AN: Follows the events of 7x14, "Resurrection". Builds upon one to two quick images derived from the ABC promo for 7x15, therefore minimal spoiler warning.


madness


He's first through the door. He shoulders past Espo and Ryan, muscles his way through the bulk of the swat team; no regard for his safety; he can't think of the danger, can't see any risk because it doesn't matter, nothing matters except her. Seeing her. Finding her.

Kate.

It's been so long; too long. Minutes, seconds ticked by like years, endless, breathless. There were no leads, not a single hint of where she'd disappeared to and he was going mad. Insane with blazing rage, and with fear, his blood ice-cold in his veins and his stomach churning with vicious acid until finally, finally they'd found something.

Then it was fast, assembling the swat team, moving out to get her, this force of soldiers, swift and large and black, yet to Castle it felt like a centuries had passed.

He shoves through the metal door that's been rammed open, that had caved with the sheer force of everyone's anger, his eyes racing across the vast expanse of the warehouse until-

"Beckett- No!" He shouts; screams, really, his eyes frozen on the slumped form that's bound to the chair, the long, light-brown hair matted to her head, hanging limply across her face, no longer golden and shiny, but dull and lifeless instead. As lifeless as the wilted body in the chair that doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge the echo of his screams, the roar of the swat team around him.

Later, he won't remember how he crossed the warehouse to get to her, won't recall the way his steps echoed as he ran, tripped, just barely caught himself, the way his scream bounced off the walls, a desperate, piercing, blood-curdling sound; won't recall anything but the moment he sank to his knees before her and she didn't move.

She won't move.

His hands shake as he reaches for her and he knows the answer, the brutal, surreal reality before he even cradles her face between his palms. Her cheeks are so cold to the touch, leached of the unique warmth that's always made her her, the strangulation marks angry-red and stark-vivid against the pale skin of her throat.

"No… no no no no no," He sobs, whispers, screams, fingers trembling, pushing the hair off her face, haphazard as they trip over her cheekbones, wipe at the softness beneath her eyes where her skin is tinted blue with the pain she must've endured before… before…

"I'm so sorry-" His knees crash to the cold concrete floor, shooting pain through his kneecaps that he doesn't feel, tears racing down his cheeks that he doesn't notice. He grips her hands, limp and so cold, his thumb circling the tender skin stretched across the back of her hands in the way that had always made her shiver even before he was allowed to love her.

Now, she doesn't shiver.

He sinks his forehead to her knees, hands clinging to hers, waiting for her to squeeze back, for any twitch of her fingers but there's nothing.

Only silence, stark and white and deafening, pushing against his ear drums, squeezing his head like a vice, metal plates crushing his skull.

He's too late.

He didn't protect her when she needed it most. He had promised to protect her. Made vows.

He'd failed her.

And now, there is nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.


AN: (story spoiler of sorts, for those who may worry)

Please note that a) this is not marked complete, b) this is not marked tragedy. Not everything is as it appears...