Used to Be

Part II

Castle meets Lanie's eyes as she steps gingerly through the too-bright hangar, carefully avoiding the numbered placards, the congealing blood, and the shell casings. Esposito had been shouting orders and bulldogging the uniforms for the last thirty minutes, while Ryan carefully interviewed Beckett. But things are winding up, the ME's van has already loaded the bodies; it's just the tech clean up left.

Lanie gives him a flicker of an acknowledgment, something that's not a smile but not the cold shoulder either. Castle glances over at Beckett again and she's got her game face on, tense and remote. She's got a streak of blood along the back of one hand, both cuffs are stained. He knows that the ends of her hair have dragged through blood as well. His own hands are still shaking, and when he shoves them in his pockets, his thigh muscles are still vibrating with adrenaline.

It's been an hour, and he hasn't come down from this.

He keeps hearing the echo of Kate's cry in the hangar, the burst of gunfire. He showed up because the Captain called him, because Kate needed him, and he's not leaving now. But this place has burrowed into his soul like a hook worm, and he desperately wants to leave.

He's taking her home with him, or more accurately, he's going home with her. Internal Affairs has enough ammunition for now; he wants her with him. He needs her with him. He's got to get her out of here.

She used to be in love with you.

Castle waits until the hangar clears before he approaches her. He doesn't ask, he doesn't wait for her to speak, he just puts his hand to her lower back and leads her out.

Just the fact that she lets him touch her, that she walks at his side towards her car without comment. . .scares him. Isn't she mad at him? Didn't she say that they were over?

This doesn't feel like Over. This feels like Just Beginning.

There will be a funeral in two days; Internal Affairs is all over this, smelling a rat but unable to produce the corpse. Kate has mandatory leave for being involved in a police officer fatality, but it probably won't last. She didn't fire her weapon; she only arrived on scene too late.

Officially.

Castle got away with spending the night at her place after Montgomery was shot; she went into her room and shut the door and didn't come out for the rest of the night. Castle camped out on her sofa and texted his daughter the plan.

Alexis is on her way over now, bringing him some clothes and toiletries. Castle is afraid to leave, not because he doesn't want Kate to be alone for an hour, but because he's not sure he can get back inside if he does leave.

Kate didn't eat breakfast. She doesn't seem to care that he's here, which could be either a good or bad thing.

He's desperate to talk with her; he needs the comfort of her voice, the way she says his name. He'll take that in lieu of hugs, because he knows she's not a hugger, but he needs something. Anything.

It would be completely selfish of him to insist on having a relationship conversation right now. He keeps telling himself that. Immature as well. He reminds himself of that too.

She's sitting on the couch, staring at the pieces of the case in front of her: photos, police reports, the old cases Ryan and Esposito found, the ballistics reports, the ME's notes. She keeps shuffling things around like they'll make better sense in a different order, like it could actually be a jigsaw puzzle and all she needs is one corner piece.

The Captain took out the killing squad; his life was forfeit. Castle can't help being relieved, knowing that the hired assassin is out of commission, that he can't come after her anymore. When Lockwood escaped custody, Castle was sure Kate was marked for death.

But now. She's got a chance.

Do they have a chance too?

She used to be in love with you.

Kate watches Castle hug his daughter at the door, hears the murmur of their voices. And then silence again as Alexis leaves; the door is shut.

She's not sure what that was about. Castle is carrying a duffle bag though. Oh. Clothes. He said something about clothes. Earlier.

She's finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than this conspiracy, this web of lies she's found herself tangled in. Her Captain is dead: futile, vain, stupid man. All those times he guided her search for her mother's killer and-

No. She forgave him. He is forgiven. It's nothing to her now; it's in the past. Buried. Let it stay that way.

She hunches her shoulders and leans forward on her knees. His funeral is in two days; his wife and kids will be there, will have to take the folded flag and watch his coffin lower into the ground. Kate will have to wear her dress uniform and try not to cry.

