Castle 1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Kate**

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><p>"It's the moments that save my life nobody knows about, like flashlights<p>

There's just enough hope when it shines to go one scared step at a time

When the world's too dark I find your flashlight."

- Flashlight, Hunter Hayes.

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><p>The bell above the door jingles, a gust of cold air bursting through the café, all the way to the back wall where she sits. Her gaze drops from the door when she realises that it's not who she's waiting for, and she takes a deep breath.<p>

_It has only been ten minutes. _

She's nervous enough as it is, but the flicker of anxiety that flares whenever someone is running late only makes the churning in her stomach worse.

She circles the band on her finger in a continuing attempt to grow accustomed to the feeling, the ring heavy and unfamiliar.

She's almost tempted to conceal it, to twist the band so that the diamond presses into her palm, but she resists, knowing she can't hide it forever. With the modest stone glinting in the light, she knows it won't go unnoticed for long. She lifts her gaze from the ring at the sound of the door, her fingers still toying with it mindlessly when she sees Alexis, waving at her with a wide smile.

She grins instantly, stunned by just how much older Alexis looks when it has only been six months. Then again, maybe it's the way she's pushing the stroller across the café with such a practised hand, appearing as if she's been doing it for years, not ten weeks.

Kate swallows, fighting back inexplicable tears that threaten to cloud her vision at the slightest glimpse of the child, grateful that she has a few moments to pull herself together before Alexis reaches the table.

"Hey," she says, embracing Alexis and kissing her cheek before looking to the baby, who sleeps soundly beside a stuffed frog.

"Sorry I'm late," Alexis says, rolling her eyes as she takes a seat. "I underestimated the time it would take to get here."

Kate grins, finding her nerves fade instantly, and she sits back down, teasing.

"Forgetting what the city is like?"

Alexis ignores her playful barb, pulling off her coat. "Elliot wanted to come, but he got roped into some conference call. It's our first day of vacation, but apparently they can't live without him, so you've just got me and Sammy."

"Sammy…"

Her eyes flit to the stroller beside the table, the child oblivious to the world and so content in his sleep, his dark hair sticking up in tufts.

"He's beautiful, Alexis," she says sincerely, caught off guard by the visions that play through her mind unwarranted, the fantasies that she let go of years ago, when she was forced to let go of him. The ones that detailed a future with kids of her own.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get across to see him when he was born."

She wonders if Alexis can hear that her tone is too purposeful, the lie inherent in the sincerity of the apology. It's grating to her own ears, but she hopes it isn't too noticeable.

She could have made it happen. She had a ticket booked and everything, but they caught a high profile case, and even though the boys were willing to cover for her, she was selfish and she took the easy way out.

Eight years later and it was too much, too hard to witness such a momentous event without him. _Eight years_, and she was unable to put her own grief aside and support the only person who kept her going, the one person who showed her how to have the strength to stay standing in the wake of such tragedy.

"It's okay," Alexis smiles, easy to forgive, as always. "We were already coming out here, so you were going to see him anyway."

"Yeah," she hums, somehow unable to take her eyes off the child, caught off guard by how much he looks like his grandfather. The unruly hair that sticks out defiantly, the shape of his face …

"Kate!"

Alexis is shrieking excitedly, and Kate is snapped from her reverie as she feels her hand tugged across the table.

"Tim proposed?!"

She had forgotten, distracted by Sammy and the sight of Alexis as a mother, and it takes her a moment to catch up. Alexis is staring at the ring, so enthusiastic, and Kate wonders if it's a bad sign that Alexis seems more excited than she is.

"Yeah," she confirms, pressing her lips together at the memory of the proposal.

He had been so considerate, so unbelievably _Tim_, taking her hand across the dinner table and asking if she'd be willing to marry him. He'd been simultaneously hesitant and confident; explaining that he wanted to face the world with her by his side, but he'd known it was a risk.

He'd known that she never planned to marry, didn't believe in the fairy tale anymore, but he had that look in his eyes, that same look he had when he first asked her out, having to clarify that it was a date. They'd been friends for a year, and he'd taken her hand and promised not to push her, vowing that he wasn't going to be scared away by the fact that she was more than a little broken. He had promised to put her back together, and even though she still has jagged edges, he's done a pretty good job. So she said yes to his proposal, just had she had the date, finding that even though the word escaped without permission, it was something she wanted – someone by her side.

"We're going to do the city hall thing," she tells Alexis. "I'm not sure when, but I'd… I'd love for you to be there."

Her heart is beating wildly in her chest as she waits for a response, but she isn't caught off guard by the intense need to have Alexis there. She knows that it's a strange relationship, one some fail to understand, but Alexis had been the one to pull her out of her grief, to show her that it was okay to let him go, and from the shared trauma formed a bond that won't break.

Once upon a time, Rick made her promise to look out for his daughter if anything happened to him, and at the time she never even considered the possibility that she would be the one needing Alexis.

"I wouldn't miss it," Alexis promises, a smile on her face. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

There's nothing but pure joy on her face, and Kate's cheeks darken with shame as she confesses.

"I wasn't sure how you'd take it," she admits. "I mean-"

"You should be happy, Kate," Alexis interrupts, knowing exactly where this is going and reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. "He makes you happy, I've seen it. You should have that," she says firmly, knowing that she has to be clear.

"I still miss him," Kate confesses, feeling the grief sneak up on her unexpectedly. "My heart is still his, and he's never coming back."

The tears she managed to restrain at the sight of the grandchild he'll never meet come flooding down her cheeks, and she looks to the window, embarrassed.

"Tim's in there, too, I know he is," Alexis says, coaxing her gaze back with her kind tone, and Kate snorts. He is, the bastard. He wormed his way into her heart when she wasn't looking, and now she wants to marry him.

How did that happen?

"He's a good guy," Alexis adds, and Kate exhales slowly, feeling the lingering doubts slip away. She hadn't realised that Alexis' approval was weighing on her so heavily.

"He is."

She's managed to find possibly the only man in the world who is okay with the fact that the one person she needs at their wedding is her late fiancé's daughter. A man who knows her heart will never belong entirely to him. There's no doubting his character.

Sammy wakes with a soft cry and Alexis reaches for him, as Kate tries to hide her reaction to the sight of the two-month-old's brilliant blue eyes.

"You want to hold him?" Alexis asks, not missing the look on her face, and Kate wants to decline, has the words on the tip of her tongue, but her hands are extending before her brain has a say in the matter.

"Hey, Sam," she whispers, the baby blinking up at her, and she smiles at Alexis, floored by the young woman.

"I don't know how you do it," she confesses in a small whisper. "It's like looking right at him."

She doesn't say that he looks just like the babies she envisioned she'd have when they were a part of her plan. The blue eyes, the dark hair like their father.

"Genetics," Alexis shrugs. "It's a funny thing. He got Elliot's floppy ears," she chuckles. "And his eyes, they're so serious, so-"

"Like yours," Kate finishes. "I'm so proud of you," she murmurs, unsure if it's really her place, but unable to supress the pride that swells in her chest, needing to be voiced. "I wish he'd have been here to see this."

"You are," Alexis says, smiling, as if it's enough.

* * *

><p>She comes home to find Tim in the kitchen making some sort of stir-fry, and she smiles at him when he gives her a hesitant look.<p>

"Everything go okay with Alexis?"

She nods slightly, coming up behind him to hug him, resting her head on his shoulders.

He hates cooking, and more often than not they'll order in, but she knows he's trying to cheer her up – a kind of preventative measure – and she loves him for it.

"She's happy for us," she reports, still a little in awe of the young woman.

He twists in her arms, an easy smile on his face.

"I told you you had nothing to worry about."

She can't reciprocate the smile, and he catches it instantly.

"If you're not sure-"

"No," she smiles, trying her best. She can't tell him that the sight of Alexis with her son, a baby that so closely resembles the children she imagined she'd have threw her off balance. She can't explain to him the conversations they used to have about the future, about not waiting to have children because they didn't want to be having kids when Alexis did.

"I want to marry you," she says, the truth of the statement undeniable.

She always thought that she'd get married once, and that would be it. She was never one to commit to something unless she was certain, and she had faith that she'd never settle for less than the fairy tale.

The mess surrounding her wedding to Castle proved her wrong, though, and then she was convinced that it didn't matter. She didn't care that he wasn't her first husband, because he was all that she'd ever dreamed of, a love she had doubted she'd ever find, and that was more than enough. She was going to marry Richard Castle, and spend the rest of her life with him, and nothing else mattered.

When she lost him, when he'd disappeared without a trace and she was forced to give up all hope of finding him, she was sure she'd never marry.

But Tim…

She loves him.

Not in the all-consuming way she loves – loved – Castle, but she does.

He's someone she's content to come home to every day, someone who loves her, too.

He's taught her that maybe that's enough.

* * *

><p>Work is brutal.<p>

The case they thought they'd closed the day before yesterday is reopened when a second victim is found while their suspect is in custody. At the prospect of being charged with another murder, his alibi comes out, and they're turning him over to narcotics and they're back to square one, now with two victims. To top it all off, the feds are circling, deeming their case serial due to the two victims having no connection apart from their striking physical similarities.

She curses under her breath as she reworks the murder board, realising that any hope she had of spending time with Alexis while she's in town is diminishing by the second.

But then the feds are moving, a flurry of suits and impatience, Esposito and Ryan bringing up the rear and she's following unquestioningly.

She's briefed on the way, about security cam footage picking up the same guy tailing both of the victims on crowded streets, and when they get to his apartment he has a third woman tied to a chair, a knife pressed to her neck.

He's no match for the handful of feds and team of cops that crowd the room, and she knows that the case is done. He's a mess, an amateur who slipped up, and at this point the interrogation is a mere formality. She lets the fed – Murray – take the lead, running through a textbook interrogation as Stuart Delart exercises his right to remain silent. They don't need a confession, the evidence stacked against him is more than enough to make a case, but she'd like the satisfaction of knowing that it's over, that no other surprises are going to bit them in the ass. There's an air of confidence about him that wasn't present in the shaking, mess of a man they arrested, and it makes her gut twist in quiet dread. She knows he has a plan, some way to turn the tables, but she can't fathom how it's going to get him out of this.

Then he opens his mouth, and everything changes.

"If you want to know where to find Richard Castle, you'll let me go."

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><p><strong>AN:**

**This is my first multi-chapter Castle fic. *Deep breath*.**

**Updates should be weekly :)**

**Tumblr: l03l**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Kate**

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><p>"<em>If you want to know where to find Richard Castle, you'll let me go."<em>

* * *

><p>She feels it acutely, the moment her whole world shifts.<p>

Her perception skews instantly, and she struggles not to show it. She doesn't want to give this asshole the satisfaction of a reaction, of knowing that he's knocked her off balance, but her veins are ice cold and she can't _breathe_.

It might have been eight years, but it was a well-publicised tragedy.

The disappearance and assumed death of famous mystery novelist Richard Castle on the day he was set to wed his muse, NYPD detective Katherine Beckett. No one could keep it out of the papers.

He's bluffing.

He has to be.

She repeats it like a mantra three times before opening her mouth to respond, but either she isn't hiding her reaction as well as she thought, or Esposito is afraid that she's going to say something stupid, because he's in the room and grabbing her by the shoulders before she can speak.

She's dragged out the door like an invalid, or maybe her legs just aren't working properly, and Espo is taking her place beside Murray while Ryan holds a hand to the centre of her back, keeping her upright.

"Ryan-" she begins, not nearly as angry as she wants to sound. Instead, her voice comes out weak and desperate, entirely unrecognisable, and she clears her throat in an attempt to gain some control of it.

"It's gunna be okay," he says, and she rolls her eyes at the useless platitude she must have heard a million times in the wake of Castle's disappearance.

She moves to her desk in defiance, leaving Ryan to return to observation because she's clearly not wanted. Instead, she stares at the murder board, at the victims and Stuart Delart, trying to decipher how it could possibly connect to his disappearance. She's still failing to draw any rational conclusions when Ryan and Espo return, Murray by their side.

"He says that if we let him go, if we drop all charges for the murders, he'll lead us to Castle."

She doesn't understand.

"Why… Why now?" She wonders. "What's going on?"

She doesn't want to believe it. Doesn't want to give hope a place in her heart only to be disappointed – again – but she sees the look in their eyes.

They're tempted, too.

One glance at Murray tells her that it's irrelevant. The feds don't want to let their serial killer walk on the small chance that he has information on an eight year old cold case, and she feels it building, the anxiety that she has spent years trying to eradicate.

"I can't do this."

She leaves the precinct without another word, her head spinning too fast to keep up with.

It can't be true.

It has been eight _years_.

He can't be alive.

What if she gave up on him and he's alive?

* * *

><p>She struggles with it more than she should, but she ultimately finds herself in Dr Burke's waiting room instead of at a liquor store, and she's proud of the decision.<p>

She's spiralling; the guilt is compounding quickly, and there's a fist around her heart that makes it impossible to breathe. She can barely get a thought straight in her head, and her confusion fuels frustration, because she has spent years in this office trying to heal, and at the slightest glimpse of a lead she's falling.

Is he really alive? Has he been alive this whole time, right under her nose and she hasn't found him?

Burke sees her almost immediately, and from the state she was in when she greeted his receptionist, she's not surprised. That, and the fact that she will probably single-handedly pay for his retirement with the amount of time she's spent in his office would have guaranteed her the last minute appointment.

She spends three hours in the room, trying to make sense of the mixture of grief and guilt swirling through her veins, and when she emerges from the building, she can breathe, but she's just as uncertain as before.

What she needs is the truth from Stuart Delart, now that she can at least think straight.

She turns on her phone as she's hailing a cab, surprised to find missed calls from Alexis. While she was expecting the update from the precinct, she wasn't expecting anything from Alexis, least of all eleven missed calls with accompanying voicemails and a handful of text messages begging for a response.

She calls her rather than listen to the voicemails, and despite that wretched hope that is making her heart race; she is in no way prepared for the conversation.

_Kate?_

_Where are you? _

_Esposito called; said they have dad at New York Pres. _

_What is going on?_

_I'm headed there now, where are you?_

Holy _shit_.

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><p>She's barely walking in a straight line when she enters the hospital, the mess that is her head apparently compromising her motor function.<p>

She's thankful that Ryan is waiting for her in the lobby, with a hand to guide her to the elevator and some sort of explanation.

"He's on three. He's… He's alive."

He's _alive_.

She barely hears the rest of what he has to say; beyond he's alive and that they were able to strike a deal with Delart, and oh God he's _alive_.

Elliot is standing in the corridor with Sammy in his arms, and she moves to him blindly, barely aware of Ryan at her back.

"Alexis is with him," Elliot states, his eyes grave. "She said to send you in."

She blinks, inexplicably hesitant. She looks back to Ryan, desperate for some kind of reassurance, but he just stares back at her, giving nothing away as to Castle's condition.

It's not as if she can turn away now.

She reaches for the door handle, trembling, and she takes a breath, steels herself.

_It isn't difficult, Kate _her psyche mocks, and she forces her way through the motions, pushing the door open and moving forward, completely unprepared for the sight of him.

"Rick."

His name escapes in a breathless whisper, and she blinks repeatedly, still uncertain that this is real.

He's small, so small in the hospital bed, his eyes lacking any kind of recognisable spark and his skin so pale, tubes and wires crowding his body.

She never thought she'd see him again.

She squeezes her eyes shut so hard it hurts and then opens them slowly, still doubting what she's seeing and completely confused as to how this happened.

He's holding his hand out to her, and she shuffles closer, because she can give him that much, clasping his hand in hers and pressing her lips together at the sight of the crisp white bandages circling his wrists.

"Castle."

He smiles at her, a small stretch of his lips that is different from the smirk she remembers, and she tries her best to return the gesture, failing miserably.

"Don't cry," he says, his voice scratchy, and she touches her cheeks to find them wet with tears.

"Alexis is married," he says, confusion painted all over his face, and she chokes out a laugh.

"She is."

It's then that he traces the ring on her finger, frowning as he realises that it isn't the one he gave her.

"So are you."

* * *

><p>"No," she's quick to disagree, but the promise inherent in the ring remains a chasm between them. He's waiting for her to elaborate, quiet disbelief in his eyes. She knows that it will only get worse once she explains that it's another man's ring she wears now, and for that reason, she can't force the words from her mouth.<p>

"She's engaged," Alexis supplies softly, after a few too many minutes of uncomfortable silence, and Castle blinks once, as if trying to comprehend the news, before his eyes glaze over and he squeezes them shut.

"Engaged."

His voice is a broken whisper, and she hates herself for doing this to him when he already looks so broken.

"It's been eight years, dad," Alexis says quietly.

"I don't understand," he croaks mournfully, and her heart breaks at the sight of him, the anguish visible in every tensed muscle, the tears leaking from his closed eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, knowing it will never be enough.

* * *

><p>They're asked to leave the room when the on-call psychiatrist comes in to speak to him, and she hovers in the hallway, unwilling to take her eyes off him.<p>

Alexis asks Elliot to take Sammy back to the hotel while Ryan stands nearby, clearly waiting to give her the answers she needs, the explanation she couldn't process before.

He starts from the beginning, his voice informative and familiar. She's not sure what Alexis knows, not sure if she's already heard it, but she clutches her hand for support, desperate for something tangible to anchor her to reality.

The feds managed to negotiate with Delart, who was in over his head, even with the power he held with his knowledge of Castle's case. The deal was immunity for the two murders, provided that his information led to finding Castle. His agreement left him open to be charged with the kidnapping and attempted murder of the third victim, as well as any charges in relation to his involvement in Castle's disappearance, which they are now trying to prove.

When he says that they found Castle in a basement apartment in the city, her heart clenches and she tightens her hold on Alexis.

The moment they kicked the door down it went south.

The place was owned by Lydia Livingston, who they found in the bedroom with a scalpel to her neck, ranting manically about her husband. It wasn't until after she drew the knife across her throat in a motion so quick they could do nothing to prevent it that they realised she was talking about Castle.

She struggles to comprehend it all, even after it was explained so clearly, but she doesn't miss the abrupt end to the retelling.

