adrenaline and restlessness she thought she'd left on the rooftop and she wonders how much her body would hate her for taking a walk in the pouring rain. She could burn off her energy, soak herself in better memories at their swing set. Or perhaps she could risk everything and show up at Castle's loft in the hopes that he'll forgive her. She shakes her head at the idea; she may have been holding onto that ledge for a minute or two, but she's left Castle hanging for years and he deserves more than a simple doorstep apology.

She opts to shower instead, the perfect pressure and near-scalding water helping to soothe her as much as anything could, while the subtle whistle of the spray brings a sort of hypnotic calm. Eventually tears fall and her body shakes with relief, abating only when the relentless howl of pain forces her from the steamy cocoon and into a bathrobe the moment she's toweled dry, ibuprofen and hot apple cider following soon after.

When she hears a sharp knock, she nearly drops her mug.

When she opens her front door, it's her heart that falls.

Castle is standing in her doorway, and while she wants him here – just wants him, really – this is all wrong. His glare has yet to thaw and his fists are clenched at his side and he looks so damn tired and every weary line on his face is because of her. And, yes, she's upset, too. Theirs isn't a one-sided battle and they're both scarred; whether either will heal remains to be seen. But right now, she's standing in front of the man she loves with wet hair and a broken body and she is pretty damn sure he's already stopped loving her back.

"Hi, Rick."

It's devious, wielding his first name so causally, but she'll do anything she can to soften him. He flinches when the K strikes, but rebounds quickly enough to fire back with one sharp syllable.

"Kate."

She sighs and steps aside so he can come in, finally looking beyond his anger to study the suit jacket and tie he's still wearing.

"You're well-dressed for whatever fight we're about to have," she mutters, locking the door behind him.

He's not amused. "Came directly from the restaurant after celebrating with Alexis and my mother. Didn't really want to. Wasn't planning to talk to you at all."

"So why are you here?"

"Because you've already ruined enough of my night and I need that to stop," he snaps. "I was late to the graduation ceremony and almost missed the speech. I couldn't eat much at dinner because I was still reeling from the sight of you hanging from that goddamn roof. And as much as I'd like to be at home right now, I know there would be nothing to stop my wonderful imagination from reminding me of all the ways tonight could have ended so differently."

That stings, the awareness that she may have lived through the afternoon, but he has a mind that will recreate it a dozen times and paint shockingly vivid endings more often than not. "I thought you were done."

"I am—I want to be," he nods. "And I thought about ignoring Ryan's call today."

"So why didn't you?"

Castle shrugs, his shoulders driven by sadness more than anything else. "You're still a fresh wound; the bleeding's barely stopped. If I hadn't answered, just to have the boys show up at my door to tell me you'd fallen off a roof? I don't think I would have ever healed."

And if the roles were reversed, she's not convinced she could heal either.

But now she's watching him pace her living room, his hand scrubbing his face as though he can wash the hurt away, and there's little she can do to help.

"I'm sorry," she says, the apology dropping lifeless between them.

"You always are."

That sets her aflame – and it's not that he's wrong, because he's not. She's always sorry and hasn't figured out a way to make any of her actions speak louder than her words. And she knows he's been sorry, too, for all the times he's hurt her, and his actions usually are louder, but none of it matters when she's spent years wishing their relationship wasn't a mystery they may never solve. They've found a perfect rhythm while having none at all, pushing and pulling and wounding and healing and making so much progress while getting nowhere.

But she could have died today and all she could think about was him; his accusation that nothing has changed makes her wonder whether she wasted that time.

"Well, then, I guess there's just nothing I can say, is there?" she asks, parroting his resignation from yesterday. "You saved my life, I'm standing here in one piece, and now you can be done again, nightmare-free."

She expects him to take the out he's been given, figures he'll leave her alone in her apartment for the second time in two days, so she freezes when he steps toward her instead, his arm outstretched. When his fingertips skip across her neck, she can't help but startle at the contact. She didn't think he'd ever touch her again.

