A/N: Thank you for reading :).

Plot of summary: AU, Castle having to deal with Beckett's shooting and the aftermath that comes along. Beckett will already have been back for about a month, more or less. Will be dealing with sensitive topics so please read the A/N before each chapter just incase.

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle, yet.


He doesn't know what to do. He knows he should knock, no, he needs to knock, he made it all the way over here because the tightness in his chest was going to grant him a stroke caused by stress or he was going to do something completely irrational that he was going to regret when it was over. He knows that she's not going to judge him. It's Lanie, she knows. About the nightmares, the attacks, about him waking up in cold sweats, the anxiety that's come from it. She knows, she helped him all summer. She won't be mad he's interrupting her girls night, he knows this.

He put his head against her door, the tightening of his chest causing him to become lightheaded. He wishes this would stop, that none of this ever happened, that the bullet hit him instead, that he was faster, stronger, smarter. That he never opened the case to begin with. That he never fell in love with her so that his actions never played a part in hurting her.

Oh god, he needs to knock, he's struggling to maintain a rational thought that allows him to breathe, he can't breathe.

He doesn't want Beckett to know, about the anxiety, about the nightmares, about the flashbacks that are causing him to see her blood on his hand again, none of it, any of it.

He can't do this.

Knock on the door, get Lanie. Two simple things.

He chants to himself.

Knock on the door and get Lanie.

Knock on the door and get Lanie.

Knock on the door and get Lanie.

Knock on the do – he cuts his thoughts off.

Knocking on the door while he takes a deep breath in, his chest creating spasms within his breathing and every breath he takes like it's creating less of a passage way to retrieve oxygen.

He knows this is Beckett's apartment but he hopes, he's praying, he's begging the universe for Lanie to open the door. He can't handle seeing her right now. He's not going to be able to maintain this trance that's keeping him from falling apart any longer.

The universe, the prayer, his hope it hates him though. Having these panic attacks he can't control that feels like earthquakes taking over his body is not enough. They want him to face the reality of his distress at this current moment.

Of course, his partner has to open the door.

"How much isβ€” Castle?" He doesn't look her in the eyes. Instead focusing on the ceiling light he can see near the kitchen behind her head.

Knock on the door and get Lanie.

"I-I," he can't finish. He makes the mistake of shifting his eyes, looking her straight in the face and he feels his body tense in response. His mind filling images of her, the flashbacks taking over every part that creates any form of separation between reality and fantasy and breaking it.

He doesn't hear himself say it, but somehow she's turning around yelling for Lanie, taking a step towards him. He takes a step back in panic. She can't touch him. It's too real; she's dying in front of him.

She's dying. She's alive. She's bleeding. She's standing right in front of you. She's safe. He's losing her.

He can see the look of confusion on her face, the hurt and he wants to tell her that it's not her but it is her. The image of her, not her, her. Her, her would never do this to him. It's the the old flashback of her that holds his thoughts captive and consumes him of ideas, reminding him "how late he is for everything," "how he's never fast enough when he needs to be," and "how he is completely unless at times."

He's starting to see red creeping in from the corner of his eyes, the memory of her blood beneath his hands, sweeping in between the cracks of his fingers even when trying to keep the pressure on her chest. It doesn't cooperate, it doesn't care that he's trying to save her life. The blood wants out. It's spilling out. It's taking him with it.

He doesn't know how he got there, finds himself crouched against the opposite wall of Beckett's door, with an arm wrapped around his ribs trying to hold himself in place so that he can not possibly fall more apart.

The images flicking across his eyes in flashes like little burst of fireworks. He's trying to focus, on the wall across from him. When his vision gets blocked completely from color, all he can see is the black sweeping in quickly.

He hears his voice getting called, "Castle, Hey Castle, Sweetie."

Like it's trying to bring him back to place.

Lanie

"It's okay, you're okay, she's okay."

Beckett's okay.

"Pay attention to my voice okay? Everything's going to be alright."

Everything's going to be okay.

He feels her hand go over his heart, and he's glad for the barrier, the wild beating of his heart, making him feel as if his body may not be enough to hold it steady in place.

Over and over he hears,

"She's okay, she made it back; she's right here."

"She's okay, she made it back; she's right here."