"Where was he?" She presses out, seeing the reluctance in Ryan's eyes.

"He was there. He tried to stop her. He was…" He swallows visibly, his gaze flitting from her to Alexis. "Inconsolable."

The length of his absence hits that much harder, and she tries to ignore the possible reasons for his reaction, but they flit through her brain unwanted.

"He was calm when I saw him," Alexis murmurs, and Kate can see the same scenarios playing through her mind too.

Ryan has no explanation for it, and for the first time, she sees the haunted look in his eyes.

"He's been seen by a doctor," she confirms, turning to Alexis, who nods.

"They said that he's okay. He was restrained," she pauses, taking a breath. "His feet. He'll need physical therapy to walk properly again. His hands aren't as bad. They think that he became compliant or that he was drugged, because he has more mobility than they expected."

Alexis is speaking purposefully, trying her best to hold it together, and she isn't doing much better. The thought of him being held against his will, being restrained for eight years is too much, and she's thankful she didn't see it because she's not sure she could have stomached the image.

But the possibility that he became compliant, that she didn't need to restrain him to keep him there…

"I thought he was dead," Ryan blurts, and she realises that she's not the only one blaming herself.

"We all did," she responds, dividing the culpability.

Her reassurance does little to assuage the guilt in Ryan's eyes, but there's no rationalising it now. They all assumed he was dead because they found no evidence to the contrary, and he was being held in New York the entire time.

How did they not find him sooner?

"I need to get back to the precinct," Ryan says, departing with a tight hug for each of them, and she glances from the sign prohibiting cell phones to the now closed elevator doors.

"I need to call Tim," she says, needing the accountability from Alexis; because the reluctance she feels is paralysing.

But she can't fathom letting Castle out of her sight, not now, so she needs to let Tim know she may be home late. Somehow she has to explain to him what she can barely comprehend herself.

He's alive.

She finds her way to the entrance of the building, pulling her phone from her pocket as she steps outside. She waits for the call to go to voicemail, knowing that he won't answer, because he's still at work.

She's a coward.

She'd rather leave a message than wait a couple of hours and talk to him then, or call the office and get them to put her through to him, because she's confused enough without having to process his response. She knows he'll be nothing but understanding, but his compassionate nature is too much to handle when she's so utterly undeserving.

She leaves a rambling message she hopes makes some kind of sense, and retraces her path back to Castle's room. Alexis is no longer waiting outside, and a glance through the small window in the door tells her that he is finished with the psychiatrist, so she slips back into the room.

There's a nurse helping him into a wheelchair, and panic floods her system before logic can put a stop to it.

"Where's he going?" She demands, turning to Alexis.

"He needs x-rays," the nurse says, "we need to make sure that the breaks healed properly."

She blanches at the image that the explanation incites, glancing at Caste in concern, her heart plummeting when she sees the look on his face.

She's not welcome.

He doesn't say the words aloud, doesn't say anything at all, but she knows him. Even after all these years, all it takes is one glance for her to get the message.

He wants her to leave.

They wheel him away without another word, and her eyes drop, shame colouring her cheeks.

No part of her wants to go.

Seeing with her own eyes that he's really alive is the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely, and she doesn't want to give it up, doesn't want to go back to the life she led yesterday where his death was the only logical explanation for his absence.

But she can give him this.

She's never seen him so hurt, so broken. He's barely recognisable through the mask of anguish that she has only exacerbated, and the least she can do is grant him the only thing he's asked for.

Her legs won't move, though, and she wrenches her gaze from her uncooperative limbs to Alexis, who is looking at her with such sympathy that she almost buckles.

"I should go," she says, her voice lacking any trace of conviction.

"Kate…" Alexis sighs, knowing that it's the truth, but also understanding her need to stay.

"He'll understand, eventually. He'll forgive you."

"I don't deserve his forgiveness," she whispers, resigned to the fact.

Alexis goes to disagree, but she shakes her head.

"He would have waited for me. He would have done everything in his power to find me, but I gave up." She blinks in a futile attempt to restrain tears. "I gave up, and I moved on, and I shouldn't be forgiven."

"Kate, you were drowning."

Alexis tries valiantly to make her remember the past, but she needs no reminders.

She gave up.

The love of her life disappeared, leaving no physical evidence of his death, and she _gave up_.

She listened to everyone who told her that there was no indication that he was alive, no evidence that someone took him, that the only logical explanation was his death, and she gave up.

He taught her countless times to believe in the impossible, and when it mattered most, she failed him.

"What has he endured because I stopped looking for him?" She asks, hurt seeping into her words and making her voice unbearably loud, so she closes her mouth, forcing her legs into motion.

"I'm going to go to the precinct, see if they need any help," she mumbles, desperate to be doing something useful. She's halfway out the door when she hears Alexis' response, soft and broken.

"I made you stop."

Guilt is all she hears, flooding the words, and Kate shakes her head, the memory of that day too vivid.

She _was_ drowning.

She was so far down the rabbit hole she couldn't even see anything else, and she was being reckless, stupid, too desperate for answers to care about anything else, least of all her own life. Alexis was the one to pull her out, to force her to recognise what she had left in the wake of such disaster and focus on it instead.

"You saved my life," she says, needing to emphasis it to Alexis, desperate to make sure that she knows that she is completely blameless. "I'd have let it kill me, but you… You showed me that it was possible to survive."

Alexis is in her arms before she can blink, and she wraps her arms around the woman whose strength is the only reason she's still standing.

Alexis may have been the one to convince her to focus less on the case that was driving her into the ground and more on surviving, but she didn't make her move on entirely.

She was the one who gave up all hope of ever finding him and sought comfort in someone else, and that is no one's fault but her own.

* * *

><p>She's useless at the precinct.<p>

Stuart Delart is in holding, and when the boys divulge what the feds got out of him, the urge to burst in and kill the man is overwhelming.

_Siblings_.

This guy ran Castle off the road, aided his sister in a kidnapping, because he was convinced it would be the only thing that could make her happy. Suffering from what was evidently severe psychosis, Lydia Livingston believed Castle to be her late husband, and her brother helped her realise the delusion, keeping silent about it until the knowledge became bargaining power.

She's still trying to digest the information when Espo speaks softly.

"Gates wants you at home. She got wrangled into dealing with the press, but she doesn't want you anywhere near this."

"I'll give you a ride," Ryan says, leaving no room for disagreement in his tone, and she nods wordlessly, letting him guide her to the elevator as she wonders exactly where she can go.

She's not wanted at work, she's not wanted at Castle's bedside, and she's not sure she can face Tim, who knows he could never compare to the man whose ring she wears around her neck.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Wow. Truly, thank you. **

**I've never received such a response for a story, ever. **

**The support and encouragement just blew me away; I can't thank you guys enough. I hope this lives up to your expectations.**

**Also, a huge thank you to the talented _Lord of Kavaka_ for the beautiful cover art. **

**tumblr: l03l**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Kate**

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><p>By the time she gets home Tim is already there, and she can tell by the mix of confusion and disbelief on his face that he got her message.<p>

"Is it true?" He asks, astounded, and when she nods dumbly, he closes the distance between them, his arms circling her loosely because he knows she doesn't like to feel trapped in an embrace. That he knows her so well only worsens the clenching of her heart, and she pulls away, exhaling softly.

"Wow," he breathes, shock evident in his wide eyes. The emotions that have been too weighed down by guilt for her to give any consideration flit across his face – the disbelief, the bewilderment.

"Do you want to go back to the hospital?" He inquires, and she can hear in the sincerity of his tone that he's willing to take her, that he's willing to do anything to make this easier for her, and she shakes her head wordlessly.

She wonders if the guilt seeping through her soul would be less overwhelming if Tim were a less understanding man. If he put his own feelings before hers, if he were unable to comprehend that her heart still beats for Richard Castle.

Maybe then she could look him in the eye.

She doesn't tell him that Castle doesn't want her there, that she spent less than ten minutes with him and she's already hurt him more.

She can't bring herself to give voice to the memory, to admit aloud to causing him such pain.

"I'm going to call Alexis," she says instead, and Tim nods, squeezing her hand before returning to the study and letting her make the call without an audience.

It goes to voicemail, but Alexis calls her back moments later.

"The doctor says he can go home the day after tomorrow."

She can hear Alexis' anxiety in the nature of the greeting – or lack thereof – but she's too distracted by the news to give it proper consideration.

The day after tomorrow…

"So he's…"

She wants to say _okay _but after eight years being held captive, she wonders if he'll ever be okay again.

"He has to see a psychiatrist and a physical therapist, but they say he should be okay to go home."

"Alexis…"

It hits her suddenly, and she wonders how she spent so long marvelling over the fact that he is healthy enough to leave so soon, when the place he considered home no longer exists.

"Yeah," Alexis exhales, and Kate can tell from the hesitance in the syllable alone that she hasn't been able to tell him about his mother, about the other aspect to the reality he now faces.

"I'm thinking of renting a place in New York, moving back-"

"You can't do that," Kate interrupts softly, and Alexis knows it too. She has a husband, a child in San Francisco, and she can't just leave them. She can't take Sammy from his father, can't ask Elliot to quit his job, the one he spent years working for.

"We'll talk to him about it," Kate says finally, wondering whether she has any right to include herself in this as her fingers slip subconsciously to the chain around her neck.

"We'll figure it out," Alexis confirms with a broken sigh.

"He looks so different," she whispers, her breath catching. "I spent all afternoon just watching him sleep, and half the time I couldn't believe it was really him."

She squeezes her eyes shut, wishing she could be there to validate the memory she has of him in that hospital bed. It still feels like a fantasy, that he's alive, that he's back, until she remembers his reaction, that look on his face at the mere sight of her.

"Are _you_ okay?" Alexis whispers, and not for the first time, she wonders how Alexis learned to read her so well.

"Kate?"

She's been quiet for too long, but she doesn't trust herself to speak, not with the multitude of emotions clouding her judgement. She can hear the concern in Alexis' voice, and she doesn't want to exacerbate it.

"I saw Dr Burke," she says steadily, knowing that it will ease Alexis' mind, especially if she doesn't mention that the appointment was before they met at the hospital.

"That's good," Alexis says, quietly encouraging.

Alexis worries about her mental health.

Ever since _that day_, when Alexis found her contemplating the poetry of being reunited in death and stroking the angry red line marring her neck.

Sometimes she can still feel the pull of the wire.

Still see the look in Jerry Tyson's eyes, that maniacal grin while he tightened his grip, his hold just loose enough for her to rasp out the words, to beg him to pull just a little tighter, to put her out of her misery.

On her worst days she can still feel the echoes of disappointment at his pulling away, repeating that he knew nothing of Castle's whereabouts, and adding that he'd truly enjoy watching her suffer with the lack of answers. That he wouldn't give her the pleasure of possibly being reunited with him in death.

Jerry Tyson had nothing to do with Castle's disappearance, and to make matters worse; she let him slip though her fingers.

Alexis came by to check on her following the suspension, the reprimand, the demotion. To see how she was fairing after being deemed reckless and forced into answering to someone she had spent almost ten years supervising.

Her father was a hypocrite, dispensing advice he was never able to follow, and her friends had no fucking idea. They'd given up and were happy in their ignorance, even though there was _no joy left_.

But Alexis… There was no pity, just empathy and a non-hypocritical example to follow. Proof not only that it was possible to survive, but also a reason to.

"_I don't want to lose you, too."_

She sounded so young, and coupled with the implication that she was someone for Alexis to lose … it was too much to ignore.

For the first time she saw that she was being selfish in her grief, in her quest for answers, and she reached for the hand offering to pull her to dry land.

After that day, Alexis has gone out of her way to ensure that she never gets that close again.

For that reason, she can't ignore Alexis' concern now.

Years ago that concern saved her life.

So she forces a smile to her face, hopes Alexis can hear it in her voice. She doesn't need another thing to be worried about.

"I'm fine. I promise," she vows. "You?"

It's reminiscent of the check system they relied on years ago, where she would look out for Alexis and vice versa, and the familiarity alone is a comfort, even if it feels like regression.

"Yeah, I just…"

She waits patiently on the other end of the line, until the silence prompts Alexis to continue.

"He received medical care. He broke his ankle, years ago, and they said it was treated, and I don't…"

She hears the disbelief in the words, the desperation for answers that only Castle can give, and she grapples for an explanation.

"She was a nurse," she responds suddenly, remembering the glimpse of the file she caught at the precinct before the boys removed it from her eye-line. "She used to be a nurse."

Alexis inhales audibly, and in the shaky breath she hears just how much Alexis needs someone there. Her heart clenches painfully because it can't be her, but there is another way to ensure that Alexis isn't alone.

"Get Elliot to bring Sammy over," she says, the offer more a quiet command.

She can't be there, but Elliot can.

* * *

><p>Within half an hour Elliot is at her door with Sammy in his arms and an abundance of <em>stuff<em>. She's reminded instantly of the only other prolonged interaction she ever had with a baby, and the way Castle went out and bought similar amounts of evidently necessary baby paraphernalia. The clarity of the memory throws her, but she forces it to the recesses of her mind, reaching for Sammy and assuring Elliot somewhat confidently that she has everything under control.

Tim has about as much experience with babies as she does, but he's by her side, taking the bags and questioning Elliot about feeding and sleep schedules with a diligence that puts Elliot at ease. She rubs a hand at the small of his back in silent thanks as she reminds Elliot to look out for Alexis. She knows that Alexis will be taking care of her father, and that someone needs to be taking care of Alexis, and Elliot nods in quiet understanding.

"We can drop by and pick up Sammy on our way back to the hotel," he says, and she smiles at him.

"It's okay if you don't."

She doesn't know the hospital's policy on overnight guests, but they both know Alexis will fight it if she wants to stay.

"If you manage to convince her to leave, just take her back to the hotel, she needs the rest. I've got him."

Elliot smiles appreciatively, and she shrugs off his gratitude.

She's the one that's grateful, because Alexis needs somebody, and she hates that it can't be her.

* * *

><p>Tim helps her with the feedings and the diaper changes, and when she finally has Sammy sleeping soundly against her chest, he cleans up the incredible mess they've made without a complaint.<p>

There is no way she ever did anything to deserve him.

He's watching her with a wistfulness she's never seen before, and when she raises an eyebrow, questioning him on it, his eyes drift to Sammy.

"You're a natural, Kate," he says, and she wonders if he knows, if he's known all along why she doesn't want to have children, why she doesn't care that it's possibly too late for her anyway.

"I'll be in in a minute," she murmurs, and Tim chuckles in amused disbelief as he moves towards the bedroom.

"Goodnight, Kate."

* * *

><p>When she's finally willing to put him down, Sammy settles into his portable crib with ease, and she glances at Tim, hoping she hasn't kept him up.<p>

He's staring up at the ceiling, and she recognises the look on his face, the one he gets when he's thinking something over, but for the first time today, she sees uncertainty in his eyes, illuminated by the darkness.

Beyond the unwavering support he has shown, he's unsure, and she doesn't know how to reassure him.

Castle's alive.

They've haven't spoken of the possible ramifications, but she's never hidden the hold he has on her heart. Never wanted to, never been able, and Tim always understood. He chose her with eyes wide open, but the fact that Castle's alive must make him uneasy.

She knows he won't raise it now. He knows that she's overwhelmed enough, and he won't add to that with his own questions, he won't burden her with the fact that he's feeling unsure about where they stand.

When she risks another glance at him, he smiles at her with no trace of anything other than support.

* * *

><p>She wakes at six thirty, acutely aware of the fact that she's had more sleep than she should have on Sammy's schedule, and that he's not crying.<p>

She finds Tim in the living room, Sammy settled in the crook of his arm drinking greedily from a bottle, and she holds her arms out to take over, knowing that Tim is usually dressed for work by six thirty. Sammy doesn't even stir when Tim transfers him to her arms, and he moves to the bedroom quickly.

"You going in today?"

"Not allowed," she rolls her eyes, calling back to him. "I'll give Elliot a call, see if they want me to keep Sammy."

He hums, and she hears him turn on the shower as Sammy finishes feeding.

She cradles him close, entranced by those familiar blue eyes.

"I bet he can't wait to meet you," she murmurs.

She smirks when she grabs her phone from the nightstand, seeing a message from Alexis saying just that – Alexis wants her to bring Sammy to the hospital so that he can meet his grandfather.

She's silently grateful for the excuse to see him, the chance to satisfy the desperate need to confirm for herself that he's okay, even if he asks her to leave, even if he hates her.

She understands the reaction, even more so after some distance and a few hours of sleep, and that might be the worst part, knowing that she's deserving of the anger, even if she never stopped loving him. She can see why he might be doubtful, but she long ago came to terms with the fact that Richard Castle would forever own her heart.

She just never thought she'd meet a man who would be willing to share.

* * *

><p>She pauses outside the room, knocking softly and staring down at Sammy's inquisitive little face. He seems to be mocking her hesitance, and she chuckles at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead and grinning at the giggle he emits.<p>

She wasn't sure that bringing a baby to the hospital was a great idea, but according to Alexis the nurses said it was okay, and Castle was desperate to meet his grandson. She can't exactly blame him – she's barely known Sammy for two days, and she's already smitten.

The fact that he's something good to come out of the last eight years doesn't hurt either, not when they have to explain why his mother has been absent from his bedside.

"Come in," Alexis calls, and she takes a deep breath, pushing the door open.

He completely falls apart at the sight of Sammy. She not even sure that he sees her, he's so captivated by the sight of the child in her arms. His mouth falls open and tears spring to his eyes, hands reaching out for the baby instinctively.

"Can I?" He wonders, and she looks to Alexis, more concerned about his injuries than anything else, but Alexis simply nods, speechless.

She transfers Sammy into his arms with ease that makes her edgy, because she always knew they'd be good at this.

"Hi, Sam," he coos, grinning. "Oh, he's perfect, sweetheart," he says, managing to pull his eyes away from Sammy to look at his daughter, who is just as tearful as her father.

Her heart warms for Alexis, that she is regaining the relationship she so desperately yearned for, particularly when she was pregnant. So many phone calls, so many times she assured Alexis that she could be a parent without her father's guidance, and while Alexis is a wonderful mother, she's glad she has that back.

