bravevulnerability:

Inspired by Castle_Is_Life’s tweet on Twitter:

A fic where she’s in a coma for a week after the gun shot and Castle gets mad at her for being so literal.

(gif credit courtesy of: http://katebeckett.tumblr.com/post/144492324488)

-

“I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t - she wasn’t being serious. It was just a joke, an expression-”

“Mr. Castle-”

“No, no, you don’t understand. It’s been a week, over a week, and she’s still under.” His voice begins to grow louder, more frantic, cracking the closer to consciousness she treads. “You have to do something, you have to wake her up.”

Why does he sound so panicked? 

“She’s my wife. We’re together, always supposed to be together.”

Beckett’s brow furrows. He’s stating facts, but he sounds as if he’s defending them, fighting for them. But the fight is done, they won, it’s over.

LokSat is dead, concluded, and they’re supposed to be at home, hibernating.

“Just let me stay.”

His growl has her rippling with awareness, hands twitching at her sides. Why are they trying to take him away? Who is trying to take him away from her now?

“Sir, you know that’s against hospital protocol.”

Hospital?

The pain flares to life sharp and sudden, exploding across her upper body and jolting her awake.

Her eyes fly open with it. 

“Now, you need to sit down before you fall down,” the other voice commands and oh god, he needs to listen to this person, this doctor? This nurse? Because he’s already fallen, that loud thud his body made when it hit the kitchen floor echoing through her brain.

Caleb in the loft with a gun. Shooting Castle - he shot Castle.

Kate jerks, trying immediately to sit up, crying out against her will as the throbbing in her chest, her abdomen, spits fire into her blood. Shit, bullets - bullets piercing her body, piercing his.

“Castle,” she rasps, searching for the source of his voice. She doesn’t find it until her eyes make their way to the doorway, where he’s hanging to the frame, blocked from entry by a nurse. 

“Let me in,” she hears him growl again, desperate and ragged with it. “Or I’m just going to stagger past you and probably hurt myself even worse and then you’ll be stuck with me even longer.”

The nurse - she catches sight of a green scrubs, a ponytail - sighs but moves out of his way, muttering for him to at least be careful and calling out to Beckett, “Captain, your doctor’s on his way. Just hang in there for a few seconds.”

But she doesn’t care about the pain, not as much as she cares about the man hobbling towards her in a hospital gown with a giant bandage peeking out from beneath.

“Rick,” she chokes, feeling the tears creeping from the corners of her eyes, seeping into her hair. 

“I’m here,” he promises, his voice strained with effort. He comes to a shaky stop beside her bed, gracelessly lowering himself to her side with grit teeth and a fleeting glimpse of a smile. “Hey, hey there, love. You’re awake.”

“Awake,” she echoes, her trembling fingers snagging at his side, in the edge of the gown. 

“You said - I know you said you could sleep for a week when we got home,” he whispers, his words wet with grief, falling apart on his tongue. She has no idea what he’s saying, what he means, but it’s breaking her heart. What’s left of it. “But I thought - I never thought you were being so literal.”

“What’re you talking about?” she grumbles, biting her lip as another firework of agony bursts through her ribs. “I’ve - been ‘sleep for a week?”

“Yes, you - they had to induce a coma,” he sighs, lowering his head to rest against hers. The solid press of his skull, the familiar kiss of his forehead to hers, anchors her, momentarily stops the dizzying spin of pain through her senses. “But I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up.”

Voices in the hallway steal their attention and Kate grits her teeth, shakes her head.

“Don’t let me go under again.”

“Kate,” he mumbles, but she tightens her grip in the hospital gown.

“Stay with me,” she rasps, because she can’t do it anymore. Can’t keep losing him, whether it’s in sleep or wakefulness. “Please, Castle-”

“I’ll stay, I’m staying,” he promises, his body shuddering with an inhale. “No matter what, I’ll stay.”

-

It isn’t easy - he’s a rock, unmoving from her side, and she’s a terror, arguing like a lawyer and baring her teeth any time the nurses try to make him go - but they eventually convince the staff to move an extra bed into her room. It’s sidled right up alongside hers, the two cots pushed together, close enough for her to touch him.

Not that she can take advantage of the opportunity. She can barely move.

Castle can, though, and he takes enough advantage of their proximity for both of them. 

He’s sitting up in his bed, delicately propped against a mountain of pillows. His fingers are combing through her hair, slow, stuttering strokes that tame the beast revived inside her sternum, claiming her abdomen. She’s still hazy, her recollection of those final moments falling into place slowly. 

