Chapter 4

Sitting at his desk, Richard Castle stared down at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen and grimaced at it. The blinking vertical line seemed to mock him with its anticipation and promise. It waited for him to craft a scene or dialog or, hell, even write more than two words at once, but he had nothing; absolutely nothing.

That morning as he ate breakfast, he asked Juanita to remove the supply of liquor from his office and put it in the pantry so he wouldn't be tempted to tip any into his coffee (or simply into an empty glass) if the discomfort in his hands or inside his own mind became too much. He'd lost so much of himself over the prior almost-year, the majority of his self-respect included. However, he had yet to back out on a bet and he was not going to start then. He promised Kate no drinking for the rest of the week and he would stick to it.

Probably.

No—no. He was going to stick to it, but by one in the afternoon the tightness in his knuckles had returned and every movement was uncomfortable. He sighed out, lifted his head and gazed away from the laptop screen and to the corner where the now-empty silver cart sat. He just needed a distraction and then he'd be okay.

Turning his head to the left, he intended to gaze out into the main living area to see if he could catch Juanita doing something interesting, but instead his eyes landed on Kate. She sat several feet away on the loveseat pushed back against the bookcases. He shoes were off with her legs curled beneath her as she read through the printed out pages of Chapter Eleven on her lap. She tapped the base of her red pen against the edge of her chin twice, lowered her right hand to mark something on the page, and then lifted the pen again, that time trapping it between her front teeth. Despite these actions being rather dull, Castle was intrigued.

A day earlier Castle did not have any stronger interest in Kate Beckett than he would have had with any random stranger he passed on the streets of Manhattan. She was simply a woman he was working with and when she left he would not think of her again, but that was back when he saw her as another one of Black Pawn's literature minions; someone solely looking to revel in the small power provided to them once they became an editor, or a future author desperate to grab on to the coattails of whatever minimal career he had left as a launching pad for her own. Knowing that wasn't true would have improved his interest in her slightly, but discovering that her true career path lie with the NYPD? Well, that was downright fascinating.

When they first met, Kate's youthful appearance had him guessing she might have been in grad school and this gig was part of an internship. Now he knew that was not the case, as her career path had included the police academy, but he still couldn't imagine her being much older than her mid-twenties, thus he guessed she'd been on the force for more than one year, but probably no more than three or four, which led him to his next query: why was she here?

From what little research he'd done, he didn't know for sure, but at the same time did not feel it was possible to take a sabbatical from a job with the NYPD. Leave would certainly be granted if she was injured and needed recovery time, but he very much doubted the case as he seemed to be the only invalid in their partnership. So why wasn't she on a beat somewhere? Furthermore—why was she available for a twelve week job? Had she quit the force? Her comment the prior day had not implied that, though he supposed it was possible.

Despite the fact that he was practically at the edge of his seat with curiosity, Castle refrained from voicing any of his questions aloud. Over the prior week he'd treated her absolutely terribly and thus was trying to tread lightly. When she'd confronted him the day before, he knew he deserved it, despite the fact that he'd acted passive-aggressive in the moment. In fact, he'd known all along that his behavior was poor, but it had also been purposeful; he was trying to drive her away, like he did every other able-bodied person that crossed his path.

She had been one hundred percent right in her assessment, though. She was a person and did not deserve to be treated poorly or with disrespect. Thus, he'd made a silent agreement with himself that he would not purposefully be rude to her for the remainder of their time together. He had no intentions of being overly friendly or chipper, but he also would not go out of his way to be mean. Some level of surliness was simply now a part of his personality.

"Mail, Mr. Castle." Juanita announced when she walked into the office, momentarily distracting Castle from the way he was observing his new colleague. She slid three letters onto the center of his desk and he mumbled out a thank you.

Trapping the letters beneath the flat of his right hand, Castle drug them across the desk towards him so that he could spread them out and read the return addresses. One was from Black Pawn and he was not expecting anything from them, so he could only imagine what it could contain; he'd read that later, when Kate was not around. The second had the return address of a charity, which he also decided to read later. The third had a loopy scrawl that made his heart flutter in his chest and a soft smile immediately cross his face.

Sliding the third letter towards the edge of the desk Castle flipped it over and, without thinking, pinched one corner of the flap and made to tear it open only to feel a sharp pain in his index finger that had him hissing out in pain.

