Notes before we start: Pre-ep for Cops And Robbers so contains spoilers. Title from "dive for dreams" by e. e. cummings which just seemed to fit the feel. Side note: the formatting did not translate from LJ to this website. I did my best, but apologies for any stuff ups.

When the bank explodes, she would swear that every single cell in her body halts its microscopic movements and everything, everything, stops.

.

She's inside the building behind the other cops before she knows what's happening. It's quiet and then suddenly loud. The others swarm through to the back of the building, searching for the bank robbers but she lingers. The paramedics begin triaging around her and she follows them from patient to patient in turn, eyes searching, feet kicking up glass. (God, there's so much glass.)

When she's run out of places to look she follows the hostage rescue team into the back and there he is, sitting on a chair that swivels, like the one at her desk, rocking from side to side.

Castle senses her or else it's just that every moment today has felt like fate, but he looks up and meets her eyes and she nearly cries from the relief. He's fine, alive, breathing. Her heels stall but her mouth betrays her, twisting into a smile. She lifts her hand and curls her fingers into a wave.

(She beats herself up in her head. Why is she always about half gestures with him?)

He blinks at her. "Either this gash that's going to ruin my handsome features is bigger than I thought or you actually look happy to see me."

The air rushes out of her, but it's mirth not shock, not grief.

He quirks his head, confused. "Laughing at my jokes. I'm leaning towards Dream Beckett."

She smirks. "Is that really all I do in your dreams Castle?"

Her partner's mouth falls open. "You sure I'm the only one with a head injury?"

She moves to stand in front of him, reaching down to take the handkerchief he's using to mop at his bleeding forehead and presses her own hand against the wound. "I don't know about ruining your good looks." She smiles down at him. "It'll add character."

Beckett's hand fists around the shoulder of his jacket; it anchors her in the moment until he speaks, quietly. "Did you see my mother out there?"

She searches her memories. "She was in the back, I think, behind the counter. I ... I don't know any more, I'm sorry. I can go check." She moves to pull back but his hand curls around her wrist.

"In a minute." He lets the chair edge closer to her feet and leans closer until his forehead glances her jacket. Her other hand hovers beside his ear and he hears her breathe, her stomach moving by his head. Finally, she stops hesitating. Her fingers slip against his hair, hugging him against her.

She closes her eyes. "For a minute I thought-"

"I know," he mumbles.

"I know you do." Her chest aches as she says it, a faint echo beneath where her rib cage healed over.

The spell shatters then. She hears the tell-tale sounds of a suspect resisting arrest and steps backwards.

"Martha," she says, a half-sentence but he nods, understanding.

She feels the absence of warmth against her stomach and presses her hand to where he's not as she returns to the chaos.

Later, when Martha has assured them all she's fine and shooed them from the hospital room and when Beckett has gone back to the precinct to help the lead investigator go over the paperwork (it's the least she can do), she finds her apartment is suddenly too quiet, too big, too full of something she can't stand anymore.

He answers after she raps on the door twice.

"Hey." She leans her weight against the door frame and twists her hands around the bottle of wine she grabbed as an excuse on her way out the door.

"Hey." He looks surprised. That weighs on her. He's made a habit of dropping by for her and until today she's never thought to return the favour. And this is as much for her as it is for him.

"Sorry," she says. "I should have called. After today you probably want to be with Alexis."

Castle shakes his head and points above them. "She's been on the phone to Ashley for two hours. And from what I've overheard, it's not going well."

"Oh." She doesn't quite know what to say.

He starts, suddenly remembering they're still lingering in the doorway and gestures to the open living area of the loft. "Come in."

She does.

And then they hover on the other side of the closed door, still waiting for something. Godot, she thinks, and reaches for his sleeve. She steps closer, crowding at his chest and his hands pause above her shoulders until she looks up, the smallest hint of a smile the only invitation. He lets his hands fall and curl, thumbs tracing her clavicles through her shirt. The touch conducts through her like electricity. It's not as much as she wants, but it's all she'll allow herself, for now. She bows her head to keep from kissing him and feels the weight of his chin settle against the crown.

Don't die, she thinks furiously, don't leave me, not yet, don't, don't, don't. It's in rhythm with the pulsing headache building behind her temples but she doesn't let it roll off her tongue. It's too likely to be proceeded by another confession, and she doesn't want that to be because she's afraid, doesn't want it to be at the end of the longest day she's had in years because he nearly died. There's another, better beginning for them.

