If Ever I Fall

Part 3 of 3

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All day long I can hear people talking out loud

But when you hold me near, you drown out the crowd

She turned her head, nuzzling her nose into the dip of his neck. She wanted more than anything to curl into him, wrap her arms around him, and have him hold her close. But her broken leg and burned arm were on opposite sides, making it impossible for her to lie in any position other than on her back. The fact that she had been able to make it onto the narrow hospital bed at all had been a miracle, and she knew if the nurse caught her up there she would receive a lecture, but she didn't care. She could barely care about anything anymore. The doctor was worried, making noises about pneumonia, too much fluid in her lungs. It hurt to breathe. They had just performed the daily percussion therapy; half an hour of hell forcing the fluid and mucus from her lungs. It wouldn't have been so painful if not for the litany of other bruises and injuries to her body.

The others whispered around her, casting her sideways glances. There was an article in the paper about it, about her and him. She had seen the headline. Too Much Heat.

She was being blamed for this, and she should be, right? She had been selfish. He should have stopped shadowing her years ago, once he had enough 'research' for his books, but she had wanted him there, with her, at her side. She had rallied for him to stay, and now he was a breath away from death, unconscious, a machine living for him, the worry of brain injury, respiratory infection on everyone's mind.

The press was demonizing her. Alexis hadn't spoken a word to her, nor had Martha beyond the occasional inquiry as to how she was feeling. Her father, who had been perched by her side for days, had finally gone home to rest and change. Ryan and Esposito had been treated and released into the respective care of a wife and medical examiner.

But what about him? What would he say about all of this? He wouldn't blame her, would he? Would he be upset with his family for exiling her, the way they had. Would he understand? She reached out her good hand in front of her, the other curled over her abdomen, the single position that didn't cause her agony. But the doctors said the pain was good, the pain meant little to no nerve damage. She should regain full use of her arm, in time.

Time.

They had always thought they had had so much of it. So lucky, so foolish. So many brushes with death. How many; she didn't know. He would know. The thought was fleeting. He would know exactly how many times they had almost died; how many times she had saved his life, and he hers. He probably had it documented in a file somewhere: dates, times, circumstances, pictures. That's the type of person he was. Is.

Her fingers played with the box, tossed it lightly in the air, ran a finger over the curved top as she clutched it in her fist, plucked at the lid threatening to open it. She hadn't looked at it yet, but she knew what it held. The nurse had pulled it out of his belongings to show to her.

"You should have asked me," her voice was hoarse, crackling. "A week ago, a year ago, five years ago, you should have asked me. I would have said yes. It's always been yes."

Her lips brushed against his skin and the whole world melted away, because here, with him, she was safe from the looks, the stares, the rumors and whispers.

And then, the monitor let out a wail and people were running. Shouts surrounded them and she was floating through the air back into her wheelchair, away from him. She tried to shout out, to argue, but her throat burned and her voice fell flat as she was banished from his side, left only to watch.

Old Mr. Webster could never define

What's being said between your heart and mine

He had to wake up soon. That's what they had said. They were worried about his brain, his lungs, his heart, infection. Everything. Another day passed and there was even less of a chance of recovery.

She flipped mindlessly through the magazine as she sat, anchored, at his side. One of the nurses had handed it to her. Not her usual fare. The articles were all about love. January had folded into February and that meant Valentine's Day.

"How to Get Your Man", "How To Keep Your Man", "Quiz: Is He Your Soul Mate?"

She flipped the cover shut, spun the bundle of pages onto the floor by her side and reached out for his hand instead. The box was resting on the blanket between them. She had, long ago stopped questioned what they had. She didn't need to. She saw it every time their eyes locked, felt it with every electric connection of their flesh, heard it with every theory bantered between them.

They had rarely spoken of love; they had never broached the topic of soul mates. It wasn't like them. On rare occasion he would whisper poetry into her ear, hum a ballad into the soft creases of her flesh, and she to him. But they both knew what they had— it eluded explanation. Indefinable and completely theirs.

She hooked her pinky through his, twisting the rest of her hand to wrestle the box open. She had to see it, to know, and her breath stuck in her chest as her eyes caught on the diamond dancing in unrelenting fluorescent light. It was beautiful, perfect.

"You need to wake up now, Castle. You need to wake up and look me in the eye because I have a question to ask you and you have to say yes."

The heart monitor jumped again, letting out a shrill beep and her words turned into pleas and protests as tears began to spill, once again, down her face. The box was left abandoned as her fingers threaded through his, an unwavering lifeline, tethering him, holding him up as he threatened to fall.

"No," she forced the word out in a shout as they tried to wheel her back. She wasn't leaving this time. She would stay by his side, for better or worse, 'til death did them part, because that is what she would have promised, if only...

And with a single twitch of a finger her heart stopped, her stomach plummeted and her lips let out an involuntary laugh, because after that one jerk there was another and suddenly her hand was engulfed in his and the doctor and nurses were watching, stunned as eyes opened to reveal a pool of blue that immediately turned and sought a sea of green.

And it was all there, every question, the only answer, two hands connected next to one box between them, because, together, they always spoke best when they said nothing at all.

The smile on your face lets me know that you need me

There's a truth in your eyes sayin' you'll never leave me

The touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall

You say it best when you say nothing at all

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Fin.

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A/N: Thank you everyone for your kind words and love for this little story (even if half of them were death threats.) It truly is a pleasure to write in this fandom because of all you readers out there. A big thanks, as always, to my Girl Friday Beta Extraordinaire, the one, the only, Miz Kate Christie. And a special thanks to Angie for bringing me this prompt to begin with and for the graphic. I hope you enjoyed this, Ang. ;)

Twitter: aspen_musing