"Thomas Edison's last words were 'It's very beautiful over there'. I don't know where there is, but I believe it's somewhere, and I hope it's beautiful."

Looking for Alaska, John Green

There's been a post that's circled my tumblr dash the past few weeks. A reverse of the usual 'soulmates have their first words spoken to each other on their bodies' AU. It was that they had the last words they heard the soulmates say. I switched it up, thinking about them just having the soulmates last words ever instead. Naturally, I made myself cry thinking about it, and then wrote this. I don't own the idea or the characters.

Her fingers trace the word at her hip. You're. Incomplete, she knows, staring at it curiously in the mirror. Or, will it really just be this? She doesn't like the sound of that – of them being cut off – incomplete –

Kate sighs, running her fingers through her hair. Dark and long, whispering between her shoulder blades. Why is she already feeling this so deeply? She's never even met them, yet it's almost as if she's mourning already. This isn't how she thought she'd feel when she first saw the words. As kids, she and her friends had been so excited, eager to see what words would appear.

Barely eighteen and she already knows parts of the end.

Kate huffs, turning to her wardrobe and grabbing her outfit for the day. She knows her mom will ask about it.

The word burns.

You're

I'll be home soon.

After all these years, the words still have him staring when he showers. Tattooed down his left side, between the ridges of his ribs. So terribly mundane. A little… disappointing. That might be the writer's side of him thinking, though. He'd always pictured something beautiful, when he was young. Something grand.

But death is not beautiful.

The words complete themselves a few days after her mother's death.

You're here.

Kate's knees buckle beneath her and she lands solidly on her bed. Looks at herself in the mirror. How had she ever once been excited about this? Child's naivety had curled her away from the horrifying nature this is. She knows. Has seen it in her father's eyes.

Because her mother is dead.

And on her father's left wrist are the words please, no.

Castle hovers by her side at the scene. It's – disturbing. The scene.

"Suicide pact?" Castle asks Lanie. She's crouched beside one of the women, taking notes. Beckett stares at the vacant eyes of the woman. More of a girl, really. She can't be older than twenty.

"More like murder-suicide," Lanie replies, gloved fingers circling the bullet hole before she indicates to the girl's nails. "There must have been a struggle. The other one – Lana – has scratch marks on her forearms. And the point of entry of the bullet hole isn't as clean as she'd probably planned."

Castle's breath washes over the back of her neck when she speaks. The closeness is new. She wants to say I remember what you said when I was shot.

Instead, she asks, "So Lana shot Rebecca and then shot herself?"

Lane nods. "I'll perform a more thorough autopsy when I get back to the morgue. But it looks that way."

The boys appear and round up statements they'd collected from the neighbours. They were a happy couple. Always attached at the hip, always smiling. They baked me cookies when I first moved in. They'd babysit my boys whenever I got called in for a night shift.

Castle is suspiciously silent, and she watches as he mulls over the thoughts swirling in her mind as they make their way back to her car. Waits until they're settled back inside and the engine is humming quietly and they're in their own personal bubble before she asks what's wrong.

"She must have known," he says.

Kate looks over at him when they stop at a red light. Her fingers ache when she curls them around the steering wheel instead of his hands. There's darkness in his eyes. Shrouding his usual light. She's only seen that once before, with the sky as a backdrop behind him and words spilling from his lungs as blood spilled from her.

"Known what?"

"When Rebecca had said the words. And she had the gun, and they were struggling. She must have known that they really were going to be Lana's last words."

The light turns green and Kate averts her eyes from him. She's always wondered. What words does he have tattooed on his skin? Hopes that they're simple, that they're not so heavy. He's a writer, and she knows that he feels things deeply, no matter how many lighthearted jokes he makes.

Part of her wants to ask. What words do you have?

Are they mine?

"It's cruel," she finally settles on saying.

Castle shifts. "Last words are. Perhaps they should've been the first words spoken to each other. That would've made things simpler. Nicer."

"Wouldn't that spoil all of the fun?"

How perplexing that would've been. If she'd woken up and found where would you like it? tattooed on her skin.

"It would make some things inevitable. Love is inevitable."

"Death is inevitable, too."

Maybe it's the wrong thing to say. When they finally get back to the precinct and climb from the car she looks at him, and wonders whether it will be him who says the words on her hip.

She wants it to be him.

The first time that they sleep together is the first time they see each other's words.

