Thank you all for your incredible support for the last chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think!

Also, small warning: there are brief mentions of suicide in this chapter. It's nothing graphic or extensive by any means, but I don't know if any mentions of suicidal thoughts at all will trigger someone and I don't want that to happen.

"Kate." Her name is a breathy exhale on his lips, somewhere between pure elation and relief.

He's standing there, unable to move, and his feet don't do anything to help him out. He blinks a few times to make sure he's not hallucinating before finally regaining some control of his limbs. He immediately throws himself forward, enveloping her in his arms before she can even say anything, and she lets out a small gasp at the contact.

"Thank god," he sighs, the sound accompanying the terrified breath he's been holding for hours.

He doesn't want to let her go, doesn't want to lose the warmth of her body in his arms. But he can feel her heart beating, the rise and fall of her chest against his, and it's real, solid proof reassuring him that she's here. She still hasn't said anything and he starts to worry about what could be going through her mind - as far as she knows he should be in New York, not standing in her doorway looking like he's just gone through some kind of natural disaster - so he pulls away just enough to be able to look at her, both hands still holding onto her forearms.

"Castle?" she asks, eyebrows furrowed in both shock and confusion. The reaction isn't unwarranted. "Why are you- What are you doing here?"

He can't help the tear that slides down his cheek or the hitch in his breath when he finally hears her voice. His only reply is wrapping his arms around her once more, pulling her into him. He can feel her breath on his neck and he swallows, forcing himself to calm down.

It wasn't her. It wasn't Kate. She's alive.

She's here, in front of him, living and breathing and staring back at him with a million questions in her eyes.

She's alive.

"You're here," he breathes, running a hand over his face. "You're okay."

Her face contorts slightly but he can't stop the small smile that makes its way to his face. He knows that he's staring at her - in an extremely obvious and unashamed manner - but he can't help it. He doesn't know how to explain everything he's feeling, but he knows that whatever it is, it's miles away from the dread he was feeling just twenty minutes earlier. He takes a few seconds, tearing his eyes from hers, to actually look her over. It's a brief glance at best and he knows he's not taking anything in, but he realizes that she looks as if she just rolled out of bed; he can tell from her eyes that she's not fully awake, her hair is tousled, and she's dressed in giant sweatpants and an over-sized sweater that dwarfs her impossibly small body.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?" she asks, still confused but seemingly more awake with each passing second. She opens the door some more and steps back. "Come in."

He nods, silently stepping beside her and into the apartment. She turns to close the door behind him and he just stands in her hallway, unsure of what to do, what to say. There are a myriad of emotions running through his body, coursing through his veins, and he has absolutely no idea what to do with any of them.

She walks past him and guides him to her couch, nodding for him to sit down. He's still trembling, his entire body on a high, and he wrings his hands together in an attempt to still them. She takes a seat next to him, her hand falling softly, almost hesitantly on his shoulder.

"I thought you were- I didn't know if you were-" He blurts it out suddenly, but he stops, physically incapable of getting out the rest. I thought you were dead.

She gets up then, moving around the couch and into her kitchen. He follows her movements, watching as she grabs a glass out of a cabinet and fills it with water before making her way back, dropping down next to him once again. She holds the glass out to him with a quiet, "here," and he thanks her with a smile that still doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's considerably more calm now that he can see her, but the whole thing still has him worked up and he needs a bit longer to decompress.

"Are you okay?" She's looking at him now, concern etched into her features, and he lets out a low laugh.

She's asking him if he's okay.

He spent the past few hours not knowing if she was dead or alive and she's asking him if he's okay.

"The news-" he starts, not knowing what to say or how to get it all out, how to explain it to her. The glass shakes in his grasp, water almost spilling over the edges with the motion, so he sets it down on the wooden coffee table in front of him. "Someone died. Here. In Ann Arbor." Her eyes widen as a small gasp leaves her throat. "Your building was on the news, and the reporter was talking about an overdose or a possible suicide and a woman in her early twenties and they wouldn't say her name and she had brown hair and-" He's rambling, he knows, but once he starts he can't seem to make himself stop. It all comes out in one rushed, long-winded breath; he doesn't bother taking the few seconds to breathe in between and he's gasping for air by the end, fresh tears having trickled out the corners of his eyes and onto his cheeks while he wasn't paying attention.

Her eyes are on him, wide and attentive despite being clouded with sleep. There's something in those eyes, in her face, but he can't pinpoint exactly what it is. As much as he wants to figure it out, he just keeps talking.