"Papercut?" He heard from across the room, but he ignored the question. Instead he shook out his right hand, flexed his fingers a few times and then tried again, that time managing to rip the envelope enough to slide the letter out, only he couldn't grip onto it with his throbbing fingers. Cursing, he threw the envelope down so violently against the desk that it skittered off onto the floor by Kate's shoes.

Silently, she uncurled her legs from where she sat, picked up the envelope, pulled the letter out, and set both of them on the edge of his desk. He didn't thank her as he was too busy cradling his right hand against his chest and trying to breathe through the discomfort that coursed through his fingers.

"They really hurt you, don't they? Your fingers."

"What do you think?" he spat. Then, remembering his promise, Castle opened his eyes and gazed up at the woman who looked as nonplussed as ever. "Sorry—I, ah, yes. Some days are worse than others. Today wasn't that bad but…I never know what movement's going to set something off."

That really was the worst part—not knowing, not anticipating. He could have been having a wonderful day and simply reached wrong for a fork during dinner—something he'd done hundreds of times before in the exact same way but suddenly he'd feel a pinch or a pull and be miserable for the rest of the evening and into the next day; there really was no predicting it. Sure, certain things for sure set him off, others he couldn't do at all, but most days were a mystery—and not the kind he liked.

"Your…your therapist told me that you often refuse therapy on your hands."

He briefly wondered when the two of them had spoken, but as the statement was correct he didn't want to deny it. "Peter always said doing the therapy would loosen them up and give me more mobility, but each time I did his therapies my fingers would be so stiff and painful I could hardly type at all, so what was the point?"

"You ever hear of pushing through the pain?"

Momentarily abandoning his plan he snipped, "Oh my god no, you're the first person that's ever said that to me!"

She rolled her eyes. "You don't have to be a dick about it—I'm actually talking from experience."

"Break your leg skiing?" he guessed randomly.

"Took a bullet to the bicep. Not a big deal—compared to your accident it was relatively minor—but it didn't feel great, I promise you that."

For Derrick Storm research Castle had spoken to many gunshot victims and several doctors so that he could portray the incident as accurately as possible. Because of that research, he knew being pierced with a bullet was definitely not something he wanted to experience. "Being shot isn't minor."

She gave a little shrug. "It didn't penetrate very deep. I was lucky—it was a ricochet, but it tore up some of the muscle pretty good. Doctors said I needed PT; I was twenty-three and invincible so I brushed them off."

"When was this?" he asked, hoping to confirm his suspicions about her age.

"Few years ago. But then I, ah…couldn't hold anything in my left arm—at least, not when engaging my bicep, so I did the therapy and now I'm fine."

He pressed his lips together, understanding the point of her story, but still not caring very much about it. "I appreciate what you're trying to say, but as you said—it's not the same thing."

"All I'm saying is: you have me, you have Juanita. You don't have to worry about typing or opening letters while we're here so maybe—and I know this is a totally wild concept but—maybe if you tried your fingers would get a little better. Now, would you like me to unfold that letter for you? I won't read any of it; I promise."

"It's nothing top secret or anything; it's just from my daughter."

Kate smiled as she unfolded the letter and then slid it directly in front of him. "Oh that's nice. Where does she live?"

"Off 6th Avenue."

"In the city? She lives with her mother, I assume."

Castle hummed and leaned back in his seat. "With mine, actually. Alexis's mother, Meredith, left us…oh going on eight years now. My mother took Alexis after the accident and…well, it's for the best."

As much as it saddened him that he hadn't seen his daughter in months Castle knew their separation was in her best interest. He was not in a state mentally or physically to be a father at that time and seeing the pain in Alexis's eyes when she looked at him in his present state was almost too much to bear. Though she never said anything aloud, he could tell she wondered where her amazing, fun, funny father went. Some days, he wondered that as well. The man he was felt like such a distant memory it was almost a dream. Had he really been that carefree? Had he really taken her on those crazy adventures? Had he really gone days on end without feeling any pain?

The aftermath of the accident had been hard on both the women in his life as well as on himself, but he felt Alexis took far more of the burden than she needed to. Though the time immediately after the accident had been clouded with a haze of pain and half a dozen prescription drugs, he did recall Alexis apologizing profusely, saying that had she not been reading, she might have seen the truck coming and could have warned him to swerve, brake, or get out of the way. After he and his mother managed to convey to her this wasn't possible, she began wishing aloud that she was the one with all the broken bones so that he didn't have to suffer; such thoughts completely shattered his heart.