She suddenly feels like an intruder, and she's about to back out of the room silently when Sammy starts to cry. Rick isn't even bothered by the sound, he's too enraptured by his grandson, but she reaches for the diaper bag at her feet.

"He probably needs to be changed, I can-" she starts, but Elliot cuts her off, reaching for his son.

"I'll take him," he says, and she sees the unspoken prompting in his eyes.

They need to talk to Castle, need to explain to him the changes that have occurred in his absence, the ones too monumental to drop in normal conversation. From speaking to Alexis last night, she knows she thinks it's best for the both of them to be there, but she still feels uneasy, the memory of his response to her yesterday playing in her mind unwarranted.

How are they supposed to do this?

She never imagined having to explain to him all that has changed since he disappeared. She grips the railing on the bed to keep from swaying on her feet, the memory of all that they had too much in comparison to where they are now.

If she finds it jarring, how is he supposed to adapt?

She's not sure it's a good idea to tell him, but he's supposed to be going home tomorrow, and he needs to know.

With Sammy and Elliot gone, he looks at her for the first time, his eyes drawn inexplicably to her ring. It's twisted on her finger so the stone isn't showing, but his face tightens anyway.

"Hello, Kate," he says, greeting her for the first time since she entered the room, and she's thrown by the way he says her name, so clipped, so controlled.

Her first name was always reserved for serious moments, times when he wanted her attention or when he was so overwhelmed by her that Beckett wasn't sufficient.

She's never heard it sound so… unemotional.

"How are you feeling?" She asks softly, unable to stop looking at him, revelling in the sight of him propped up and _breathing_. Even with him a foot away, even if he won't meet her gaze, it feels like a dream.

"Fine," he says, his tone measured. "Doctor says I can go home tomorrow."

"Dad, about that…"

He knows what's coming; she can see it in his eyes.

It has been obvious, really.

If Martha were alive, she'd be here, and Kate thinks on some level he knows it.

"What happened?" He asks, his voice broken and so childlike that tears spring to her eyes.

"She had a stroke," she says, after seeing the pleading in Alexis' eyes, the inability to say the words aloud.

"When?"

"Three years ago."

The words get stuck in her throat, because if she had tried harder, if she hadn't avoided his case so purposefully, maybe she would have found him before then, maybe he could have had more time with his mother.

Despite the logical part of her knowing that it would have killed her long before then if she hadn't let it go, the guilt is relentless.

He nods, pressing his head back against the pillow, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I'd like a minute alone," he says steadily, and she turns towards the door, allowing him his grief.

Alexis follows reluctantly, and they take a seat in the waiting room across the hall, their eyes never straying far from the door.

"Was that… Should we not have told him?" She wonders, and Alexis shakes her head.

"I spoke to his psychiatrist yesterday about it. He had to know. He's going home tomorrow, he needs time to adjust to the fact that home isn't what he thought."

Kate nods, her heart breaking for him all over again, for the way that he has been expected to adjust to tragedies that they have had years to mourn.

"What else did he say?" She asks softly, unsure she has any right to know, but needing the answers.

Alexis' eyes cloud over, and her stomach churns.

"Kate-"

"Tell me."

She doesn't need to be danced around; she doesn't need to be sheltered from the truth.

"He's having trouble distinguishing reality from the fantasy he created to deal with what happened to him."

Alexis' words come out in a rush, and she nods, focusing on breathing properly, on listening without reading too much into the words.

"She thought he was her husband."

She states the only fact she knows, her fingers once again finding their way to the chain on her neck. It's a habit that took years to break, and Alexis watches the movement but doesn't comment.

"He thinks it was you."

The words send ice through her veins, and her eyes narrow as she waits for the explanation before she lets herself come completely undone.

"The doctor thinks, whatever she did to him… He was pretending it was you in order to get through it and eventually…"

She can't speak; can't give credence to the possibility.

"He's having difficulty telling the difference, and they think that the ring, it forces him to acknowledge what happened to him, it pulls him from his fantasies."

She doesn't understand.

Isn't that a good thing? That it's helping him separate his memories of the last eight years from reality?

Unless…

Unless reality is worse than what he faced with the woman who held him captive.

Not for the first time, she curses the expressive nature of Alexis' eyes, because the empathy is crippling.

She doesn't know how to do this.

"It'll be okay," Alexis whispers, and Kate glances at her, doubtful and frustrated by the platitude. Alexis knows how much she hates those words.

But there is nothing else, no words to make it okay, and she can't fault Alexis for that, not when she is so familiar with the feeling.

Words aren't enough.

Alexis stands, her eyes pinched with concern and not wavering from his door.

"I'm going to check on him," Alexis says. "Will you come?"

She nods, unable to deny Alexis anything, least of all support she needs so bad as to ask for it.

He's curled over on his side when they re-enter the room, and Alexis goes to his side instantly.

"Dad?"

He straightens, brushing off his daughter's concern, and turning his gaze to her.

"Why are you here?" He asks, his voice broken and pleading, and she stills instantly. "I don't want to look at you," he whimpers, and she's out the door before she completely breaks apart.

She's breathing in rapid gasps that do nothing but increase her anxiety – to the point where people are starting to stare.

"Kate."

It takes her too long to realise that Alexis is at her back, and she turns, collapsing into the familiar embrace, desperate for any kind of assurance – she'd even settle for one of those wretched platitudes – but nothing comes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**A huge, heartfelt thank you to everybody who has reviewed this story, and to all of you who continue to read. I am absolutely floored by the response.**

**Also, thank you to _Lord of Kavaka_ for a beautiful cover to this story – it's perfect, thank you.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Rick**

* * *

><p>He watches Alexis flee after Kate, struck by the blatant display of support, and wondering when his daughter formed such a strong relationship with his wife.<p>

Fiancé.

Ex-fiancé.

Kate.

With Kate.

He closes his eyes, grapples for something he knows to be true.

They say he was being held against his will.

That her name was Lydia, that she was mentally ill.

That he saw Kate as a way to protect himself from what was really happening.

What was really happening…

He squeezes his eyes tighter, instinctively seeking comfort in the memories of her, the visions of their future, but where she used to be he now sees the unfamiliar ring on her finger, and the reminder that she's not his hits him like a freight train, all over again.

She's engaged to someone else.

It wasn't Kate.

He pushes his hands to his eyes until he sees spots, frustrated and unwilling to see this new memory, the one with a woman who is definitely not Kate.

He hears the door open and blinks repeatedly in order to clear his vision.

"Dad."

Alexis sighs his name as if she wants to blame him for his behaviour but can't bring herself to do it, and once again he's struck with the reality that his little girl is a mother. She carries it in her posture, her expressions, her words, that extra responsibility.

And his own mother…

He pushes that thought to where he is keeping the image of the woman who is _not_ Kate, focusing on Alexis instead.

She pulls herself together valiantly, a supportive smile on her face as she reclaims the seat beside his bed.

"Alexis…" he frowns, pushing his head back against the pillows as he tries to explain it to her. "I can't…"

He can barely process that it wasn't Kate, the hazy visions of that other woman invading his memories and making his head spin. Knowing that the fantasies he had of their future will never be realised, the constant reminder that is her presence… It's too much.

"She loves you," Alexis whispers, almost afraid to say the words. "She just wants to see for herself that you're okay."

"I don't want to see her again," he mutters, astonished when his daughter's face flashes with something that he can't quite identify, but it only lasts a moment.

Kate is not his wife. She's not the woman in his memories, and trying to determine what was real is difficult enough without seeing the pain in her eyes, the tangible proof of her ring reminding him that nothing is as he remembered.

She's engaged to someone else.

"If you want to stay in New York-" she starts, but his incredulous expression stops her cold.

"I don't want to stay in New York," he declares, softening his tone when he sees the regret in her eyes at even voicing the thought.

"If you're in San Francisco I'll go to San Francisco. There's nothing here for me."

Alexis nods, taking his hand in hers.

"I just want to be sure you're happy to come back to San Francisco with us. The loft is being rented out, so we'd have to find a place, but I could–"

"You can't do that," he interrupts softly, knowing exactly what she's about to say.

He spent hours yesterday listening to every detail of the life she has in San Francisco, and he won't force her to leave it behind.

He doesn't care _where_ she is.

Where she is he'll go, because her presence brings him clarity, and it gives him something to hold onto, an anchor to reality.

With Alexis he knows what is real. He can see every memory of her clearly, and none of them are a by-product of what was evidently a delusion.

"If you want to stay here…"

"I don't. I don't want to be here at all."

He's adamant, and she nods, accepting it easily. He wonders how long this will last, the easy agreement, the allowances.

"We were supposed to fly back next week, but I can try and get a different flight," she says, fishing her phone from her bag.

"Tomorrow," he says, and her eyes snap up to meet his, questioning his emphasis.

He needs out of the city.

Every memory he wants to forget is set to a soundtrack of the white noise of the city, and he needs to leave it behind.

"Please."

Alexis nods, her fingers moving swiftly across the device in her hands.

"Tomorrow afternoon. There's a layover in Charlotte but we can leave tomorrow afternoon."

His voice is a mere whisper.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>The feds make the most of the official visiting hours, wanting answers he can't give them.<p>

They're simple questions, he can see it reflected in their eyes, but he can't do it, can't force any kind of response because it's all mixed up.

They're asking him about her and he can't ignore the memory anymore and all he can see is the blood and the look on her face when she slit her throat and Kate, fuck, _Kate_.

So many times he forced his eyes shut and saw Kate that he can't separate them and God there's so much blood.

When he wrenches his eyes open the feds are gone and there's a nurse hovering over him telling him to breathe, and Alexis is beside him with such aching worry in her eyes that he has to make it go away.

"Kate," he says, grabbing her arm. "I need to see Kate."

* * *

><p>She bursts through the door twenty minutes later, and the mere sight of her, the affirmation that it wasn't her loosens the fist around his heart instantly.<p>

The vivid image of her dropping to the ground covered in the blood spilling from her neck fades and he reaches for her touch.

There's hope in her eyes he has no chance of fulfilling, but the tangible proof of her existence allows him the ability to breathe, and he leans back against the pillows with his eyes closed, righting the corrupted memories.

It wasn't Kate.

It wasn't Kate.

"Rick?" She's worried; they're all worried.

All he does is worry them and let them down.

He takes another breath and forces his eyes open.

With the assurance that it wasn't Kate comes the other memories, the fantasies of their future that he played out so many times that they're real.

But they're not real, as the stone on the hand he's gripping reminds him, and he drops her hand, running a finger over the indentation on his palm.

_No_.

"Go away," he begs; unable to look at her and see the pain he knows he's inflicting, unable to handle the confusion her presence incites.

"Please go away."

* * *

><p>He wakes with a start, blinking away nightmares he can't remember.<p>

It's dark – it's night time, he realises – and Elliot came to take Alexis back to the hotel, so he's alone.

But he's not, he can sense it acutely and he takes a deep breath, trying to calm down and remind himself that he's in a hospital, that it's a nurse or an intern or something, but when he dares to twist his head, it's neither.

"Kate?"

She's curled up in the chair in what could not be a comfortable position, and although her eyes are open, when he says her name she jolts as if being woken.

"I'm sorry."

The apology is barely audible, and she stands quickly, fleeing before he has the chance to question if he's dreaming.

* * *

><p>His daughter returns before the break of dawn, a hesitant smile on her face.<p>

_He's being released today. _

The thought is paralysing, but he forces his lips to curve up into a smile anyway.

_They're leaving the city today_.

The doctors were reluctant, cautioning Alexis about his mental state as if he couldn't hear them, but he doesn't care because his daughter didn't cave.

_They're leaving the city today_.

* * *

><p>Ryan and Esposito are by his door when he's discharged, and he doesn't even think to question it.<p>

It's Alexis who doesn't understand, who needs to know the reason for their presence, and Espo explains that the press is outside, that they're here to escort him out the back. It's the last thing on his mind, but he's grateful that someone had the foresight to consider it, because the thought of being surrounded by reporters makes him tremble.

The sound level beyond room is loud enough and he silently wonders how he'll survive the city. But his desire to leave far outweighs the fear that is making his palms sweat.

He can do this.

He's silent as they navigate the hospital, the ambient noise increasing, and he presses his hands to his ears as best he can, willing himself to get through it.

Almost there.

* * *

><p>They make it to the hotel, somehow.<p>

Although he has been careful not to voice his apprehension towards the volume of the city – lest Alexis decide it's best to postpone their flights – she must be more aware than he thought, because she manages to limit their time outside to the few necessary minutes it takes to get in and out of the car.

They have three hours until they need to leave for the airport, and the plan is to wait it out in the hotel room.

Well, he thought it was.

The moment they enter the room Alexis is having a silent conversation with Elliot, the glances too obvious to be missed, but entirely incomprehensible.

"Dad?"

His head snaps up at his name, Alexis perched on the edge of the bed so that she meets his eye-line.

"Are you okay staying here with Elliot for an hour or so?" She asks, her eyes squinting slightly as if she expects him to say no.

He shrugs, glancing at Elliot, wondering why Alexis seems so concerned.

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable," she clarifies, unwilling to let him drop her gaze for even a second. "If you need me to stay I will, you don't need to worry about hurting Elliot's feelings."

He shakes his head, forcing his lips to form what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"It's fine," he promises, watching as she considers him carefully before nodding, looping a bag over the handles of the stroller.

Truthfully, being alone with Elliot is somewhat of a relief. It means less pressure, because even if he confuses a memory, Elliot is less likely to know the difference, and he won't get that pained look on his face that Alexis does when he makes a mistake.

"We'll be back soon, okay?" She confirms, settling Sammy into the stroller. The door to the room clicks shut behind them, and Elliot turns to him, his face pleasantly neutral.

"Do you need anything?"

He shakes his head and forces himself to his feet, intent on making it from the wheelchair to the bed on his own. His feet hurt – they're even worse since the hospital physical therapist bent them in ways that were too painful to have been natural – but he's capable of walking three steps to the bed, even if the shooting pains in his feet increase with each step.

Elliot watches him carefully, ready to catch him at the first sign of a fall, but he collapses onto the bed successfully, stretching his legs out in satisfaction. He exhales proudly, unwilling to tell Elliot that she always helped him move, that these are the first steps he has taken on his own for as long as he can remember. He's weak enough in the eyes of his daughter and son in law, he won't make it worse by taking pride in such a petty accomplishment.

He scowls inwardly, as Elliot turns away, apparently satisfied that he's no longer going to fall over like an invalid. This isn't how he wanted to meet his son in law. He always assumed he'd be the one in control, that he'd be intimidating and strong and make any man unworthy of his daughter cower. Now he just has to trust that his always-sensible daughter made a good decision.

"Do you want to watch TV?" Elliot asks, placing the remote on the nightstand and moving to the suitcase lying on the desk. "I've got to get this all packed."

Castle shrugs, making no move for the remote, instead quietly observing the way that Elliot folds their clothes neatly, flitting around the room to collect the abundance of items that litter the space.

He can't imagine that travelling across the country with a ten week old is anything but hectic, and from the amount of stuff they have, he'd say he's correct.

"Why the trip to New York?" He can't help but wonder, and in all that Alexis told him, she never gave a reason for the trip.

"To visit Kate," Elliot states, watching his reaction carefully before continuing.

"She usually visits us, but after Sammy was born... Alexis wanted to make the effort."

He's honest, and Castle can't fault him for it, even as his head spins with the knowledge that Alexis would fly across the country with a ten week old to see Kate.

"She's with Kate now," he realises, and Elliot doesn't attempt to lie, or hide the fact, simply explaining.

"She wanted to say goodbye."

Castle nods, digesting the information and realising that inherent in the situation is the fact that they won't leave him alone. He doesn't know whether it's because his daughter fears what he'll do without someone watching his every move, or because she needs to know he's safe for her own sanity.

"You and Alexis," he begins, feeling slightly proud when Elliot turns to him, a trace of fear marring his usually neutral expression.

"How did you meet?"

The fear becomes confusion then, and Elliot clears his throat, abandoning the packing.

"I thought Alexis told you-"

"She did," he interrupts. Alexis humoured him with hours of stories of their life, every detail he missed, but he wants Elliot's side. Elliot's quick to realise it, too, dropping into the armchair by the desk with a grin as if there's nothing he enjoys more than telling their story, and Castle likes him already.

* * *

><p>The anxiety doesn't hit him until they get to Charlotte.<p>

He's geared up for the first flight, and Alexis organised first class seats for them, and it's not as bad as he anticipated.

Until they get to Charlotte.

There are _so many people_.

They're hidden away in the back corner of the gate lounge, but the noise is stifling, and he presses his hands harder against his ears, rocking slightly in an effort to calm down.

It's just a panic attack.

Alexis holds out the bottle of anti-anxiety medication that they prescribed at the hospital, but he pushes them away with a grimace. They gave him drugs yesterday and they only made him feel worse, once the panic subsided.

It's just a panic attack.

Elliot disappears in a run and returns moments later, with huge clunky headphones in his hands that he rips from the package and holds out to him, hesitant yet hopeful.

It's only then that he dares to remove his hands from his ears, wincing at the volume of the people and announcements, pushing the headphones over his ears and feeling the anxiety ease instantly.

_Oh_.

He can think now, can focus on more than not exploding in a panic, and he lifts his grateful gaze to Elliot, who is grinning in sheer relief.

* * *

><p>By the time they get to San Francisco, his ability to control his ever-present anxiety has dwindled to almost non-existence.<p>

The exhaustion from the physical exertion is kicking in, and he's on edge because everyone's looking at him as if he's insane.

They're met near baggage claim by a dark-haired woman with a warm smile who introduces herself as Elliot's mother, and he can't even bring himself to respond.

She takes it in her stride, though, lifting Sammy from Alexis' arms so that Alexis can take the cart with their luggage, and Elliot pushes his wheelchair behind them without saying a word.

The trip is mercifully short, the car pulling to a stop outside a townhouse within twenty minutes, and even though the quiet drive alleviated some of the panic that has been festering all afternoon, the need to be alone, the need to lie down, is stronger than ever.

