Happenstance

a season 8 possibility, spoilers through 8x05 The Nose

"We make choices but are constantly foiled by happenstance."
-Penelope Lively

It's happenstance.

He's not thinking about anything.

He does his best to not think, really, these days. Not think about what's missing, how things have gotten here.

He almost misses it.

Alexis is in the kitchen making a sandwich to take to class, talking a blue streak about the latest PI case, a steady chatter that keeps him minimally distracted. Castle is in and out of the living room, wandering between his daughter's company and his laptop on the desk where he's supposed to be researching for the novel.

The television is on in his study because of the noon news; he doesn't want to miss a potential opportunity to wander into one of the Twelfth's homicides. But he's about to walk back through to the living room and ask Alexis what exactly Hayley has been teaching her when his attention is snagged by a breaking news bulletin.

He stands just inside the living room with his body turned towards the office television, staring at the strobing blue and red lights in the live report, the reporter's sober delivery. Two NYPD officers shot-

"Dad?"

His chest caves in.

"Dad, is that in Manhattan?" Alexis gasps, sliding through the doorway to notch up the volume.

Two NYPD officers shot and killed in the 800 block of 7th Avenue-

"That's Carnegie Hall area," Alexis breathes. "Is Kate-"

"I don't know. I don't know," he gets out, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I don't know."

The phone rings once down the line. Picks up immediately. A rush of her breath, voice low, strained. "It's not me; I'm okay. No one from our house."

A sound comes out of him he can't control, he catches the bookcase to hang on. "G-good," he manages, can't, can't do this, space.

Space, space, give her space.

He tilts his phone and ends the call, throat tight.

"Dad, is Kate-"

"She's fine. Not the Twelfth." He stares resolutely at the news report, not seeing. "I'm going to work on the book."

Her bright surprise, proud of him. "Oh, that's good, Dad." Alexis frowns at her watch. "I have class in like thirty minutes."

"Finish making your lunch, get going. You'll be late." He moves automatically for his laptop, barely sees the screen. He's trying not to shake. "Have - fun in class."

"Yeah, I have to hurry. Bye, Dad. Write well," she says, a kiss on his cheek as she moves back for the kitchen.

He heads into his bedroom, but he can still hear the news. The laptop he lays on the bed and then he moves into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Muffled. Everything is muffled.

His heart is still beating too hard, making him mute.

He leans back against the door, swallowing past the knot in his throat. Swallowing hard again. He presses his hand over his eyes and tries to breathe.

His knees give out. He sinks down to the floor, bowing his head.

It's not her. They have time. There's still time.

She uses her key, pushes in through the door only to find Alexis on the other side, arrested.

Kate halts. "Your father called."

"He saw the news." Alexis glances behind her. Bag over her shoulder. "He's in there writing if you-"

Kate moves forward, shedding her coat over the back of the chair, heading for the office.

Empty.

"Bye, Kate!" Alexis calls out, a warning maybe. But entirely too upbeat for a day like this, for the darkness in his voice Kate heard on the phone when he called. The front door shuts, the sound of the key turning the lock even as Kate pushes through to the bedroom.

But it's empty as well.

Kate pauses, turns her head to survey the room. He's hiding from Alexis, then. He doesn't want his daughter to know.

The bathroom door is closed.

She used to do the same thing, but in her closet or wedged between furniture. Hide from - whoever, everyone, the truth. Her messed up life.

Kate raps once on the bathroom door and opens it without waiting.

It's dark, but he's hunched on the floor with his knees drawn up, a hand over his face. "Alexis, I'm-"

"Babe," she whispers, going to her knees behind him.

Castle freezes. Doesn't look at her. Won't.

She leans forward and draws her arms around him, pressing her face into his shoulder blade and breathing.

His hand comes to settle over one of hers; he's trembling.

"It wasn't me," she tries. "I should've called you when I got the news."

"Wasn't you," he echoes. His voice sounds strange. Hollow.

Emotionless.

"A traffic stop," she gives him. "Just routine. Ended badly. But it wasn't me, Rick."

"Wasn't you." His hand tremors once and goes still, pressing hard against her. "But next time. Whatever you're doing, just your job, and I'd be - here. I would just be here, no idea you were already gone-"

"No," she grits out. But it catches roughly in her chest and she sobs his name, all of her own desperate want surging to her lips. "Rick. No, don't think about-"

"While you're - dying. Shot and bleeding out - on the grass alone, alone-"

He breaks, buries his hands in his face.

She breaks with him, breathing raggedly into his oxford dress shirt, the scent of laundry and a day's living, the musk of him she's missed desperately. She's crying, staining the cotton, when he shifts and drags her into his lap, and suddenly she's the one being comforted while he cradles the back of her head.

"I don't want to live with that. Can't live with that. A news report." His head turns blindly down to her, grief etched so deeply in his face it spills tears out of her eyes. "If you die alone. And I don't even know why - for what? You're just gone."

"No," she moans, turning into him.

His mouth finds hers for a kiss that burns, urgent and seeking, his hand tangled in the knot of her hair. She tries not to want it so much, but his other palm is hot on her thigh and sliding up under the hem of her dress, thumb touching intimately. She gasps and comes away, catching his jaw to pull back.

"No," he growls, his frustration pouring out over her. "Damn it."

Kate wipes her fingers under her cheeks and withdraws, getting to her knees to tug her dress down. He hangs his head, scrapes a hand down his face.

And she can't do it any more.

Kate stands, leaning to one side to open the shower door. She flips the lever and the spray cuts on hard, pounding the tile.

Castle is pinching the bridge of his nose, as if trying to defeat tears or anger, as if giving up on understanding her. She reaches back and catches the zipper of her dress, her chest thrust forward so she can pull it down.

Castle's head comes up.

She shimmies her shoulders and the dress falls; she pushes it down her hips and it drops to a puddle on the floor. Castle stands, the faint light from the bedroom smudging his edges, making him appear bigger and taller somehow.

She left her shoes in the living room.

"Kate." A question but not questioning too hard.

In only her underwear, she steps into him and starts on the buttons of his shirt. His hands come up to help even as his eyes bore into hers, confusion, demand.

Not a whole lot of hope, but that only flares hers hotter, fiercer. Makes her desperate.

She works on his pants, leaning in close, the heat of his body causing her fingers to fumble.

"I need to tell you everything," she gets out. "But I'm afraid."

His hands cup her face. "If you die without me, I will never forgive you."

"Get in the shower," she urges. She's already made her choice, damned if she does. "It will mask our conversation."

"If we get in that shower," he growls back, "we're not going to be talking."

"Give me - five minutes and then - then see if you still want me."

"Give you all the time you need. Still going to want you." His hands gentle and his mouth ghosts her cheek where her tears smeared. "Still love you. So much it hurts."

She's going to have to tell him everything.