The Weight of Us

by

A.K. Hunter

Chapter One

"You make me a ghost." — Ingrid Michaelson, "Ghost"

Alexis was tired of waiting.

For well over an hour, she'd been walking circles in the small exam room. Her feet ached, and she could recite the catch phrase on each wall's pharmaceutical poster from memory, but the distraught infant in her arms simply would not let her sit. It was probably for the best; without the distraction her daughter provided, Alexis would have gone crazy from the confinement of those four unyielding walls that felt too much like a cage.

Rosie dry-sobbed into her mother's shoulder, too spent for real tears, clutching the lumpy eyesore of a blanket that her Great Grammy Rodgers had made her. Tears and snot and spit up had soaked through the fibers, and Alexis made a mental note to throw it in the wash as soon as Rosie was well enough to sleep for more than an hour at a time. Her daughter loved the blanket more than life itself, and separating the girl from her most precious possession was akin to skinning her alive—at least, that was how she acted.

"Shhh," Alexis soothed, rubbing the baby's back and continuing that circular, rocking walk. "You're okay. You'll feel better soon." She rested her cheek against the crown of Rosie's head, frowning at the heat pressing into her skin. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost time for another dose of Tylenol.

A knock sounded at the door, and the doctor finally walked in, a smile in his gray eyes. "Two visits in one month? You keep coming back in here, and I'm gonna think you have ulterior motives."

"Well, Greg, I know how you like screaming babies." Alexis readjusted her daughter's weight in her burning arms.

Rosie's regular doctor had taken ill a few weeks earlier on the day she was scheduled for a well-child checkup. Rather than waiting a month for an opening in the schedule, Alexis had allowed her daughter to be seen by another physician working that day. She'd been shocked to see her one-time date from another lifetime, Dr. Greg Matthews, walk into an exam room just like the one she'd spent most of her evening in.

Despite what she considered the worst date she'd ever been on, a year and a half of silence, and all the baggage that had come with it, Alexis had found Greg to be surprisingly easy to talk to. He was kind, laid back, and had kept Rosie laughing and smiling during the exam, which was a feat in itself. She was normally afraid of doctors.

"Rosie-roo," Greg said in that same goofy voice that had brought the tiny redhead to cackling hysteria, "what's the matter with you?"

The baby scowled at him, her lower lip quivering, her fiery hair sticking out in every direction, and buried her face in the filthy blanket with a whimper. Her tiny hand tugged on her ear.

"Sorry. She's not much of a charmer when she's not feeling well."

"I get it." He smiled. "How long has she been worrying at her ear?"

"Couple days. She hasn't been eating or sleeping well, either, but the fever didn't start until this morning." Alexis felt her daughter's forehead again. "She's due for more Tylenol."

Greg checked the notes from the nurse who had performed the initial exam. "Her fever was low-grade when the nurse took it."

"That was well over an hour ago. Her temp has spiked since then. Check it if you don't believe me."

Greg glided the thermometer wand over the infant's forehead. Rosie jerked away with a frustrated whine, but the thermometer still read 103. "You're right," he said good-naturedly. "Don't know why I'm surprised, seeing as how you're a doctor and all."

"Not a practicing one. And not the kind she needs."

He pulled a small, lighted instrument from the wall. "I'm gonna take a look in her ear, if you don't mind holding her."

Alexis complied, and Rosie shrieked when the magnifier touched her ear, despite the fact that Greg had been careful and had certainly not caused her pain. "Definitely inflamed."

"I knew it," Alexis said as she rocked her baby through another bout of empty, pitiful sobs.

He opened a cupboard on the wall, digging through its contents. "Does she like lollipops?" He offered a purple lollipop with a Tylenol logo on the wrapper. "Most kids really dig these."

"Do you want it?" she asked Rosie, who was eyeing the sucker with newfound interest, the occasion hiccup racking her small frame. Thanks to her overindulgent grandfather, she knew all about lollipops and she loved them. She held out her tiny hand, and Greg tore off the wrapper and placed the lollipop in it. She promptly shoved the peace offering in her mouth and returned to her vigil on her mother's shoulder.