Alexis must sense it because the moment the car stops she's at his door, helping him out quickly and into the wheelchair. There are four steps up to the house, though, and Alexis falters at them, unmoving.

She's talking to Elliot about carrying him, but he ignores them, knowing that he can make it up _four stairs_.

He pushes himself to his feet, clutching the railing and willing his body to cooperate. It's not so different to before, really, except it's a railing and not her at his side, and he now has his daughter hovering behind him as if he's completely useless.

It's a feat, making it past that last step, and he's breathing heavily as he crosses the threshold, falling back into the wheelchair. Alexis pushes him through the house to the spare bedroom, and all he can hear is white noise, and he needs to lie down, needs to breathe without them looking at him as if he isn't capable of anything.

The sheets are made up on the double bed and he collapses onto it gracelessly, Alexis taking the hint and closing the door behind him.

There's a familiarity to this room he's never set foot in, but it isn't until he inhales that it hits him with unprecedented force.

Kate.

It smells like Kate.

He doesn't expect it to be such a comfort.

She never smelled like Kate, not once, and with the scent enveloping him he isn't confused. He can distinguish the two, can recall the memories he knows to be true, that he knows to be of Kate, and they're pure, untainted.

He inhales again, and his heart rate regulates for the first time all day.

Kate.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Thanks to _Lord of Kavaka_ for the cover art :) **

**tumblr: l03l**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Kate**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ****Picks up from the end of Chapter 3.**

* * *

><p>Her apartment is painfully silent, the emptiness providing no distraction from the too bright memory of him begging her to leave, and it replays relentlessly through her mind.<p>

"_I don't want to look at you."_

It's been eight years, and even though she knew it wouldn't be the way it was before, she didn't expect this.

He thinks she was there, that she was the one who did this to him, and he'd prefer to believe that than the truth.

She crumples to the floor, raising her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins.

She can't handle this.

It's too much.

But then Alexis is calling and saying _Dad needs you _and she's headed to the hospital before she can think to second-guess her immediate reaction to go to him.

She walks through the door and for a split second he looks at her like he used to, reaching for her hand, and just when hope crests, he steals it away.

"_Go away. Please go away." _

She thought it hurt last time.

But this…

The emotional whiplash of believing that he was actually happy to see her, only for him push her away again has her heart in pieces in mere minutes.

It's déjà vu, Alexis even following her to the hallway, shame colouring her cheeks, and she can't do this again.

"I'm sorry, he was…" Alexis closes her eyes, takes a breath, and Kate can't blame her for this, not when Alexis looks just as shattered as she feels.

"He was asking for you, begging really, and he was so upset, Kate, I-"

This time when Alexis falls into her arms she's not the one who needs it most.

Alexis is clutching her as much as she is Alexis, and she's reminded that she's not the only one who relies on this relationship. It may not be healthy, the level of dependence she has on Alexis, but at least it's mutual.

"He wants to come with us back to San Francisco."

The words are muffled against her shoulder, and she swallows, replays them a few times in her head before she responds.

"San Francisco…"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" She pulls away to look Alexis in the eye, the thought making her stomach churn as she holds out hope that she misheard.

"He's so…" Alexis trails off, eyes haunted in a way she's never seen before. "He thinks that the distance will help, and I couldn't say no."

"The distance from me?" She realises slowly, the rollercoaster of emotions hitting her with full force, and she staggers backwards until she finds a wall, leaning back to stay standing.

"The city," Alexis adds, as if it makes a difference.

What did she expect?

Logically, she knew that he wouldn't want to stay with her, not if his response to her presence was any indication, but it's only now that it truly sinks in, that she sees the ramifications.

"You're leaving tomorrow?"

It's too much to process all at once, and she turns away from Alexis, feeling her world slowly cave in.

"Kate," Alexis' tone is soft, but it sounds too much like an apology, and it only makes her feel worse.

_They're leaving tomorrow. _

* * *

><p>She spends hours pulling herself together, the shock slowly easing and leaving denial to take its place.<p>

They only just found him; he can't _leave_.

Tim comes home to find her curled up on the couch, trying to rationalise why this can't happen, and he sees instantly that something's wrong.

"Kate?"

She stands, rubbing a hand across her forehead and exhaling slowly.

"Alexis is taking Castle back to San Francisco tomorrow," she presses out, feeling her chest tighten at saying the words out loud, reality sinking in despite her adamant refusal to acknowledge it.

His face pinches with sympathy, and she looks away, the understanding in his eyes too much to bear.

"You don't want to go see him?" He wonders, and she shakes her head.

_He doesn't want to see me. _

She's still not ready to give voice to that statement.

He reaches for her hands, looking utterly helpless and desperate to do something to make this easier for her, and he_ doesn't understand_.

She slips her hands from his, retreating towards the bedroom.

"I just need some space," she explains.

His gaze is too sincere, too kind, and she wishes once again that he could be a little less understanding. If he would yell and scream she could handle it, but the unwavering support only deepens the pit of guilt in her stomach.

He deserves so much better from her, and her heart twists because she knows she can't give it to him.

"It's yours," he says, still so reassuring, and she forces herself to smile at him, before entering their bedroom and closing the door.

* * *

><p>Space isn't exactly practical in a two-bedroom apartment, but Tim makes a valiant effort.<p>

He works until late in the study, sliding into bed beside her well after midnight as she lies awake trying to come to terms with all that's happening tomorrow.

If being in New York – for whatever reason – makes Castle uncomfortable, if it's going to make it harder for him to come back from this, then she knows he needs to leave. But she needs to see him, one last time.

Tim is sleeping soundly beside her when she slips out of bed, and by now the guilt plaguing her conscience is so familiar that it's easy to ignore. She doesn't bother leaving him a note to explain where she's going, if he did wake, he'd know where to find her.

It takes a flash of her badge to get past the night nurse, and she doesn't even feel guilty about abusing her authority, wondering mindlessly if there's a limit to the amount of guilt a person can feel, if she's tapped out.

Castle is asleep, and she breathes a silent sigh of relief, quietly sinking into the chair beside his bed. She couldn't handle being turned away again, seeing the agony on his face at her presence. This is easier.

She resists the urge to take his hand, curling in on herself and watching him, entranced by the way his chest rises and falls with each breath.

In sleep he looks like the man she used to know, even with the creases around his eyes, the hair greying at his temples. Memories flood her mind, a surprising comfort in the face of all that has occurred over the past few days, and she can almost pretend...

But then his eyes snap open and she freezes.

Not again.

Please, no, not again.

He says her name, almost awestruck in disbelief, and she whispers an apology, fleeing before he can register her presence and break her beyond repair.

* * *

><p>She meets Alexis at the same café where they met three days ago, when the world was an entirely different place.<p>

Her session with Dr Burke ran long and she's running late, but it was worth the extra time because as she makes her way through the café, she almost feels as if she can do this. Saying goodbye to Alexis is always hard, and today she's losing them both. She pushes the thought to the back of her mind and greets Alexis, taking a seat.

"Everything go okay this morning?" She inquires, and Alexis nods slowly.

"He was… anxious, when we left the hospital, but he was determined not to be. It's the noise of the city, I think. It should help, getting away."

Her heart clenches with the audible reminder of their departure, and she breathes deeply, willing it to pass. She looks to Sammy, finding solace in the innocence of his grin, the way he's so content just watching them from his stroller, but Alexis is intent on catching her gaze.

"I don't want this to come between us," Alexis says softly, and she knows then that Alexis feels it too – the slight strain between them.

"It won't," she says forcefully.

The faint disconnect is simply a result of the premature departure, the fact that Alexis and Castle are both leaving together while she stays in New York, and she won't let it linger.

Both she and Alexis want what's best for him, and if it's distance from the city, distance from her, then she can handle it.

She doesn't have the right to be selfish, not with him, and she doesn't want to be, not if it hinders his recovery. She discussed at length with Dr Burke the possibility that she may never have any kind of relationship with Castle, and that it's something she'll need to accept, but she still wants Alexis to have her father, Sammy his grandfather.

"I just need him to be okay," she says finally. Regardless of how he ultimately feels towards her, she needs him to be okay. She keeps seeing that shell of a man in that hospital bed, and she's terrified that he won't be able to get past this, that he'll never be the same. Seeing that fear reflected in Alexis' eyes, she squeezes her hand across the table, reminding herself silently that he's alive.

At this point, there's not much more they could hope for.

* * *

><p>She revels in the time with Alexis and Sammy, unable to ignore the voice in her head that reminds her that it might be a while before she sees them again.<p>

She's holding Sammy in her arms, wondering how big he'll be the next time they meet, when Alexis stands, apologetic.

"We need to get going."

Brushing a kiss to the top of Sammy's head, she places him back in his stroller gently, before turning to Alexis, wrapping her in a hug.

"Call anytime," Alexis whispers, and she wills back tears, tightening her hold.

"I will," she promises, a strained chuckle falling from her lips. "Look after yourself," she murmurs, and Alexis nods as the break apart. "I love you."

Alexis smiles, as if comforted by the fact that some things won't ever change.

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p>She's back at work the moment the feds leave, taking his case with them, and she spends most of her time ignoring the way Ryan and Esposito look at her as if she's about to break.<p>

Which she is, quite possibly, but she doesn't need them to know it.

She's a master at survival by now, at pushing every hindrance of emotion down and getting through the day.

It doesn't stop Esposito from sticking her with paperwork and effectively chaining her to her desk, but it's almost a relief. It gives her something to focus on that isn't the way every other cop in the precinct is looking at her, and it prevents her from having to make small talk with anyone throughout the day.

She's getting ready to leave for the evening when Alexis calls.

"Alexis?"

She hasn't heard anything beyond the cursory 'home safe' message she received when they landed in San Francisco, and she wants desperately to know if he's okay, whether being away from the city is helping, but she bites her tongue, first waiting for some form of response from Alexis.

"Kate."

The single syllable is a defeated sigh, and Kate falls back into her desk chair, chewing her bottom lip.

"Are you okay?"

"I think I was kidding myself," Alexis whispers after a moment's pause. "I thought he wasn't that bad, that he was just…" she cuts herself off, but not before Kate hears the sob in her voice.

"Alexis," she says, desperate to sound assuring.

"I don't know how to help him, Kate," she croaks. "I brought him out here and I'm useless."

"Hey," she says firmly, her heart constricting at the self-doubt she hears so clearly in Alexis' words.

"You're not useless. He wanted to go with you," she says, proud of the way her voice doesn't even falter. "He knows you can help him. I know you can help him. You helped me and I didn't even want it."

She tries to inject humour into her last sentence but it falls flat, the sentiment far too truthful.

"In moments he's just dad, but then something shifts in his eyes and he's gone, and I just… I don't know how to do this," Alexis says, sounding so much like a child over the phone that it pains her to be on the other side of the country.

"Neither does he," she murmurs, remembering how helpless he looked, even as he begged her to leave. "But you'll figure it out, I know you will."

Alexis sighs, the sobs receding slowly.

"Is there anything I can do? Do you need me to look into the referrals you got from the hospital?"

"I made the appointments – he saw the therapist this afternoon and he starts physical therapy tomorrow," Alexis says, seemingly doubtful that it will be any help.

"That's good," she responds, hoping to sound reassuring but not quite pulling it off.

Therapy helped her, but only when she wanted it to.

She went faithfully after Castle's disappearance, but it was more to show the people around her that she wasn't completely self-destructing, rather than actually healing. It wasn't until she committed to it that she made any progress, and Alexis knows this better than anyone.

Silence falls between them, the mutual acknowledgement that all they really have is hope going unsaid.

"Just be there," she says softly, remembering all too well how Alexis got through to her. "Just be there."

* * *

><p>She's staggered to find that life goes on.<p>

She focuses on going through the motions, on therapy and coming to terms with life as she now knows it, and she can't manage much more. Tim recognises it easily, and as she tries to adjust to this new form of life without Castle, he does the same.

Some days she needs him so much it hurts. It's almost worse than it was before, because even though she knows he's alive, even though she has the answers she so desperately craved, his absence is harder to ignore when she knows where he is but can't reach him.

Some days she wakes unable to decipher what's real; images of the car wreck and him in the hospital blurring together, and she spends hours on the phone with Alexis convincing her that he's alive.

Some days the guilt makes it hard to get out of bed. The memory of him in that hospital room, broken and barely recognisable plays through her head, and everything she did or didn't do that made him that way taunts her relentlessly.

It isn't like it was before, but she's not sure that it hurts less, even though she knows the truth.

Alexis is a touchstone she can't live without, keeping her sane and grounded; and together they focus on what's important.

He's alive.

That's all that matters.

Even if he's on the other side of the country, even if they never speak again.

He's alive, and he's getting help.

He's getting better.

Alexis doesn't say it outright, and she knows the progress is minute, but it's there.

She can hear it in Alexis' voice, in the way that the number of desperate phone calls at all hours of the night gradually become few and far between, and she can't get a handle on the hope that blooms in her chest.

Maybe one day they'll be able to be in the same room.

* * *

><p>She and Tim spend weeks walking on eggshells, avoiding any kind of real conversation, because they both know what's coming.<p>

She thought she could do it.

She really thought she could.

But Castle's alive, and even if he never wants to see her again, it changes things.

For weeks she's been approaching the inevitable conclusion that she can't marry someone else when her heart belongs to him, and she knows she's not the only one. She can see it in Tim's posture, in his apathy toward mending the unspoken rift that formed between them the moment Castle was found.

She's staring at the case file she brought home for the sole purpose of distraction, when she hears Tim emerge from the study.

They're masters at this now, the polite interactions, avoiding confrontation, but this time he approaches her purposefully, and she knows instinctually what's coming.

They can't tread water forever.

"I'm sorry," she whispers pre-emptively, needing him to know it more than anything. He doesn't deserve this.

"This isn't working," he says, his lips pressed together as if he's still deliberating, but she knows he's trying to soften the blow, that he's already made up his mind. "I won't keep you from him."

She drops her gaze to the floor, knowing full well that he's not keeping her from Castle, because Castle doesn't want her.

If it were anyone else, she would wonder whether Tim was letting her go because it's the most perfect form of torture, being free to love Castle when he can't love her back.

But this is Tim, who is looking at her so openly, so genuine in his kindness. He wants her to be happy, knows that she'll never be happy with him when there's the slightest possibility of Castle, and he's made this decision as much for her as he has for himself.

She slips the ring from her finger, pushing it into his palm.

"This isn't what it's supposed to be like," she tells him, knowing that he doesn't believe her. He doesn't believe in the kind of all-encompassing love of fiction and fairy tales, doesn't believe that it's something he can find. "I don't…"

She can't explain it to him, the way her heart beats for Castle, the way it always will, even if only pieces remain. Even if Castle never loves her again, she knows that her heart is his; that it isn't fair to anyone to ignore it.

"You deserve …" She trails off, meeting his eyes. He's such a good man, and he deserves better.

He hears the words she doesn't say, and chuckles softly, doubtful. He's a cynic, a man who was perfectly content with her because he doesn't believe that there's something better out there.

"This isn't fair to you," she says instead. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs as if he long ago made his peace with this, and maybe he did.

"Good luck, Kate."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Apologies for the delay in posting, this chapter just would not cooperate.**

**Thank you all once again for your tremendous support of this story; it truly means the world to me, I adore hearing what you think. Also, to **_**Lord of Kavaka**_**, for being so kind as to create a brilliant cover :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Rick**

* * *

><p>Sleep comes in fits, but he's used to it by now.<p>

The nightmares are no surprise either – they've been plaguing his dreams for as long as he can remember – yet when he wakes, he's on edge, his skin itching for a reason he can't quite place until his eyes adjust to the darkness.

He's alone.

The door to his room is shut, and without the soft hum of the hospital to fill the emptiness, her absence is that much more apparent.

He closes his eyes to find the memory of her sliding that scalpel across her throat replaying again, and he presses his fingers to his eyelids instinctively, not relenting until the image becomes white spots.

He knows it wasn't Kate; he can still feel her hand warm in his, confirming that the vision he now sees with that other woman taking her place on the basement floor is the one he can trust, yet the anguish squeezing his heart doesn't fade. Before he can give it further thought, he pushes himself to his feet and into the wheelchair by the bed, seeking any kind of distraction.

The lack of sunlight spilling from the curtains tells him that it's still early, and he manoeuvres his way down the hall as quietly as possible.

The house is unfamiliar, and he can barely see in the darkness, but he manages to find his way to the living room, pausing a few feet from the couch when the throbbing in his wrists prevents any further movement.

His eyes adapt gradually, uncovering pieces of the life his daughter has carved for herself, and he catalogues every detail of the room, marvelling silently. He's squinting at the photos lining the mantle, unable to make out more than mere outlines in the darkness, when Alexis descends the stairs, concern painted across her face.

"You okay?"

He nods, ignoring the pulsing in his wrists and the fact that his heart is aching and he can't sleep.

She follows his gaze to the photos, silently gathering them in her arms and making a pile on the coffee table. Flipping on a lamp, she helps him to the couch before settling in beside him, passing over the frames one by one.

The first image shows his daughter in a hospital gown cradling her newborn son, and even with the tangible proof in his hands, he struggles to grasp the concept that she's grown, that she has a family of her own.

How has it been eight years?

_Eight years_, and his daughter is a wife and a mother, and he's missed every moment of it.

He forces the thought away – it's too much to comprehend with her hopeful face looking back at him – and he wills the tears in his eyes not to fall.

"You're happy?" He confirms, his intonation making it a question even though it isn't necessary – the joy in the photos is unmistakable.

She grins at him, tracing her fingertips across the frame in her hands before offering it to him.

"I'm even happier now," she murmurs, as his eyes drop to the photo.

He recognises it instantly, remembers the place it used to hold on his desk, and when he sees the same joy in the photo of her as a child reflected in her eyes now, he feels the band around his heart loosen.

He holds a hand out for another one, but Alexis fumbles, sliding a small black frame to the bottom of the pile, and he reaches for it instinctively, realising why she was being selective the moment he uncovers the photo.