His chin bumps into her skull as he speaks. "How'd it go at the precinct?"

Beckett sighs and steps backward, disentangling her hands. His arms stretch out between them. "The guy we caught lawyered up. We're talking to the prosecutor about some kind of deal if he gives up the others, but even with names, I'm not sure how easy it will be to track them down. And of course, the feds will have to be involved. Thankfully that's not our problem; it's back to homicides and the wrath of Gates tomorrow."

"I never thought I'd say this, but thank God." He grins. "So, since you're here, and I'm always a good host, I should offer to drink that wine you brought, even though I'm sure I was advised to avoid alcohol in case of concussion."

"Really?" She holds the bottle away from him when he reaches for it and looks serious.

She suddenly realises he's teasing her. "Kate, they're just covering all bases. I'm fine."

Beckett presses her lips together in the way she always does when she's amused but trying not to show it. It reaches her eyes though; happiness, he sees it spread along her brow, smoothing the creases in her forehead. "Okay, but on one condition," she says, handing him the bottle. He makes a show of inspecting the label and she frowns, but it's just a dance they know the steps to now. He'd never actually insult her taste, and besides, he'd drink water from the East River if Kate Beckett brought it to his door.

He looks up. "What's your condition?"

She reaches out and presses her hand to the dressing on his forehead. "Sit down, let me get the glasses. You've suffered more damage than I have."

"Maybe," he muses, tone serious. He's thinking, too much probably, but days like today have a way of making his mind run on even more than usual.

She guesses at what he's not saying. "Physically, at least. Actually I think the person who suffered the most was Alexis."

He draws a breath and they cross to the kitchen. "Glasses are in that cupboard above the sink."

"I know." She stands on her tip toes to pull down two, the heels that complete her work attire are at home in her hallway where she kicked them off earlier. Normally she'd suffer through the pain in her arches even this late at night, but today every muscle in her body is exhausted.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" he asks. "Alexis. I mean, she seemed fine earlier, but I know she's feeling more than she lets on."

"Her whole family, her whole life was in that bank Castle. And when it exploded I," she halts, words failing her, glasses clinking together where they're threaded between her fingers. "Well I'm guessing I only know a fraction of what she felt, but trust me, it wasn't easy. And just because you're both safe doesn't mean all's well that ends well."

"You never forget the memory of that fear." He nods, understanding, far too well probably.

.

When they've made it to the couch and through half the bottle, easy in each other's company, there's a lull in the conversation. She's been sitting too close to him all night; knees brushing and only a hairsbreadth of cushion between their thighs. She lets her palm fall against his knee and leans her head against his shoulder. "I might regret saying this, but I've never been more happy to see you as I was this afternoon."

He shifts, eyes curious and staring down at her. "Why would you regret saying that?"

He's still warm and solid beneath her cheek and suddenly she feels trapped. It's a good point. Why would you regret it Kate? But she knows that it's because she doesn't want to promise him more than she can give, and it's because that admission goes with another one and one after that until he knows all her secrets and she's not ready to trust him with them yet. It's getting far too hard to keep everything in, not when he's there, beside her, day after day, and all part of her wants is to let it all spill out.

She shrugs and pulls herself upright. "Wouldn't want it to go to your head Castle."

"Too late." He smirks and tries to hide it beneath his wine glass. "I'll remind you of it at every single one of my less endearing moments."

"I'll get sick of hearing it," she teases.

"You probably will." He sighs, turns serious. "I'm sorry you had to do that, that you had to be the one to negotiate with them. I know it must have been ... hard."

"Apart from burying my mother? Hardest thing I've done in my life."

The hand that's been resting against the back of the sofa finds her shoulder. He curls his fingers against her bicep. "Thank you."

She snorts. "Why are you thanking me? My efforts nearly got you and your mother blown up."

He shrugs. "Minor detail."

"It's not though." Beckett looks at him honestly, in a way she doesn't very often. She's not about to cry though he can see the hint of tears; she's in control of her emotions, which is what makes it all the more significant when she reaches up and stills his hand against her shoulder, not quite squeezing his fingers but trapping them there and says, "I never would have forgiven myself."