"Thank you," Alexis said with a small smile.

"You're welcome. I still can't get over how much she looks like you," he said with a grin, returning to his seat and prescription pad. "But I bet you get that a lot."

"A little bit." She had heard that a lot—that she and Rosie were identical. And there was some truth to it. They had the same red hair, the same pale skin and delicate facial features. Though they both had blue eyes, Rosie's were a few shades darker. Truth be told, Alexis spent a lot of time seeing Rosie's father in her, from the grin she wore when she was acting goofy to the defiant set of her jaw when she was throwing a temper tantrum.

She was reminded of two nights earlier, when the ear infection had started. Rosie had woken her mother in the middle of the night, shrieking and inconsolable. Alexis had spent the rest of the night and much of the next day rocking her baby, doing everything she could think of to soothe her. In a moment of frustration, when the tiny redhead had refused to sleep, refused to nurse, refused to do anything but be held and whine, Alexis had lost her temper, demanding, "What is wrong with you? What do you want?" Rosie hadn't yelled back; she simply touched her mother's cheek with a whimper, her large eyes begging for understanding and patience. Alexis had wept then, feeling both like a terrible mother and acutely missing the one other person in the world whose blue eyes had conveyed that combination of emotions.

I'll come back for you. I promise.

"I'll write you for some ear drops." Greg said, pulling Alexis back to the present. His pen scribbled over the prescription pad. "She'll be back to giggling in no time."

"Thanks."

"It's my pleasure. And I'm sorry you had to wait so long. On busy nights like this I pretty much just let the nurse direct me to the next patient. If I'd have known you were on my schedule, I would have come in as soon as the nurse was done getting her vitals."

A crease appeared between Alexis' eyebrows. "And skip over your other patients? That's not fair."

Greg shrugged. "What can I say? I've got a soft spot for redheads."

Heat rose in her face. She had no idea how to respond to that.

"Is there anything else you two need while I've got you here? Has she made those milestones you were worried about?" he asked, referring to a long conversation they'd had at the previous appointment about Rosie's delayed development. Despite being ten and a half months old, her size and developmental milestones put her much closer to eight months. Greg chalked it up to her two-month premature birth, but Alexis could never quite shake the fear that something much more permanent was wrong with her child.

"Some of them."

"Most premies catch up by year two," he reminded her gently.

"I'm counting on it." She glanced at the clock. "I should probably get going. We need to hit the pharmacy before they close, and I'm sure there are other patients waiting."

"Family practice," he joked. "A never-ending parade of sniffles and belly aches."

"And ear infections," Alexis supplied.

He smiled. "Hey, doctor-patient professionalism aside, it's good to see you again. You look great."

"Oh." That was unlikely. She hadn't slept well in days, and exhaustion had painted dark circles around her eyes. Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail and she was pretty sure there was spit up on her oversized shirt, not to mention the sticky-sweet Tylenol pop that Rosie was drooling all over her neck. "Um, thanks."

Greg handed her a slip of paper and a card. "There's the prescription, and if you ever feel like catching up, maybe getting dinner, I'd love to see you again."

"Excuse me?"

"Secret identities and ghost boyfriends aside, our date was one of the best ones I've been on in a long time."

Alexis couldn't help but laugh. She and Greg had had a good time on that date for about thirty minutes, and then the reality of her messed up life and even more messed up priorities had ruined the date. She'd never, in a million years, considered that he might have counted the date a success. "If that's really the case, you must have terrible taste in women."

He winked in reply and stood up. "I meant what I said. I'd love to catch up outside of an exam room."

"Maybe I'll call you," Alexis said, more to bring the appointment to an end than anything else. She needed time to process his request, and more than that, she needed to hurry to the pharmacy before they closed because she would not be able to handle another night like the ones she'd just been through.