She's cried too much already. Castle was there; he witnessed her breakdown. She is done with those. She knows from her hours of counseling that grief is uncontrollable, and will do as it wishes, but she's not ready to let it have her. Not yet.

"Kate?"

She glances up and sees Castle still standing awkwardly near the front door, bag in hand, waiting on her.

"What?"

He doesn't ask if she's okay; she's grateful at least for that. The television is on mute and the flicker of its light casts shadows over her face. She wants only to not be. Just for awhile. Not think, not worry about Castle or the boys or the Captain's family. Just. Exist.

Castle drops the bag at the end of the couch but doesn't sit down next to her. Kate watches the faces on tv, the strange commercials that have no relation to her own life anymore. She needs a break in this case. Badly. In the worst way.

Suddenly, Castle is pulling her up off the couch, his hands wrapped around her upper arms, and crushing her against his chest. "I need a hug," he says roughly.

The heat of his hands, the warm press of his chest, these things put a crack in her resolve. And then the touch of his lips against the crown of her head, a mirror to the kiss he dropped on Alexis not minutes ago, has her breaking apart.

"Kate," he whispers into her ear.

She chokes on a sob and presses her face against him, trying to muffle noise and sorrow both. She won't cry. She won't. Not now.

A palm against the back of her neck keeps her locked against him, but she doesn't want to move anyway. She wouldn't.

She won't say she's sorry.

She might cry against him, might let him do that much, but she won't apologize.

When he gets out of the shower, finally dressed in clean clothes again, he finds her in the living room, back at it. Chewing on a thumbnail, eyes almost glazed over.

"Kate," Rick says, watching her study the murder board pasted against her window shutters. She doesn't turn around. "Kate, what are you doing?"

She folds her arms over her chest and glances back at him. "I've got to figure it out."

"Kate-"

"Someone is responsible for the murders of two people I cared about, Castle. I have to do this."

Castle steps forward, pushing away the gnawing fear in his guts. "Tonight? You can't take a night off to grieve for-"

Her eyes flash with darkness. "*This* is how I grieve," she hisses at him, turning from the window to stare him down. "This is what I need to do. Find the man responsible."

Castle stares at her, struggling with what to say next. He wants to hide her away forever, safe, but that's not Kate. He wouldn't admire the Kate who ran away, would he? Wouldn't be so stupidly infatuated with the Kate who gave up.

But still. "What did the Captain say about this?" he asks softly, knowing it's not fair, but not being able to help himself.

She narrows her eyes at him. "How much did you overhear?"

"I came in when you drew your gun on him, stayed back just in case."

"So all of it then," she says, setting her jaw.

"Enough to hear him tell you *not* to do this, Kate. He wouldn't give you a name because he knew you'd go after the guy. And you'd lose. Lose your life."

"He doesn't know-" She falters, sorrow washing over her face. Kate swipes at her eyes and clears her throat. "He didn't know what I'm capable of. He didn't give me a chance. There could've been a different way. A better way. All he had to do was *tell* me who it was and we could've taken him out together."

"Kate," he says gently, a reminder. "He died to keep you safe."

She shakes her head violently at him, but Castle's not through.

"Do you know that the people who love you are coming to *me*, Kate? Asking me to make you stop, make you let it go. Lanie's talked to me. She's told me things. Your father. Your own father came to my loft, Kate."

Her head jerks up; her anger is back. Betrayal. "Why?"

Castle sets his jaw. "They're all afraid for your life. For your life, Kate. We don't want you to die."

She crosses to him, using a finger to push against his chest. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Castle. Even if everyone seems to think you do. Doesn't give you the right."

"Everyone around you thinks you're in trouble. Don't you see that? Enough trouble that they're talking to me about it! *Me*, Kate. Lanie wouldn't give me the time of day when I came back this summer, but now she seems to think it's okay to tell me all about how much trouble you're in."

And just like that, he knows he's said too much, tipped his hand.