Castle bites into her shoulder as she shivers beneath him. He tries to focus. He's not completely distracted – that would be impossible. She's warm and supple and this is happening. But his thumb swipes across the words that curl in the concave of her hipbone. You're here. Are they his words? Will she be there? She must be. She must be the person he says them to. There wouldn't be anybody else that he'd want beside him.

Kate's foot brushes against the words on his ribs when she lifts her legs to wrap around his waist. He pushes up onto his forearms to look down at her and her fingers move, trail across the I'll be home soon. She doesn't say anything, just threads her fingers through his hair and tugs him down until her mouth is surging up to meet his with a power he didn't even know she had.

They call him Charlie.

They hadn't discussed having kids until almost two years into their marriage. Late one night when she was boneless and satiated and tired of holding back. His eyes had lit up when they'd agreed for her to stop taking her pill at the end of the month and see what would happen. From everything she had heard from Jenny and Ryan, she thought that it would've taken months, a slow and long process that left her empty and wanting.

It hadn't even taken a month.

Now, she creeps into Castle's office at three in the morning after being called out for a body late at night. She's tired and heavy but finds her husband asleep at the chair, legs propped up on the table and their son resting against his chest.

Kate smiles, moving quietly to their side and stroking their son's downy hair before she lifts him from his sleeping father's arms. He's barely two months old and still has that new baby smell about him that makes her chest tight. He rouses slightly when she tugs him to her, cradling him, letting out a tiny yawn as his hands curl into fists and push out when he settles again.

After, she nudges Castle's shoulder with her hip, calling his name softly. It takes a moment to wake up, but soon he's blinking and staring up at her with the same eyes their son had inherited from him.

"Kate?"

He's still drowsy, confused. Adorable. "You fell asleep."

Castle's eyes widen comically, hands flying to his chest when he realises their son is no longer there. "Charlie."

"Is fine. See?"

He looks down at the baby in her arms, visibly sagging with relief. She smiles softly and he stands, wincing when his knee cracks loudly and she teases him about being old. It earns him a sleepy glare from him.

Moving into their bedroom, Kate lowers Charlie into his bassinet. He shifts in his sleep, fidgety, as she dusts kisses against his silk soft forehead. Tries to grab her fingers before she eases away and he settles back to sleep.

Castle's already slipped into bed, but she stands, watching over their son. He's so small. When he'd been born, the midwives around her had complimented her on how big their son was. Born ten pounds and five ounces. That hadn't surprised her, she and Castle were both tall, but –

He's still small.

She doesn't hear Castle move to her side, thinking he'd fallen back to sleep, so she startles slightly when his voice curls around her ear.

"You okay?"

She doesn't look away from their son.

"Someone's going to have his last words on their skin. Some day."

Castle's palm settles on the small of her back, warmth radiating through her tight muscles.

"Somebody will hear his."

Kate nods, throat tight. She knows. She does know.

Not everybody dies like her mother.

Castle juggles dressing their three year old son in something that used to be a suit before their son had wriggled away and creased it all while speaking to his wife on the phone. Charlie tries to slip from his grip, reaching for the phone laying on the bed as Kate's voice comes through on loudspeaker.

He catches him and tucks the shirt back into their son's pants. In theory, dressing their son like this for Alexis's wedding had sounded nice. Adorable. Now, he wants to curse whoever had come up with the idea. Even if it had been Kate. Especially if it was his mother. Or was it him?

"I'm on my way back now, Castle. I'll make it in time. The boys covered my paperwork for me."

Charlie whines when Castle bats his hands away from untucking his shirt again. "The car arrives to take us in thirty minutes, Kate."

"And I'm only a fiteen minute drive away, Castle."

"I can't be late to my daughter's wedding, Kate – "

"Jeez, Castle. Relax. The wedding isn't until this afternoon. We're getting there early."

Castle swipes a hand across his forehead, damp with sweat. He glances at their son, who has now given up on trying to strip the suit from his body in favour of his Iron Man pajamas. Thank God.

"I know, I know. But, will you have enough time to change, we weren't exactly planning on a body drop so early – "

"Castle," he can hear amusement lacing through her voice. "I can change quickly. My hair's already done, make up too – and I don't plan on ever going to a crime scene like this again, by the way. Ryan and Esposito made it sound like I was a stripper."

Charlie twists, fingers pressing against the locked screen of Castle's phone. "Mommy?"

"Hi Charlie," she replies, voice instantly soft for their son. It makes him soft, too, weak at the knees for her as he finally sits down on the edge of the bed, on the other side of the phone to Charlie. "You being good for your daddy?"

