Okay, so this is a little odd…I normally can't do sad. But my Grandather died at two A.M. yesterday(August 10th) and I really needed to get something to paper. It's slightly out of character, but harsh situations tend to do that to people and it's not too OOC that it's bad (or I wouldn't post it). All I can ask is for no flames.
***Rest In Piece PopPop***
This was something he had never considered. This was not what he had expected when he came home late that night. He hadn't expected to find his daughter asleep in front of the fire surrounded by used tissues and her ipod headphones blasting into her ears. He hadn't expected to find an empty bottle of wine outside his mother's room (okay, so maybe he expected that one) and his girlfriend's shoes at the side of the door in a pile with the others. No, Kate Beckett had her habits, one of them being she actually put her shoes back in her room. Rick instantly knew something was wrong. His heart was torn, what should he do first? Cary his daughter up to her room, or find Kate? After a moment he decided to leave Alexis where she was. Whenever she intentionally fell asleep somewhere other than her bed (and it sure looked as though that was what had happened) she generally wanted to stay there. So he made his way to his bedroom, not sure of what he would find, but positive he would find her there.
Rick tried to quiet his footsteps as he padded across the spacious loft, avoiding every loud section of floor. Once he made his way to his room he was shocked to find pitch black and no sign of human life other than the light streaming from the crack of the bathroom door. A quick glance around the room was all he needed to confirm something was wrong.
In the corner opposite the bathroom he found the most terrifying thing he had seen in his life; a pair of bloodstained scissors, her gun (the safety was off. She never left it off.) a pen and a note pad, together they had formed the beginning of a letter. Due to the fact that something had blurred the text all he could make out was that it was addresses to him. The letter was still damp from tears, and a few droplets of blood.
Being a story teller his mind went into overdrive, cranking out at least ten of the worst scenarios. Pushing them out of his mind he made his way towards the bathroom, praying to discover the answers he had been searching for. In the middle of his floor he tripped over something—her clothes, They formed a pile, every single inch of cloth was soaking wet. He frowned. He assumed she had walked here from her place in the middle of the thunderstorm. It was only a mile walk and when she needed to think she would walk, Kate claimed it helped her focus. The fact that her clothes lie on the floor was even more proof something was wrong—if you were stupid enough to not put everything else together. Kate didn't do anything half assed. Whether it was a case, making dinner, or putting her clothes away.
He couldn't help the feeling of stupidity he was experiencing, as though the answer was right in front of him and yet he was too blind—or moronic –to put two and two together. This only increased his sense of worry, and he darted to the bathroom.
The sight that greeted him was even worse than what he believed to be the beginnings of a suicide note he had discovered only moments ago.
The form of Kate Beckett was visible through the shower curtain. The usually composed detective was on her knees, sobbing under the warm spray of water that had fogged up the entire room. Her father's watch (which too housed a few drops of blood) lie on the floor atop a fluffy towel, the contrast between the two items was exactly what he needed for his brain to start functioning again.
The answer hit him with the strength of a slap in the face. Kate's father had been in the hospital all week, and hadn't been doing well. He, Kate, Alexis and his mother had been planning to go visit him tomorrow morning.
That wasn't going to happen.
His heart was shattering into even more miniscule pieces each second he wasted staring at her. He longed to wrap his arms around her, to hold her while she mourned, but the fact that he was fully dresses would only complicate things. Quickly, he peeled off everything before slipping into the shower behind his beautiful princess, the armed, dangerous and elegantly graceful Kate Beckett.
She recognizes his presence instantly, but could not bring herself to stop sobbing to respond. There was nothing left in her body, an empty shell that had been filled with hopelessness and a sense of loss she couldn't imagine fading.
He kneels behind her, and wraps his arms around her, somehow managing to rearrange them so that they're facing each other, rather than him facing her back. Her tears, steadily following as strongly as the sobs racking her body are now shed into his shoulder, rather than her hands. "My Dad," she manages to choke out before he shushes her.
"I know," and although nobody has confirmed it he knows, he always knows. "I'm here for you, Kate, whatever and whenever,"
She manages to slow her breath enough to ask if he found her note.
Rick nods as he reaches for her left wrist, and sure enough he discovers the blade marks scratched into her skin, and he can't help but stare as the deep crimson mixes with the water falling all around them, slowly fading into pink before disappearing into the clear water. His lips brush against her wrist, not harming her, but he ends up with her blood on his lip, yet he can't bring himself to care about that detail. "Katie, promise me you won't—"
"I couldn't," she chokes out. "I won't." and then the tears consume her again.
He knows this will be hard. The loss of somebody you love is always painful. Factor in Kate's history and the fact that she has lost her father and things would undoubtedly be harsh these following days, months even. That doesn't matter. All he knows is that he'll be there for her every step of the way.