A/N: Inspired by an old prompt from castlefanficprompts, to be posted at the end of the story (though if you want to know beforehand, you can find it on my tumblr - acoldcomfort). There'll be ten chapters and it's all mostly written (barring the editing), so you can expect a chapter a week. I hope you guys enjoy and stick with me for this ride :)

Now my thoughts so cloudy and my heart's so crowded with pain

- 3:16am, Jhene Aiko

The first few weeks in the Hamptons are fun, filled with inspiration and opportunities to work out on the deck in the sunshine. Gina leaves after a week and a half, fed up with his inconsistency and inability to actually focus on said inspiration long enough to get out an acceptable chapter. He tells her he doesn't work well with her constant hovering and complaining—even though her presence was supposed to be nothing but a catalyst to kick him into high gear—and so she agrees to go back to the city, so long as he promises to write.

But now it's going on week eight and Richard Castle is bored.

His muse isn't cooperating, and he tries to convince himself that it's not because the human equivalent is nowhere in sight, but back in the city hunting down killers without him.

No, it's definitely not that. He's perfectly capable of formulating decent material for a few months without following her around. He scrubs his hands over his face with a sigh. Decent is the operative word. It's all decent, sure, but it's not great. It's not what it could be, and despite his attempts to convince himself otherwise, he knows it's because he misses the tall detective with sharp cheekbones that could kill him and piercing eyes, usually leveled in a glare in his general direction.

It's not all that fun out here by himself, he's decided, nowhere near as fun as working cases with the team is.

Working in the beautiful weather is no longer appealing, nor is working in general, and he just wants to get back to the precinct and help New York's finest put away some sleazy criminals.

He hasn't called anyone, especially not Beckett, unsure of whether or not she'd want to hear from him. He'd have no legitimate reason to call, anyway, no case-related theories to spin. They don't just call each other to say hi, that's not who they are, and they definitely don't call to express how much the other is missed. And so he's pushed back every urge to dial her number.

They've made a lot of progress since the Coonan case and he refuses to ruin that, to scare her away with too much.

He puts his laptop onto his desk, pushes the chair back and stands up, striding into the kitchen. The fridge is fully stocked and he grabs a handful of eggs, cheese, ham, and all of the seasonings necessary for the perfect omelette. He may not be able to write anything of substance at the moment, but he can make the king of breakfast foods.

The ringing of his cell phone blares throughout the room and he lowers the heat on the stove, tosses the dish cloth over his arm as he moves to the counter.

His face breaks out into a smile when a familiar number pops up.

"Y'ello," he chirps, but the voice on the other end is not the one he was expecting.

"Castle."

"Lanie?" He grins. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

There's a brief pause. "I've got a bone to pick with you, writer boy, but that's not important right now." His nose scrunches up. Okay then. "You've got a right to know what I'm about to tell you."

His brows furrow. "What'd I do?" he asks, then shakes his head. "Never mind, what do I have a right to know?" He hears her take a deep breath, and there's a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Lanie, what's going on?"

"There's been an accident," she hedges.

She hasn't even said anything and his stomach is already in his throat, his heart beating erratically against the cage of his ribs. The only reason she'd be calling about an accident is if—

"Beckett," he rushes out. "Is it Beckett? What happened? Lanie…"

"I shouldn't give you the details over the phone," she says, and he's already back in the kitchen, turning off the stove and disregarding all of the open ingredients scattered on the counter as he makes a beeline for the front door. "There was a car accident, and it's—it doesn't look good, Castle."

The lack of usual pizzazz in her tone is concerning enough, but the break in her voice pushes his nerves over the edge.

"Is she—how is she—what—" He can't get anything out, can't think straight, the only thing echoing in his mind Beckett and car accident.

Two things he never wanted to hear together in a sentence.

Lanie takes a breath. "I don't know what you're doing out there, but I'd… try to come back soon."

"Already in the car," he manages, throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of the driveway. "What hospital?"

He barely has the presence of mind to take note of the name, only just catches it before Lanie signs off with a sigh of I'll see you there and he's speeding down the highway at what's probably a record high for him.