"I hope you do." He patted her arm and then Rosie's elbow. "Bye, Rosie-roo. I hope you get feeling better soon." He glanced up at Alexis, giving her one last winning grin. "See you later."

"Bye, Greg."

After another thirty minutes at the pharmacy, Alexis and her baby had finally made it home, magical, infection-curing eardrops in tow. From there, Alexis had only to endure Rosie's dramatic shrieks as she administered the medicine. Her daughter had a big, emotional heart, running the span of laughter to sadness in a heartbeat. Everything she felt, she felt strongly. On top of that, she had a stubborn streak a mile long, and with each passing day, her strong personality was more and more apparent. Alexis had a pretty good idea where she'd gotten those qualities.

Once she'd gotten Rosie calmed down enough to nurse, it was like flipping a switch. With her fever suppressed, the antibiotics working their magic, and her belly full for the first time since she'd gotten sick, the infant was out cold in her crib, her fingers wrapped around the hem of her ugly pink blanket. It had only taken an hour or so after arriving home, and Alexis breathed a sigh of relief, barely resisting the urge to crawl into her own bed, sticky clothes and all.

She took a much-needed shower, almost falling asleep in the soothing, warm water, and, following her nightly routine, prepared a cup of chamomile tea. Her phone pinged just as she set the water to boil.

"Two for tea?"

Her father knew her too well.

"Come on down," she replied.

The first five or six months after being reunited with her family, Alexis had lived with her father and Kate at the loft. It was a crowded arrangement, what with a three year old, a newborn, and a twenty-six year old with a hundred years of baggage all living under the same roof. Kate and her father had never once complained.

Every time Alexis thought about those first several months, the weight of the memories left her awash in dread and exhaustion. Weeks spent in the NICU, obsessing over the tiniest details of Rosie's health as she waited for her daughter to come home. Hours in therapy, learning how to cope with the reality of the last several months, understanding that nothing was quite as black and white as she'd thought, for better or worse. Seven months with Kevin keeping her safe, lavishing her with love and care, and seven months of captivity and a textbook case of Stockholm Syndrome were opposite sides of the same coin. The case could be made that both were true and neither were false, but Alexis' therapist had stressed that picking one over the other wouldn't bring her as much peace as accepting the situation for what it was and trying to move forward. Dwelling on past mistakes wouldn't help the present one bit. Obsessing certainly didn't help with the countless nights spent shaking and sobbing from nightmares that were nothing more than actual memories—rememberings of a man who had never once called her by her name yet abused her on a daily basis; images of Kevin, sprawled and bloodied with empty eyes; the lonely sensation of her unborn daughter lying still inside her, those potent drugs rendering her unconscious.

And then, almost two months after Rosie's grand entrance in the world, Alexis was able to bring her home. That obsessive focus had been forced to shift, and the sleepless nights had continued for an entirely new reason. As difficult as those first several months were, Alexis was grateful to her family for giving her a safe space in which to figure out how to live again. She was even more grateful for the strong-headed baby who had forced her to move forward, who forced her to get out of bed each morning and pretend to be a normal person, who had forced her to not break, to not give up, through months of heartache and weeks of soul-sick desperation. Rosie had saved her life, and each day she continued to give Alexis a reason to keep going.

There was a light tap on her front door before her father let himself in with the key she'd made for him.

"Hey."

He glanced around, noting the quiet in the apartment. "She finally give it up?" He'd brought in a Saran Wrap-covered plate, which he placed on the counter in front of Alexis.

She nodded. "I took her to the after hours clinic and got her some ear drops. Now if she can just sleep through the night..."

"I can watch her for a night if you need to get some sleep."

Alexis shook her head. "You need to finish that manuscript. It was due a week ago."

"Granddaughters trump deadlines."

"And Gina said she'd skin you alive if you didn't have it in her inbox by five p.m. tomorrow."

"She's so charming. Last we spoke, she said she was sending over a belated baby shower gift?"