It's a candid of Alexis on her wedding day, mid-conversation with Kate, so undeniably happy. He lifts his gaze to Alexis immediately, unable to look at the picture for a moment more without losing control of his emotions. She takes the frame from his hands with such reverence that he can't help but wonder whether she was hiding it from him for her sake as well as his, and he grapples for the next one, desperate to move on.

The image won't fade though; overlaying the subsequent photos she gives him, his brain reaching conclusions he doesn't want to face.

He knows Alexis wasn't there; the last memory he has of his daughter is distinctly separate from the more recent ones that only depict _her_ and that basement, and with that knowledge and the photo side by side, the realisation sinks in quickly.

Kate wasn't there, either.

She wasn't there at all – she couldn't have been – because she was here, with his daughter. If Kate had been there, he would have seen Alexis too, and the only thing he knows for sure is that he didn't.

The visual evidence hits home in a way nothing else has, and suddenly he's doubting everything he knows with renewed force. Every memory of her without Alexis blurs, and he panics as the memories he held so close to his heart slip further away, his breath coming in short gasps because _no_, it had to be real.

The declarations of _always_ and _I just want you_, the way she looked at him like he was the only thing in the world she needed…

"I need to go to bed," he says suddenly, standing too quickly and regretting it, pain radiating from his feet at the sudden pressure. Alexis helps him to the wheelchair, thankfully not mentioning his outburst or wanting an explanation, simply pushing him down the hall.

Relief comes the moment he presses his head against the pillow, reaffirming the memories he couldn't bear to lose and cementing _her_ face in the more recent ones. He breathes deeply, focusing on the comfort that knowing the truth brings and trying to ignore the way the memories of the basement darken with the absence of Kate.

* * *

><p>When he emerges from his room for the second time that morning, he finds Alexis in the kitchen eating breakfast, the rest of the household surprisingly silent.<p>

She explains around a mouthful of cereal that Elliot had to go to work and that Sammy is sleeping, and he nods, tries not to show his discomfort as she fusses over him, serving him breakfast and making him coffee, not letting him move an inch without asking if she could do something for him.

"Dad?"

She's smiling encouragingly at him, and he tries to appear equally reassuring as he recalls what she was saying when he zoned out.

She's made appointments for him with a therapist in a few hours and a physical therapist tomorrow, and it's barely eight in the morning.

The thought of physical therapy has his stomach churning in dread. He has no desire to test his physical limitations, to be reminded that he doesn't have the abilities he thinks he does. The wheelchair is reminder enough – for him and for Alexis.

He won't explain to his daughter that his mobility depended heavily on her aid, won't tell her why his feet no longer support him for more than a few steps.

He's seen enough heartbreak in her eyes to last a lifetime – he's not about to intentionally inflict more.

* * *

><p>Alexis drives him to his first therapy session, and it isn't as difficult as he expected.<p>

He tells the doctor – Capwell – the things he knows to be true, well, the things he _believes_ to be true, because he's discovered that there are few things of which he's certain, and the man is pleasantly disarming.

The session is fine.

It's afterwards, hours later, when he realises that finding any kind of peace is going to take time and involve repeated discussion of the multitude of things that he's trying to ignore that he starts to lose it.

He doesn't want to talk about it, he wants to forget, and when Alexis asks him for the second time within an hour about therapy with such hope in her eyes, he snaps.

It's too much.

She's everywhere, all the time, telling him what to do and asking him how he is, and he needs space.

He yells at her to leave him alone, his voice deepened with anger and frustration, and he watches her recoil, regret hitting instantly but not hard enough for him to take it back.

Instead, he pushes himself down the hallway to his room, closes the door and adds it to the list of things he's trying to forget.

* * *

><p>He finds his daughter in tears on the phone.<p>

He emerges from his room, shame deep in his veins and fuelling his movements, but the moment he sees her, he slows to a stop.

She's hunched over the kitchen counter, her back to him, and he hears the catch in her voice, sees her shoulders ripple with the weight of the sobs.

"I don't know how to do this."

She sounds just as she did at five years old, all precocious and mature but still afraid of the monsters under the bed, only this time he's not the one comforting her. He's the reason she needs comforting.

* * *

><p>Alexis forgives quickly.<p>

She always has, unless given a good reason not to, and he's never been more grateful. All he does is murmur an apology and she's looking at him with such pure absolution that he can barely manage to hold her gaze.

Elliot comes home at six thirty, commencing what is clearly a well-practised routine, and he observes silently as they simultaneously care for Sammy and cook dinner. They don't seem like first time parents, not with the way they work so well together, and he finds it an unbelievable comfort, knowing that his daughter is so happy.

He watches as Elliot descends the stairs with Sammy in his arms, meeting his gaze with an unassuming smile.

"You want to hold him?" He inquires, nodding towards the kitchen. "I'll help Alexis with dinner?"

He nods quickly, grateful for something to do and for the fact that Elliot transfers Sammy into his arms without a flicker of doubt in his ability.

He slouches slightly so that Sammy rests mostly against his body, the pressure off his wrists, and smiles down uncontrollably at the awestruck grin on the baby's face. He looks just like Alexis did, except for the dark hair, and he finds himself utterly captivated. When he's able to wrench his gaze from Sammy, he glances up to see Alexis and Elliot working side by side in the kitchen, bumping hips and elbows playfully as they move around each other, and he's struck by the realisation that he couldn't have hoped for more for his daughter.

* * *

><p>He comes to learn that Alexis and Elliot live on a strict schedule.<p>

It's probably to be expected, given that they have a baby who needs a routine, but he finds it constricting in a way that is all too familiar. She's always there, making sure he's okay, treating him like a child, and he hates the constant reminder of just how dependent he is, even if he _does_ need someone to take him to his therapy sessions; to push his wheelchair at the end of the day when his wrists just won't cooperate.

There are days that he can't bear the way she goes overboard, helping him with things he can manage on his own, and it's then that he takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he's thankful she's willing to do it, and that she means well.

She only wants to help.

* * *

><p>He doesn't know whether it's the therapy, or the tangible reminders that seem to surround him wherever he turns, but he manages to separate his memories of her – of them.<p>

Sometimes they're jumbled, but if he takes his time, thinks it over, he can usually tell the difference.

Kate is the scent of his pillow, those early memories that give him such comfort. Lydia is the tightness around his wrists and the darkness of the basement.

He repeats the distinctions on a daily basis, fights for the most basic grasp of reality, and it's working, but it's all he can manage. He blocks out anything else, the photo of his mother that Alexis no longer keeps on the mantle, the distant voice in his head that seems intent on reminding him of the reality of his relationship with Kate.

_One battle at a time._

* * *

><p>He rarely gets time alone, so when Alexis disappears to take a phone call during Sammy's afternoon nap, he flips the television on for background noise and revels in the time to himself. It's an hour later that she bursts down the stairs, and he recognises the look on her face instantly.<p>

She's fiery, passionate in a way that he would be pleased to see, if it weren't directed at him. She takes a moment before she speaks, visibly calming herself, and he watches her carefully, no idea what's coming.

"You need to talk to Kate, Dad," she says, her tone surprisingly controlled, but her eyes still blazing.

"Alexis-" he begins, but she ploughs on.

"Is it really helping you? Pretending she doesn't exist? Because it's destroying her. She needs to know that you're okay. We spent eight years without you, _eight years_ and we all convinced her that you were gone, and now you're back and she needs _something_."

She's begging, pleading with him and he doesn't know what happened, but he knows-

"I can't, Alexis," he mumbles, ashamed by the fact.

Talking to her would push him past the simple task of dividing his memories of Lydia and Kate; it would force him to recognise that the future he envisioned for them was one of fiction, and he's not ready to face it.

"I can't."

She's not satisfied with his answer, not in the slightest, but she must see the resignation in his soul, because she deflates before his eyes, dropping to the couch beside him and resting her head on his shoulder.

"I think she needs you," Alexis murmurs, and while he can hear that she's still upset, it's at the situation, not him.

He thinks of the fantasies he still clings to, the ones of their life together thirty years from now, and he can't bear to have them torn to shreds by reality, not yet, not when they bring him such comfort.

"I can't."

* * *

><p>It's stupid.<p>

It's the most ridiculous thing that has ever incited this kind of rage in him, but he can't control it. It's been building ever since they got to San Francisco, every single little aspect of this reality that he's been thrust into, and he can't take it anymore.

Alexis casually tells him over lunch that they're going to spend tomorrow morning in the park, and he explodes.

It's too much, all of it.

All of the plans being made without him being allowed any kind of input, the way she keeps treating him like he's her child and not the other way around, and the fact that he doesn't want to spend the morning in the park in the wheelchair he shouldn't still need, facing the people and the noise and the pressure, and why doesn't she understand?

He's screaming.

Venting every frustration that he has tried so hard to internalise and Sammy's crying and Alexis looks ready to join him and _shit_ he's screaming at his daughter.

He stops as suddenly as he began, and Alexis immediately takes Sammy upstairs, cradling him in her arms and whispering soothingly, but Sammy doesn't stop, only crying louder.

_Fuck_.

* * *

><p>He doesn't see Alexis all afternoon.<p>

She stays upstairs with Sammy, and he couldn't climb the stairs if he wanted to.

Physical therapy is killing him, which is ridiculous because it's supposed to be making him feel better, but he's still stuck in the wheelchair, and the stairs are not an option.

She knows it, too.

She knows she can escape him and he can't even blame her.

* * *

><p>When Elliot gets home, he senses the tension immediately.<p>

There's fierce loyalty in his eyes that Castle can't fault him for, not when it comes to Alexis.

"She's upstairs," he says, and Elliot gives a terse nod, not without gratitude, before disappearing up the stairs.

He doesn't know how he can expect them to keep doing this.

* * *

><p>When Alexis descends the stairs, she's wearing a mask of guilt, and he hates it.<p>

Hates that he put it there, hates that he's a burden on her previously perfect life.

"It's not your fault," he blurts, in a desperate attempt to eradicate her guilt.

"It's not yours either," she responds, smiling kindly. "You just need to tell me if I'm being overbearing."

He wonders fleetingly if it's that simple.

"It's new to all of us, we need to give it time, be open with each other."

His eyes narrow the moment he recognises the phrasing.

"You're seeing one too," he realises. What is he doing to her? "A therapist."

She nods, as if he should have known this, as if it's inconsequential.

"I need to go," he says, his hands on the wheels, pushing as hard as he can even though his wrists are throbbing stubbornly.

He needs to get out of here, needs to stop being such a burden and he needs to stop hurting her.

"Dad."

Alexis stops him without trouble, and the reminder of his weakness does little to change his mind.

"Dammit, Alexis," he grunts, forcing himself to his feet. "Get out of my way."

She doesn't listen, easing him back into the wheelchair even though he is tensing every muscle and refusing to cooperate.

"It's not because of you," she says, and despite his best efforts, she gets his attention, because there is no way that he's not the reason that she needs therapy. "It's my fault," she says, her eyes glazing over, and he needs some context because he has no idea what she's talking about. "You're allowed to hate me," she whispers, and he blinks up at her, even more confused.

"I don't hate you."

That he could hate her is utterly ridiculous – even with anger and frustration bubbling in his veins he knows that.

"Kate, she would have found you, eventually, but I made her stop. I was so sure that she wasn't going to find you, and I was so afraid of losing her that I was selfish and I made her give up. It's all my fault."

He's too silent, can't think of anything to say, and in the absence of a response, the words slip out before he can stop them.

"I wish you hadn't found me."

* * *

><p>He thought he hurt his daughter with his words before, but this is immeasurably worse.<p>

Her whole heart breaks apart, right before his eyes, and he blinks, tries to think of a way to make her believe he didn't mean it.

"Do you really think that? That you'd be better off back there?" She whispers, incredulous.

"I…" he stammers, desperate to give her the answer she wants but coming up short.

All he does is hurt her – when he's not busy being a burden– and he can't even trust his own memories.

Even if that basement wasn't the way he remembers it, even if it was a delusion, it was easier to live there than it is to accept this.

"Because I don't," she disagrees, vehement. "You don't understand what it was like without you, and maybe this is hard, maybe this is excruciating for you, but I have my father back. I have my dad, and my son is going to know his grandfather, and I don't care if this hurts, if you take it out on me, I don't care about any of it. It's worth it. Having you here with us, it's worth anything."

He's stunned, too staggered to even form words, but her eyes burn with determination, and he realises that she means it. She doesn't consider him a burden; she doesn't wish she could go back to the way it was before. All it takes is a few minutes for it to sink in, and he knows that she's right.

He spent eight years without his daughter, without his family, and despite the frustration and the pain, despite the fact that the family he knew has changed in every possible way – they're worth it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**I continue to be absolutely floored by the response to this story. Thank you all so much for your support and encouragement, I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. **

**Also, I have recently joined the craziness that is Twitter! I'm still trying to get my bearings, but I will be posting updates to this story and anything else I write, so if that interests you at all you can find me over there – l03l_ or on tumblr – l03l**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven **

**Kate**

* * *

><p>Shame settles deep in her stomach as she knocks on her father's door, duffel bag in hand.<p>

Finally admitting that she and Tim can't make it work feels a lot like failure, and the shame is an unfortunate consequence, even though she knows it shouldn't be high on the list of things she's feeling as the future she planned slips out of her grasp.

She hadn't considered the awkwardness of breaking up with someone you're living with until she was standing across from him in the suddenly too small apartment, her ring in his hand.

Although it became theirs over time, it was Tim's apartment first, and while he insisted that he could sleep on the couch, that they didn't have to work it out straight away, she knew she would be the one to move out, and she needed the space. Space from the apartment, from him, from the life she was giving up because her heart is so intensely stubborn.

Tim was predictably kind, stressing that she didn't have to move out immediately, that she could keep her key and collect her things whenever it suited, and she thanked him, packing clothes and necessities and leaving everything else to be dealt with later.

She needs the space, even if it means standing at her father's doorstep at eight thirty on a weeknight needing a place to stay.

When her father opens the door he doesn't say a word, simply enveloping her in a hug, and tugging her inside, and she has never been more grateful that he knows her so well. After only a short phone conversation to explain to him what happened, he knows exactly what she needs – unquestioning support.

She mumbles that it's only temporary, just until she finds a new place, but he silences her with assurances that she doesn't need to rush.

When she looks up to give him a reassuring smile, there's knowledge in his eyes that is too hard to face, so she buries her face against his chest, prolonging the physical comfort that she won't allow herself to need tomorrow.

He was so happy for her, so pleased that she had managed to find someone and muster the courage try again, and alongside that knowledge in his eyes is grief for her, for the happiness that always seems just out of reach.

"Oh, Katie," he sighs, and she doesn't lift her gaze when he pulls away from the embrace, remembering why it was so much easier to update him over the phone.

He feels for her, he takes every emotion she wants to ignore and turns it into empathy, and she can't handle it, not now.

"I'm tired, dad," she mumbles, looking up at him and begging for him to leave it at that.

He acquiesces silently, ushering her through the apartment and to the spare room, and she doesn't breathe normally until she's alone.

* * *

><p>She's getting home from work the next day when Alexis calls, and for the first time that she can remember, she's hesitant to answer.<p>

Dread seeps through her veins at the thought of telling Alexis about Tim, even though she fails to recall a time when Alexis hasn't been unconditionally supportive, and she answers the phone, reminding herself that she's being ridiculous.

They fall into easy conversation and she relaxes instantly, but then Alexis asks after Tim and she can't lie, not to Alexis.

"We ended it."

She ensures that her voice is level, that she sounds normal, but realises too late that she would have been better off going for upset. Alexis would be less concerned if she were upset.

Dammit.

"Kate-"

"It's fine," she presses out. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry," Alexis sighs, no trace of surprise in her tone.

While she never said it outright, she knows Alexis was aware that things were slowly imploding with Tim. She has barely been able to keep her own head above water, trying to do the same for their relationship was an impossibility, especially as they each realised that it couldn't last.

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Alexis probes, and she exhales softly, considering.

She misses him.

Tim was a steady presence in her life, someone she depended on, and after only one day without him there's a noticeable void, but it's not crippling – not like it was when she lost Castle. She feels the difference acutely, and it reinforces her faith in the decision.

"I'm okay," she reiterates. "It wasn't fair to him. No matter how many times he told me that he understood… He deserves someone who can love him with their whole heart, and I can't."

She's hoping that the honesty will satisfy Alexis, that they can move on to a less painful topic, but Alexis doesn't let it go.

"You know that dad isn't…"

"I know," Kate interrupts. She doesn't need to hear again that Castle is still unwilling to talk to her. Alexis is well aware that she didn't end her relationship with Tim with the expectation that Castle would suddenly be over the trauma of the last eight years and want to give her another chance – she doesn't need the warning. Even if Castle never wants to know her, her heart will always be his, and it won't be denied.

"He _is_ improving, Kate," Alexis says, her voice soft but confident. "He knows he was held against his will, and he's remembering her."

Hope sparks in her chest at the words, and she tamps it down, ignoring the optimistic voice in her head that dares to suggest maybe one day he'll allow her to be in his life.

Hope breeds disappointment, and she needs better control over it, even if it is all they have. She can't be infinitely hopeful, she needs to be realistic.

But then Alexis inhales audibly, murmuring words that make hope flare, and she surrenders to it entirely.

"He knows you weren't there."

* * *

><p>Living with her father after so many years is an adjustment.<p>

Suddenly her habit of working too hard is under constant scrutiny, and even though he would never say anything, she's all too familiar with his silent and disapproving glances.

He's worried about her, but he needn't be. After the last few weeks, she needs to remind her colleagues – and herself – that she's still capable of doing her job, even if that means being first in every morning and last to leave at night. Besides, staying busy keeps her sane, keeps her from thinking too much about the fact that she ended a relationship with the most perfect man because her heart refuses to let go of someone who can't bear to speak to her.

She works, she sees Dr Burke, and if she has a spare minute during the day she glances at apartment listings.

She doesn't realise just how worried her father is until she starts getting a few extra phone calls from Alexis, claiming she's just checking in.

Her father is well aware of Alexis' ability to get through to her, and she also knows that after she threw his concern back in his face when Castle disappeared, he is hesitant to voice his thoughts about how she handles her grief.

