A/N: Anyone else was a little annoyed at Martha's intervention in that scene from Cops and Robbers (yes, you know the one)? I mean, I love Martha. But I just wanted her to shut up. So this is what might have happened if she had.

Disclaimer: Castle isn't mine.

For Laura.

Because you're awesome.

The bomb goes off and rattles the police van, shattering the bank's windows and Kate's heart along with them.

She forgets about her phone and Esposito, forgets about everything as she steps out, wanting and not wanting to see, her chest tight with denial, disbelief, unbelief.

No.

No, please.

It just can't end this way.

The minutes seem to stretch into hours as the police team organize themselves, *finally* decide on going in through the main door, and Kate's mind is stuck, immobile, though it's getting harder to keep it that way.

But she must. She cannot start picturing hypothetical scenarios, cannot allow herself to go there. Castle needs her.

"Detective Beckett," Captain Davis calls, breaking the spell. "We're going in there. You coming?"

Words fail her; she gives him a brisk, determined nod.

Of course she's coming.

She doesn't have a choice.

Smoke in her eyes; a taste of ashes fills her mouth. Somewhere inside, part of her is praying, please, please, please, a desperate chant that doesn't pass the barrier of her throat.

Please, don't let him be dead. Not like this.

Not like this: as if she has a favourite way for Castle to die, as if she has an order of preference, as if *anything* could make it better, could render the idea of a world without him a little more bearable.

Nothing can.

Was the freezer better? Or the dirty bomb? Yes, she wants to answer, yes, because they were together then, because at least there was this sense of belonging, this sense of peace, however mistaken.

She thinks of Alexis outside; something breaks in her chest.

"Castle!" She yells, unable to help herself, her voice raw and painful, like her heart's spilling out of her mouth.

God, no. He has to be alive, has to – she promised Alexis –

"Castle!"

Come on, come on. Answer. Answer me.

The silence's killing her, tears building up in her throat with every second that goes by without his voice breaking it.

"Castle!" She calls again, and she doesn't care if everybody can hear it in her voice, the panic and desperation and supplication, as long as he's –

"Beckett?"

Oh, God. Everything in her exults at the sound, even as the more rational part of her brain says to wait, to wait until she's sure, until there's no doubt.

But there he is. His eyes meet hers through the bars of the vault, his relief mirroring hers, and he gives her a small smile, waves his fingers.

Castle.

The urge to cry is overwhelming.

"They're here!" She calls to the other cops, before giving in to her body's demands and rushing to him, Richard Castle, the man she –

She pushes that thought aside before she can finish it.

The other hostages might as well not be there; she doesn't see them, doesn't hear them. She drops to her knees in front of the writer, drinks in his smile, and feels the terror, the cold panic recede.

She's smiling too before she knows it, joy and gratitude coming over her in waves, powerful, overwhelming, her whole body liquid with warmth and happiness.

Castle, Castle, her heart sings.

His hands are still tied, and she needs to find something to do before she gives in and kisses him. Reaching for her knife, she cuts him free, her chest squeezing at the smile on his face, his alive, radiant face.

She can't help herself; she needs to touch him.

"How are you?" She says, her hand straightening the collar of his shirt, a pale substitute for his skin but much, much safer.

Something shifts in his eyes, ripples of awareness smoothing out his face, leaving him staring at her, intense, almost solemn.

Her stomach flutters even as she beams (she can't seem to get the smile off her face). Without her realizing it, her thumb has moved from his shirt to his neck, is now caressing his jugular vein, revering the steady pulse of blood under her fingertip.

He's alive, and suddenly she can't hold it together anymore, she can't hold back – she has to breach the space between them, lean in until she sees his eyes close, a fraction of second before her lips touch his.

It's not even a kiss, not really; it's this shared breath of relief, of I'm here and you're here and we're alive. It's their mouths pressed together, unmoving, as if dazed by the other's warmth.

Kate is the one to break it, but she finds that she can't move away; she rests her forehead against his cheek, hides her face in the crook of his neck, her hands fisting on his shirt.

She just needs a minute.

She feels Castle's fingers, hesitant, on her hips; hears him murmur into her ear, "I'm okay, Kate. We're all okay."

She gives a tiny nod; she knows it, rationally. She just needs her heart to be convinced, too. After a handful of seconds, she forces herself back, steeling her spine again.

"I know," she says with a tight smile. She holds out a hand for him; he takes it, gets to his feet, stumbling into her, their chests too close.

Air stills in her lungs.

"I should probably go check on my mother," he says softly, apologetic, his eyes lingering on her face. Reluctant.

"Of course." Kate hates herself a little for forgetting about Martha. She looks around; the other hostages have evacuated the vault, and she barely even noticed.

No. She didn't notice at all.

"Go," she orders, "I need to talk to that police captain anyway."

Castle doesn't budge; he's still staring at her, looking like he's fighting a terrible battle.

She's not sure what it's about, opens her mouth to tell him –

He moves and then his hand is curling at her neck, his lips searching for hers, hot breath fanning her chin, tongue swirling around hers. She gasps in shock and then sighs in abandon, melts into his embrace, Castle, Castle –

He lets go of her mouth but keeps a hand pressed to her cheek, his eyes dark and full of promises.

Promises –

"Go, Castle." She shoves him back, a little forceful. "Alexis's outside. Go."

Horror and realization strike him together, and he takes a few steps back, still turned towards her. He gathers a smile for her, a smile that says it all.

"I'll see you in a few," he says before vanishing, leaving her breathless at the deep, rich tones of his voice, at the layers of meaning woven in his words.

She takes a few seconds to rest her head to the wall, close her eyes in silent thanks.

She'll see him in a few.

She doesn't need anything more than that.