"I tried to call, Kate. For over an hour, and when you didn't answer I just- I panicked, and my mind went to worst case scenario and I didn't know if it was you..." He takes a shaky breath, his hands running through his hair. "I saw your building and the ambulance and the body- God, Kate, I saw them... I saw them wheel the body and I couldn't get a hold of you and I couldn't breathe and I just-"

"And you thought it was me," Kate deduces quietly, her voice just above a whisper as it cuts into his lengthy speech.

"I didn't want to," he rushes out, scrambling to find the right words. "I didn't want to believe it could be you, but then the small details matched and you didn't answer and-"

"Hey," she interrupts him, moving a bit closer to him on the couch, her hand a firm and comforting weight on his shoulder once again. "I'm okay. I'm right here."

"You're okay," he repeats her words, more for himself than anything else. "You're okay."

"I'm so sorry you were so worried," Kate tells him, genuine concern on her face. She puts her head in her hands and he can practically feel the guilt radiating off her body. That's not what he wants. He doesn't want her to feel guilty at all - this isn't her fault. "I finally fell asleep without... without much trouble so when I woke up the first time, I turned the volume on my phone down and just went back to sleep. I wasn't expecting any calls, I'm so sorry." She shakes her head, her own voice wavering. "I didn't know anything was going on or I would've called and let you know I was okay."

She was sleeping.

That's it.

Of course. Alive, just asleep.

A part of him feels silly for getting so worried and he instantly wonders if he is - or was - overreacting. He flew to Michigan in the middle of the night and showed up on her doorstep, in tears and a state of panic. But then he realizes that, either way, it's okay. Because she's okay.

He takes a deep breath and tries to get himself to relax, his body dipping back more comfortably into the cushions. His eyes close momentarily while he just takes a few seconds to breathe, and when he opens them again he's met with a pair of thoughtful hazel orbs looking down at him.

"I'm just so glad it wasn't you," he murmurs, his voice soft and quiet, relief dripping from every word. "I don't know what I would've done if-"

"No," she says firmly. "No what ifs, Castle. You can breathe. Look at me." She waits until his eyes are trained on hers. "I'm fine. I'm right here, okay?"

He nods, slowly letting himself relax a bit more.

He doesn't say anything in response, just continues to revel in the fact that she's okay and sitting right next to him.

"You flew..." Her voice is almost a whisper as she lowers her eyes to her lap. She pauses for a few seconds before she takes a breath and lifts her head back up. "You flew to Michigan."

"Yeah, I did."

"You flew here. To Michigan. To see if I was okay." They're statements but they come out sounding more like questions.

He doesn't know if she actually wants him to answer, but it seems like she can't believe he actually flew out here, so he feels compelled to say something anyway.

"I didn't know what else to do," he says. "I couldn't sit around and wonder if it was you, so I booked a flight and here I am."

She nods her head slowly in response as she takes it all in. No one's ever done this for her before and she doesn't really know how to react. It's sweet, almost overbearingly so. She knows he cares about her - if his constant attempts at trying to talk to her, listening to her nightmare of a past and not judging her, helping her when she calls in the middle of the night with no questions asked, and buying her groceries are any indication - but she never could have imagined him doing this. No one's ever expressed so much care for her or gone to lengths this far - not in a long while, anyway - and she's not really sure what to do with herself, with everything she's feeling. Her hands rake down her face before landing on her chin, a small, emotion-filled smile playing on her lips.

"That's sweet," is all she manages as she blinks away her own tears.

She hopes he doesn't notice, but he does.

There's a prolonged stillness that fills the room; their simultaneous breathing is the only sound to be heard in the absence of words. He finds solace in the steady exhales of the woman next to him, in knowing that she's there with him, and vice versa. His fingers leave his lap and find hers, tentatively wrapping them in his grip. He rubs circles over the soft skin with the pad of his thumb, alternating in the direction every so often. He's not sure if that's too much, too intimate an act for them, but she doesn't pull her hand away - instead, much to his surprise, she curls her fingers tighter around his. He can't stop gazing up at her, still taking in the fact that she's actually sitting there next to him.

"You said it was a possible suicide." She's the one to break the silence, her voice gravely as she clears her throat. "Did you really think I'd- that I'd killed myself?"

The question catches him off guard. He knows it probably shouldn't, knows that he should have been prepared for her to ask at some point. But he isn't, and he doesn't answer right away. Her voice is low, hesitant, and he swears he can hear a hint of hurt weaved in her tone.

