A/N

Hello & Happy New Year! Thanks for your patience with this fic. I'm glad that the holiday madness is over and I can get back to writing it. The reviews for Chapter 9 were awesome. I'm so happy that you've enjoyed it and the feedback is much appreciated. I hope you like this chapter just as much.

Chapter 10

Her mom's always been a good hugger. In her arms now, Kate can't think of anything better. Lost in her thoughts, she's taken off guard when her mom starts to pull away. Immediately, she knows something's wrong. It was always Kate who pulled away first never her mom. She holds on tighter, not ready to let go again so soon, "Mom."

"Ow! Ow! OW!! APPLES! APPLES!!!"

Castle's eyes start to water as the pain intensifies. Waking up next to a beautiful woman is every man's dream except when she is crushing his hand like a vise. That happens to be this particular writer's nightmare. As he struggles to free one of his most valuable assets, he is surprised that the perpetrator is still asleep. Castle twists his hand until he's finally able to slide it out of her death grip. One day he hopes those hands are on his skin for pleasure rather than the pain they seem to regularly inflict upon him. Flexing his fingers, Castle's relieved to find them all in working order. What he is not happy to see, is that the peaceful face he fell asleep to is now marred by an awful grimace.

There's only silence as her mom continues pulling away from Kate.

"Mom. What's wrong?" Holding even tighter, Kate can't understand why her mom's slipping out of her arms. The sadness of too many years apart instantly floods her heart.

Johanna takes a step back then puts a hand on each of her daughter's cheeks before turning away.

Ignoring the panic beginning to creep back into her mind, Kate brings her own hand up to touch the wetness she now feels on her face. As she sees the red liquid on her fingers, her breathing speeds up and tears fill her eyes. Looking down, she finds the same red soaking both her gown and her hands.

Before Kate can remind herself this world isn't real, her mind is overcome by a panic she knows all too well. Her voice cracks, "Mom"

Johanna Beckett stops and faces her daughter.

Kate inhales sharply, "No."

Gone is the woman seen smiling in the happy family pictures. Standing in her place is the victim. The woman whose bloodied and broken body was captured in the NYPD's crime scene photos. Her eyes empty. Her body pale. Her shirt drenched in blood. Kate looks away. The sight too much for her eyes to bear. Too much for her heart to remember.

"I'm leaving Kate. Just like you wanted."

The unfamiliar bitterness in her mom's words shatters Kate's weary heart. Shaking her head, her voice is thick with desperation, "No, I want…I want you to stay. I NEED you to stay."

"There's no reason to stay. You've moved on with your life. Isn't that that why you stopped looking for the person who did this? So you could forget?"

Shaking her head, Kate tries to get up out of the bed but she can't. All she can do is yell as her mom walks away, "NO!"

"NO!" Kate shoots up in bed screaming. Not trusting her surroundings, her eyes search the room without any real idea what she's looking for. Her heart clings to the impossible hope that her mom is there until she sees Castle behind her. Still unsure, she kicks off her blankets looking for the blood that covered her only moments ago. Checking her hands, her clothes, her face, she sees there's nothing there. She should be relieved. Instead there is only grief.

Castle is stunned as Kate's piercing screams still echo in his ears. Within moments, the possibilities of what he should do begin racing through his head. His first instinct is to reach out to hold her. His second to ask if she's okay. Knowing neither is right, Castle calls upon every ounce of his restraint and forces himself to wait. As he watches Kate frantically examine her hands and her surroundings, he wonders what terrible things in her nightmares caused such panic. When her eyes briefly meet his, he's disappointed that there is not the slightest recognition in them. Castle can't help but think how much he preferred the pain in his hand to the one that's now settling into his heart.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the two nurses just as they get to the door. Immediately, he waves them away, mouthing she's okay without any idea if it's true. The only truth he knows is that the normally very controlled Kate Beckett sits before him shaking like a leaf.

Breathe Beckett. Breathe. In spite of the tightness in her chest, Kate is sure she can do at least that much. Opening her eyes, she inspects her trembling hands once more. It's only then that she is satisfied that it was a dream. That it's just she and Castle occupying this room. Castle. He hasn't said a word. Suddenly, Kate regrets getting swept away by the soup, the cards, the blanket…him. She knows better. The idea of what Castle must think of his crumbling muse makes her stomach turn. Wanting to be anywhere else, she pulls her knees to her chest and buries her face in her hands.

Returning his eyes to Kate, Castle's met with the sight of bare skin and hot pink. Under any other circumstance, it's a view that would lead to relentless teasing about her color choices and a debate of boy shorts versus thongs. Tonight, it's a sight that forces his eyes to the floor. He knows that Kate's already exposed more of herself than she is comfortable with. Her lack of modesty additional evidence of how very distressed she is.