A look comes across her face, hard like ice, and she tilts her head, predator studying her prey. "What did Lanie tell you?"

"Just. How you met. I was-I thought I'd pushed you too far. I wanted her advice."

"How we met?"

"In the Archives," he elaborates, trying to steer clear of this past summer and the biggest thing Lanie shouldn't have told him.

"She tell you what I was like back then?" Kate's eyes are shuttered against him, making him think this isn't going to be a fun story. "She tell you what was going on with me? She say what happened when I found she was digging up my mom's case?"

"No," he says softly. "She said she didn't remember exactly."

"That's a lie," Kate answers. "She remembers."

And she tells him the story.

Kate was sick in the bathroom twice before she got control of herself. Lanie kept apologizing for not telling her earlier, but Kate knew that if the woman had told her earlier, she wouldn't be in Lanie's apartment tonight, wouldn't have her for a friend.

"Kate?" Lanie called through the door. "You okay, honey?"

"Give me a second," she muttered back, rinsing her mouth out again.

Kate took a deep breath and looked in the mirror at herself. Her skin was getting papery again, the bags under her eyes were darker, bruised-looking. Her therapist would be disappointed in her. She'd have to avoid a couple appointments until she got some weight on her, otherwise he might insist on hospitalization again. She didn't have time to fatten up on the psych ward, not when she was so close to making detective.

She opened the door and let Lanie study her. "Can you show me the ME's report?" she asked.

Lanie's jaw dropped. "No!"

"Lanie."

"Kate Beckett, that is *not* something you need to see."

"You're wrong. I do."

Lanie shook her head again. "You may be an officer, but you're not a detective, honey. It ain't gonna do you a bit of good to look at that report. You want details; sure, I'll give you details. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"I need it, Lanie. There's something that everyone else has missed. I need to find it. Every time I feel like I'm getting close, something blocks my path. I've got some help; the Captain of the 12th found me down there last week, in the Archives. He promised to look over it with me."

"I'm not letting you at those notes, Kate Beckett. You don't want to remember your own momma that way."

"I'll be fine. It's a case. It's an important case, the most important case of my life, but still just a case. I can handle it. I've got to do it all the time, working homicide."

Lanie crossed her arms and shook her head. "No."

"Fine. Then do your pathology research on your own," Kate said, and wiped her hand across her mouth as she turned to leave Lanie's apartment.

She was prepared to walk out; she would have walked out. She got all the way to the front door, preparing herself to walk out, and perhaps Lanie was just stunned speechless, but Kate even had the front door open before Lanie said anything.

"Katherine Beckett," she rebuked, both pissed and resigned.

Kate didn't turn around, but she didn't walk out the door either. Lanie had been one of the best female friends she'd ever had; she was what Kate imagined a sister would be like, bickering and swapping clothes and standing up for each other. She needed a friend like Lanie, desperately. A friend who didn't look at her and only see what she was missing. A friend that hadn't been a part of her childhood.

But she *would* walk out on her, right now, and not look back if Lanie didn't give her those ME's files.

Some things were more important.

"Fine. Have it your way," Lanie groused, turning her by the shoulder and shaking a finger in Kate's face. "But I get to sit with you while you read them. I get to be right here for all of it."

Kate studied her friend for a moment, probing her eyes for weakness, but Lanie had a steel in her that wouldn't be bent. "All right. We'll do it together."

Lanie nodded, but her eyes were troubled because she knew. She knew she hadn't won this fight. "This why you became a cop?"

Kate tried not to let her dread show on her face. "Yes. And when I make detective, I can re-open her case."

"If you find new evidence, you mean."

Kate nodded. "Yeah."

"And what about all the other cases you'll get? The other daughters you'll have to face, telling them their mothers aren't coming home? How are you going to do that, Kate?"

She looked at her friend and gave her an icy smile. "I know what it's like. I know exactly what they're going through. I'm the best person for it."