He can hear voices, but he can't distinguish what is said as his vision starts to refocus. The cloudiness flowing from his eyes, the swaying from the dizziness is starting to come to a stop, the repulsive feeling – well it's starting to rise again because the rational part of his brain is now realizing that he just had the ending of a panic attack in front of Beckett and Lanie.

He thinks he's going to be sick, that's the only thought he can come up with to connect with the uneasiness he feels. When he tilts his head in Beckett's direction, knowing that what he's going to see on her face is going to make his heart ache. He makes eye contact with her. He can see the emotions she's trying to plant behind her face but he already knows, she's closing off on him. He's definitely going to be sick.


"So you and Castle?" Lanie's eyebrows moving in the same devious slow motion.

"Are nothing more than partners, Lanie. Don't start."

"Oh girl shut it, I wish I had a sexy writer who wanted to walk around and tell my story all the time."

"You want Nikki? You can have her," Beckett smiles in response.

"You know damn well that is a lie."

She doesn't reply, just pours the wine and sticks her tongue out. She knows it's a lie. He's more than her partner. Her writer. Her face turning up into a small smile.

The weekly girl's night became a ritual once Beckett was back from her recovery of the shooting this summer. Having to walk back in with her head held down in shame about not contacting her boys, best friend or Castle over the summer.

The guilt from locking them out even if it was for their own good and her own weakness. It still made her feel guilty. And though these weekly girl nights eased the guilt slowly, it also helped to have her best friend back. She was nowhere near okay but she was taking the daily steps, the steps to better herself, for her health, for her family, and for her writer.

"I see the smirk, Beckett, care to share with the class."

"You're annoying," she rolls her eyes in response.

"Not more annoying then Castle."

"That's true, but I can tolerate his annoying, I'm not sure if I can tolerate yours for any longer."

Before Lanie can reply with a smart answer she knows is at the tip of her tongue, she sticks her tongue out while making a detour for the door, paying for their food.

As she reaches for her wallet, opening the door, "How much is-" her question cut short when she realizes it's not the delivery boy but instead her-

Castle?" She asks in puzzlement. Even though he shouldn't be here, she can't help be happy to see him. It's honestly not her fault.

He's not looking at her, but she can see his eyes are focused behind her head, and his breathing is unsteady. She sees his hands are shaking, "I-I."

His eyes shift to look at her, and the full blown panic takes her by surprise, and the confusion deepens.

She takes a step towards him, intending to put her hand on his arm ask him whats wrong.

"I need Lanie, I need Lanie," he stumbles out quickly. His voice full of panic, strained and nothing like the voice of her writer.

He stumbles back from her, looking towards the step she's taken closer him to him as some act of horror, and she feels a little hurt. What's wrong with him? He's crouching against the opposite wall of her door, holding his hand over his body, struggling to breathe.

"LANIE, LANIE COME HERE."

"Girl, why are you yelling my name?"

"COME HERE."

Her focus stuck on Castle, struggling not to take a step forward to not repeat the look of horror on his face once again. Give him his breathing space. When Lanie steps in front of her and crouches,

"Castle, Hey Castle, Sweetie."

Her hand resting goes to rest on his knee, "It's okay, she's okay; you're okay."

"Pay attention to my voice okay? Everything's going to be okay."

She rests her hand over his heart, and she sees him relax as if the pressure from her hand is keeping him from falling from his place. The action is making her a bit unsteady.

Over and over she hears her repeat to him,

"She's okay, she made it back; she's right here."

"She's okay, she made it back; she's right here."

Is she talking about her? Her stomach sinking, making her queasy. Did she cause this? How? Why did she need to be okay? Why wouldn't she be okay?

The assault of silent questions coming to a halt in her thoughts, when the reality clicks in her head. She feels the wine trying to make its way back up her taste left on her tongue turning bitter. She hopes she's wrong.

"How long?"

Lanie doesn't waste time pretending not to understand her. She turns her head back, and she sees the sadness in her eyes, even with the seriousness in her face. "Since your shooting," she signs. Turning back to face Castle, rubbing his shoulder to sooth him down.

Beckett doesn't have time to process the set the regret settling in to the pit of her stomach, when she sees Castle's head moving up, his eyes making contact with hers. His blue eyes, coated in fear and she could see the moment the recognition of her still there clicks in his head. She sees his face pale, like he's going to be sick all over again.

She think's she's about to get sick.