"Luckily you don't have to."

She nods. "But I can't stop thinking-"

"- what if." He finishes her sentence like he sometimes does when they're on the verge of cracking a case.

"Yeah." She shuffles away from him, reaches out and smudges her fingerprints against his glassware, below the crescent shaped marks left by her lips. She's suddenly done with it. The alcohol is making her feel heavier with her emotions than she should. She turns the last mouthful over on her tongue and swallows, slumping back against the cushions. (His hand somehow finds the back of her neck, and she'd protest but he rubs against a knot she can never quite get out and it feels criminally good.)

"It gets easier," he tells her.

She opens her eyes, shocked out of relaxing, and stares. "How?"

(It's quiet and thin and she barely believes it's her own voice.)

It's more an afterthought than a question but he answers her anyway. "You stop letting yourself going in circles, and make yourself go forward."

She shouldn't understand it because it's odd, and on the surface, out of place in context, but she hears what he is saying and what he isn't. "I'm trying."

"I know. It's not easy."

"Then what's your secret?" she asks, a note of wry humour in the inflection.

Castle blanches for the briefest second, and if they were playing poker, she'd have noticed, but they're not and she's too focussed on the movements of his eyes and his mouth, too in the moment, to see it. He recovers. "I wish I could tell you. I think that quite by accident you managed what forty years couldn't; you made me grow up."

She shakes her head. "Don't credit me. That was all you."

"Maybe." He agrees to disagree. It was her. She was the first person since Alexis that made him want to be better.

"Doesn't help me much though," she continues, staring at her hands. "Saying that I just have to wait for an epiphany."

"Maybe you do." He shrugs next to her; she can feel the cushions move. "Maybe you don't. It doesn't matter."

"What?"

"To me, it doesn't matter. I'll be here as long as you want me to be, probably longer." He grins at the thought of making a nuisance of himself, but when she responds she looks grave.

"I hope you mean that," she tells him. "Really."

"Hey, I'm your partner remember? You need to walk in circles for a while, I'll walk with you."

"What if-" she sucks in a breath, gathers her insides and her thoughts and forces it out. "What if we just went forward, but slowly?"

His lips curve and it's a gentle joy. "Isn't that what we've been doing?"

She feels everything in her relax when he says it, because yes, it is, but she didn't want to give herself permission to believe it in case she had misunderstood him, them. She nods, once, and presses her hand to her mouth to hide the answering smile. Against all odds, the moment is perfect.

Her life has been turned inside and out in the last year, but Kate Beckett is learning things in the wake of it. She knows they've barely said anything, that it's delicate, that it could break, but she's beginning to understand that everything is fragile and that there's a beauty in it. She can stand back from it and appreciate that now without fear. One day, not too far from now, it might fall apart, but she'll still have the pieces. They'll find reasons to be angry at each other, or he'll die, or she will, but not today. That's enough.

They're quiet. Both are thinking of I love you but neither says it. Maybe they both hear it anyway.

Alexis' footsteps on the stairs interrupt the silence. Beckett blinks a few times and studies Castle's face as he turns towards his daughter. She sees the change in his expression and follows his gaze. The teenager is crying, clutching the phone to her chest absently like she doesn't know what else to do with it, and she sniffs loudly before she speaks.

"Daddy."

Castle is at a loss for a moment, so Beckett makes the leap of logic first. She stands and nudges at his foot until he does the same. She clears their glasses. "I'll let myself out."

"No," he protests immediately. "Stay."

She balances the two glasses in one hand easily and curls her other around his elbow. "I think you're needed more elsewhere. I'll see you in the morning."

He wants to kiss her half-open mouth in the middle of the sentence but settles instead for bending to kiss her cheek. She's surprised. He hears her inhale sharply and studies her as he pulls back. Her tongue is pressed to the inside of her cheek. He smiles, brief and transient, and turns back to Alexis.

"What happened?" he asks.

His daughter folds into his open arms and sobs in a way that can only mean heartbreak. His own aches for her, and a little bit for himself as he watches Beckett make her exit over the top of Alexis' head.

As she rinses the glasses and loads them into the dishwasher, listening to Alexis' account of her break up with Ashley (interrupted by several crying jags), Beckett lets her hand wander to her cheek once more, wondering how she'll ever re-establish the carefully drawn lines, how they'll erase what happened by the morning and start tomorrow back where they started today. She swallows. They can't, and that's the point isn't it? She promised herself she wouldn't go back any more.