"She did. It's too much," Alexis said, thinking of the large box of designer baby clothes. With Richard Castle as her grandfather, Rosie already had more than she'd ever need, but now she could probably get through Christmas without wearing the same outfit twice. Alexis had been warmed by the thoughtfulness of her ex-stepmother's gift and the fact that she'd clearly done her research because the sweaters and leggings and dresses and onesies were the perfect size for Rosie to wear through the winter. "Rosie loves her new boots."

"And what does Gina think about you being my official keeper?"

Alexis smirked. "She said it's not fair for me to have my hands full with two babies."

"That's why I pay you the big bucks," her father answered with a smile.

"I'm worth every penny," she deadpanned, peeling the plastic off the food and revealing steak, potatoes, and a green salad. "You didn't have to bring dinner."

"Thought you might be hungry, and we missed you two tonight. Johanna wanted to know where Rosie was." He moved to the kettle on the stove. "Why don't you eat? I can make tea."

Alexis put the salad in a bowl and heated the plate in the microwave. She started munching on the lettuce, ready to defend her self-sufficiency, but when the first bite of food hit her belly, she suddenly realized she hadn't had anything to eat since her cup of coffee that morning. Gratitude welled up in her chest as she watched her father brew tea for the two of them. She may not be living with him anymore, but he still did everything possible to take care of her and his granddaughter. She belatedly wondered if their nightly dinners were his way of making sure she had at least one proper meal a day.

The day Alexis told her father she wanted to find a place of her own had been difficult for everyone involved. She'd seen, in glimpses, the scars her absence had left behind, and she knew that her presence in his home was just as much a comfort to him as it was to her. He'd never reviled her for wanting a space of her own, but he had requested that she stay nearby, which was difficult with her limited income and the fact that she refused to let him pay her rent. Alexis already depended on him for her livelihood, something she had yet to be totally comfortable with, and what little pride she had left wouldn't allow him to be wholly responsible for her. He had another daughter, after all, and Kate had mentioned once or twice that she was ready for a second child if Castle wanted one. Alexis wouldn't steal from her siblings just because she'd been stupid and unfortunate enough to put herself in a vulnerable situation.

It had seemed almost too good to be true when the old super's outdated, one-bedroom apartment had become available just six floors down from the loft. Apparently Castle had gone to the board the day he'd heard about the vacancy, and two days later Alexis was signing the very affordable fixed-rate lease agreement. He had never told Alexis exactly what he'd said to them, what he'd promised them, but she knew she'd never find a better deal. Certainly not in Manhattan.

Everything in the apartment was old: the hardwood floors that desperately needed to be refinished, the peeling paint she and Grams had chipped off and covered with a soft, warm shade of green. The radiator whined, the light over the sink didn't work half the time, the water in the shower took a full minute to warm up, and the stove smoked no matter how well she cleaned it. It was nothing like her dad's flashy, modern loft. But it was hers—hers and Rosie's. There was safety and peace in this space. Choices and control. It steadied her, helped her move forward.

Castle poured hot water into two mugs, then took some tea bags out of a cupboard, noting the card on the counter. "What's this?"

Alexis saw he had Greg's number in his hand, and heat dusted across her cheekbones. "Oh. Rosie's doctor apparently 'has a soft spot for redheads.'" She made quotes in the air, feeling oddly defensive about the whole thing.

A strange, dark look crossed her father's face. "What do you mean? He asked you out?"

"We actually met a while back and went on a date. Before… Before I went missing. He's a really nice guy, and he's great with Rosie. I don't think he's just this creeper who picks up on single moms or anything like that."

Some of the aggressiveness calmed when she explained things. "I see."

"He asked me to call him. Have dinner with him."

"Are you going to?" He passed her mug of tea over and she wrapped her cold fingers around it. Once September had started to shift into October, anxiety had settled into her bones as deeply as the pre-winter chill. Ever since that awful basement, she couldn't stand to be cold.

"I don't know. He's nice…"

"But?"