Realizing that Kate's not making any effort to cover herself up, he reaches over to close the back of her hospital gown. When he's only inches away, Castle stops. He's touched her a thousand times. More, if you count his fantasies. This, though, doesn't feel right. By now Beckett should be threatening him with bodily harm. At the very least, yelling at him. Instead, there's only silence. A silence heavy with the pain of this extraordinary woman's broken spirit. Holding his breath, he gathers one of the blankets that she's pushed aside and carefully sets it against her lower back.

Kate tenses as she feels the blanket touch her. It's a reminder that she needs to pull herself together before she completely freaks Castle out. She knows that her gown has come undone but she is too overwhelmed to care. Anyway, she's certain Castle's seen plenty of women's underwear. Hugging her knees tighter, she wishes she could pull in her emotions as easily. She'd like nothing more than to box them up in a neat little package and send them far, far away.

As she turns her head towards the window, Kate's comforted by the return of a single pleasant thought. The image of Castle happily chatting with Alexis only a little while ago. It surprises her that the mere thought of it lifts her spirits even now. Closing her eyes, Kate tries to drive that memory so deeply into her brain that it pushes out all the bad ones. Failing, she sits up bracing herself on the bed. Her eyes burn with unshed tears as the bloody images dance across the city lights and her anger grows.

This is ridiculous. She should be stronger. She is stronger. This dream is an old foe that's robbed her of sleep long after all the others disappeared. All those sleepless nights teaching her that hot showers, Richard Castle's books and work were the best ways to fight this particular enemy. This time, though, there is no shower to hide in. No book to escape in. No work to do. There is just this bed. This room. Castle.

Watching his friend, he can't remember a time he's felt more useless. The few feet between them might as well be miles. Not able to stand it anymore, he leans forward hoping her face will give him a hint of how to help. What he finds is a look he never wants to see again. Kate's face is even paler and the angry purple bruise accentuates the terror in her eyes. It takes Castle's breath away. In their time together, he cannot recall ever seeing true fear on that face. It's not that he doesn't think Kate's been afraid. He's sure of it. She's just always been in enough control to keep it hidden.

"Kate"

Hearing her name, Kate gathers what's left of her courage to look at the writer. She meets his gaze, as she's done so often, only this time she says nothing. She can't. Not yet. Ashamed, Kate turns away from him. She locks her arms tightly against her chest as if they were a dam that could hold back her tears. Detective Kate Beckett does not cry in front of people. She cries in private and she'll be damned if she lets Rick Castle see that too. He's seen enough. The helplessness clouding his bright blue eyes confirms that fact. There is only so much of her dignity she can endure losing, only so much pain she can bear to cause him. She is sure they've both had enough.

Castle's trying not to take it personally. He gets that she's overwhelmed. Understands her need to create space between them. He would never deny her that. What he can't do is pretend not to be hurt by what he saw in her eyes right before she looked away. The trust he'd seen earlier had disappeared leaving only fear mixed with shame. Kate's afraid of whatever haunts her sleep but also of him. Of what he might think of her. Not of Beckett, not of the detective but of Kate. She's so afraid that she's no longer willing to trust him and that crushes him. Rationally, he understands her fear. It's his heart that is finding it impossible to comprehend how they took so many steps backwards in so short a time.

Disheartened, Castle retreats to the opposite end of the bed. He considers himself a man of considerable talents. If he can't talk his way out of it, charm his way out of it, write his way out of it or buy his way out if it, he knows a guy who can help get him out of it. His success depends on it finding a way to make things work. Now, for the first time in years, that mantra is coming up short. Castle knows he could write Nikki Heat a perfect ending befitting of the heroine she is. He wants to do the same for this woman he cares so much about. Unfortunately, here, with the detective's warning that cops don't get to decide how the story ends replaying in his mind, he's becoming less and less sure he can help Kate make it through even a single night.

"It's just a dream. It's just a dream. It's just a dream."

Kate repeats it, desperate to reassure herself that the disturbing images running through her mind are nothing more than her imagination. Still, they terrify her as much now as they did that first night. So often she's wondered how this dream could have so much power over her. Each time she came back to the same conclusion. It terrifies her because it's true. She did have her mom's blood on her hands. No matter how much she showered. No matter how much therapy she had. The blood of her failure remains. As the years passed, she's come to accept it as part of the fragile peace she's made with herself. It's a peace that has proven durable yet never quite strong enough to erase her guilt. A guilt that lies just below the surface, seeping through the cracks in her armor on nights like this.

A/N: Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be up by Monday.