He doesn't know.

That's the real answer – he doesn't know. He's known her for such a short period of time and while he likes to think he knows her well enough, would love to say he knows she wouldn't do something as tragic as taking her own life, he can't. There's no telling with these kinds of situations; someone could be the human embodiment of sunshine on the outside, but be battling something much darker inside.

And truthfully, he knows she's been in an extremely dark place. She's doing better, and even seems to have progressed some more in the time he's known her, but he can tell that she still doesn't put much stock in the headway she's made. The Kate that he met at Babs that first day was... well, she was a wreck. The Kate he's been talking to for the past week and a half or so, the Kate that's sitting to his left right now, seems happier, more content in herself, but by no means is he naive enough to believe that all of the hurt just disappeared.

That's not how it works.

So when he saw that news report, heard about what happened - in her town, on her street, possibly in her building - the first thing, first person that sprang into his mind, was her. That maybe, for some reason unknown to him, she'd finally had enough.

He's never been more ecstatic about being wrong.

"I wasn't sure," he replies honestly and she just lets out a sigh, gives him a look as an invitation to continue. "I hoped not. God, Kate, I hoped it wasn't you, that you wouldn't have resorted to that."

She's still quiet, barely above a whisper when she answers. "I can't blame you, given... well, how I've been. I've thought about it," she admits, a sadness to her voice, and he feels his heart immediately leap into his throat. It takes all of his self control not to pull her into a hug right that second. "But not in a long time. Not in a few years." He lets out a breath and watches as she gives him a small smile. "I never actually planned to go through with it, you know. The thought passed out of my mind as quickly as it came. No matter how bad things got, no matter how bad they get, I could never-" She pauses, gives him a look so serious that he has no doubt she means what she's saying. "I just couldn't."

To hell with control.

He sits up and shifts into a more convenient position, his body now resting on the edge of the couch cushions, and tugs her into him. He feels her stiffen slightly against him at the surprise, but then she relaxes and wraps her arms around his back, letting herself lean into him.

"I'm so glad you're here, Kate," he whispers into her hair, the statement so simple but full of so much emotion. He hears her intake of breath and he hopes she knows that he means what he's saying. "So glad. Thank you for never going through with it."

When they finally pull back, she gives him a watery, close lipped smile. He blinks back his own tears as she wipes at her eyes and clears her throat.

"I thought, maybe," he says quietly, hesitation and persisting fear still laced within his voice. "The people looking for you had found you and staged a scene and-"

She lets out a shaky laugh. "I think that's your writer's imagination, Castle," she tries to joke, but it's halfhearted at best and he doesn't miss the break in her voice.

"I'm serious," he says. He doesn't know anything about these people other than that they're looking for her. He doesn't even know why they want anything from her, aside from the tidbits of information she's told him of that night. "There are people who want you dead, Kate."

He's met with silence. Her eyes dart down to her lap and he notices her breathing change ever so slightly. "Kate?" She hums, a noncommittal noise coming out of her mouth, but she continues to look anywhere but at him. "Are you okay?"

"I- Yeah, I'm good." She tries to give him a small smile, but it's forced, barely a ghost of a smile, and he knows better.

"Do you know something about these guys?"

She almost whimpers. "Can we just drop this, please?"

"There's something else isn't there." It isn't a question - he can tell there's something she isn't saying, something more going on in that mind of hers.

"Castle, please," she whispers, her eyes pleading with his.

He should drop it, should change the subject and listen to what she's asking of him, but there's something there and he just can't. Pushing is the last thing he wants to do, but if there's something she knows about these guys that could potentially help her - or worse, put her in more danger - then it's better if she gets it out so maybe, just maybe he can actually do something this time.

He lets out a breath. "I'm just trying to understand," he says. "There are people looking for you, people you've been hiding from for two years now, but you don't seem too concerned about it. I just- I just don't understand. Help me understand."

Her reply is so quiet, so jumbled and muffled behind the palm of her hand that he doesn't catch it.

"What?"

She lets out a heavy, wavering sigh. "They caught them," she repeats, barely more audible than before, her voice hardly a hushed whisper.

But he hears it this time and he can't stop the gasp that leaves his throat, his eyes wide as they stare at the woman next to him.

"They caught... the guys who were after you?"

Her nod is almost imperceptible, but he sees it. That's a yes. She's not looking at him, and her hands seem to have become increasingly more interesting as she wrings them nervously in her lap.