Castle had made sure his mother took Alexis to a few therapy sessions while he was in recovery to make sure she was okay with everything that had happened. Evidently the overwhelming theme of her discussions was that she just wanted her daddy to be better so he could come home. Unfortunately, once he did arrive back, he didn't share the sentiments.

To say he'd been in a bad place back then was an understatement. His mother informed him that Alexis had a near temper-tantrum when she found out she could not greet him at the airport when he arrived. Hearing her shrieking in the background of the phone, something so very out of the ordinary for her, persuaded him into allowing them to visit, but he did not think the interaction had been positive. Alexis had showed up ready to move back in, begging him to let her stay, but he could not. He couldn't even take care of himself at that point; he was simply unable to be the father he wanted to be to her, so despite her tears he told her she had to stay with her grandmother a little longer.

In the months since Castle often wondered if he'd made the wrong decision; if perhaps having Alexis around would have motivated him more in his recovery, but he very much doubted it. Perhaps she would have lifted his spirits some, but he also would have felt guilty that they were unable to do the things they used to together like card games, laser tag, and, well, virtually anything that involved him using his hands. No, it was better this way, better that she didn't have to watch him suffer.

Castle smiled as he read her letter informing him about a field trip her school had taken to the Bronx Zoo and all the interesting animals she'd seen there. He wished he could have been there, that he could have heard all her interesting comments and observations in person, but instead he'd need to wait for the next time Juanita dialed the phone for him; that was the only time he was able to talk to her, because of course he was unable to write back.

At the bottom of the letter was a small drawing of a creature Castle probably would not have been able to discern were it not for the caption that read, The otters were my favorite! He chuckled aloud at these sentiments and then, feeling briefly the happiness he hadn't felt in ages, he looked up and said to Kate, "She drew me a picture of an otter; apparently those were her favorite at the zoo."

Kate smiled. "That's great. I remember going to the zoo when I was younger; my father always used to like to watch them, too."

He nodded to her. "It's nice—that you have those memories of him."

Her brow winkled. "What?"

He gestured towards her left side. "The watch—it's his, right? The only thing I can't seem to figure out is whether you lost him to alcoholism or he died as a result of an alcoholic." He'd been thinking about it ever since the night before, trying to overanalyze her physical reaction to his comment about the watch in the way he often did when trying to create backstories for characters in the name of research. Such notions had always fascinated him, though he actually hadn't thought that way since before the accident. It was…fun. Though, judging from the look on her face, Kate did not agree.

"Excuse me?" she responded in a tone that sounded borderline offended.

Unable to help himself from digging deeper into the hole he'd made for himself in her eyes, he continued. "I've been thinking about what you said to me yesterday: 'Bad things happen to everyone.' That's true, but the way you said it, it was personal. I can see pain in your eyes. You're wounded, but not enough to have something have happened directly do you."

He paused his speech as she stared blankly at him; he wasn't even sure she was breathing. He stood from his desk chair and walked around to the other side as he continued. "You wear a man's watch almost like a talisman. Given how young you are, I'm guessing it was your father's. You seemed extra quick to jump in and call me an alcoholic when, aside from a splash of whisky in my coffee, and perhaps a mid-afternoon drink I'm not sitting here going through bottle after bottle. Though, I will admit you have a point; I was drinking too much. Now that my head is a bit clearer my observational skills have returned. So, which is it?"

She sat up a bit straighter and he could see her arms tucking in tight to her body as though she was physically closing herself off. "I'm sorry Mr. Castle, but I'm not keen on sharing personal details with someone I've barely known more than a week."

"I see." He leaned back against the front edge of his desk and balanced his rear against it. He then folded his arms across his chest while observing the tightness of her lips and the way her hazel eyes avoided his gaze.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to figure out your story," he said truthfully. Suddenly it was becoming the most interesting thing he'd done in months. He'd clearly struck a nerve from the way she was reacting, which meant that one of his two guesses was probably correct.

"Are you just going to sit there and watch me edit this chapter?"

"Probably."

Now she was getting flustered and it, quite frankly, was entertaining him more. She turned back to the pages on her lap for twenty seconds before she slammed the pen down on top of them and looked up at him. "My father's four years sober and that's the last we'll be discussing it. Will you stop staring at me now?"

He gave her a little smile, endlessly proud of himself. "Absolutely."

A/N: thank you all for your patience :)