A/N: Okay people, slowly getting where many of you wanted to be from the start. Slowly returning to the present. At this point, the story ceases to be written in italics, since we're returning to the original time frame.

Thank you for all your wonderful responses, signed or anonymous. I read all of the carefully and all are cherished! And thank you, Ann, you poor girl know for what.

BECKETT

She didn't expect to see him so soon. They might have told her that it could and most probably would all go down in a matter of days, so she better be prepared, but she certainly didn't expect Combs – her constant FBI guard and a real pain in the ass – to burst through her door at seven in the morning, unannounced and completely oblivious of her privacy, as per usual, telling her that today was the day she was finally going home. She didn't even know what that meant. Only thing she knew was that she's been hoping, waiting, craving for the day to come for weeks, months even.

It was maybe the reason why she was surprised at the sheer force of the panic that seemed to grip her upon being told that her life in limbo was as of today officially over.

The case has been on the news for over a week now and since her presence wasn't required atcourt – they'd got all they needed from her, on record, approved and sealed by a judge – she was free to go.

Her very first instinct was to run out the door and never look back. The only problem was, there was nowhere to run; she had no home, no job, no life, no friends left. That's what being officially dead did to you.

She'd already packed her two suitcases she first came here with eight months ago, in fact, she'd had them packed for days now, so she just needed to add some last items before she zipped the two familiar bags closed, now slightly more bulgy than when she first came here, albeit not very much. She's got a couple more books, a few half-empty notebooks, favorite pencils and pens, some toiletries and news articles she carefully cut out from the few issues she was allowed to read regularly, nothing special really. And then there was of course her precious copy of Frozen Heat. The photo of Castle that's been perched on the nightstand – one she didn't even know she possessed until she found it one night sifting through her small collection of random photos, mostly of her friends from the 12th – was now tucked between two pages of his books; she's been careful not to lose it.

The paper felt already worn and thin under her fingers at the edges from the repeated strokes over the image on those nights that nightmares wouldn't let her get her rest. It was pathetic really, she knew, and it only underlined how depressed, lonely and displaced she'd felt in the course of the past few months. Still, she needed this, needed the picture as she needed her next breath, something to remind her every day of why she was doing this, reminding herself that out there was a person worth doing this all for. A person who might understand and hopefully take her back, who was all worth it and who'd luckily be the force behind her will to restart her life and begin anew from zero scratch.

Two hours later, she's being ushered into a black van – very similar to the one that brought her here in the first place. At 3 pm they are finally entering New York City. They drop her off at some non-descript subway station she's never seen before – it's Queens, they only tell her – and squeeze a small transparent plastic bag full of her previously confiscated possessions into her hands. Her phone's there, and her wallet along with her IDs and driver's license, credit cards and some cash she had when they originally snatched her. They're all intact and usable again, her phone too, they tell her. She nearly laughs at the irony when she spots her bike and apartment keys amongst the things in the bag, but then she reminds herself there isn't really much to laugh about. She has no home, no life to return to. But the apartment keys are the cruelest joke, really. What about her bike? She doesn't even remember where was the last place she parked it; well, it could be anywhere really, she will figure that one out later. As far as she can remember – and this she can remember pretty clearly – the last time she went home she took a cab from Castle's place. Her stomach flips at the memory, the unfairness of it all hitting her full force. She's been robbed eight months of her life she's never going to get back, eight months that could possibly have been the best of her life. If she only could have returned for that lunch that day…well, anyway, too late for that particular train of thought, cause that ship's already sailed.

She shivers from the cold. It's mid January and it's fucking freezing. She certainly didn't pack any of her coats back in June, she didn't expect the case to take so long anyway. Now she wishes she had, wrapped in one of her most warm leather jackets and a thin scarf. Oh all her wonderful coats, how she will miss them. Restocking her closet will be a bitch. She hopes Lanie will be willing to help.

Some people that pass her by are throwing her strange looks and Kate winces, knowing she must stick out of the crowd like a sore thumb. She looks ridiculous really, mid January in jeans and sneakers, a leather jacket and a thin scarf, two huge duffle bags at her feet and a bag of pricy possession that look like they've just been stolen in her hands. So much for flying under the radar. Well they don't need her now, so what do they care about her pretences anymore.

She winces at her thoughts, realizing how cynical she's lately become.

She finds a roll of cash in the bag too, cash she's sure wasn't there before, along with a handwritten non-descript telephone number under which the words – IN CASE OF EMERGENCY – stand written in strong and uninviting letters. She hopes she will never need to use it. And anyways, isn't this kind of an emergency? She took their deal, worked for eight months with them doing their bidding, on their own conditions without much complaint and she is unceremoniously dumped to the curb with a roll of cash and no place to go. If this isn't an emergency, she doesn't know what is.

She doesn't even know where to start picking up the pieces of her previous life again. They might have promised they'd looked into her previous job position, let the according authorities know why she dropped off the radar, how she was doing her country a service. Yet A, she doesn't really trust them on this and B, there is no job to return to. After all, the day before she was snatched, she'd resigned, on her own free will. She highly doubts the FBI is going to call up Gates and persuade her to offer Beckett her old position back. She doesn't even know if she wants it. For now, all she knows is that she should move from where she is shivering on the sidewalk and go…somewhere.

She quickly shuffles the cash inside her jeans pocket, the rest of the items like her wallet, phone and keys she zips into her jacket.

She takes the train first, her two bags perched under the bench at her feet and her cold hands stuffed deep inside her pockets. Her breath comes out inthick white puffs and mix with the chilled air as she observes the industrial buildings disappearing quickly behind the glass when the train ventures above the ground from now and then. She changes lines and stations a couple of times until she finally starts to recognize the neighborhood somewhat, though she rarely came to visit other than by car or her bike.