Two Saturdays pass. On a Sunday, Alexis exits her violin lesson on the Upper East Side precisely on time. Beckett's waiting, leaning against her car, her keys curled into her palm. Technically they're only meant to use them for police business, but she'll get away with it once. (Even if Gates isa stickler for rules, Beckett knows the right people to smile at down at the garage.) She calls out to Castle's daughter, gets her attention.

"Detective Beckett." Alexis stops in the middle of the sidewalk and looks surprised. "Did my dad send you?"

"No." She shakes her head, smiling. "But let's say he did tip me off regarding your schedule. And you're wondering what I'm doing here, but you're too polite to ask."

"Not too polite. I just think before I speak, most of the time. I didn't the other day." Alexis frowns. "That wasn't very polite. I'm sorry."

"It was more than understandable. You don't have to apologise. But you could let me show you something."

Alexis taps her foot, thinking, for a brief moment then nods and moves towards the passenger seat. "Okay."

"Can you give me the rest of the day?" Beckett asks, because it can be anywhere between a three and five hour round trip to her father's cabin if the traffic is bad. "If you need to study I can just take you home."

"No," Alexis sighs. "Senior year is a joke. Where are we going?" She looks wary, but slips into Castle's seat just the same.

"Somewhere where it's quiet. I want to show you where I was all summer."

When they're in the car, Alexis slips on a pair of Prada sunglasses which Beckett immediately covets and settles back in the seat. "How far?"

"Two hours there and back."

"Why?"

The Castle curiosity is apparently genetic.

"Because," Beckett pauses, drums her fingers against the steering wheel and looks over her shoulder for a gap in the oncoming traffic. After she takes advantage of the kind of space people who don't drive in the city would flinch at, she eases off the accelerator as the traffic slows and finishes the sentence. "I'm pretty sure you're a little bit mad at me, because of what happened. And I'd like you to tell my side of it, if you're willing to listen."

Alexis folds her arms and stares out the window for a moment before nodding. "I can do that."

Beckett glances away from the road for a second. "Really?"

"It seems unfair to judge you harshly without hearing it." The teenager slips out of her shoes and crosses her legs beneath her. "One condition though."

"What's that?" For a moment, she's worried.

"Can I pick the radio station?"

Beckett smiles, relieved. "Sure."

The rest of the car trip is scored by piano-heavy alternative rock. (Alexis has much less grating taste than her father.) After they've exhausted the usual topics of school and extracurriculars (skirting Ashley and college applications), the silence stretches before them like the lines on the highway, but it's comfortable enough, so neither of them fills it with unnecessary words.

.

The cabin is set back from the road which turns to barely more than gravel a few miles from the turn off. Beckett pulls over to the shoulder. The ground is wet with rain and the road is too rugged for her to feel comfortable driving further in a car from the pool.

"It's just up the drive," she tells her passenger. "Do you mind walking?"

The dashboard catches a few fat drops of rain and the sky rumbles in the distance.

She thought they'd outrun the storm on the freeway - the grey sky in the rear view mirror had been a sharp contrast to the blue horizon - but it's about to catch up with them.

Alexis stretches out her legs and shakes her head. "After that drive, I could use it."

They make it most of the way up the incline before the rain starts in earnest. They run the rest of the way to the door. Beckett struggles with the keys as the rain begins to fall in sheets onto the porch. By the time they make it into the cabin, they're trailing water into the hall.

Beckett turns to the linen closet and hands Alexis a towel. "Sorry, but it's easy to get bogged up here when it rains."

"Don't worry about it." Alexis kicks of her shoes and dries her feet on the mat, wandering down the hall to the kitchen. "It's nice," she reports the results of her appraisal. "And you're right. It's quiet here."

It's true. The only sound is the loud drumming of the rain on the roof.

Beckett steps past her into the kitchen and begins shuffling through the cupboards. "Tea?"

"Sure."

They take the mugs out onto the back porch. The clouds are lying low, obscuring the view down the gentle slope to the lake. Beckett lets her hand curl around the wooden railing, catching the freezing rain dripping from the overflowing gutters. She breathes in the smell of it. It's not just the quiet, it's everything about the place. It sets something in her to rest.

