Alexis clicked through the photos on her computer screen.

Dad at her Kindergarten Christmas play, holding a giant camcorder, the kind people had back then. "Smile, Sweetie. Say your lines loud. If you get scared, look at me. Just keep your eyes on me."

"Keep your eyes on me, Alexis."

Alexis was growing up. Nobody looked at her like a little girl any more. The guys at the precinct had respect for her in their eyes. Detective Beckett saw her as a young woman. Grandma treated her like a friend. Ashley treated her like a queen.

Alexis liked being a grownup, finally recognized for her maturity and strength, for the diligence she had always shown. She enjoyed people finally seeing her for who she truly was, now that she no longer looked like a kid. It was better to be a woman than a girl, better to be respected as an adult than treated like a child.

Usually.

Sometimes Alexis was scared. Sometimes she thought about the neat, organized world she had created around herself, and a cold knot of fear settled in her stomach. What if she failed somehow? What if she couldn't live up to all the things everyone wanted her to do, all the goals she had set for herself? Good had never been enough. She needed perfect. Alexis had been perfect for so long that everyone had come to expect it.

Perfect. Level-headed. Wise. Adult.

They all thought that. All except one.

Alexis remembered the terrifying moment when, as a five-year-old, she had stepped onto the tiny stage all decorated with garish Christmas lights, her head filled with the lines her teacher had given her, more than the other kids because she could memorize so much more quickly. And then she couldn't remember anything.

Pure fear, fueled by the dozens of eyes that stared at her, a crowd that seemed like thousands to the little girl. They all waited, and it felt like they were expecting her to mess up. She could hardly breathe.

And then she remembered.

Keep your eyes on me, Alexis.

Her eyes found him, sitting in the second row, the camcorder set down on his lap so he could look straight at her. Pure warmth, pure strength. As soon as she saw her father, the lines came back.

Afterward, everyone said Richard Castle's daughter was amazing. So cute. So smart. Going to be something like her father. Alexis knew the reason. She didn't stop looking at her dad until she fell asleep that night.

Fail or succeed, you'll always be my girl. That's what those eyes said. You'll always be my girl.

His girl. That was it.

All the world's a stage. That's what Shakespeare wrote, and Alexis couldn't think of a better way to say it. Now, at seventeen, she sometimes felt like she was in that Kindergarten play all over again, paralyzed with fear that she might fail, unable to be the adult she wanted so much to be.

Alexis turned off her computer and walked into the living room, hoping the faint light she saw meant what it usually did. The soft clicking of computer keys ceased as she approached the shadowed form on the couch. Her father looked up.

Before she could say anything, Alexis felt a flood wash over her—understanding, comfort, affection. His eyes, taking her in, seeing her uncertainty. Fail or succeed, you'll always be my girl. He said it without saying a word.

Alexis sat down, resting her head on her father's shoulder as he put his arms around her, listening to his heartbeat, feeling safe.

Her father. The one she didn't have to be perfect for, the one who gave her the strength to grow up.