It doesn't look good, Castle.

Lanie's words play on repeat, taunt him until his foot's pressing just a bit harder on the gas. Beckett's face the last time he saw her, standing in the bullpen of the precinct with a soft "see you in the fall?" on her lips is the only thing he sees the whole way back.

He shaves half an hour off the time it'd normally take to get to the hospital and he pulls into the lot, parking haphazardly in the first open spot he finds. He doesn't bother making sure he's even inside the lines before he bolts from the car and rushes to the entrance. It's not until he's inside that he realizes Lanie didn't give him a room number, didn't tell him what floor she's actually on or what ward she's in. He has no real details, now that he thinks of it.

All he has to go off of is a car accident.

His eyes scan his surroundings, look down the visible hallways, and then he's jogging up to a front desk, trying to catch his breath as the lady looks up at him.

"Beckett," he breathes, hands curled around the linoleum surface. It's chilled beneath the pads of his fingers and he doesn't know if it's the desk or his body that's so cold.

"Sir?"

He blinks. "Beckett, Kate Beckett. Where is she?"

"What is she here for, sir?"

"Uh—car accident, she was in an accident. How is she? What floor is she on?"

The woman looks back from the computer. "Are you a relative?"

"I'm her partner," he rushes out, frantic eyes pleading with this woman to just tell him something. "Please."

She sighs, but her face softens as she takes him in, and she types something into the computer before catching his eyes once more.

"She's on the sixth floor," she says. "You'll have to ask the rest of your questions up there."

He's already a few feet away before he turns back, tossing a thank you over his shoulder as an afterthought. The elevator ride takes what seems like hours, stopping at floors two and four to pick people up, and he bounces anxiously on the balls of his feet the entire time.

The elevator dings, the doors open, and he races out, stopping only because he doesn't know where he's going. Again.

He spins in a circle, trying to figure out which direction is the right one, when he hears a familiar voice.

"Castle," it calls out, and he turns to find Lanie coming towards him.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees her. "Lanie," he manages. "Where is she? How is she? What happened?"

She shakes her head, tugs on his arm to guide him away from the elevators. "Come on, let's go somewhere else."

"Lanie," he tries again. "Please."

They stop in a small alcove, far enough from the patient rooms and the nurse's desk to give them some privacy. She turns to him then, her eyes no longer bright and vibrant like they were when he left, and offers what he assumes is her best attempt at a smile. It comes across more as a grimace, but he doesn't blame her.

"There was a car accident," she says, repeating the one piece of information he already knows. "She was running down a lead uptown and a truck ran the red light, t-boned her."

His mouth drops open. "The driver?"

"Drunk," she spits on a sigh. "His blood alcohol level was twice the legal limit."

Castle's fingers ball into fists at his side, his knuckles turning white. Drunk. Some asshole went out drinking, decided to get behind the wheel of his truck, and ran a red light. Plowed right into Beckett's cruiser, and—

"What side?" he asks suddenly, eyes on Lanie. "What side did he hit? Was it the passenger side?"

Please. If it had to hit one, please at least let it have been the passenger side.

She looks down, shaking her head. "Beckett's."

His breath hitches, eyes falling closed. "Where is he? Is he being charged? Tell me he's being charged."

"The boys made sure of it," she assures him. "He won't be getting out of this, not with the DUI, reckless driving, and whatever else they manage to pile on."

He hesitates. "They won't be adding… they won't be adding vehicular manslaughter to that list, will they?" She's quiet before him, and he feels his heart drop. "Lanie, is she okay? How bad is it? Where is she? Is she awake? Can I see her?" He has a million questions and barely enough breath to ask them.

Lanie's eyes shine as she looks up at him. "I don't know, Castle. I don't know," she says, accompanied by a desperate shrug of her shoulders. "It doesn't look good. They're not sure of the damage that's been done because she's…"

"She's what?"

"She's in a coma, Castle."

His eyes widen, mouth open as all of the wind is knocked out of him. Tears threaten to prickle at the backs of his eyes, but he doesn't let them pass, won't let them come right now. He purses his lips, swallowing the lump in his throat as he glances down a hallway, imagining Beckett in one of those rooms.