She sees his interest pique each time she answers Alexis' calls, so she stays within earshot, telling Alexis that she's fine and resolving to do better.

She makes an effort to demonstrate that his concern is unnecessary, that even though her life has been upended, she's okay and she'll get through it.

She leaves the precinct each night when Ryan does, eats dinner with her father and tells him about her day, determined to prove to him that he doesn't need to worry.

What starts as a deliberate routine becomes something she relies on, and she slowly realises that the words she's telling her father aren't lies to placate him – they're the truth.

She'll be okay.

* * *

><p>When Lanie suggests they grab dinner after work, it's more of an order than a question, which is how she finds herself headed to a restaurant halfway between the precinct and the morgue the moment she's finished at the twelfth.<p>

It has been weeks since she and Tim broke it off, and months since she had a conversation with Lanie that wasn't over a dead body, and Lanie is no longer hearing the excuses of "I'm fine," and "I don't want to talk about it".

She has needed the time to process, to work with Dr Burke and adapt to this new reality without the commentary of her very honest friend, but now the thought of confiding in someone who she isn't paying to remain impassive, and who isn't also considering Castle's best interests, is surprisingly appealing.

Alexis is always impartial, always on her side even if she's also on her father's, but she knows she can count on Lanie to be objective, even painfully so.

When she was killing herself trying to find Castle, that objectivity – Lanie's inability to truly understand what she was going through – was the reason their friendship suffered.

Lanie had no idea how she felt – she wasn't the one facing a life without the only person that ever made it matter – and yet she was telling her to let it go.

She pushed Lanie away, like she did anyone with advice she didn't want to hear, but they've since mended the fractures that formed in their friendship, hindsight allowing her to see that Lanie was making the same point Alexis did, only without the personal experience that made it persuasive.

"How are you doing?" Lanie inquires softly, after they're tucked away in a booth in the far corner of the restaurant.

She has carefully avoided discussing her personal life at work, lest she lose it completely, so Lanie only knows what is common knowledge, but from the look on her face, Lanie probably knows more than she'd be willing to admit.

"I'm okay."

She diverts the conversation, asking Lanie about work and Esposito, anything that comes to mind, as she adjusts to the sympathy in her eyes.

When Lanie looks pointedly to her now bare ring finger twice in the space of a minute, Kate rolls her eyes at the unspoken question.

"We broke it off," she says, confirming what Lanie already knows, but Lanie doesn't leave it at that, lifting an eyebrow as she waits expectantly.

"He ended it," Kate clarifies. They both knew it was a ticking time bomb, but he was the one to pre-empt the explosion.

"I don't know what you're still doing here, if I'm being honest," Lanie says, and she realises that she completely misinterpreted the eyebrow raise.

"It's not that easy."

Disregarding the fact that Castle has yet to indicate that he could handle even a conversation, she is still struggling to accept what happened to him as a result of her giving up, still trying to let go of the future she planned with Tim.

"You love him," Lanie states plainly. "It's the one thing you've always known – haven't you wasted enough time?"

"It's not that easy," she repeats. "You didn't see him, Lane, he was… Not the man I remember. He has spent eight years with this woman, thinking… thinking she was me."

It sounds bizarre to say it aloud, to admit it, and she would barely believe it herself if the statement didn't come with the visual of him repulsed by her presence, begging her to leave.

"He couldn't even look at me. I might love him, but the best thing I can do for him is not push."

She would rather continue living in this suspended state of loving him and not being able to explain it to him than force a confrontation and have him push her away again. Hope is a stubborn thing, blooming every time Alexis tells her that he's making progress, and it insists that if she's patient, one day he might be able to love her, too.

Even when the realistic side of her takes over, she doesn't want to throw away the chance.

"I can't believe he was in New York, this whole time," Lanie murmurs, shame evident in her tone. "I'm sorry I –"

Kate shakes her head, silencing any apology she doesn't want to hear. She doesn't want to forgive Lanie because she doesn't want to blame her in the first place. She has come to learn that blame is useless, a vicious cycle that only ever reminds her of her own failures, and she hears Dr Burke's voice in her head telling her that no one is at fault.

"I was sure… I thought there was no way it could end well," Lanie says instead, and Kate grunts softly. "You were right."

He's alive, but Alexis is overdoing it trying to help him, and she's here alone, desperate for him, and no one's happy, not really, and yet…

_Maybe one day_, that voice insists.

* * *

><p>She passes on two perfectly good apartments that are close to the precinct and within her price range because when she talks to her father about them his smiles look more like winces.<p>

He has enjoyed having her close, and she, too, has found comfort in his company, but it was never meant to be a permanent arrangement. She's sleeping in a room that barely fits her twin bed, and she needs her own space, needs to feel as though she's moving forward.

Ultimately she compromises, extra commute time for a place within walking distance of her father's, because she's learned too many times over not to take people for granted.

* * *

><p>With the keys to her new apartment comes the need to face Tim, to actually finish moving out. He was more than willing to let her postpone until she found her own place, agreeing with her rationalisation that there was no point in moving boxes to her dad's only to have to repeat the process, but there's no avoiding it now.<p>

There's no avoiding him now.

She texts him, explaining that she has the weekend off and asking if she can drop by and pack up the rest of her things, and his response is kind, detailing his plans so that she can organise her visit as she pleases. She finds some strange comfort in the confirmation that he's still a creature of habit, his Saturday consisting of the usual morning at the gym and afternoon catching up on any necessary work or household chores.

She gets there soon after he has left for the gym, intent on getting started before he gets home and any awkwardness between them slows her progress, but when she unlocks the door, she finds there's far less to be done than she expected.

Boxes line the living room wall, open but filled meticulously with her possessions, and she comes to realise that he has combed through the living room and kitchen for her things, making her task infinitely easier.

She's piling cosmetics into a box, mindlessly wondering why she has so much make-up when she clearly doesn't use it, when she hears the door open, and she emerges from the bathroom to make her presence known.

For a split-second Tim grins at her as if it were any other Saturday, and then he sees the boxes, remembers, and drops his head, a blush staining his cheeks.

"Hey, Kate."

"You didn't have to do this," she says, gesturing to the boxes, and he shrugs.

"It was nothing, really, I just added to them as I came across things that were yours."

It's not true, not from the way they're packed with such care, but she lets him hide behind his kindness.

"Thank you."

He shrugs, dropping his gym bag next to the door.

"I've missed you," he admits, and she gives him a closed-lipped smile.

"I've missed you, too."

They were always good friends, two people that didn't believe they'd find love, falling into a relationship that was more than she'd ever imagined but less than she knew possible, and even knowing they made the right decision, she still misses her friend.

But trying to sustain that friendship now is an exercise in futility, something she knows from the way he can't meet her gaze, from the silence that hangs between them, and she knows that he recognises it too.

There's nothing more to be said, and he grabs a couple of the boxes, gesturing for her keys.

"Let me help you carry these down," he offers, and she hands him her keys with a grateful smile.

She had anticipated hours of sorting through their things and packing haphazardly, calling in reinforcements at the end of the day to help carry it all down to the van she rented, and possibly repeating the process tomorrow, but she overlooked Tim's inherent kind nature, that he wouldn't sit idly by without helping. Instead, he loads up the van while she packs boxes, and by the time she's satisfied that she's got everything, she has one box in her arms and he's waiting at the door with a too-forced smile.

She slips his key into his hand much like she did his ring, only this time when she says goodbye, she knows it's for good.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

_**Lord of Kavaka**_**, thank you for the cover art :)**

**Twitter: l03l_**

**Tumblr: l03l**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**Rick**

* * *

><p>He wakes before dawn, last night's argument with Alexis weighing on his mind.<p>

_It's worth it. _

He repeats it twice, wills himself to remember it.

Alexis reassured him multiple times that having him here is not a burden, and he's determined to believe it, and in turn, focus on the positives. The people under this roof are reason enough to fight for this life he's been thrust into, even if it's tough, even if it's painful, and he can't let himself forget it.

He lies in bed long after light starts filtering through the blinds, allowing Alexis at least the illusion that he slept well, and when he makes his way to the kitchen, he finds her on the phone, smiling at him as she ends the call with "thank you" and "we'll see you soon".

Evidently last night's outburst and the muttered _"I wish you hadn't found me"_ didn't leave her with a good impression of his state of mind, because she's booked him an additional hour a week with Dr Capwell. He goes to assure her that it isn't necessary, to try and assuage her concerns, but she just looks at him with this familiar steely determination that he can't quite place and he knows he doesn't stand a chance. So he nods, forces a smile, and wheels himself to the fridge, intent on preparing his own breakfast.

They managed to come to an agreement last night, once tempers died down.

He will speak up when he needs help, provided that she gives him the chance to do things on his own.

He can feel her gaze boring into the back of his head as he approaches the ridiculous, high-tech monstrosity they call a coffee machine, but he refuses to falter. It's too far back on the counter and he can't quite reach, but he needs to be able to make himself a measly cup of coffee, especially when Alexis is watching him so intently, so he grips the edge of the counter and pulls himself to his feet.

He gives up on the idea of frothing milk once he finally gets coffee out of the thing, because his feet are stiff from yesterday's physical therapy and he needs to sit down, but he does it. He turns to Alexis when he falls back into the wheelchair with a mediocre cup of coffee in his hands, and they both pretend she wasn't waiting for him to fail.

* * *

><p>He spends the day trying to prove himself while Alexis pretends she isn't hovering, and by the time Elliot gets home, he's thankful for the distraction that another person in the house provides.<p>

Alexis proposes they order pizza for dinner, and he can tell from the look on Elliot's face that it isn't a regular occurrence, that probably the only reason she's suggesting it now is because she doesn't want him insisting on helping them cook, and he bites the inside of his bottom lip in an effort not to comment. He doesn't want to argue with his daughter, doesn't want to make life any harder for her, so he takes a breath and resolves to let it go.

Once the pizza is ordered, Alexis disappears upstairs to make a phone call, and Elliot asks him conversationally about physical therapy, and he finds it so much easier to discuss with someone who isn't so hopeful about his progress.

Elliot is realistic about the fact that it will take time, and the lack of expectation is refreshing in comparison to the pressure of Alexis' well-intentioned positivity.

They unstack the dishwasher, chatting mindlessly until the pizza arrives, and Alexis returns as Elliot is serving it out onto plates.

He is distracted immediately by the inexplicable defeat in her eyes, the way it's evident even in her posture as she joins them in the kitchen.

"Everything okay?" He asks, sure that it's not.

Alexis shrugs, her expression now carefully blank, as she makes it perfectly clear that the topic isn't up for discussion.

"Let's eat," she says, lifting the pizza boxes from his hands and putting them in the oven herself, and he swallows the feeling of utter uselessness in favour of peace.

* * *

><p>The find a balance, eventually.<p>

He learns – after a particularly painful incident involving an attempt at climbing the stairs – to ask for help when he needs it, and she learns that standing over him and waiting to take over isn't constructive.

Dr Capwell helps him work through the memories of the basement now that they feature Lydia alone, and in doing so, any notion that he'd prefer to be back in that room disappears.

Without Kate there, the visions of Lydia treating him like a husband make his stomach revolt.

The way she would restrain him every time she went out, press a kiss to his lips and murmur _I don't want to lose you_.

The way she would come home and release him, continue to act as though they were a normal couple.

With every snapshot of a memory his stomach lurches and he has to resist the instinctual urge to close his eyes, instead focusing on the room he is in, on every detail, every piece of evidence that he's no longer in that basement, and reminding himself that he's okay – they found him.

They found him.

* * *

><p>He likes Elliot.<p>

He never thought he'd be getting to know his son-in-law after the fact, but he's proud that Alexis has found someone like Elliot.

He's easy-going and friendly, yet straightforward and earnest, and his love for his family is plain to see, even if Castle doesn't get to spend all that much time with him.

The guy leaves for work before the sun rises so that he can get home at a reasonable hour, and when he is at home he wants to spend every moment with his son, and it only makes Castle like him more.

He asks Alexis about the arrangement, about why she didn't go back to work after she had Sammy, his implication more obvious than he intends.

_Is it because of me?_

They've been doing better, his fear of being a burden easing as he slowly loses his reliance on the wheelchair and is able to help more with Sammy and around the house, but he still wonders. Wonders whether this was always her plan, or whether she changed her mind when they went to New York and returned with an invalid.

She smiles softly, catching his gaze.

"I don't want my kid to have a nanny."

It takes him a moment to recall the conversation, and when he does, his heart swells and he reaches for her hand.

The subsequent explanation detailing the cost of a nanny in comparison to the salary she had been making and the fact that Elliot earns more than she did goes over his head as the years he spent raising his daughter flash before his eyes. He looks to Sammy, touched that she wants her own son to have a childhood similar to the one he gave her, and revels in the reminder that wonderful things have happened over the last eight years.

* * *

><p>He has made a point of needing a little independence, so when Alexis takes her afternoon coffee out onto the porch, he doesn't say anything because he can't fault her for wanting some time alone while Sammy's asleep. But then Sammy wakes, his cries permeating through the baby monitor in the living room, and Castle casts a glance up the stairs, remembers with a wince what happened last time.<p>

"…and there's plenty of space? A spare room for a couple and a baby?"

She sounds… happy, he realises, less stressed than usual, and he hates to interrupt, but she hears the cries over the baby monitor in his hand anyway.

"Sammy-" he starts, apologetic, and she ends the call with "I'll talk to you later" as she stands.

"Are you looking for a house?" He wonders as he follows her inside, completely confused.

"No," she shakes her head, climbing the stairs with agility he can only wish to possess. "A friend – from college," she stumbles, "just moved into a new apartment. You want to get started on dinner?"

She's out of sight then, and he finds himself distracted by the fact that she's letting him be the one to make dinner.

* * *

><p>The moment he feels as though he can live with what occurred in that basement, or at least is able to supress the need to vomit at the slightest hint of a memory, the night terrors begin.<p>

He has spent weeks and weeks in therapy trying to process the visions that plague his sleep, but these are nothing like before, nothing like the gut-twisting images of Lydia in that basement.

They're worse.

They're panic-inducing glimpses of a man he doesn't recognise and it _hurts _and why can't he get away?

He wakes each morning in a cold sweat, desperate for his old nightmares to return, grappling for any possible way to erase the visions that jolt him into consciousness with terror pumping through his veins, and he's handling it, kind of, until the morning he wakes with the realisation that they aren't nightmares at all.

They're memories.

* * *

><p>It's not the basement; it's a farmhouse or barn of some kind, which is why he didn't stop to consider the possibility that they were anything other than a product of his imagination, but now he remembers it all with startling clarity.<p>

It was worse than any depiction of hell he could ever imagine.

Opening his eyes to Lydia, that crazed look on her face as she ensured the metal restraints were tight enough to dig into his hands and ankles, Kate's voice on the phone – so tender – echoing in his mind.

_I love you, too_.

Every memory makes his palms sweat and his body tremor, but apparently it's progress – remembering.

It doesn't feel like progress, it feels like torture, and he doesn't know how to process the images that assault him during all hours of the day and night.

She's nothing like the woman in the basement.

This Lydia is sadistic, and she has a friend, a man who threatens all kinds of physical harm and always – _always_ – lives up to his promises.

The injections, the broken bones…

He can still hear his voice.

_She's your wife_.

* * *

><p>He channels all of his fear into his physical therapy.<p>

All of the adrenaline that follows the flashes of Lydia instructing her friend to twist his wrist, to break his foot, then tending to him afterwards, her touch repulsive but vital, as she whispered _I hate to see you hurt, sweetheart. _

He was warned that losing the wheelchair would be a gradual process, but he finally starts seeing the possibility of a full recovery, and his motivation flares.

The first time he goes an entire day without using it the satisfaction is overwhelming, and he starts thinking that even with the night terrors tormenting him at every turn, even with his inability to consider the reality of Kate, he might actually be able to do this.

* * *

><p>The next day he can barely walk two feet without collapsing, and when Alexis suggests that he pushed it too far, he snaps.<p>

He yells at her, and not for the first time he wonders why he keeps taking his frustrations out on his daughter.

She's done nothing to deserve it, and yet she takes it on the chin, this fierce warrior look in her eyes that he recognises instantly.

Kate.

Alexis walks away, clearly intending to wait for him to calm down, but he spills apology after apology, drawing her back.

She forgives him with grace that has only developed in his absence, and it takes his breath away as he wonders how he didn't see it sooner – the similarities.

So many of her mannerisms, the way she carries herself… They're all pieces of Kate that she has emulated, consciously or subconsciously, and he finds himself reconsidering all that he assumed about their relationship.

* * *

><p>He's reading to Sammy when the phone rings, and Alexis – surprisingly – doesn't take it upstairs, instead pacing mindlessly in the kitchen.<p>

Sammy reaches for the book in his hands, babbling unintelligibly and he laughs, enamoured.

"I'll have to check."

Alexis' voice snaps him back to reality, and he pulls his attention from Sammy when she hangs up the phone.

"Check what?"

She's hesitant to reply, taking her time to formulate a response before speaking.

"We usually have dinner with Elliot's family the first weekend of every month, but I'm not sure this week will work."

She's lying.

Well not _lying_, but she's deliberately skirting the truth, and he knows why.

"I can handle it," he tells her, nodding for emphasis. They've talked about this, his need not to interrupt their lives or routines, so if this family dinner is something he has been preventing, he won't let it continue.

"I can, Alexis," he says, lifting Sammy in his arms, proud of the way his wrists hardly complain at the motion and delighting in the way Sammy giggles. "I can handle it," he repeats, resolute.

They've been making a point of easing into the public outings, the interactions with people outside of the household, who don't understand why he tremors constantly or why he can't bear too much noise.

He's sure he can handle a meal with Elliot's family.

Alexis' eyes narrow as she considers it, and his confidence doesn't waver.

"If you're sure it won't be too much."

* * *

><p>Elliot's family is nothing like Elliot.<p>

His younger sisters are both talkative and friendly, almost overwhelmingly so, and he's thankful for Sammy, because he absorbs the majority of their attention.