So he catches her up to speed with that same cracking voice she woke to just a couple of hours ago.

“He just kept shooting. Kept shooting you and you - kept coming, firing back,” he recalls, his voice haunted with it, fingers clenching in her hair. 

“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you,” she breathes, nudging her nose to his knuckles. “Anymore than he already had.”

“I saw you go down,” he croaks, so much grief in his voice, in the memory. “Heard you hit the floor and then you just crawled to me, didn’t stop until you got to me.”

“Couldn’t die like that,” she gets out, tears crowding at her eyes. She’d blame it on the drugs, but it’s not that, not this time. It’s the remnants of realizing how it was going to end, bleeding out hand in hand on their kitchen floor, accepting that her life, their life, was over when it only just began. “I couldn’t die without you.” 

“No more dying,” he exhales, his thumb swiping at her chin, encountering a tear. “Kate, hey, please - don’t cry, sweetheart,” he whispers, but it only causes her tears to multiply. “I can’t get off this damn bed to hold you, so don’t cry.”

A strangled excuse for a laugh scrapes past her throat. 

“It’s not - I’m just relieved we made it,” she whispers, lifting her eyes to find his watching her. 

He looks so haggard, his face unshaven and his hair a mess that she longs to tame, but his eyes are bright. Glittery with a few tears, but staring down at her with that adoration he never manages to lose as long as he’s looking at her, no matter the situation. She wants to spend the rest of her life being worthy of that look, giving it right back to him. 

“Rick.” He hums in acknowledgement, grazing his thumb along her cheek, setting her ragged heart at ease. They’ll be okay, not today, not tomorrow, but someday soon. They’ll be okay. “I wanna take that trip to Paris now.”

Anonymous asked: Hi there can you please write something based on this prompt? If so then thank you !!!! “Castle: Come on. I didn’t drink that much last night. Martha: You were flirting with Kate. Castle: So what? She’s my girlfriend. Martha: You asked her if she was single and started crying when she said she wasn’t!”

bravevulnerability:

“What do you mean you’re not single?” he whines, can’t help it, because just look at her. She’s the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen, her eyes shining and her smile bright even in the dim light of the bar. 

And he’s been in love with her for too long to watch her be with another guy.

“You heard me, Castle,” she murmurs, her voice a throaty hum that makes this all so much more unbearable. “Happily taken.”

“By whom?” he huffs, watching one of those perfectly curved eyebrows rise. 

“Keeping your grammar intact even while you’re drunk,” she grins, impressed with him.

He preens, but… hey, wait-

“I am not drunk,” he protests, crossing his arms and swaying just a little too far to the left for his balance to keep up.

“Mm, I think so.”

“You never answered my question,” he reminds her. Ha, could a drunk guy remember that? “Who’s your boyfriend?”

“Why does that matter?” she challenges, crossing her legs and propping an elbow on the bar, chin cupped in her palm. They’re not alone, the Old Haunt milling with clusters of other patrons, a few of their friends. He thinks even his mother was supposed to come by tonight. Though, he can’t seem to remember what the occasion for the gathering is. “Gonna fight another man for me, Rick?”

God, he loves the way she says his first name.

Castle sucks in a deep breath, catching the flicker of her gaze to his chest. “Maybe.”

“You would not,” she scoffs, eyes returning to meet his as he takes a measured step forward. Her gaze is like gold, eyes engulfed in sparks of amber and flashes of green. Alight for him.

He sighs, because when she’s looking at him like this, he would. He probably wouldn’t win said fight against her very likely strong, muscular, square-jawed boyfriend, but he would damn well try. But - oh, oh, it’s all coming back to him now.

He remembers exactly who Kate’s dating. 

“Stupid motorcycle boy,” he grumbles, scraping a hand through his hair and searching for the bartender. He’s definitely in need of another drink. 

But Kate touches his arm, guides his attention back to her with ease.

“What did you just say?” she asks, but the warm weight of her hand is on his arm and she’s staring straight into his eyes. How is he supposed to come up with a coherent answer like this?

“Hmm?”

“Did you say motorcycle boy?”

He gives her long withering look, because yeah, yeah, he knows she doesn’t like it when he calls her doctor by that title.

“Josh,” he corrects with a scowl. Why hide it? Why did he ever hide it? Why did he ever even try to hold back from telling her the truth, everything that’s been true for so long? What was the point? “Not good enough for you.”

“Castle,” she sighs, her body sliding from the barstool to drift towards him. Her hands ascend to his face, cradling his cheeks. He just wants to close his eyes, stay here like this. “Josh is not my boyfriend. We broke up a long time ago, remember?”