The men, the guys that want her dead, have been caught. She's not in danger - well, that danger, he supposes - anymore.

"When?" he questions quietly. He's treading lightly; he knows she probably hasn't told this to anyone, probably hasn't even said it out loud at all, and he can see her bottom lip begin to quiver. This is a sensitive subject, which is obvious, but he can't help but wonder how long she's known.

She coughs, clears her throat to buy herself a few extra seconds. "Five months," she whispers.

Five months.

"Five months?!" he exclaims, a little louder than he intended, and sits up straighter on the couch. "Five months. Kate. They're- they're in custody." She gives another small nod. "You're safe now. Why are you still in Michigan?"

He really doesn't understand. If she's known that they're no longer a threat, that they've been caught and are now behind bars, then why hasn't she gone back home?

"Because I can't just go back, Castle," she sighs as a teary, bitter laugh escapes her. "I was a mess when I left. I'm still a mess. Which has been pretty much confirmed since you thought I might have killed myself." She looks at him, finally, but there's no anger in her eyes. He sees exhaustion, resignation, and a lingering sadness that he wants so badly to wipe away. "I can't just waltz back into my old life like nothing's happened. There's nothing left. I have nothing to go back to, no apartment, no... just nothing."

He hates how defeated she sounds, how - scared? That's it, he thinks, more than anything else. She's scared to go back to New York, to the place where the last memories she has of it are tragic and terrifying, to the place she was forced to escape from.

"Then come back to me."

Her breath hitches. "I- What?"

"Come back to New York, Kate," he starts, continuing before she has a chance to cut him off. "I have a guest bedroom that you're more than welcome to."

"No, I can't." She shakes her head, ignoring the fresh tears filling her eyes. "I can't go back. I can't impose like that, Castle, and I- I have a life here."

He doesn't tell her that this - a one bedroom apartment with barely any furnishings or decorations, little to no food aside from what's left of the groceries he bought, and a bar as her only escape - isn't a life.

"New York is your home, Kate. Don't let them keep you from it."

"You don't want me to come stay with you, trust me," she whispers, biting on her lower lip as she takes a deep breath. "My baggage is way more than you're bargaining for."

He frowns. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it or if I didn't want you there," he tells her firmly, hoping that his tone conveys just how serious he is about this. "You don't have to be alone, Kate."

Silence.

He watches as she sniffles and tries to hide it - unsuccessfully - from him.

"Just, sleep on it?" he asks quietly when she still doesn't say anything. He can't bear to hear her cry anymore.

She sniffles once more, no longer caring about whether or not he sees, and it's accompanied by a long sigh.

"Okay."

His eyes widen just a tad, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a smile. "Okay?"

"Okay," she whispers again, quieter than before. She composes herself after a few seconds and then she's standing, wiping at her eyes once more. "I'll get you a blanket?"

He nods but she's already walking away and into a hallway where he assumes the linen closet is. He doesn't have much time to take anything in or look around before she comes back, a comforter and pillow tucked underneath her arms.

"Thank you," he says as she hands them over, placing them neatly on the couch next to him. "And Kate?"

She looks at him, her eyes big and foggy and full of exhaustion. He stands then, answering her silent question of what? as he wraps her in his arms one more time.

"I'm really glad you're okay," he murmurs lowly into the shell of her ear, the five words taking the remnants of all his pent up emotions with them.

She gives him a soft smile when he finally lets her go. "Me too."

With that, she gives him a quiet goodnight and retreats through the hall and to her bedroom, leaving him alone on the couch.

He fixes the blankets and pillows and then settles down into the cushions, shimmying to get comfortable underneath the comforter. The events of the entire evening replay in his mind as he lays there, his hands coming to rest on his forehead. His thoughts are going wild, and his heart finally begins to beat in a normal rhythm again.

It hits him that he's actually asked her to come back to New York with him. For real this time, not just a rushed afterthought because he doesn't want to say goodbye. There's no threat on her life anymore and he doesn't want to leave her in Michigan, alone and suffering, when he doesn't have to. She doesn't have to be alone, and he just wishes she would realize that.

But she's agreed to sleep on it.

It's not a yes - and with it being Kate, it's truly no indication that she's going to say yes, either - but it's something.

It's not a no.

He closes his eyes, somewhat content for the first time in god knows how many hours, and lets himself relax into the couch. Regardless of what happens, regardless of what she says tomorrow, it doesn't really matter.

Because she's here.

She's okay, she's alive, and for right now, it's not a no.