all across the hours 12/24

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October 15th 2024, 11.01am

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Lanie dropped her off – she's still refusing to go to the hospital – but she looks pale, waxy, and he just-

He doesn't-

The bullet grazed her temple. Just a scratch, Lanie said, but there's still a trace of the rusty red of her blood where it spread down her cheek and no – damn it, no.

Kate's eyes are closed, her head lolling back against the headboard, face so drained of life that she looks so much smaller, so much more fragile than she is and it was too. damn. close.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"I'm fine, Castle."

She's too careless with her own safety, comes too close to getting herself killed too damn often – to getting them both killed, because he'll keep following her, right into that pit – and it's not fair.

He'll follow her into hell or he'll bang at the gates of heaven until they let him in. And it's not that he's worried about himself – he'd follow her into forever without hesitating – but they have their kids to think about and he won't.

He can't.

He won't let her make orphans of them. He won't let her leave them motherless. He raised one child that way and won't do it again. As much as he loves her – every facet, every angle, every wrinkle of her brain – he won't let her turn them into her.

"Kate-"

"It's just a flesh wound."

When she smiles at him it makes his blood boil, bubble up until it's spitting and hissing and spilling out of his mouth, fire and anger and a desperate, desperate yearning for her to just be.

"No, Kate. That was too damn close. Again."

Fire flashes in her eyes and she sits up straighter, squares her shoulders as colour springs to her cheeks.

"It's not like I asked to be shot, Rick."

She's always beautiful but she's breathtaking in her anger.

"The hell you didn't."

Kate's eyes narrow dangerously and he knows – he knows – but it's not good enough anymore. "You can't keep running headfirst into danger, blind to everything but the battle. You and your partner," he says the word like it's something dirty. "You're both going to get killed. Do you honestly think Ryan wanted that?"

She's on her feet – swaying, but on her feet – and she brushes away the hand he offers. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Hit a nerve, has he?

Good.

"Forget me," he says, hands up, backing away. "Forget the kids."

"Rick-"

"What? You will anyway."

"Don't you dare."

"What about Lanie? When you get him killed are you going to be able to stand in front of your friend and tell her you did everything you could to keep her husband safe?"

"What the hell do you want from me? A guarantee? You know it doesn't work like that."

"I want-" He wants – God – he just wants for her to put herself first for once, before her quest for justice, before the memory of the dead. To think about their kids. Their family. Him, even. Whatever. Whatever it takes for her to not run blindly over the edge of the cliff. "I want you to be less."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Just this once, in this one thing, be less than you are, Kate. Be less of a god damn martyr."

"I'm not-" She chokes on the words. Stops to take a breath. "I was doing my damn job. It's who I am, Rick, and I can't change who I am."

"Just let it go for once. Just-"

"Do you even realise what you're asking me?"

"I'm asking for your life. I'm asking for you to live it."

"You have no right."

"I have every right."

She deflates, collapses back to sit on the edge of the bed and it breaks his heart to watch. "You knew who I was before I married you, Rick. If you wanted-"

"No, Kate. No. That's my point."

"Fuck you and your point."

"Real mature."

She's on the verge of tears, holding on with every shred she has and he can see it, can see the way her eyes plead with him to understand. The way she doesn't mean to.

Two kids, nearly a decade of marriage, everything they've shared and she still won't let him see her fall apart. "Get out."

"I just want you, Kate. I want you to live long enough to grow old with me. I want you to watch your kids grow." Rick catches her gazes, lets the truth of his words colour his eyes. "I want you to care as much about that as you care about your goddamn job."

"Go," she says, broken.

He does.

–

a/n: Thanks again to everyone who has shared their thoughts, it makes this whole process a lot more rewarding. I'll endeavour (again) to respond individually, but my time is still rather right at the moment.