"Good!" Charlie cries, grinning, and Kate laughs.

His family.

"Castle?"

Castle manages to peel his phone away from his son without any tantrums arising. "Kate?"

"Keep calm, okay? Everything's going to be fine, and Alexis is going to have a beautiful day."

He smiles, looking out of the window at the sunny July day, and in his moment of wistfulness he misses Charlie wriggling off of the bed and trotting out of the room. "I know."

"Good," Kate hums. "Now make sure you make yourself look handsome. I love you."

"Hey, I'm always handsome," he protests, raising a laugh from her. "I love you, too."

"I'll be home soon," Kate promises, and they hang up.

It's not until he's placed his cell back on the mattress and stands that he realises the weight of her words. Panic makes his throat tight as he mutters no no no over and over again, fingers sticky as he unlocks the phone. It takes longer than it should for him to call her, pulse pounding in his ears and he almost doubles over when she doesn't pick up.

"Oh, God." It's a strangled noise. I'll be home soon swirls round and round in his head.

Her last words.

There's a crash in the front room, shortly followed by Charlie wailing. Instinctively, his feet carry him to his son. He tries to swallow back tears himself.

Kate.

He's operating on automatic. Has Charlie sat on the kitchen island with his smart pants – totally ruined now – pulled up over his knees. One is a little scraped, while he sticks a band-aid over the other, a small cut striping across his son's knee. His son's eyes are still a little watery, the last vestiges of pain clinging on stubbornly.

And then Kate opens the door.

His breath leaves him as she quickly throws her coat over the back of the couch, moving over to the counter to press a greeting kiss to his cheek before turning to their son.

"Oh, buddy," she says, thumbing away the tears on his cheek. "What happened?"

"He tried to climb the stool. Fell off when he reached the top."

Kate is watching him curiously. "And you let him?"

"No, I – I was just – " How does he explain that he thought she was dying?

Kate nudges him aside, speaking to their son in gentle whispers. She smatters kisses across his knees until he's laughing again and she pulls his pants back down, attempting to straighten them by tugging on the hem until she gives up, setting him back down on the ground and turning only to her husband once she's sure Charlie's safely playing with his toys on the floor.

She takes his hand, tugging him into the bedroom. She doesn't speak when they're there, drops his hand as she moves to grab her dress, shedding her work clothes as she does. Oh, God. Kate's alive. Alive.

"You said the words," he tells her.

Kate turns to him with wide eyes, laying the dress out on the bed and moves to him only in her underwear. It makes it better, when he circles his arms around her waist and tugs her to him, feels the warmth of her skin beneath his palms. Smooth, real, alive.

One of Kate's hands lands on his shoulder, the other sneaking down and laying across his ribs, fingers tracing the words through his shirt.

"I'm so sorry, babe, I didn't realise – "

"I know, I know. I just – "

He doesn't think he'll ever be able to explain it.

Kate moves, cupping his face in her palms and their hips brush as he kisses him deeply. He thinks he may sob into her mouth, but he's not sure, just clings to her desperately at the feel of her warm mouth against his.

Kate's cheeks are flushed when she pulls away. Alive.

"I love you," he tells her.

Kate rests her cheek on his shoulder and he feels the pounding of her heart in her chest.

"I love you too."

After that, she never says the words. It's a little awkward. It's something she's so used to saying often, but manages to avoid giving her husband a heart attack every time she calls him to let him know she's leaving the precinct. In turn, he makes sure to never use the words curled around her hipbone. She's not sure whether it's worse. Because then she'll know – the day that he says those words, and vice versa – she'll know.

She never wants to hear him say the words. She wonders, often, who they'll say them to. She wants to be there for him, if he goes first. Doesn't want it to be anyone else but her. But she doesn't want to see him die.

And she doesn't want him to have to see her die, either.

They always take advantage of the loft being empty.

He collapses beside her, sweaty and spent, while she pushes her hair out of her eyes and heaves for breath. Martha had taken Charlie out to see his first show on Broadway as an early birthday present, his actual tenth birthday not for another three weeks. Never has she been more grateful for the time alone with Castle. They've been so busy lately, barely spent any time together. They needed this.

Castle hums, brushing his thumb against her hipbone.

"You know how I knew you weren't going to die, when you were shot at Montgomery's funeral?"

Kate frowns, turning to him. "Castle?"

"Because you hadn't said the words," he continues away. Her eyes flick to his ribs, read the words she has memorised. I'll be home soon. "I know we weren't together then, but I knew - God, I knew, Kate. Even if I wasn't your soulmate, you were always going to be mine."