"It just wasn't what I expected." Understatement of the century. No part of her life was anything like she'd expected.

"Alexis… It's okay to move on. You don't have to wait forever," Castle said. "If you like this guy, and you think you'd enjoy yourself, you should go."

"I know," she said dully.

"When was the last time you had a night with grownups?"

"You and I just had that movie marathon a couple weeks ago."

"Okay, when was the last time you went out and had fun?"

They both knew the answer to that. She hadn't been out on a date or anything like it since, well, her terrible first date with Greg. "What if I'm not ready to go out and have fun?" Alexis instantly regretted her choice of words.

"Alexis, you deserve to be happy."

"I am happy," she insisted. "I have Rosie and a roof over my head, and my family is all around me. What more could I ask for?"

Her father stirred sugar into his tea, declining to comment, though she saw the moment of indecision on his face. That conscious choice to not answer her question. "We got a really interesting case today," he said, quietly acknowledging that she was done talking about it.

Alexis listening with interest, asking questions in all the right places, until her plate was clear, her mug was empty, and the exhaustion pressing into her shoulders had grown too strong to ignore. She really, really hoped Rosie would let her sleep tonight.

After saying goodnight to her father and reminding him to not give Gina a reason to kill him, she'd cleaned up their tea and dressed for bed. She found herself standing in her bedroom next to the crib, her oversized pajamas dwarfing her petite frame. She stroked Rosie's hair away from her face, thinking, as she often did alone late at night, how her life had taken a course that she had never planned on, had never really wanted.

Alexis glanced at her dresser, where a small stack of envelopes lay, some opened, others still sealed. The most recent parcel had been postmarked from Dublin, and had arrived a couple days after her birthday. Inside the orange bubble mailer was a small white box and a single, scribbled note.

Happy Birthday.

I miss you every day.

Inside the box was a replica of her long-lost Celtic knot necklace—except Rosie's birthstone had been set into the sterling silver weave. Alexis had replaced the necklace in the box and the box inside the envelope. It wasn't the first gift he'd sent her. And like the others, it had found permanent residence on her dresser.

Despite all of her hours in therapy, Alexis couldn't shake the anger and sadness that flared every time she thought of him. She didn't want to be angry; she knew that the anger and bitterness from the first time she'd lost him had put her on that dangerous path, the path that had led to seven months inside his apartment, three weeks with an abuser, and almost a year of single motherhood. No, anger wouldn't help her. It had never helped her.

Still, his gift and letters, sent sporadically from Washington D.C. to Ireland and everywhere in between, did little to soothe the ache in her chest. It was a comfort to know he was still alive and well enough to be thinking of her, but her day-to-day routine, grieving alone, sleeping alone, taking care of their infant daughter alone, was making it more and more difficult to imagine any kind of future with him. She didn't know when he'd come back, if he'd come back. More than ten months had passed, and Alexis understood it could easily require another ten to complete the job. It was easier to keep him, and his gifts, in a collection of envelopes on her dresser—a consistent reminder, but easily forgotten when more pressing matters commanded her attention. She wondered if a time would come when the space on her dresser would be too much, when she'd pack him away for good.

Alexis settled into her full-sized bed, taking her customary spot in the middle. The upside to exhaustion was that it made her fall asleep almost instantly. She began to doze off when a cry ripped through the gorgeous silence of the bedroom.

She lay perfectly still, waiting and listening to see if Rosie would fall back asleep. After several minutes of listening to her daughter's cries and whimpers, Alexis forced herself from the comfortable warmth of her bed. She lifted her daughter out of the crib, holding her close, each of Rosie's tiny sobs echoing in her chest.

Alexis took a seat in the worn rocking chair in the corner of their bedroom, wrapping a blanket over the two of them as Rosie began to nurse again. "You're alright, my rose." She kissed the crown of her daughter's head. "Mommy's here."

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed this first installment. It's kind of surreal for me to posting the final story in this series. Please review; I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Next time: We catch up with Kevin.