When she turns back, Alexis is sitting on the porch swing wrapped in an old blanket and carefully balances her mug on her knees. She pats the space beside her.

Beckett nods, sits down and hugs the arm of the chair. It rocks slowly back and forth beneath them.

"I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable for you, or forward," she says. "I know it must seem a little left field."

"No." Alexis shakes her head and drops her mouth into her tea. "I mean yes, it's not the norm, but no, it's not ... uncomfortable. I've always liked you Detective Beckett. You've ... well, my dad really likes working with you, likes you, and it was nice to see him pick someone," she hesitates, trying to put it diplomatically, "More interested in being his equal, for a change. It was good for him."

"Was." Beckett sighs. It's not a question, just an observation of the use of past tense.

"Well this summer was hard on him, and ... he threw himself in front of a bullet for you and you just left. And as much as I can like you and respect what you do, I sometimes wonder if this is what's best for him." She exhales in a rush, a weight lifted from her chest and twists her toe into the wooden deck, afraid to look for a reaction. "I'm sorry. I know it's not really any of my business."

"No. It's okay. That was the point of this." Beckett gestures around them with her hand. "I get it. You don't want to see him get hurt. Of course you don't; you love him. And I know that-" she swallows, lets a finger rub into a splintering groove in the wood. "This summer was hard for everyone. I'm sure it was hard for you, and for everyone else, to see it happen. And I nearly died." She's never really phrased it like that before, not even with the therapist; it's always just been something that everybody understands but doesn't say. It's true though, and a harsh reality voiced plainly always makes her feel unburdened. "Believe me, it was hard for me too."

"I know." Alexis runs her thumb against the rim of the mug. "I'm sorry. I know you're right. You had major surgery," her eyes are lingering on the scar that's just visible above the top button of Beckett's shirt. When she notices, Beckett pulls it closed a little self-consciously. "Recovering from it must not have been easy," Alexis finishes.

She shrugs. "Most days now I don't notice it. But then... I couldn't do the simplest things for myself. And I didn't want anybody to see me like that. Apart from my dad, no one did. But I especially didn't want Castle, your dad, to ... it's not because I didn't want to see him, and it's not because I think he wouldn't have helped. I'm sure he would have. I just didn't want to owe him that. I couldn't let him take care of me like that and then ask him to stop later, after I had healed. I know he cares about me, and I know you see that and it worries you because you see how I keep my distance and think that I don't care about him just as much. But I do. I just had to put myself back together, I had to be able to be who I want to be for him, before anything could change. I'm just like you. I don't want him to get hurt and I don't want to hurt him. So I came out here."

"And? Did it help?"

"Partly. But you can't just stop being the person you are Alexis, especially when it comes to the parts of yourself you don't like. Evolution is slow, but people do change."

She sighs out. "I know. You saw, the other night, and I'm sure dad's told you, about what happened with Ashley."

"I guessed."

"I'm sorry if I ... interrupted."

"We were just talking. It was nothing that wouldn't keep." Beckett paused. "I'm sorry, about Ashley, and that it all happened at once."

"Yeah well," Alexis chooses her words. "It was a crappy day."

"The worst."

"It was the one time I really needed him, not anybody else. And I know it wasn't his fault, but... I didn't have anyone. No one was there."

"I-" Beckett starts and stops. "Alexis, I don't expect to be your best friend. And I know I was working, so I wasn't really free, but I want you to know that when it comes to your dad, your family, we're on the same side. I'd do anything to protect him; I wouldn't hesitate for a moment. That's what I was ... I was trying to get them out of there. You have no idea how sorry I am that I couldn't do a better job."

"It's hardly your fault. I'm sorry if it seemed like I blamed you."

"I understand. You must have felt like you were going out of your mind worrying. I was." Beckett's lips twist into a small, self-depreciating smile. "You're not the only one who loves him."

Alexis goes quiet. "Oh." She mulls over it for a moment then asks, "So how? I know you're going to tell me it's complicated, that relationships aren't as simple as loves me, loves me not, and I know that, rather acutely lately, but ... isn't it worth trying? After something like that happens, to remind you of how easily you could lose that chance, how can you just wake up the next day and return to the status quo?"

"Because I'm still working through some things that are in the way. I've never been very good at relationships. And I want to be, for him."