His brow rockets to his hairline, heart rabbiting with fragile hope on the verge of bursting. 

“But-” His head tilts with automatic confusion, slow building horror. “Then who?”

Her lips quirk and her thumbs brush at the corners of his mouth. 

“The man I’m seeing… he’s amazing. Smart, funny, kind. The most beautiful heart.” Kate traces the forming frown lines parenthesizing his mouth. “He makes me feel extraordinary, loved.”

“He does?” he whispers, watching her smile grow. How can she look so ecstatic while he’s about to drown in devastation? 

“Yeah.” Her hands slip from his face, arms extending to lace around his neck instead, drawing her body in close against his. “He’s pretty hot too. Puts any other boyfriend I’ve had to shame.”

When the hell did she find this apparent total package? And if she’s so in love with her perfect man, why is she touching him like this? 

Why is she playing with his heart before she crushes it for good?

“I love you more,” he mumbles, dropping his forehead to knock against hers. “Love you the most, Kate. Always have.”

“I know, baby,” she whispers, gentle fingers stroking through the fine hairs at his nape. “That’s why I’m marrying you.”

Castle startles, jarred backwards by her statement. But she doesn’t let him go far. 

“Wait, wait, you were talking about - I’m the boyfriend?” he gasps, even as her face falls apart with laughter right in front of him.

“Fiancé,” she corrects, withdrawing one of her hands back from his neck to show off the glitter of an engagement ring. “Only man I would ever marry, Castle.”

He exhales a sharp sigh of relief and surges forward, pressing a kiss to her mouth that has her grinning before she’s rising on her toes for more. 

“Don’t scare me like that,” he grumbles, nuzzling her cheek before burying his face in her neck. He knows he’s hanging on her, suffocating her most likely, but he’s tired and heavy with alcohol (okay, fine, she’s right and he’s pretty drunk) and she’s so soft and warm and going to marry him.

Wow, he’s a lucky guy.

“I’m sorry,” she chuckles, her chin digging into his shoulder. “Don’t drink so much next time.”

“Never drinking again,” he vows, humming at the slip of her hand beneath his jacket, the anchor of her palm so soothing at his spine. “Not if I’m going to forget that I’m yours.”

“Mm, yes. Mine,” she affirms, sealing her knuckles into his back. “Let’s go home, see if we can sober you up a little.”

“Trying to get me into your bed, Beckett?” he teases, straightening up, holding to her hips to keep the room from spinning. “Wait, it’s our bed, isn’t it? So I’m always in bed with you, aren’t I? Because we’re together.”

He’s with it enough to witness the roll of her eyes. But it isn’t true aggravation flickering across her face. He thinks he can see affection lining her eyes, can feel it in the feather of her lips over his.

“Yes, Rick,” she whispers, the touch of her mouth enough to coax him closer to sobriety. “We’re together.”

kate–beckett:

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kate–beckett:

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i-heart-scully:

Mulder and Scully through the seasons + hands 

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Anonymous asked: Could you write a fic in which the new baby wakes up in the middle of the night and Mulder wakes up to soothe her? Maybe Scully walks in on them? Thanks!! Love your fics btw.

mulderandscullyforever:

baronessblixen:

Thanks for the prompt! this is also for my favorite @realmofextremepossibility who asked for a fic inspired by the song It Won’t Be Like This For Long by Darius Rucker (you don’t have to listen to it if country isn’t your thing). This is pure fluff! Enjoy :) @today-in-fic

When the soft sniffling on the baby monitor changes its tune and turns into a full blow cry, Mulder heaves his body out of bed. His bare feet shuffle out the room, his eyes barely open. It’s sheer luck that he doesn’t crash into the door, trip over shoes, a toy.  

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” He murmurs as he reaches the nursery. The baby is fussy, but her crying is still gentle, almost quiet; Scully probably would have waited a moment longer. Not Mulder. He has been up all night, he feels, as if waiting. His daughter, this precious miracle, is keeping him awake night and day. Mulder picks her up easily, his hands accustomed to her tiny body, her slight weight. She settles down as soon as she is in her father’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Mulder holds her head and sways to an inaudible song that must be in his mind. Or maybe he just follows the rhythm of their heartbeats.

“I’ve never been this tired, Katie girl.” His hand absent-mindedly strokes the girl’s back. “I don’t know how your mommy does it. I’m too old. Am I too old, Katie?” His daughter remains quiet, merely drools on his shirt. The concept of age as elusive to her as that of a good night’s sleep.

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