A/N: Set during the summer after the hospital scene in Rise (4x01).

For the wonderful person who inspired this little fic. Happy Birthday, Laura!

litost:

(n.) regret, remorse, and repentance; a state of agony and torment created by the sudden sight of one's own misery.

The sun is too bright as it beams through the car window, momentarily blinding her, and she feels the irritation bubble into a headache between her eyebrows. She usually loves this time of year, the transition from spring to summer, the departure from the lingering chill and the embrace of warmth, but she still feels cold. Cold and small and fragile with bones like glass and muscles that wilt like flowers in the wintertime.

How could he have ever claimed to love someone like her?

"Katie."

She curls in her seat, presses her head against the warm glass of the passenger seat's window, hopes the warmth can seep into her skin, soothe some of the aching.

"I don't want to talk, Dad," she rasps, wrapping her arms around herself, loose, trying not to touch anything, because she hurts. So much. This car ride isn't easy on her broken body, each bump, jerk, and turn evoking a searing spread of agony along her side, flares of breath stealing pain coming to life in her chest.

She just wants to get to the cabin and rest. Rest until she can take a breath without hurting.

Her father is quiet for a few minutes, focusing on the road, and she closes her eyes, tries to divert her attention to anything but the pain and the memories.

"The doctor… Josh, is it? He didn't look happy when we left."

She cracks an eye open. So much for not talking.

"I broke up with him."

"Finally."

Kate lifts her head from the window and turns to see her father with a small grin on his lips, smug and satisfied as he guides his hands along the old steering wheel.

"I didn't like him much, Katie," he admits. "You deserve… he wasn't what you needed."

She could argue, it's her natural instinct to argue, especially with her father when it comes to discussing her life. She could ask how he could ever know what she needs, what she deserves, after everything he put her through all those years ago, but she doesn't have the energy.

"What do I need, Dad?" she murmurs instead, tilting her head back against the worn leather of the headrest. Her dad has had this truck since she was a teenager and her mother had always called it so impractical.

A truck in New York City, Jim? Really?

But it's grown on her over the years, just like it grew on her mother, and she can't picture him ever driving anything else. And she's glad this piece of her childhood is the vehicle that's transporting her to sanctuary.

Jim cocks his head to the side, putting on a show of mulling over his answer, and she rolls her eyes in halfhearted amusement.

"Well, I think you'd be pretty happy with that writer of yours."

Her lips turn down, all traces of amusement gone, and she has to clutch at her good side to hold everything inside. It hurts – an actual ache that reverberates through the cage of her ribs – to think of him.

I love you. I love you, Kate.

It hurts.

"He's much better than that doctor," her father mutters, oblivious to her silent agony. "Trying to blame Rick for the shooting." He shakes his head. "Disgraceful."

The pain recedes, just enough for confusion to push through to the forefront of her mind. "He did what?"

Jim spares a glance in her direction, his brow creased with confusion of his own. "You didn't know? I thought that's why you sent Rick away."

"What? No," she croaks, her broken heart starting to burn with every beat, the unsteady pounding upsetting the fragile frame of her ribs. "What happened? Why didn't I know about any of this?"

Jim sighs, looking as though he suddenly regrets mentioning a word of it to her, but it's too late now. She has to know what happened, what happened to Castle. Castle, whose heart is probably enduring just as much suffering as her own right now.

"I had just gotten there, I didn't see the entirety of the outburst. All I really know is that the doctor - Josh - came storming into the waiting area. I was signing in when he shoved Rick, and then he was yelling at him. He blamed him for you getting shot, for opening Johanna's case."

Her father is calm as he relays the information to her, trying not to upset her with the news, but it doesn't help.

"We have to turn around," she announces, maneuvering her body from its slouched position against the passenger door. "We have to go back."

Jim looks over to her in concern and reaches for her knee, tries to still her.

"We can't, Katie. We're almost to the cabin."