Kate feels tears spring to her eyes as she lets him rope her closer, sliding her thigh between his legs as she rests her chin on his chest.

"But... I thought you told me you loved me because I was dying. I thought - "

"I told you because I wanted you to know," he says, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You deserved to know. I hate that it took you getting shot to see that. But I knew you weren't going to die. The words don't lie."

Kate swallows back her tears, moving to straddle him, one of her palms landing solidly on the words that cover his ribs. They're a little raised, like a tattoo, and she's able to read them by touch now. She leans down, kissing him desperately, nails cutting into his skin.

"I knew then, too," she tells him between kisses. She's never been one to label anyone as soulmates. She thinks it's ridiculous, and cheesy, the words were just for who you loved the most. But her heart is pounding and he is everything to her, really. "You were always my soulmate."

Kate huffs, turning to him as he sleeps. It's three in the morning and she shouldn't be awake. But now their apartment is quiet and empty, two big for just the two of them. Alexis is married and has her own kids, and Charlie's six hours away at college. She never knows what Castle does all day, on his own, here. Now that she's captain, he rarely visits the precinct like he used to, except to bring her lunch or morning coffee. It's not as thrilling, watching her do paperwork.

It must've been okay. When he had his mom. But now Martha's gone, the third anniversary of her death had passed last week, and he's all alone here every day.

Kate lets her fingers trail down her husband's spine. They're old now. She's almost creeping into her sixties while Castle is creeping out of them. They had to operate on his knee and he teases her when her hip aches while they take walks in Central Park. When had they gotten so damn old?

Maybe she should retire. Soon. She's put so many bad guys away, after all. Maybe now she should spend all of her time with the one who's always stayed beside her.

She sighs, curling up beside him and he shifts in his sleep. Moves from laying on his front to his side, eyes opening briefly in his sleep and spotting her beside him. Ropes an arm around her and kisses her shoulder.

"Go to sleep," he mumbles into her skin.

Kate hums, threading her hands through his hair. Thin. He dyes it now, refuses to admit that he's gone grey.

And then she's asleep.

It's a struggle to believe that a month ago she had to ask the nurses for directions to find out where he is. Now, she's visited enough to know the entire ward like the back of her hand. Walks past the nurses station and through the hall, turns left at the end and enters the second door to the right to find him sleeping. At first, he'd always been awake when she'd visit, smile always so bright. Now he's more exhausted than he's ever been, sometimes sleeps the whole time she's there.

She knows. He's not getting any better.

Kate settles in the chair beside him, taking his hand. Waits. Watches him. His hair is grey, now that he no longer has the ability to dye it himself. His skin is almost paper thin in her grip, veins too easily visible through its translucent colour, lined with wrinkles that inevitably came with age – he's old and she's not ready for it. She's only seventy. When had they gotten here?

He rouses after she's been there for two hours. Slowly, and difficultly, but still, he wakes.

He moves the oxygen mask from his face with his free hand even as she berates him for it. The hand trembles.

"I didn't know you were coming today."

"You know I come every day."

Castle's lips downturn. "Yeah… you do."

She releases his hand for a moment to lean down, grab the container she'd brought with her to rest on the table beside him. It had once been full with get better soon cards and bundles of flowers. Now, the flowers have died, and the cards tucked away in a drawer. He has a picture of their immediate family from five years ago in a frame on there instead, one he'd asked her to print and bring to him, along with a picture of them on their wedding day, and Alexis holding a new born Charlie.

It had been hard. Telling Alexis and Charlie. They knew he was here, that she could no longer care for him at home because his medical needs surpassed her capabilities. But last night, when she'd gotten back from visiting him, she'd had to call them and tell them she didn't think he had much time left. Alexis was in Europe with her husband and children, but was due home next week, and she'd hoped Castle would hold on long enough. Charlie had instantly booked time away from work and had bought a flight for his husband and their three kids in two days time. He'd moved to Portland to be with his husband shortly after college, and they all saw each other regularly enough for it to be okay.

Now, she wishes they could be here.

"You brought me carbonara."

"I made it just like you used to," she tells him, helping him sit up to eat.

They're silent, and when he's done a nurse comes in to check on him. She's young, vibrant, and Kate's throat gets tight when she remembers how Castle used to be like that. He doesn't deserve this. Laying here, waiting for it to happen, pretending everything is fine when she visits.

"I think she likes you," Kate teases when the nurse leaves, taking her husbands hand again.

