"She said people at the precinct were talking about my shooting."

Detective Kate Beckett is my current session, and the last time she was here, she sat curled up in a tight ball on the couch – tucked into the corner like she was trying to squeeze into a hiding spot where no one in the world could find her. Literally, from whoever had orchestrated the attempt on her life, and metaphorically from whatever demons are still chasing after her since she started looking into her mother's murder again a few years ago.

"But people talk," she goes on.

Today, her feet are firmly planted on the floor – one foot slightly ahead of the other – not trapped underneath her. Never has the idea of someone having one foot out the door been so visually portrayed. I doubt Kate has any idea of what she's doing.

"What did she say people were talking about?"

I have a pretty good idea, but I want to hear Kate say it. She's working on talking about the things that are going on in her mind, on not playing things quite so close to the vest all the time. It's tough for the strong ones, and Kate has been strong for an incredibly long time. She wants to change, though, and that is what allows me to step back, to not try to fill in the blanks for her.

"That I was shot because of my mom's case."

Kate's not making eye contact. I can't make her do that. I can't make her do anything she doesn't want to do, or admit to anything she doesn't want to admit to. Right now, her answering my questions is a good start, though. We'll work up to it.

"Which is true. It's just…"

Her voice drops off, and her gaze drifts out to the windows. Maybe it's one arm out the window instead of one foot out the door.

"Just what?" I ask when she doesn't continue. Like I said, I can't fill in the blanks for her. She has to answer this.

"It's just… with everything that's happened, I just – I don't want those kinds of rumors flying around. Not about me, and not about my mom."

There's the faintest hint of guilt in Kate's voice, although her face is poker face blank, and nothing has changed about her posture since her arrival. Ramrod straight, like someone shoved a metal pole down her spine to keep it rigid.

"Do you feel guilty about being shot?"

We've been over a little bit of this before, and I made notes after our last session to come back to it. Whether Kate realizes it or not, she left me with the perfect opening to do exactly that.

She nods faintly. "Sometimes, a little bit – when I think about Dad, and what he went through after Mom was killed… how he almost lost both of us to this thing we haven't figured out."

We as in Kate and Castle, not Kate and her father. From what she's said, her father has mostly made peace with his wife's murder. As for Kate, it's what drives her. It's what keeps her going. She doesn't know who she is if she's not trying to figure out this now massive conspiracy. It's part of what has her here now. Trying to figure out who and what she is without it.

There's more to her answer than just her father, though. The way her eyes dart around the room – she's looking for an avenue of escape, but knows at the same time that this is where she needs to be if she ever wants to get past the things keeping her from being the person she wants to be and having the relationships she wants to have with the people closest to her.

"What else?"

It's a full minute of silence before Kate answers. I wait it out, knowing the answer will come. She just needs to work it out in her head.

"Castle."

Again, there's more to it than that, and it's another minute before her voice fills the silence again. She's talked a lot about this man – how he started as the annoying and interfering writing doing 'character research' and went from there to friend to trusted partner to the man who loves her.

"A half-second sooner, and it would have been him bleeding out instead of me."

She's said this before, hinting at the possibility of guilt, but never fully in terms of how much.

"He has a mother, and a daughter to take care of," Kate goes on. "A family that loves and adores him – that would be completely devastated if it lost him. He's not a cop, and it's not his job to protect me. If something happens to him…"

She struggles for a second to either find words or a breath, and then goes on.

"But he doesn't see it that way."

"How do you think he sees it?"

"I don't know," Kate replies with a shake of her head. "And mostly he knows I know how to protect myself. It's just that every so often…"

Her voice drops off yet again, but just for a few seconds. When it comes back, it's stronger, laced with tiny bits of frustration.

"Every so often, he tries to be the hero, and does things like… camping out on my couch when serial killers are coming after me. Running into burning buildings to rescue me. Pulling movie stunts like Steven Segall on trained mercenaries. Or…"

"Or?"

"Or jumping in front of bullets."

"And why do you think he does that?"

Kate looks at me as if I've lost my mind. Or gone stupid. But she answers. "Because he loves me."

"And what does that mean to you?"

"A lot…" she takes an unsteady breath, the composure on her face finally cracking. "It means a lot. I just… I don't – I don't want him to sacrifice his life for mine."

There's the lightest of raps on my door – the receptionist's reminder that this session needs to wrap up because my next appointment is here. Kate is already rising to her feet.

"We'll continue this next session," I say.

Kate nods hesitantly. "Thank you, Dr. Burke."

And she takes her leave. I walk over to my desk, jot a few notes down, and reach for the next file – a patrol officer working through anger management issues after a perp broke into his apartment. But I can't quite push Detective Beckett's session out of my head yet.

Kate Beckett is on a journey – the eighteen inch journey from her heart to her head – and there's no telling how long it's going to take her to get from start to finish.