She shakes her head, the movement jostling her, upsetting her stitches, but the idea of allowing Castle to think it's his fault, that he caused any of it – it hurts more than the pain consuming her upper body.

"I have to – I can't let Rick think-"

"I'm sure he has a phone, sweetheart. I know it's not the same, but I think it would mean just as much to hear from you."

She deflates against her seat, silent tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, and her dad pats her knee in an attempt at comfort. But they don't do comfort very well, always handling things alone, closing off from one another, and her dad withdraws his hand with a quiet sigh. He won't mention it again, won't push her to do the right thing. They're alike in this way, in their fears, and he must know that the thought of calling Castle after the events of this past week terrifies her.

Once they finally reach the cabin, he helps her down from the truck, keeps an arm around her for support as they shuffle to the front door. She goes straight to her room when they make it inside and allows her father to get her bag for her while she carefully arranges her useless body on the twin sized bed. He places her cellphone on the nightstand, gives her a knowing look, but doesn't speak, only kisses her forehead and exits the room, closing the door behind him.

She stares at the blank screen of the phone for an hour, imagining what she would say if she were to call Castle right now. She has so much to say to him, so much she wants him to know, but how would she find the words? How would she find the courage?

Kate closes her eyes and tries to think of anything but the sight of his face hovering above hers, begging her to stay as the life bleeds out of her.

Aside from a few lone tears that have leaked from her eyes in the hospital, from the pain and frustration, she hasn't truly cried. Not for herself, not for Montgomery, not for Castle.

For the first time, she has to hold back sobs that have nothing to do with the hole in her chest.

The first month is hell. Absolute, utter hell practically every second of every day and every night. God, the nights are even worse.

She hides most of it from her father, but she can't conceal the hoarse screams that wake them both in the night, nor the haggard gait of her walk as she tries not to waken the pain residing in the spaces of her ribs with each step. Her father doesn't hover though, doesn't try to help her unless she asks, which she never does.

But physical agony is not the only kind she endures. The staring match with her deactivated phone keeps her up at night. She hasn't turned the thing on since she woke up from surgery and she imagines it's filled with messages, mostly from him, and she can't handle that yet.

"Morning, Katie," her dad greets, placing a cup of coffee on the counter for her as she shuffles into the modest kitchen area. He's usually out fishing when she wakes, or chatting with Andy or Bill – two of his close friends who each own a cabin in the area – until mid afternoon, but today, he's in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

"Morning," she mumbles, watching him with suspicion as he scrambles some eggs.

"I should probably let you know," he begins, and - oh, there's definitely something up - she feels her chest seize in slight panic. "I invited a friend over. Should be here soon."

A friend?

"Oh?"

"Yeah, just someone from the city I wanted to catch up with," he shrugs, trying a little too hard to brush off her skepticism. "It's really nice outside today. Why don't you go sit out on the porch and I'll bring you breakfast?" he suggests.

Kate arches an eyebrow at him. "What are you up to?"

He waves her off, but she knows her father, possibly better than he knows her, and she has no doubt he's come up with some type of scheme. She rubs at the healing scar beneath her loose shirt out of habit, tracing the swollen red pucker of flesh with gentle fingers while she contemplates what to do.

"Don't worry, Katie. Just take your coffee and relax on the swing."

She wishes it were that easy. Relaxation is no longer a term in her vocabulary.

Kate relents and swipes her coffee cup from the counter, makes the slow trek to the front door, leaving it cracked open as she takes the last few steps to the porch swing. She hasn't accomplished relaxation, no, but swaying softly on the porch of her father's cabin with nothing but the sound of the woods and the birds singing overhead brings her pretty close.

She isn't out long before she hears the distinct rumble of an engine nearby. She's about to call for her father, to let him know his 'friend' is here, but seconds later she sees the silver hood of the Mercedes and her voice crumbles in her throat. She doesn't recognize the car, but she recognizes the driver.