Castle turns to her. "I like you."

She smiles, smoothing her thumb across the back of his hand. "You have fans everywhere you go, it seems."

"And my biggest one's right here."

Kate laughs, ducking her head. Her hair doesn't fall around her shoulders like it used to – wispy with age now. He still calls her beautiful, and makes her believe it.

"Charlie, Tyler and the kids will be here Monday," she tells him. "Alexis and the rest will be here Friday."

He looks at her. Really looks at her – the way he always has. With admiration and gentle love that makes her heart pound. Makes her feel thirty again, rolling her eyes as he came up with crazy theories and annoyed her. She doesn't regret a minute of it, doesn't wish any of their story had been any different than what it was.

"It's okay, Kate. You're here."

There's barely enough energy left in him to smile at her.

Kate finds it hard to swallow. Stares at him for a moment, wondering if he knows, if he remembers the words at her hip. His fingers squeeze hers faintly and she remembers to breathe again, and he keeps watching her until she nods.

Slowly, she moves forward, takes the oxygen mask from his grip. There are so many things she wants to say.

She kisses him, and tries not to choke on her never-ending love for this man. He's tired, she knows, but his hand still curls around her bicep and holds her to him for all its worth.

When she pulls away, she slides the mask back over his face and nods again.

"It's okay. I'm here."

Her eyes are watery, and his hand lifts, brushing the tears away when she sits by his hip and waits.

"Go to sleep, Rick," she tells him, and she doesn't know how her voice stays steady. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

As soon as he closes his eyes, she lets the tears slip. With shaking hands, she cradles his own against her chest, and watches the rise and fall of his breathing.

He doesn't wake again, and she refuses to move when the nurses tell her that visiting hours are over. Her cell rings, and distantly she wonders if it's Charlie, but it remains unanswered and she holds Castle's hand and is there like she promised until, at four twenty-seven in the morning, he releases one last breath, and doesn't take another.

New York is busier than she remembers.

The cab driver swears out of the window at a passing driver, the city so full of life and she feels it bubbling inside of her chest. She'd moved away to live in their Hamptons home after Castle had died and had given Charlie the loft, unable to cope living in the city any longer without her husband. It had been miserable and lonely at first until the grandkids had started visiting, and the neighbours had regularly invited her for dinner, and she'd walked along the beach remembering the time they'd collected sea shells on their first trip here as a couple.

She watches the blur of people and buildings through the window, familiar blocks and alleys passing her. As they pass through the city she smiles at the sight of restaurants he'd taken her to, and alleys they'd solved crimes in, and places that they had walked along holding hands like lovers do.

This is the city that he'd loved her in.

She presses a hand to her mouth to trap the sound that raises to her lips when her cell begins to ring. Charlie. Now's not the time to be so sad.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom. I'm sorry I couldn't collect you from the airport, Tyler's mom – "

"Is driving you insane, as usual," she finishes for him, and they laugh together. It had been coincidence that she'd chosen to visit the same time as the in-laws, and she hadn't given her son much warning. "But it's okay, Charlie. I'm fine with taking a cab."

"Okay, well, we've got the guest room set up for you. Tyler's parents are leaving after dinner, so you don't have to worry about holding me back from jumping them."

She smiles. "I'll bear that in mind."

In the background of the phone call, she hears a clatter, followed by yelling and Tyler groans.

"Trouble?"

"Alyssa accidentally knocked over Alexander's blocks. I've got to go, mom," he tells her, and Kate has to take a deep breath. Her grandson. Alexander. He'd been born by surrogate a year after Castle's death, and she'd managed not to cry when Charlie had named him after his father. Now, Alexander is five, a bubbly little thing who always wants stories of his grandfather when the family visit her in the Hamptons. "But let me know when you're outside. I'll come help you with your bags."

"I will, Charlie," she says, and looks back out at the city. It's alive and bright and feels like Castle. "I'll be home soon. I love you."

With an I love you, her son hangs up, and she lets her head fall back and rest against the seat in the back of the cab. She smiles to herself, thinking of all the times her husband has crowded up against her in the back of cabs just like this, trying to sneak a hand up her dress even after years of dating. He wanted her always.

The cab swerves, and she knows it's coming. She closes her eyes, and cradles her own hands against her chest. Pretends it's him. If she focuses hard enough, it almost is.

"I'll be home soon," she whispers again.

And then there's nothing.

The End

I was born for this
I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead.

Consummation of Grief, Charles Bukowski