He barely remembers Elliot's mother from that night at the airport, and she reintroduces herself kindly with her husband as they exchange greetings.

Everybody files into the living room, and the absence of his mother hits him unexpectedly at the sight of Elliot and Patricia, the undeniable sense of family permeating the house.

Alexis sends him a questioning glance and he takes a deep breath, smiles reassuringly.

He can handle this.

* * *

><p>The camaraderie of a large family is foreign to him, and while it doesn't help his anxiety, he can't help but notice how Alexis thrives.<p>

The conversation is fast and flowing, Elliot's sisters detailing just about every minute of their lives over the last few weeks, interrupting each other constantly and stopping only to fuss over Sammy, until Elliot takes him upstairs to put him to bed.

It's then that the conversation wanes, and Elliot's youngest sister, Helen, turns to him, her eyes squinting in confusion.

"You're Kate's ex-husband, right?"

The table falls silent, and while he can tell it was an innocent question, a simple clarification, really, it lands like a blow to the gut.

Alexis is staring at him wide-eyed, waiting for him to explode, because there hasn't been mention of Kate since he dismissed the mere idea of talking to her. Alexis has been hesitant to even say her name in his presence, and he – selfishly – has appreciated not being reminded of the reality of their relationship and the way it contradicts the fantasies of their future that he still can't quite let go.

But it's not the mention of her name that has him struggling to breathe.

It's not even the reminder that he has been absent for eight years of his daughter's life.

It's that apparently, in the eyes of Elliot's family – his daughter's family – he only holds a place in Alexis' life by virtue of Kate.

He's familiar with the anger that swells at Lydia for taking this from him, and he tamps it down, fights for control, because everyone's looking at him, and being known as Kate's ex-husband is preferable to the lunatic who lost it at a simple question.

Elliot's other sister mutters "you're an idiot" in Helen's direction, as he forces his mouth to form words.

"We were never married," he manages, and Elliot comes down the stairs, takes one look at the tension hovering over the table and jumps in with a story about Sammy, diverting everyone's attention.

When he looks back to Helen she's confused and apologetic, and he tries to twist his mouth into a smile, tries to exude forgiveness or at least understanding, but he's stuck on the title as it repeats in his head.

_Kate's ex-husband. _

* * *

><p>Alexis must realise that even though he has yet to lose it, he is steadily heading in that direction, because the evening ends swiftly after dessert.<p>

He follows everybody to the door, saying goodbye, determined to appear unaffected, even as his heart clenches painfully.

Elliot and Alexis turn to him the moment everyone is gone, and their matching looks of apprehension would be humorous if the concern wasn't crippling.

"I'm sorry, dad, I told everyone not –"

"It's fine," he interrupts, preferring to remain oblivious to the topics his daughter considers him incapable of discussing.

"I'm going to go to bed."

He will not let this break him. He needs to prove to Alexis – to himself – that he can hear her name, that he can hear her family consider him an extension of Kate and not lose it, so he walks purposefully down the hallway to his room, calling goodnight over his shoulder.

The isolation does wonders for the frustration bubbling in his veins, and he lies on the bed, tensing every muscle and relaxing them slowly, allowing the tension to dissolve with each repetition.

Images flood his mind of Kate in his place at that dinner table, cementing her role in a family that should be his, and he's surprised to find that his reaction is not one of anger or jealousy – it's gratitude. Gratitude that Kate was willing to be there for his daughter when she needed someone, that they had each other.

* * *

><p>Alexis is tentative when she descends the stairs the next morning, as if she's expecting him to have some kind of breakdown, but he feels oddly calm.<p>

He has a cappuccino warming his palms, and after last night's realisation that the mention of Kate's name is easy to stomach in comparison to the night terrors he still can't vanquish, he almost feels content.

"I'm sorry if I've kept you from talking about Kate," he begins.

The guilt was insistent as he lay awake, every phone call Alexis took upstairs or outside, every moment she faltered mid-conversation over the dinner table coming into focus.

"It's okay," she replies instantly, visibly uncertain about the topic of conversation.

"You can say her name," he says, trying to inject some humour into his voice to show her that it's okay, and she takes a moment before nodding.

"I'm sorry if I've been overly cautious," she says, and upon seeing the relief in her eyes, he wonders if this has been weighing on her, and the thought makes his heart twist. They're still trying to figure out the intricacies of this version of their relationship, and he can't blame her for avoiding topics that might upset him, but if it is to her own detriment, but he won't let it go on.

"Maybe…" He swallows, tries again. "Maybe you could tell me about it – how you became friends."

He's infinitely curious as to how Kate became such an influence on his daughter, to the point where the similarities are almost blatant at times.

Alexis shakes her head with amusement, as if 'friends' doesn't begin to cover it, and it only furthers his curiosity.

"We missed you," she starts. "I was…" She trails off, as if trying to recall the memory with perfect clarity.

"She knew how I was feeling. She didn't treat me like a child."

He smiles inwardly, because if he remembers correctly, Kate Beckett never did treat his daughter like a child. Kate was the one that thought he should let her grow up, even when he wanted to hold on to his little girl with both hands.

"She needed someone, and I needed to be needed," Alexis says, thoughtfully. "She told me so many times that I was the strong one, but I don't know what I would have done without her."

He swallows thickly, visions of them, of what they endured invade his brain, and he reaches for his daughter's hand.

"It's not your fault," she whispers, seeing the guilt in his eyes, and he shakes his head.

He knows it isn't his fault. He shudders at the sight of Lydia in that farmhouse and knows he never wanted to be there, but at the thought of what his daughter suffered in his absence, his anger feels a lot like guilt.

Dr Capwell has said it was a method of survival, his compliance.

That what he suffered in the beginning at the farmhouse forced his obedience, because he couldn't have endured it for eight years. That the only reason he's here now is because he played along, allowed himself to give in to her delusions.

Even so, his compliance left his daughter without a father, and put that broken look in her eyes, the one she hides so well behind the grace and maturity, and the guilt remains, finding a companion in the gratitude he feels towards Kate for being there to help her through it.

* * *

><p>He's supposed to be doing the exercises the physical therapist gave him.<p>

He has spent months in physical therapy, and while he no longer needs the chair – not even when he's tired – he's still supposed to be strengthening his muscles, but his conversation with Alexis plays over in his mind.

The cell phone she bought him sits on his nightstand, the one she programmed with any number he might need, and when he scrolls through the contacts, he lands on the one he's looking for and rolls his eyes at his daughter's foresight.

The phone rings twice before it's answered and there's a distinct pause at the other end of the line, and he knows that his name must have appeared on her phone, that Alexis must have given her this number.

"Hello?"

She sounds hopeful, so hopeful in that single greeting that he has to swallow past the lump in his throat before he can respond.

"Kate?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Apologies for the delay in posting, and thank you all for your patience and support :)**

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**Twitter: l03l_**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**Rick**

* * *

><p>"<em>Kate?"<em>

"Rick," she murmurs, almost disbelieving.

"Yeah," he says, a quiet confirmation that does little to start the conversation, but he's too distracted by the sound of her voice to say much more. His memories of the past – the ones that have been drowned out by the nightmares – brighten before his eyes, and he finds himself lost in the images until she pulls him back.

"How – how are you?" She fumbles over the words, and then groans softly as if she regrets the question.

"I'm okay," he returns, feeling comfortable with the assessment. "I just, I wanted to thank you, for Alexis," he says, struggling to adequately express his gratitude.

He put his daughter through hell – he saw it reflected in her eyes as she spoke of the time following his disappearance – yet she still became a strong, well-adjusted woman, and he knows Kate helped her get there.

"For Alexis?"

She sounds utterly confused, and he knows he hasn't made his point at all the way he intended.

"For being there for her," he clarifies. "During all that I – this – put her through."

"Castle," she breathes. "You didn't put her through anything. Whatever…" she clears her throat, continues softly. "Whatever happened, you're here now, and if anything were different, maybe you wouldn't be."

There's knowledge behind her words, knowledge Alexis must have shared, and he wonders how many times Alexis called Kate in need of support, in need of someone to talk to. Guilt flares, and he can't hear her anymore, too distracted by the churning of his stomach.

"Just, thank you," he manages, hoping she understands. That Alexis had to endure this at all makes his heart clench and probably always will, but he tries to remember that by Alexis' own admission, it could have been worse.

_I don't know what I would have done without her_.

"Your daughter's amazing," Kate says. "You don't need to thank me, I wouldn't be here without her."

Her words make him falter, catching him off guard with their sincerity, and in his silence she continues.

"Look, Castle, I –"

"I don't want to come between you and Alexis," he interrupts, desperate to maintain control of the conversation. He wants to discuss Alexis, to correct his selfish disregard of their relationship and its importance to his daughter, and to ensure that Kate knows that nothing needs to change, not because of him. He's not ready to talk about anything else.

The fantasies he clung to still linger in the recesses of his mind, even though he knows that they were a by-product his delusion. He understands that Kate was living in a world in which a future for them wasn't a possibility, and that she was the one living in reality. He even understands her moving on, despite the ache in his chest that the concept incites, but he hasn't had to face any of it outside of Dr Capwell's office, and he doesn't want to discuss it with her – not yet.

He just wants both Kate and Alexis to know that they don't have to suppress their relationship, not for his sake.

"If you're calling less, or anything, I just… I don't want to change anything between you."

"Okay," she agrees, and he must sound more upset than he thinks because her voice is soft, assuring.

"Okay," he echoes, taking a deep breath. "Good."

"You sure you're alright?" She asks, so tentative in her inquiry.

"I'm okay," he repeats. "But I should go."

It feels too much like a balancing act, and he wants to end the conversation before something sends them over the edge.

"If you need anything, I'm here," she says.

"Thank you," he replies, even though he doesn't want to need anything from her, not when she's already done so much for Alexis. She has her own life now, one with a partner that isn't him, and he wants to respect that.

"Bye, Kate."

"Talk soon," she says, and he hears the hope in the sentiment, clear as anything, and he can't bring himself to contradict her.

"Talk soon."

* * *

><p>He's used to the nightmares, by now.<p>

They've plagued his dreams so consistently that he spends hours every night lying in bed, bracing himself for their inevitability, for the rush of adrenaline that forces him awake.

But the nightmares don't come.

Instead, he wakes to the sun streaming through the blinds and rousing him insistently.

He stumbles out to the kitchen, groggy and convinced he's still half asleep when he sees the time on the oven.

"Sleep well?"

Alexis' voice emanates from the living room, but he can't tear his eyes from the clock as he waits for the numbers to form a combination that makes sense.

"It's after ten?" He inquires, incredulous, and she nods in affirmation.

"You slept in," she says, trying to sound casual.

"I slept in."

He's stunned, still a little hazy from what was clearly too much sleep.

"No nightmares?" Alexis asks tentatively, afraid of being corrected, and he searches his memory for even a trace, but finds none.

"No nightmares," he confirms, amazed, but he is soon distracted by the knowing smile on her face.

"Alexis?"

"You spoke to Kate yesterday," she notes, avoiding his gaze.

He doesn't need to ask how she knows. The fact that Kate would tell her is something he should have realised sooner, but it comes as no surprise.

"I called her," he says. "I wanted to tell her that she doesn't have to feel awkward about her relationship with you. That it doesn't have to change, not because of me."

She doesn't meet his eye, and he murmurs her name, catching her attention.

"I mean it. I know I've been selfish, but I don't want to come between you. You don't have to remove her from conversation; you don't have to take every phone call upstairs. You don't have to keep things from me, I can handle it."

He needs her to understand, because fixing this is the only thing containing the guilt that threatens to consume him.

She nods, but her lips are pressed together as if she's holding back, and he can't decipher the reason.

* * *

><p>It's a collective effort.<p>

Alexis still takes her phone calls out of the room, but she talks about Kate, so they're making progress.

Suddenly items of Sammy's clothing become "the t-shirt Kate bought", and photos taken of Sammy are instantly sent to Kate, and with each passing day, he starts to get a very clear picture.

They're family.

He does his best to mention her name in casual conversation intermittently to demonstrate that it's okay. He can handle the reminder of Lydia, the reminder of the state of his relationship with Kate, the fact that she loves someone else now. If he can manage the nightmares that – while diminishing in frequency – have returned, he can handle a conversation.

They're eating dinner and silence falls, and he takes the opportunity to raise a question that has been in the back of his mind since he moved into a room that was distinctly hers.

"Does Kate visit often?"

There's a pause as Alexis looks to Elliot, who clears his throat.

"When she gets the chance. Special occasions, when she has time off, that kind of thing," he explains, his eyes on Alexis as he speaks.

They exchange silent glances that Castle can't decipher, but he doesn't comment, allowing Alexis to change the topic, and hoping that they'll get there in time.

* * *

><p>He doesn't recognise the sound of his own phone.<p>

He's reading in his room, and when he hears the default ringtone, it takes him a few moments to realise where the sound is coming from. Kate's name flashes across the screen, and he answers it almost on autopilot.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Castle. I hope it's okay that I called."

She seems hesitant, as if she expects him to hang up, but he's too overwhelmed by the sound of her voice to even consider it.

It's reminiscent of the past, answering the phone to hear her voice on the other end of the line, and he basks in the reminder of what used to be, wondering if she can hear the erratic thump of his heart over the phone. The urge to ask after her, to ask about her life is hard to ignore, but fear of her response keeps him silent.

Instead, he thinks of Alexis, and the way she's still uncomfortable talking to Kate on the phone in his presence, and the importance of forming some kind of friendship with Kate, for Alexis' sake.

"Of course," he murmurs, preparing to explain his theory about Alexis when she cuts him off.

"I need to tell you something. I don't want you to feel…" she exhales shortly, starts again. "I don't want anything, I just need you to know… Tim and I broke up."

He sifts through his memory for the name Tim, but apart from context, he has nothing to go on. "I couldn't marry him," she continues, and he remembers that ring on her finger, the way it cut into his palm, and he doesn't understand.

"Why?"

It doesn't make sense.

Even after so many years, he knows that she wouldn't have agreed to marry Tim if she didn't love him, if she didn't want to spend her life with him.

"Because I love you," she says, her voice clear, unwavering. "I always will, more than anything, and I couldn't… I couldn't marry him. Not even if this is all we ever have."

Her admission is too much to comprehend, as his perception shifts entirely.

He spent so long with Dr Capwell coming to terms with the fact that she moved on, that even though his reality remained static in that basement and he was able to dream of a future with her, her reality was one in which she never thought she'd see him again.

"You don't have to say anything," she adds. "I just wanted you to know. Alexis was going to tell you, but I wanted to do it myself."

Mention of Alexis snaps him from his thoughts, and he seizes the distraction.

"Would you tell me about Alexis? About her life?"

She's been there for all that he has missed, and while the guilt borders on overwhelming, he still wants to know everything.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know, Castle," she says, her tone soft and so accepting, and he blurts the first topic that comes to mind.

"Elliot's family."

"They're… lively," she says, considering. "Have you met them yet?"

He's surprised that Alexis didn't tell her about the dinner, and it only strengthens his resolve. He murmurs his affirmation, and Kate doesn't even question his pseudo-verbal answer.

"Patricia is like Elliot," she starts. "She's more reserved, and she'd do anything for you. Greg is young at heart, you'd- you should get on well, I would think."

She goes quiet and he doesn't say that the man she remembers is now nothing more than a memory, instead prompting her to continue. "Helen and Abigail?"

"They're a little self-involved. I think that's how Elliot came to be so generous, so willing to put everyone else first – he never had much of a choice as a kid. They won't really hear what you're saying unless it directly affects them, but they're good people, and Alexis likes them."

He's distracted by her assessments, silence stretching between them, and when he realises how long he's been quiet, he responds without thinking.

"You've spent a lot of time with them? Attended a lot of family dinners?" He regrets asking instantly, regrets the way the words taste bitter in his mouth, but he can't help it. He can see them all around that dinner table so clearly, and the combination of jealousy and guilt is potent.

"I wasn't trying to take your place," she says, her voice strangled and weak, and nothing like the Kate he remembers.

"No…"

He tries to tell her that it's not that, because it isn't. He isn't angry with her for all of the nights she spent getting to know this family, but he yearns to have been there too, learning about their quirks and coming to love them.

"I'm glad Alexis had you – has you," he presses out. "I just… I've missed so much. So much of her life, and I'm thankful that you were there, but I wish I'd have been too, and I… I should have been there," he trails off. He should have fought harder, shouldn't have given in so easily…

"No, Rick." Her tone is firm now, her voice strong. "You're not to blame, for any of it. I know it's been eight years, and I know… I know what you've lost, but you have the rest of Alexis' life to witness, to be a part of, and she is so grateful for that. You can't spend that time drowning in guilt. It wasn't your fault."

He hears her words again, the confession he has been trying to ignore by focusing on Alexis.

_Because I love you._

"Don't you blame me?"

The question slips out without warning, but he's too curious to rescind it. She ended an engagement, and she seems to know that even though he's here, they won't ever be the same, and he doesn't understand how she couldn't spite him for it.

He was the one in that basement, feeding into Lydia's delusions when he could have been fighting. He was the one hiding in fantasies of Kate instead of trying to get back to her.

"I blame her, Rick. I blame her for taking you." She pauses, and he hears her inhale over the phone. "I blamed myself, for a long time," she confesses. "For not finding you, for giving up… But you're here now because you did what you needed to to survive, and so did I. Thinking about what might have been… It doesn't do any good."

He lets her words sink in, the mirror to Alexis' assurances, but with the addition of Kate's acceptance of their reality, he feels the guilt begin to recede.

"Okay," he agrees softly, as much to ease her mind as to free his own.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>He lies awake, too distracted by Kate to even consider sleep.<p>

Her _I love you _replays on a loop, torturing him endlessly, even with her lack of expectations. His love for Kate is not something he's ever questioned, yet the thought of a relationship with her, of trying to rekindle what they used to have incites visions of Lydia that refuse to fade, and he curls in on himself, wondering if he'll ever be free of her.