"You're in one piece, but the bruises are already forming," he observes, his voice cracking. "He choked you?"

"Just briefly, during the fight," she confirms.

"What else did he do?"

He's studying her so carefully and it's only then she remembers she's barely dressed, just her robe separating his troubled gaze from the injuries blooming along her body. "I don't really remember everything. Just know what hurts."

"Tell me."

She's silent for a while, unsure of how honest to be until she decides she doesn't want to lie.

"My shoulders, from hanging onto the ledge."

Before she can continue, Castle is moving again, both hands slipping beneath the fabric to push the robe aside and press his palms to the aching joints. There's nothing to see, no obvious sign of whatever internal damage she suffered, but the warmth helps, even as it spreads a chill down the length of her arms. He stays there for several seconds, his patience infinite when he wants it to be, eventually pulling away to position himself directly behind her. The robe is already loose, so it doesn't take much for him to bare her back, the sleeves falling to her wrists.

"Here, too," he says, his thumb brushing the spot between her shoulder blades where Maddox had struck her. It's painfully tender and she can only imagine the colors already rising to the surface.

She nods in response, but they both remain quiet as he drags his fingers down her spine, spreading his hands when he reaches her waist, the robe clinging to her body by a belt that's barely fastened. Castle's touch is careful and bold, soothing and sparking as he explores the marks along her sides, her ribs etched with anger and her hips stained by each violent collision with the rooftop concrete. There's little doubt his fingers are cataloging every swollen and scraped patch of skin they caress, his mind writing the scene he was too late to witness, and she realizes how much he needs this. It's a terrible sight, of course, but the details sate him and this chance to observe her so closely is all she has to give.

And so she offers up even more.

Sliding her left hand over his, she threads their fingers together and guides him up the year-old scar slashed along her side, moving slowly enough that he can commit it to memory without having to see it at all. When they reach the top, she hears his sharp inhale, the recognition that she has more for him to feel as she tugs his entire body closer to hers.

"Kate," he breathes, and her name sounds so much better than it did minutes ago.

Their hands crawl forward, coasting just below her breast until they reach her sternum and the scar that marks the first time she encountered Cole Maddox. Her heart thumps wildly, but she's not sure he notices its persistence once he finds the healed bullet wound beneath his fingertips, silently navigating the flaw as though it's something more precious.

She is in no hurry to move now, content to hold him there – or perhaps he's holding her. It strikes her just how small she is in his arms, and the knowledge that he's still fully clothed while she stands so exposed only heightens her vulnerability.

When she feels him press a kiss to the top of her head, she wonders whether her willingness to let her guard down is why he's beginning to soften toward her.

When he bends lower to bite at her neck, she accepts that his anger hasn't been so easily remedied.

Castle finally eases his hand away from her chest and finds the bathrobe still resting just below her waist. Careful not to overstep, as though his body hasn't been curled around hers with something resembling forgiveness, he drags it back up her torso until she can slip her arms though the sleeves and fasten the belt once more. She doesn't dare to turn around, hopeful that he won't move away if she can avoid spooking him.

"Is this—are we okay?" she whispers.

"I don't know."

She nods at that, because as much as it stings, it's fair. "I resigned today. Gave Gates my badge and weapon and walked away from all of it."

"Your job wasn't what I was asking you to give up," he sighs. "I just want you to value your life."

"Yes, but I think that lack of value and my need for revenge were pretty tangled up in being a cop. I had stretches of normal, but I lost a lot of me along the way."

"So, what happens now?"

"Tonight?" she asks. "Or for the rest of my life?"

"Let's start with tonight," he answers.

"You stay."

It's probably impossible, but she thinks she feels a smile when he kisses the top of her head again. "And for the rest of your life?"

She reaches back and finds his hand one more time, clasping it in hers.

"You stay."

A/N: Wishing a very happy (early) birthday to someone who owes me a coffee date before the end of the world.

Based upon the anonymous prompt, "What if Castle was the one to save Beckett in 4x23?"