DISCLAIMER: I own nothing you recognize. Castle, the characters and everything else, belongs to Andrew W. Marlowe and ABC. I claim no ownership over any of this. I am not making a profit, simply writing for my own amusement (and hopefully yours).

For Julia

Who loved and dreamed but barely got the chance to live

Without her, I wouldn't be where I am today

The quiet of the loft almost makes her yearn for the craziness the precinct holds. Almost.

On any other day, she is sure she would love to be doing something - anything - at the precinct. But today, today she is perfectly content with sitting at home, reading the new Nikki Heat. She does like to be alone. She craves it once in a while and Castle has always been great at letting her breathe and giving her space. That's partly why she's alone now. Partly.

Technically, she's not alone. She's never alone anymore. Everywhere she goes, she always has somebody with her. She can't escape, not when she's carrying this person around inside her. For the past four months, she's always had company resting in her stomach.

It's the baby that is keeping her home tonight. Castle is out at the book launch for Fallen Heat. She so desperately wishes she could have accompanied him. But the miniature person has a different plan for the night. It decided mere hours before the party that today is the perfect day to mess up Mommy's stomach.

Two hours into the party, Kate knows that going with her husband would have been a bad idea. Reflecting on it, she realizes it's probably a good idea that she rests and relaxes anyway. The past few days have been very stressful, focusing on a case involving kidnapped children and serial killers gone too far. She's been on her feet, running around, for the better part of forty hours, only stopping when forced to by Rick.

Plus, she's been dying - bad choice of words there - to read the new book. She's watched him writing it for months, refusing to tell her even the slightest little bit, no matter how much she begged or what she offered in return. He held strong. But now the book is out and he did agree to give it to her before the official release, since she wasn't going to be able to go. So she is reading it before the fans - only, not as much before as she would have liked.

Chapter five is more intense than the chapters before. The case is just starting to really heat up - no pun intended - and Kate finds herself completely immersed in the words on the page. She is so deep into reading that she doesn't register the clicking sound of the front door. Nor does she notice as Martha slips in. She takes no note of it until the elder woman stops in front of her.

"Kate dear?" she says softly. "How are you doing?"

"Martha?" exclaims Kate. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't stopping by until tomorrow."

"That was the original plan," her mother-in-law says, "but Richard asked so kindly if I would come by earlier to check on you. He so hates having to leave you here alone."

Kate chuckles, "I know. He really didn't have to have you go out of your way to come over. I'm fine." She holds up the book, "Just reading a bit, then I'll probably hit the sack."

"Sounds like a plan," Martha agrees, but she does not leave. Instead, she pulls her jacket off, slings it over the arm of the chair, and settles into the couch beside Kate. "What's happening?"

"Nikki and the boys caught a break," Kate says, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the woman's silliness. "But it's a dead end, I can tell already."

"Of course," Martha says. "It's only chapter - what is it - five?"

"Yeah, but even if it weren't," Kate says, "they're going after the wrong guy."

Martha simply nods and rests her head on the back of the sofa. She watches as Kate turns her attention back to the book. The pages flip faster than she could ever dream of reading them. She watches the girl until, eventually, Kate makes a face at the book.

"Everything alright dear?"

"Oh yeah," Kate wrinkles her nose. "Baby doesn't like the description of the crime scene. It's a little gruesome."

"Yes, well, Richard has a talent for the death in a book," his mother smiles. "He's obsessed with it, can write it perfectly."

"Got that right," agrees Kate. "He likes murder a little too much."

"Death," Martha corrects. "Murder is just one strand of it. I think it's all death in general."

There's a pause in conversation. Neither woman moves, nor does Kate look back to the book. They simply look at each other and contemplate what's been said.

Kate's the first to speak again, "Is there a - do you know why?"

"Why what?"

"Why he's so obsessed with murder - or death, sorry," Kate asks.

Martha frowns ominously and nods slowly, "I believe I do. Has he never told you?"

"No. Five years we've been together...two and a half married, but you know, I don't think he's ever told me that story," Kate muses.

"You know, you still haven't told me where your fascination with murder came from," she says.

"I was five years old. We were summering in the Hamptons. I was pretty much left to my own devices. This one day, I was walking on the beach. I was miles from where I'd started. I was just about to turn back when I saw something had washed up on the beach. I thought maybe it's a whale or a turtle or a sea lion, so I ran over to see what it was."

"What was it?"

"It was a boy, my age. He was our housekeeper's son. It must have just happened, 'cause the tide hadn't washed away the blood. We had just played hide-and-go-seek the day before."

"What happened to him?"

"They never found out."

"I'm so sorry Castle." He grins at her and realization hits. "You made that up?"

"It's what I do!"

She knows that that story wasn't true. She'd asked him about it again, eventually. He confirmed that it was made up, but still managed to evade the true question at the time.

"It's not a happy tale," Martha snaps her out of her reverie. Kate looks at her, straight in the eye, and silently begs to hear it anyway. "You sure you want me to tell it?"

Kate nods, "I need to know."

"Okay," Martha nods. She seems restrained, like she's fighting an inner battle on whether to tell Kate the story or not, or at least how much of it to tell. But she sighs and begins to speak.

Immediately, Kate knows where Castle got his storytelling from. The words pouring from Martha's mouth flow perfectly. Her tone makes Kate wonder just how she isn't acting in huge Hollywood movies. From the moment she beings to talk, Kate is mesmerised by the words.