He parks the car in front of the house, next to her father's truck, opens the door and steps out, his eyes never leaving hers and she can't even move. Can't flee into the cabin and lock herself in her room, can't escape to the woods or the lake. But even if she could, she doesn't think she wants to.

Castle climbs the three porch steps with caution, as if he's afraid to spook her, but she only waits for him, patient and afraid for him to reach her. When he does, he merely stands over her, blocking the sun and casting a shadow over her body, and she surprises them both, lifting her hand from her lap to capture one of the hands hanging at his sides.

"He called you," is the first thing she says to him.

Castle nods, staring down at the loosely twined fingers hanging between them. She tugs, gently, all she can manage, and he takes a seat beside her.

"You never did," he murmurs, sullen, resigned, but not angry. She had been expecting angry.

She swallows, curls her fingers around the half empty mug still balanced between her knees. "I wanted to," she admits in a whisper. "I imagined talking to you every single day."

He tilts his head towards her, his eyes imploring, begging for answers, for her, and she curses herself for being a coward over the last month, for turning the bright blue of his eyes into a dulled grey she hardly even recognizes.

"But I was afraid," she sighs, remembering the hand in hers and pulling it into her lap, abandoning her coffee cup and trapping his palm between both of hers. "Everything's just been so - I didn't know how to face what happened that day. I still don't."

He swallows and squeezes the web of fingers tangled with his.

"Everything that happened that day?"

His voice is a rough rasp, raw and exposed, and she looks up at him, knows exactly what he's referring to.

"Everything," she confirms softly. "I was hoping that by the time I came back, in the fall - I was hoping I'd be better. Healed."

"Doesn't work like that, Kate," he points out, leaning back in the swing, making the chains shiver.

"I know, but I didn't want you to see this." She shakes her head. "I'm such a mess, Castle."

He withdraws his hand from hers and she fears this is the end, that he can't do this with her anymore, can't take the excuses and the hurt. She wouldn't blame him if he walked away and never looked back. It would hurt, oh how it would hurt to lose him, but he would be better off without her, safer.

"Kate." His hand brushes the hollow of her cheek and she forces herself to look his way, sees him watching her with unexpected tenderness. "I didn't expect you to be okay after everything that happened. I had just hoped that since we had been through so much of it together, that I could help."

Castle diverts his eyes to the ground, drops his hand from her face.

"But I guess you had Josh for that."

"I broke up with him," she blurts. "The day after you left, I ended things."

His eyes remained trained on the flooring of the porch, but the hardness of them seems to lessen, his shoulders loosening.

"My dad told me what he said to you-"

"Beckett-"

"No, listen to me," she insists, lifting her hand to his face, wincing at the tug of muscles, but swallowing it down before she uses the fingers at his cheek to make him look at her. "It was not your fault. Not at all your fault. None of it."

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut against her, and she traps his skull between both hands, inhaling steadily to keep herself from growing dizzy with the light strain. She's getting better, but she still has trouble keeping her arms up for long periods of time, so better make this fast.

"You're not allowed to blame yourself for this one, Castle. You didn't-"

"I'm the one who dragged you back into it," he growls, curling gentle hands around her wrists and withdrawing them from his face, so careful with her even as the pain rages so violently in his eyes. "If it wasn't for me, you never would have been shot."

"You know me," she argues. "You know that eventually something related to her case would have come up again and I would have jumped right back into it, with or without you, Castle. At least you were able to help me keep my head above water this time," she persists, leaning in closer to him, their foreheads nearly touching. "I'm never smart about my mom's case, you know that, but you kept me from drowning in it."

His eyes are wet, blurred with tears that he's blinking furiously against, and she wishes she could kiss him, fix all of this with a kiss, with the return of those three beautiful words, but she's still so broken, so defective. She wants to be more than this, not only for him, but for herself. Will she ever be enough for this?

"Let me stay," he murmurs, his voice solid and firm, but still so close to cracking.