The teenager considers her words, sips at the last of her tea and rocks back against the cushions. The rain eases in front of them. "Okay."

"Okay?"

She nods. "Not that you need my permission, or my blessing, but okay. Just... know that even if it didn't work out the first time, dad's very forgiving. We all are."

Beckett breathes, realising she's been unconsciously tense then entire day now that she's relaxed. She twists her toes in her shoes and stretches her legs. "I'm glad to hear it."

"And it means a lot to me," Alexis tells her, suddenly a little shy. "That you went to the trouble of ... talking to me, about it. I mean, you didn't have to do that. I guess it makes me think that you're serious about sticking around."

"I am." Beckett looks thoughtful. "I'm sorry I didn't even think of it until the other day. Your dad didn't mention you'd expressed any concerns about him working with me until afterward, but when he did, I just... I'm sorry I was so thoughtless. I didn't think to ask you how you felt about it at all until then. I just assumed he'd discussed it with you and with Martha."

"We didn't talk much about you after the shooting," Alexis bends to set her tea down on the porch and says it quietly, like she knows the potential for damage the words wield. "He was... pretty hurt that you didn't call and I didn't like to ask. And then when you came back," she trailed off, and her thoughts wandered until she found the end of the sentence. "Well. I didn't want to go back to the way it was, not when I'd seen you get shot, right in front of us. He's my dad Beckett. He's the only parent I have, really. I know I won't legally need one for very much longer, but that's only a technicality. I was afraid. But you make him happy, so, I put that aside."

"That doesn't mean you're okay with it." It's a statement. Alexis prickles next to her.

"No. Part of me isn't. But isn't that normal? Your dad told me something while we were waiting at the hospital, about how he had never stopped worrying about you. So I figure, I don't have to be okay with the fact that my dad is out there, putting himself in danger, to impress a girl." She smiles a little and sneaks a look in Beckett's direction. "Sorry, to research for a novel. But I can't stop him from doing it. Besides, it's the perfect analogy to employ the next time I want to do something but he's concerned about my safety."

Beckett laughs. "Well I won't warn him if you don't tell him what I've told you. Please. I will, when it's the right time."

"Your secret's safe with me." Alexis stands and walks to the stairs leading down to the wet path. "It's stopped raining. I'd like it if you showed me around a little before we head back."

She nods. "Sure."

They slip and slide down the wet track to the lake, but the rain drops catch the light as they drip off leaves and if it's possible, it's even more beautiful than she remembers it. More than that, walking along the track, chatting easily with Castle's daughter about violin lessons and relationships and colleges, she feels like maybe she's finally done something right, finally taken a step forward.

.

When they get back to the city, it's dark. She parks illegally in front of his building to let Alexis out. The teenager lingers on the curb and leans through the open door. "Thank you Detective Beckett."

"Kate," she corrects. "You can call me Kate."

Alexis nods.

"I ... well, it wasn't exactly fun. I mean it was, but more than that, I'm glad we talked."

"Me too."

"We should do it again. And Kate, dad would love it up there, when he's writing."

She waves over her shoulder as she enters the building.

Beckett reaches for her cell before she pulls out of the spot, dials Castle's number. He answers on the first ring.

"Christ Beckett, it's been hours."

"I told you we might be a while." She'd anticipated being a few hours earlier though, and cell reception at the cabin wasn't great. "She's on her way up now, safe and sound, like I promised."

"So what did you guys talk about all day?"

She hears him relax and Alexis announcing her presence in the background.

"You Castle." She smirks at how curious it will make him. "What else?"

"Come on Beckett, that's not fair."

"I never promised to be fair. You'd better go. She'll probably want to tell you all about it."

.

(She gets a text message after she drops of the car at the station. Your co-conspirator remains infuriatingly silent on the matter.

She waits until she's at home and curled up in bed to respond, her wet hair curling at her neck. Guess this one might be a mystery you'll never solve Castle.

Her hand is curled around her cell and she's half-asleep when he responds.

Give me time.

She yawns, but beneath it, she's smiling.)

Months later, in the summer, he's late on a deadline and avoiding her when she gets the idea. The keys to the cabin are curled into her palm.

When he opens the door, every cell in her body freezes in anticipation, her tongue itches to move and she doesn't remember to breathe for a very long moment. And everything starts.