Comfort from Days Gone by

Kate could feel the tiny weight against her chest beneath the covers on the rickety bed in her SRO. It was a Castle doll. She'd picked it up at a book signing when she was nineteen. The little Plushie had been a give-away, part of Black Pawn's publicity blitz. Castle didn't remember signing her book back then. He certainly never knew she had the doll, which she'd kept carefully hidden behind some turtleneck sweaters he hated. It looked a little like him, with the wide set blue eyes on the painted face. The shape of the nose was almost right, if a little wide. The mouth was close too, if not nearly as sensual. There was no sign of the stubble that roughened his face in the morning and by early evening, but there was a brown bump, a poor imitation of the lock of hair that insisted on falling over his forehead.

She held it to her, stroking the slightly fuzzy fabric that was a stand-in for his hair. This was the closest she would get to having him near her, feeling his warmth his touch. It was a poor substitute, but all she had. When she'd returned to the loft to pick up more of her things, she'd brought the doll with her, after rubbing it against his favorite jacket. It still held a hint of the musk that drew her to him in the night. "Castle, "she whispered. "What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?"

Unlike its model, the doll was silent, always silent. But that didn't keep Castle's words from echoing in her head. "We can figure it out together, like always. You need me."

"I do need you, Castle," she murmured, tears overflowing her lashes and spilling from her eyes. "But I can't ask you to go down the rabbit hole with me."

Words echoed in her brain again from what seemed a lifetime ago but was less than two years. "I'm volunteering." He had always volunteered, practically from the moment they'd started working together. Unarmed and barefoot he'd chased a murderer, and managed to disarm him. He'd defeated a ruthless killer with a champagne cork. He'd stood with her when her feet compressed the trigger of a bomb. He'd stayed with her in the face of Bracken's power and a manhunt by the N.Y.P.D. and he'd gone after her when she was held by the worst of serial killers. Whenever he'd been given the choice, he'd chosen to be at her side, no matter what the odds. She knew what he'd do if given the choice now, so he hadn't given it to him. She hadn't even hinted at the truth.

They'd been down this road before. They'd both kept secrets. Well, Castle kept secrets, if she was honest with herself, she'd have to admit she'd out and outright lied. She denied hearing him tell her he loved her. Not to protect him, but to protect herself. Somehow he'd finally known, even though she'd never confessed - and he was hurt and angry. But at the same time he'd kept the secret of Mr. Smith to protect her. She'd been so angry at him for that. She'd screamed it was her life and he had no right to make the decision for her. Of course he was right when he told her she was unprepared for what was to come. It brought her to the edge of a roof and the edge of death. But she still insisted on the right to make her own decisions without his input. She lied to him about interviewing for the job with the AG's office. She took the ill-advised job even though it would keep them apart. That job, she'd wanted it so much, and it was at the root of everything that was happening now. The job and her secret inquiry using it, had caused this catastrophe. She had misused her position, and now it had come back to bite her in ways she couldn't have imagined. Rachel and the rest of the team were dead and she was separated from the person she needed most in this world, Castle. It was the lies and shutting everyone out that kept doing her in. Every time she thought she was on the road to happiness, to something better, the fallout from her isolating actions dragged her down. But she had to protect Castle, didn't she? She was lying out of love. But how furious had she been when he did the same? And it had never worked anyway. It took both of them to take down Bracken. How could she take down LokSat alone?

She had Vikram, but Vikram wasn't Castle, not even close. While Castle was strong and inventive under pressure, Vikram was a coward. He depended on her to keep him safe, to figure out the plan. She needed Castle's crazy out of the box thinking. She hugged the doll once more to her chest. But Castle wasn't there. And she knew he'd want to be, no matter what the danger. He'd made the vow: "Partners in crime and in life. She'd made it too, but she'd broken it. Would he? She didn't think so. Did she have the right to ask him to? She didn't know. She did know that when the tables were turned she hadn't granted that right to him. Was it love or selfishness? In her rush to lock what was precious to her away in a place of safety, had she imprisoned him against his will? She had. Castle could be childish but he was no child. She was the child, hugging a doll instead of the man, insisting that her way was the only way. It was Kate Beckett against the world and the world was knocking her to her knees.

She kicked off the covers, looking at the doll for what it was, a little bit of stuffed cloth with no brain, no heart, no grit. It had none of what truly made Castle the man he was. She needed the reality. The doll fell to the ground as she got up, pulled on the first clothes she found, and headed for the door.

Her key still fit the entrance to the loft. She found Castle, not in the bed they'd shared but on the sofa in his office. He was sleeping fitfully, sweaty strands of hair stuck to his brow. There was a wad of something under the blanket he'd thrown around himself. He jerked upright as she knelt by the couch and touched his cheek. "Kate? Am I dreaming?"

"No Castle, you're not dreaming. I have a lot to tell you. And you may be joining me in my nightmare. But I want, I need, to come home."

Castle leaned forward, wordlessly opening his arms. Kate's N.Y.P.D. t-shirt fell from beneath his blanket to the floor.