A/N: RositaLG, thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: The usual.

oOo

Kate Beckett. Every morning she looked in the mirror and her hand automatically traced her scar down her side then moved to the bullet hole above her heart. Her heart was protected before that day, nothing in or out. Her mind goes back, snippets from the funeral; The gunshot, the chaos, Castle. "Beckett, down." I love you.

A daily reminder of a bullet that did not kill her.

A daily reminder that a killer was still out there.

A daily reminder she was still alive but losing the ability to function.

Voices faded in and out. She heard partial words and conversations. Questions being asked of her for which she did not have the answers to; she could only stare blankly. Beckett was holding everyone at arms length. This was her fight. She looked down at her hands, they were shaking. She was trying to keep it together but she did not know how much longer this could go on. Her throat constricted and she was confused. She was holding back the tears. She was going head first down a spiral. When would this stop - when they caught this sniper? Or when they caught the person who shot her?

Out of control. There are pills for everything, right?

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Fine. I'm fine. How much longer would this be an acceptable answer? Were they just giving her the space she needed?

Her unsteady hand reached for the bottle of alcohol. She took another swig. Memories flashed before her and she fell off the couch knocking over the table. The bottle shattered and glass imbedded into her skin, blood ran down her arm - she didn't care. Someone was still after her, this is what drove her. She wanted. . . no, she needed to feel alive again.

The sniper shot. The kick of the rifle heard in the cemetary. Oh my god! Get down. Kate.

The race into the hospital. The voices around her were incoherent. Gunshot to the chest. Losing a lot of blood. Surgery now.

The beeps of monitors - flatlining. The paddles to her chest. The incision into her side. Come on, Kate. Stay with us.

Fine.

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She was not the type to run away. She confronted her problems head on, except for now. Castle was right, she did not know how to escape her mother's murder or her own assassination attempt. She had her back against the wall. She had to let the tears go. What else could she do? She was walking on tightrope and the cable just snapped. Free-falling.

Beckett threw her badge down. Her badge protected her, gave her strength, and the ability to do her job. Right now, that badge failed her; it didn't protect her when she got shot. She didn't have strength to fight anymore. She hid behind this badge for so long, she didn't know who she was without it. She needed to separate herself. She just didn't know how.

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They were a family. They all had to look after each other. If one was heading down the wrong path, another would help or get help. They could not survive without each other. You take one away – strength, protection and purpose are diminished. Espo held out a rifle, explaining it was just steel. She knew she had to stop hiding. Sometimes words weren't need. Shared tears were enough. He gave her the strength she needed. No matter how many times she said, I'm fine. I'm fine, she had to believe it but she hoped they did too.

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Whatever you call them – revelations, epiphanies, lightning bolts, signs, eye-openers – they occur because a perception has shifted. Maybe this change happens because there is nowhere left to go. Running to stand still.

Letting go is never easy, especially to something that has defined you, your life path, and every consequential decision you have made. It usually does not happen overnight. It could take days, weeks or even years but by beginning the process, healing begins.

Fine.

Thanks for reading. . . I appreciate it!