There are remains of snow on the lawns of the street's houses, but the road is clear and dry. She knocks on his door, uncertain. He wasn't expecting her, is he even home? She prepares to knock again when the door finally opens, a sleepy messy head peering up at her from behind the doorstep.

"Hi, dad."

"Katie!" Her father releases a relieved sigh, happiness and surprise mixing on his face. He looks surprisingly good. Before she knows what's happening she's being pressed against him, enveloped by his strong arms in a fierce and bone-crushing hug. Still wrapped in his warm, protective embrace, her father ushers her inside the house, closing the door on the chilly air behind her with his foot, still not letting her go.

It's Kate's first hug in eight months. God, in eight months, this is the very first intimate human touch she's experienced. It brings sudden tears to her eyes. She holds on to her father, as tightly as she dares, her face buried in the crook of his neck as he cradles her against him, ushering words of solace in her ear. "It's alright Katie, it will all be okay."

She decides to camp out in his spare bedroom for the time being. Not that he seems to have expected any differently. She slowly unpacks the few personal items that now represent her whole life. She's starting from scratch.

She doesn't even know how much these small insignificant things of daily use came to mean to her until she catches herself lovingly thumbing the soft fibers of her hairbrush. That must snap her out of her reverie and she forces herself to stop this craziness. It's just a freaking hairbrush, completely replaceable! She'll probably throw it out and buy a new one first chance she'll get.

With a sinking feeling to her stomach, she realizes that the real work is only starting. And it won't be about such mundane things like buying a new brush, no. There are far more important things, talks, arguments, awaiting her attention, the sooner the better. She would lie is she said she wasn't terrified. After all, it doesn't happen every day you have the opportunity to tell your loved ones you just came from the dead. Or that you were never dead that in the first place…oh, whatever. She'll need to think about a strategy.

It's after 6 pm when she finally joins her dad in the kitchen where he's preparing dinner. He looks so casual, so at ease. Her throat closes over. It's like she's never even been away, like he didn't spend the last eight months pretending his only child was dead. She wonders in awe whenhe became the strong one.

They eat in silence, occasionally dropping a word or two, but they were never huge talkers. Their silence however, is comfortable. Mostly when they do talk, it's about the semantics of her release and what her next course of action should involve.

But she is preoccupied throughout the whole dinner and her father can tell.

"Go see him, Katie," he suggests gently out of the blue when she tries and fails for the fourth time in a row to bring the spoon full of soup to her mouth. She shoots him a deer-in-the-headlights glance, doesn't want him to feel like she doesn't want to be here. Because she really does, oh how she does. She just….wants to be somewhere else too, and it's tearing her apart.

"Go Katie, it's alright," her father says soothingly, a far too knowing look on his face. "It's not like you're going anywhere, right?" he adds for reassurance, his or hers she doesn't know. She quickly shakes her head. Not a chance.

"Good," her father smiles, "then go see him. After all, he was the one who's spent the past eight months thinking you were dead."

Her heart drops just at the very thought as so many times before. She doesn't need to imagine what it must have been like for him for all these months, she's been there. She's made the experience first hand.

"Have you talked to him lately? Since the case went public, I mean," she asks.

"No."

For some reason, she considers this a bad sign. From what she heard from her father, Castle kept a tight and rather precise schedule with her dad. Lunch every fortnight, a phone call somewhere in between.

Her dad seems to be contemplating her now. "Just go easy on him Kate, he's been through a lot. I know you have too sweetie," he adds hastily, but she doesn't seem offended by his suggestion. "I just…what I meant to say is, try not to have too high expectations. It's a lot to take in at once and he might not be as forthcoming during your first meeting as you'd like," he concludes, a wary, measured look on his face.

She knows he is just looking out for her, trying to warn her not to get her hopes up for a happy reunion; hell, she isn't expecting one either, she knows they will both hurt like hell. Still, her father's words sting more than she'd like to admit and her vision blurs again.

Dammit! When did she become so mentally unstable?

She rises from her seat, moves around the table, giving her father a fierce hug. "Thank you daddy," she whispers in his ear, kisses his cheek as she withdraws. "For being so…understanding. Of everything. And for looking out for him. You'll never know how grateful I am for all you've done for me," she gives his cheek another peck, lets him hug her a bit longer before she disentangles.

"You'll be alright?" she asks him as she stands to her full high, looking down at him, at her father, her only remaining family. Both their eyes are slightly moist and her question is loaded with subtext.

"I will," he says in a gentle voice, underlines his words with a firm nod. She smiles.

"Will you?" He asks and her smile disappears.

"I don't know," she whispers truthfully. They both know it doesn't depend only on her anymore. For her own happiness, she has to ensure someone else's first. It would be futile to try to deny the fact in front of her father, he's been there, every week on the phone, heard the lilt of despair in her voice every single time she asked about him, caught every breathless gasp when he mentioned his name.

Jim gives his daughter an understanding nod, enveloping her slightly cool fingers in his big warm hand.

"Well then, Godspeed Katie," he says. The familiar phrase he so often used with her when she was younger and was just about to venture into the world brings a smile on her face. Maybe not all is lost; maybe she is not that alone after all.

TBC

Okay, so we had some serious forward movement in this chapter and yes, the next will be what many of you have been so impatiently anticipating, the Castle/Beckett reunion, where we return exactly to where we left off in the prologue. Until then, let me know what you thought of this chapter, alright? ;)