A coma.

She's in a coma. His thoughts go wild, run a rampage in his mind because Beckett's not awake, not conscious at all, all because this person ran a red light. Whoever it was took matters into his own hands, and with it, Beckett's life. He wants to know if he's sitting in lockup, if there's any way he can pay one of the guards to let him in to kill him, or at the very least knock him out.

"How long?" is all he manages, his voice thick.

Lanie gives him a sympathetic look. "Three weeks."

"Three weeks?" he exclaims. "She's been in a coma for three weeks and no one called me?"

"Listen, Castle, the boys—"

"Didn't think I should know that my partner—my friend—was in an accident?"

She opens her mouth, a reply on the tip of her tongue, an explanation, when she's interrupted by yet another voice.

"Lanie, I—" Esposito stops when he sees Castle, his face hardening. "What's he doing here?"

"I called him."

Esposito bristles. "Why?"

"He deserved to know, Javi," she says. "He's her partner."

"Some partner," he mumbles.

Castle's brows furrow. "What did I do?"

Esposito turns to him then, stalks past Lanie. "What did you do? You leave for two months and don't call, and you're asking what you did?"

And don't call? This is all because he didn't call while he's been gone?

Lanie steps in, puts a hand on his shoulder. "This is not the time."

"He deserves to know what he did," he counters, looking at Castle. "You left with your ex-wife on your arm, bro, you left Beckett—"

"Javier."

"Chica—"

She shakes her head, lowers her voice. "Don't you chica me. This grudge you're holding against Castle ends now," she says firmly, leveling him with a glare. "Our girl is in there fighting for her life and she does not need you yelling out here. This is hard enough on all of us without you lashing out."

You left Beckett? He didn't leave her. Well, technically he did, but not for good. Not in a way with any finality. Just for the summer, a summer he offered her a spot at his Hamptons home and she turned down.

Esposito deflates seconds later, the fight draining out of him. "Fine," he says, turning to Castle. "Sorry, man."

"It's not Castle's fault," Lanie adds. "I'm sure he had a good reason for not calling." She looks pointedly at him. "Don't you?"

He splutters, mouth opening and closing. "I—I do," he says, though he's not sure he believes himself. He thought it was a good reason at the time, a safe reason, but now he wishes that he had, wants nothing more than to turn back to a few weeks ago and force himself to hit that speed dial, call Beckett and take the chance that she'd actually want to talk to him.

She nods. "Good. And while I'd love to hear that answer in the near future," she starts, raising a brow at him, "I need to go talk to one of the doctors about getting fluffier pillows for our girl. Javi, bring Castle in when you come."

Esposito nods, and they both watch her leave before he turns to Castle once more.

"I didn't mean to take it out on you, bro," he sighs, and Castle can see the bags under his eyes, the worry lines etched into his face. He understands. "These past three weeks with her in here, it's just been…"

"I get it," he cuts him off, shaking his head. "I'm a mess and I've only known for a few hours." He tries to laugh despite himself, but it doesn't quite work. "I can't imagine how you guys are holding up." He pauses. "How is she?"

"Bad," is the answer he gets, and he almost wishes he hadn't asked. "It's bad, Castle. Ryan's been working on building as big a case on the other driver as he can. It's been over a week, I don't think he's slept."

Everyone's working so hard to put this guy away, and Castle's chest tightens. This is her team, their team. She's family to them, to the boys, Lanie, so important that they're losing sleep and working themselves into the ground.

He wonders how much of it is a pure desire to get justice for Beckett, and how much is a distraction, a way to keep them from focusing on the fact that Beckett's very much unresponsive in a hospital bed.

He can't blame them.

Esposito takes a breath, scrubs a hand down his face and steels himself, doesn't let the fatigue or emotions show any longer. He turns in the direction Lanie ventured not ten minutes ago, and then nods his head.

"Are you ready to go in?"

Is he ready? No. He's not even remotely ready, but he has to see her.

"Yeah," he breathes. "I'm ready."