She meets his eyes, sees the pleading in them, but also the lack of hope, the expectancy for rejection. Always so prepared for her to reject him.

"For how long?"

"As long as you'll let me," he answers without missing a beat.

She smiles, realizes it's the first time she's smiled in a whole month.

"Okay."

And then he smiles back at her and for once her heart is swelling with something other than pain, something bright and wonderful that gives her hope.

"Kate?"

"Yeah?"

"This is going to take some time, healing."

She nods, feels that fluttering, fleeting bird of joy in her chest settle into stillness.

"I'm patient."

"Since when?"

She doesn't mean to make a joke out of it, bites her bottom lip at the mistake, but it seems to ease the light current of tension between them and he shoots her a soft grin before continuing.

"But I'd like to do something before we start healing together."

Together. She likes that, more than she ever thought she would.

"Oh?"

His hand sweeps over her cheek, brushing through the limp strands of hair framing her face.

"You can stop me if you want," he says as he leans in closer. "But if you don't," he murmurs, bumping his nose against hers, ghosting his breath across her parted lips. "I'm going to kiss you."

Her heart is beating so fast it hurts, but her eyes drift closed and then his lips are on hers, barely touching, just a soft brush over her mouth. But she wants more and she drifts into him, takes a shallow breath just before he kisses her again, slicking his tongue along her bottom lip, tracing his thumb over the bone of her cheek, over and over again as he sips from her mouth, cleanses her mind.

"When I invited him over, this was not what I had in mind."

Castle startles against her and she almost groans in disappointment as he abandons her mouth to meet her father's amused gaze.

"Mr. Beckett-"

"Jim," her father corrects, as if he's done it before, and she wonders just how often her father and the man next to her talk. Scheme, she corrects herself. "Good to see you again, Rick. I was just about to run into town for some groceries, you mind staying with Katie?"

She drops her forehead to Rick's shoulder, unable to remember the last time her father embarrassed her so immensely.

"Yes, I mean - no, I don't mind."

"Your plan worked, Dad. You can go now," she deadpans, lifting her head to glare at him as he strolls down the porch steps with a look of false innocence painted across his face.

"No idea what you mean, honey. But I'll be back in an hour."

Castle looks bewildered as her father departs and Kate waits until his truck is disappearing down the driveway to make her shaky attempt at rising. Twisting her torso to kiss him has her side throbbing, the places between her ribs stinging, but she forces it to stay hidden beneath the surface. Castle's there in an instant, wrapping a delicate arm around her waist as they both stand from the swing.

"What did my dad tell you on the phone?" she asks, curious, wondering if her father went as far as lying to him.

He shrugs, slipping the arm from her waist. "Just that you needed to see me."

"That's all?"

"I didn't need much more," he admits and she blushes. "And the chance to see you, see that you're… alive - I wasn't going to say no."

"You rode in the ambulance with me? That day?"

He nods, a faraway look clouding his eyes, and she steps in closer, places a hand at his hip, holding onto the belt loop of his jeans to bring him back.

"I heard I flatlined on the ride up."

His eyes shudder closed and she moves even closer, coils her arms around his waist and hugs him as tight as her frail body will allow. His arms come around her immediately, cautious, but strong and secure. They don't do this. They don't hug, don't talk so openly without any subtext. They don't kiss. It's different; it's refreshing. She wouldn't mind if they stayed this way.

"Does it help? Being here?"

"So much," he sighs, pressing his lips to the crown of her head.

She trails one of her hands up to his chest, curls her fingers into the fabric of shirt stretched over his heart, the muscle alive and singing beneath her palm.

"Helps me too," she whispers, dusting her lips over the hard ridge of his adam's apple.

Her nightmares sometimes shift, changing their places, putting the bullet in his chest instead and bringing her worst fear to life. Being here with her may help him, may bring him the reassurance her time away caused him to lack, but it's proving helpful to her as well.

Maybe... maybe they truly can heal each other.