* * *

><p>He wrestles with the guilt.<p>

He knows that it's baseless, that he has no reason to blame anyone other than Lydia, but it doesn't disappear overnight. It's a battle, reminding himself that he can't change the past, that it wasn't his fault, but he repeats the words like a mantra every time he feels it creep in. Sometimes he hears Alexis, sometimes Kate, but each time it is the voice of someone he feels guilty for failing reminding him that they don't blame him, and he shouldn't either.

Any reservations Alexis had in relation to Kate disappeared once he learned of the demise of Kate's relationship with her fiancé. His daughter is happy, and seeing it every day helps relieve his guilt until it is gone entirely.

* * *

><p>As the guilt fades, anger fills the void with renewed ferocity.<p>

Anger for the eight years Lydia took from him, anger at the way every relationship in his life has been irrevocably changed because of her.

He can handle it, until he thinks about his mother. Every time he's reminded that he'll never see her again, that Lydia stole that precious time, his whole body tightens in absolute rage.

Dr Capwell suggests physical exercise as an outlet, and even though he can't run like he wants to, his body too weak to cope with the exertion, it only fuels his anger as he walks furiously, pushing himself to the limit.

Alexis watches him every time he leaves the house, her eyes conveying concern so clearly she doesn't even need to voice it, but she lets him go.

He takes every ounce of frustration out on the pavement and when he returns home, sweaty and exhausted, he almost feels normal.

* * *

><p>They're eating lunch when there's a knock on the door, and confused glances are passed between Elliot and Alexis, because this household is not one for unexpected guests, even on the weekend. Elliot is the one who stands to answer it, but Alexis' eyes follow his path, curiosity prevailing.<p>

Almost ten minutes pass before footsteps approach, and Elliot returns with Helen by his side.

Elliot makes a poor excuse about he and Alexis both needing to check on Sammy, which is a blatant lie because Sammy will be asleep for at least another half hour, but Castle doesn't comment, instead turning to Helen as they're left alone.

An apology falls from her lips before he can even say hello, and she blushes as she meets his eye. It's been weeks since the meal they shared, weeks since she asked if he was Kate's ex-husband, and he doesn't understand why she's here now, apologising. In hindsight he can see that it was a simple mistake, a result of miscommunication and a strange situation, but before he can tell her that it's unnecessary, she's continuing.

"I wasn't thinking. Well I was, I was thinking about Kate, and how when we met Alexis just introduced her as _Kate_, and it wasn't until before the wedding that someone told me that she was connected to you…" she sighs, clearly struggling to find the right words. "People don't tell me things," she says. "Apparently I have a habit of blurting out things I shouldn't."

He smiles then, and he can't really hold this against her, because even he struggles to comprehend the bond between Alexis and Kate, which is apparently the root of her confusion.

"I was just thinking out loud. I'm sorry."

He brushes off her apology as she takes a seat, visibly relaxing.

"I wanted to clear the air before next week," she explains, and he realises that it's almost been a month, that next weekend will mean another family meal. "We're going to Abby's. I'd eat before you leave. I don't know what she's planning, but I can guarantee it won't be edible unless it's takeout."

He laughs, appreciating her unapologetic honesty, and at his reaction she does a double take, her eyes narrowing.

"Can I ask you something?"

He wants to prove that he can handle whatever their family considers to be normal, and he won't pass up the chance for a dry run, so he nods.

"You were held captive," she says carefully.

"Yes. Eight years. She held me captive for eight years."

It's the first time he's admitted it aloud outside Dr Capwell's office, and something akin to pride swells in his chest as Helen stares at him, stunned.

"Fuck."

He's waiting for her question, but she just looks at him, too dumbfounded to say anything more. He doesn't know whether it's the fact that he can admit it, or if it's only hitting her now, but she shakes her head, foregoing any questioning and reaching to squeeze his hand.

He revels in the fact that he is discussing it with someone he barely knows, and that he's handling it better than she is, breaking into a wide grin.

"Rick?"

Helen's confused by his reaction, but he's unable to explain the combination of excitement and sheer relief flooding his body at the progress so distinct that it's almost tangible. He feels lighter than he can ever remember, knowing that he is capable of talking about what Lydia did to him, and instead of the anger he has become so accustomed to, elation bubbles in his veins.

For the first time he knows he can face this, and it isn't going to break him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Nic, thank you for taking the time to beta this, I truly appreciate it. **

_**Lord of Kavaka, **_**thank you ****for the cover art. **

**To everyone reading, thank you for the reviews, the follows and the favourites, and for the encouragement over on twitter and tumblr. I'm so glad you're enjoying this story.**

**I also want to warn you all that life is going to be a little hectic for me over the next few weeks – I'm moving interstate – so there may be a few extra days between chapters. However, I will do my best to update as quickly as possible :)**

**Twitter: l03l_**

**Tumblr: l03l**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

**Kate**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Picks up from Kate's POV at the end of chapter seven.**

* * *

><p>She's combing through financial records when her phone rings, and her heart drops at the sight of the name that lights up the screen.<p>

Alexis doesn't call during the day, not unless something's wrong.

She fumbles for the device with sweaty palms, leaving her desk for the increased privacy of the break room and trying to deduce the reason for the call.

They've all been adjusting.

Alexis and Castle have been learning how to navigate this new version of their father-daughter relationship while she's been moving into her new apartment, but she thought that things were going well.

Castle has been improving, and he and Alexis have been finding their way after their initial difficulties. At least, that's what she last heard, and she answers the phone afraid to learn that something has changed.

"Alexis?"

Her greeting is ignored, and Alexis chokes out words she never imagined could have negative implications.

"He's remembering everything, Kate."

She doesn't understand. She was under the impression that correcting his memory would be a good thing, but Alexis' tone suggests otherwise.

"He's been… off, these last few days. He hasn't been sleeping well; he's been skittish and moody… I kept telling myself I was overreacting, because I didn't want to admit that he might be getting worse, but I asked him about it this morning and all he said was that he remembers everything."

The absence of Alexis' usual positivity is a crippling blow, and Kate blinks away the tears that form in the corner of her eyes.

"He was so scared, Kate. All I did was ask him how he's been sleeping…" she trails off. "I've never seen him so terrified."

The broken bones that healed properly, the implication that Lydia took care of him… All the facts that never quite made sense are now reminders that he created his delusions for a reason.

"He won't talk to me about it."

She hears the helplessness in Alexis' voice and knows that all she needs is reassurance that she's doing the right thing in letting him work through this on his own. After confirming that he's still seeing his therapist, that he has someone to talk to, she assures Alexis that she's doing all she can.

The repeated reminder of the trauma he suffered makes her lungs tighten, and she tries to breathe through the knowledge that his memories have him so unspeakably terrified.

She just started believing Dr Burke's assurance that no one is at fault for what happened. Now her brain won't stop producing possibilities of all that Castle might have endured, and the flicker of guilt reignites because she is the reason he spent eight years in that prison.

She's the one who gave up on him.

* * *

><p>It's a reflex, calling Dr Burke's office when her stomach is churning and she can't think straight.<p>

She isn't able to see him until the end of the day, and by then she can almost articulate the reason for the turmoil.

She starts at the beginning, explaining every doubt that Alexis' call incited, the fact that all the work she's done in this room is starting to feel like a lie, because surely in giving up she traded her own sanity for Castle's.

Dr Burke is patient, his face impassive as he waits for her to finish. It's only then that he speaks, requesting that she state exactly what happened the day she stopped looking for Castle.

His words are familiar – too familiar – and the realisation that this isn't the first time they've had this conversation lands like a punch to the gut.

She relays every detail of that day, from the absolute fear in Alexis' eyes to the way she felt the mark on her throat tightening inexplicably with every breath, and she loses track of time as she repaints the memory.

When she's finished she can see it clearly, and Dr Burke doesn't have to tell her that it was never one or the other – she knows. If she hadn't let the case go, she probably wouldn't be here, and Castle still would have endured what he did.

She had no leads. Nothing. She wouldn't have found him any sooner.

She leaves more at peace with the notion than she's ever been, inhaling deeply as she remembers that he's here now.

They both are.

* * *

><p>She settles into her new apartment slowly, and starts to remember how to be on her own.<p>

Not that she's lonely.

Part of her yearns for any kind of relationship with Castle, but she knows that she can survive without it, that the other pieces of her life are enough.

Lanie isn't going anywhere, something she makes blatantly clear at every given opportunity, and the boys are supportive in their own way. Ryan makes a habit of inviting her to join Jenny and the kids for dinner, and Espo takes to accompanying her at the gym, inquiring casually about how she's doing, and pretending he's not looking out for her.

She spends a couple of nights a week with her father, speaks to Alexis regularly, and remembers that she can be perfectly content, even if her heart belongs to someone that can't give his in return.

* * *

><p>Weeks pass with the ease of routine, and Alexis keeps her updated on Castle amongst the usual stories of Sammy and Elliot.<p>

He's still struggling with nightmares he won't discuss – much to Alexis' frustration – but they both know it takes time.

He no longer needs the wheelchair, and she tells Alexis that the rest will come.

She isn't used to being the hopeful one, but it's easier than she expects, and as the assurances fall past her lips, she almost believes them.

* * *

><p>When Alexis insisted upon giving her Castle's number "just in case", she saved it and refused to give it any further thought, afraid to nurture hope that had no basis in reality. Alexis' recent concerns gave her no reason to think that he'd contact her, and when her phone flashes with his name, her complete lack of anticipation has her heart thumping in her chest uncontrollably.<p>

She's utterly unprepared to hear his voice.

He sounds so much like _Castle_, like the man she knew and not the one in the hospital bed that couldn't hold her gaze, that she can barely get words out.

He's similarly stunned, and it puts her at ease as he steers the conversation towards Alexis.

She follows his lead, replying instinctively, too distracted by him – his voice, that he called in the first place – to overthink her responses.

She tries to assuage the guilt in his words as he thanks her for looking out for Alexis, but he doesn't let her linger, focusing on what was clearly his reason for calling.

"I don't want to come between you and Alexis."

There's so much she wants to tell him, so much he needs to know, and while she can't bring herself to break this fragile olive branch by raising topics he is trying to avoid, when the conversation comes to an end she needs to know that this won't be the only time they speak.

She doesn't realise how doubtful she is that he'll agree until he repeats her words.

"Talk soon."

The corner of her heart that dares to hope jolts to life with unprecedented ferocity, and hope spreads like wildfire through her veins.

* * *

><p>She allows herself a few moments of bliss, revelling in the fact that they conversed, before she calls Alexis and asks the question she hasn't wanted to consider.<p>

"Why was he so adamant that he didn't want to change anything between us?"

Alexis sighs, filling in blanks Kate didn't know she was missing.

"We haven talked about you – since we got home."

Alexis seems ashamed to admit it, explaining that she wasn't sure Castle could handle it after the way he reacted to her in the hospital, and that she didn't want to risk it.

When she told Alexis that she wanted to be the one to inform Castle of her breakup with Tim, Alexis suggested waiting until he was in a better place to hear from her. She agreed because she wanted a chance to properly explain it to him, and she trusted Alexis' assessment.

She didn't realise that he couldn't stand even the mention of her name, and in knowing that Alexis felt the need to conceal it from her, she sees Castle's concerns from a new perspective.

"You don't have to hide things from me," she says. "I can handle it."

She can.

She's strong enough now to hear the truth, even if she wasn't before, and she won't let Alexis cause herself extra stress in an attempt to protect her.

"I know, I just –"

The subsequent realisation is swift, and she interrupts Alexis as she gives it a voice.

"You don't have to hide things from him either, not for me."

* * *

><p>It takes her longer than she intends to prepare for the conversation.<p>

Her current relationship with Castle consists of a single phone call about Alexis and an enormous amount of optimism on her part, and she doesn't want to ruin it.

Her paranoia that Alexis was his only reason for reaching out doesn't help either, but ultimately she remembers his confirmation that they'll talk soon and reminds herself that she wants to be the one to tell him about the disintegration of her relationship with Tim.

She has the entire conversation planned. Every sentence, every word she'll use to explain that she's no longer engaged, that she and Tim broke it off because she loves him, but that it isn't his fault and she doesn't expect anything from him.

Then he answers the phone.

At the sound of his voice, the intricacies of all that she's trying to express elude her, and she blurts out what she remembers, hoping to appear calmer than she feels.

She spent hours agonising over every possible response he could have to the words "I couldn't marry him", but she's still unprepared for the mix of confusion and shock in his tone when he asks "_why?"_

She takes the time to collect herself, to ignore the burning behind her eyes at his assumption that the place he held in her heart disappeared when he did, and to explain clearly that she loves him, that she always will, even if they have nothing more than this tentative promise of a friendship.

It's something she's spent hours in therapy coming to terms with, and she'd be proud of the way she says it without breaking if she weren't so focused on his reaction, the memory of him pleading "_go away, please go away" _a taunting whisper in her ears.

When he doesn't respond, she's quick to assure him that it's okay. She needed him to know the truth, needed to clear the air for Alexis as well as herself, but if he's about to dispute her statement that they have _something, _she doesn't want to know.

Hope might be treacherous, but it's all she has, and she can't lose it.

She expects him to let the exchange reach its natural end, but instead he revives it with the one topic that has yet to cause tension between them.

"Would you tell me about Alexis? About her life?"

He sounds so regretful that she finds herself desperate to tell him everything he wants to know.

She lets him dictate the topic, and while she's surprised by his choice of Alexis' in-laws, she tries not to show it. Instead, she throws herself into the conversation, the familiarity of talking to him washing over her and pushing them through any awkward lulls.

The moment he mentions the monthly family dinner, she knows she's missing something, but she's distracted by the insinuation that she took his place in their family because it _hurts_. It took years for her to feel comfortable being such a significant part of Alexis' life without him by her side, and old insecurities flare as she attempts to explain that she wasn't trying to replace him.

"…I should have been there."

Her own thoughts are quickly drowned out by the guilt in his words, guilt that she won't let fester, because there is no interpretation of the last eight years in which he is at fault for his own captivity.

That he thinks _she_ could blame him is a knife to her already fractured heart, and she foregoes the assertive approach, instead falling back on quiet honesty.

She tells him that she blames Lydia, that while she spent a long time blaming herself, she now understands that she isn't at fault for surviving, and neither is he.

In the silence that falls, any part of her that still doubted her lack of culpability slips away, and when she hears his soft acceptance in a single word, the relief is overwhelming.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>In the weeks that follow, she notices the change in Alexis, even over the phone.<p>

Alexis is more relaxed, and together they form a new normal, one where she exchanges greetings with Castle through Alexis when he's in the room, just as she does Elliot.

She hasn't spoken to Castle since she told him she and Tim ended their engagement – she hasn't wanted to pressure him to respond, but there's an openness present between them that wasn't there before, and it's enough for now.

* * *

><p>She's speechless when she calls Alexis and Castle answers.<p>

"Hey, Kate, Alexis is upstairs, she'll be down in a minute."

He sounds so casual that it takes her a moment to comprehend his words before she even thinks to reply.

"How are you doing?" She manages, trying to appear half as relaxed as him and failing miserably.

"I'm…" he sighs. "I'm running," he says, the contrasting honesty in his tone exposing his previous upbeat greeting as a facade.

She blinks, tries to reconcile the memory of the man who couldn't stand on his own with someone who claims to be running, and attempts to understand exactly what he means.

"Well, I'm trying to," he continues, laughing dryly. "I guess some days are better than others."

"The bad days will get further apart," she says softly, unthinking.

It's so easy with him, even with so much between them. Every time they speak he sounds more like the man she knew, and everything else fades into the background.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she confirms. "You know you can call me, if you want to talk," she says, but it comes across as more of a question than a reminder.

"Yeah, you too," he murmurs. "Alexis is here. Talk soon." He ends the conversation abruptly, and she's not even sure he's still on the line when she responds, echoing the hopeful sentiment that concluded their first phone call.

"Talk soon."

* * *

><p>She shouldn't be so afraid.<p>

She was less nervous when she called him last time, but then she had an actual reason to contact him, something other than an insatiable need to hear his voice, to see how he's doing.

While Alexis' concern over his state of mind has waned over the last couple of weeks, it is ever-present, and she can no longer control her need to check in, to hear from him directly.

She holds her breath as she waits for him to answer, and when he does she wonders briefly if she's called the wrong number.

He sounds … happy. Giddy, even, and she's too stunned to utter more than his name.

"Castle?"

"Kate." She can almost see the broad grin that she's sure paints his face, if his intonation is any indication.

"I want to tell you something," he starts, clearly realising that his mood requires an explanation.

"This is going to sound stupid," he says, but he's so excited, so much like the man she used to know, whose enthusiasm for the littlest things would always make her smile, and she feels her own heart rate pick up in response.

"No," she assures him. "I'm sure it's not stupid."

He clears his throat, dispensing with the majority of the excitement before speaking.

"I was held captive. For eight years, Lydia held me captive."

He says it with such acceptance that it makes her feel light-headed, and she falls back onto the couch, drawing her knees up to her chin.

"Kate?"

She remembers seeing him in that hospital, so withdrawn and broken and _frustrated_, remembers him pushing her away repeatedly, Alexis' words a painful soundtrack to the memory.

_He thinks it was you. _

She can't believe that he's now stating it so openly, that he's so at ease with the fact.

"Rick."

Her voice sounds weak, the tears in her eyes clogging her throat, and she wishes she could muster some kind of reassurance, something – anything – to say, but she can't.

"It's not much," he adds, and she shakes her head vehemently even though he can't see it.

"It's everything," she disagrees.

When he left New York without so much as a goodbye, she never imagined they'd get this far.

"I'm so proud of you," she presses out.

"Thank you," he returns, the weight of the exchange not lost on him either.

"Anyway, you called me?" He inquires, and she's so lost in the magnitude of what just occurred that she answers without thinking.

"I just wanted to hear your voice."

The silence returns, and she wants to gloss over it, wants to fill the void with something about Alexis, because this is too much too soon, clearly, but now words refuse to leave her mouth.

"I'm glad you called," he says, and she expels a nervous breath. "You were right."

She hears his hesitance and waits for him to continue, even as her curiosity piques.

"The bad days are getting further apart."

* * *

><p><strong>Tumblr: l03l<strong>

**Twitter: l03l_**


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Castle, Angst, Drama