"When Richard was about five, we were at the beach. Just him and I, like always. Every summer, we'd go - at least once a week. He loved it. I'm fairly certain it was the one thing he always looked forward to.

"One day, we were sitting in the sand. He'd just come back from a quick swim. He was building one of his sandcastles when this girl approached him. She asked if she could help. At first, he was taken aback. At that age, he was not popular, he didn't have many friends, nobody asking to play with him. But he agreed. I think he just wanted somebody to play with.

"Their sandcastle was amazing. The two really hit it off. When the sun began to set, and we were packing up to leave, her father came up to us. He told us that his daughter - Julia, was her name - had had more fun playing with Richard than she had in a long time. He gave me his number, told me to call and we'd set up a play-date.

"The second we got home, Richard begged me to call. I told him no but I ended up calling the very next day. She came over to our small apartment. The size didn't matter to her. She just wanted to play. She loved his toys - even though they were all boy toys.

"Her father stuck around. He said that he had to speak with me before he could let this friendship go further. Naturally, I was confused but intrigued, so I invited him in while the kids played. I offered him wine and we sat. And he talked. He told me about Julia, about their family. He told me everything about her.

"Then he told me about her heart. He told me that she had a condition - I cannot for the life of me remember what it was now - and that she had a bad heart. She was fine at the moment, could be for a while, but her heart would not last as long as it should. It was too weak.

"He told me that he understood if I didn't want Richard to play with her. The heartache it would cause if something were to happen could be drastic. But I told him that there was no way I would stop my son. He liked this girl and he would do anything to be her friend. I told him that having a bad heart didn't mean she was a bad person. And it was better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. I told him that Julia would always be welcome in our home, as long as she wanted to come.

"After that, play-dates became a regular thing. Every few weekends, Julia would come over, or Richard would go over there. As the weeks went, they grew and became closer and closer. They were the best of friends. And Richard was finally happy. He had somebody to play with, and as they grew older, somebody to talk to.

"Teenage years hit them hard. A boy and a girl had trouble being friends. But they went to different schools, hung out with different people. It was easy enough for them to remain friends. I couldn't help but wonder if it would ever be more than that.

"Richard always denied any feelings for her, her father said she did the same. They were just friends. We accepted that. Richard went away to boarding school. It was hard then as well. I think he sent her more letters than he did me.

"And then, a mere month before his seventeenth birthday, Julia was admitted to the hospital. He left school. He forgot about his work, his other friends. He didn't eat or sleep. He just sat in her room with her. I don't know what they said to each other. But I don't think I saw his eyes dry the whole time. Nor hers. She was only there a week. She never checked out.

"After her death, he became a shell of himself. He went to her place a few times to visit her family - for she had two younger brothers now. Eventually, that became too hard as well. He stopped socializing. He focused on his schoolwork. At least, that's what I thought anyway. I suppose that was when he began to write. Writing was his way to get the pain out and express how he felt. He was coping."

Kate startles, "His first book! It's dedicated to Julia... I never knew. All this time..."

"He doesn't speak about it," Martha rests her hand on her daughter-in-law's shoulder. "I doubt Alexis knows either. Meredith and Gina most certainly do not. I wouldn't, if I hadn't lived it with him."

"He became obsessed with death when she died," Martha continues. "Ever since..."

"But she died, she wasn't murdered," Kate whispers. "How did he go from a heart disease to murder? What made him take that jump?"

"I think it was the only way he could make it more fair," the older redhead shrugs. "Give it a reason and a person to blame. There was nobody to blame for Julia, unless you want to blame God or Mother Nature. But they aren't good anger outlets. Murderers are."

"But life's not fair," Kate says. "My mother was murdered when I was nineteen. I don't have answers. Life isn't fair. I was always told that that was just the one thing you had to accept. You could believe anything you wanted, as long as you didn't think that life was fair or honest or reliable."

"Good lesson," Martha tells her. "But Richard did not see it that way."

"Does - does he ever talk about her?" Kate asks. "He's never once mentioned her to me..."

"He used to," Martha nods. "Every now and then. But he hasn't in years. I don't think he's spoken to me about Julia since before you were shot. That's not to say he doesn't still think about her. I know he went to her grave in March for the anniversary of her death."

"March... That's where he went?" Kate exclaims. "He wouldn't tell me! He just said he had an errand to run. But he came back with nothing."

"That would explain it then," Martha yawns.

Kate sighs at her, and shakes her head, "Are you tired? Like I said before, you don't need to babysit me. Rick will be home soon anyway, we spent so much time talking. You can go to bed Martha."

The woman stands and thanks Kate before making her way upstairs. She turns only once to tell Kate, "I don't care if you tell him I told you. If you want him to know you know, go ahead. It's not a secret."

Kate watches her walk away, her mind racing with thoughts of Julia, Castle, and everything they've never told each other. She wonders what else she doesn't know about his past. He doesn't speak of it much.

She stands up, her finger marking the forgotten page in Fallen Heat, and makes her way to their bedroom. She slips into her comfortable pyjamas and crawls into their bed, pulling the covers up high. She snuggles against the pillows and opens the book once more.

One again, she loses herself in the wonderful words written by her husband. She reads herself to fantasy land as she waits for Castle to return home.

Oh, look, I made myself tear up.

The plan for this started out better than it ended up. In case you couldn't tell, I'm drawing from personal experience. It got hard, in the middle, and I apologize for how bad the writing and the story may have gotten.

I hope you didn't find it too awful. Even if you did, would you mind leaving a quick review? I would love to know what you thought. Thanks so much for reading!