A/N: Thank you all so very, very much for the kind reviews on my last chapter. I am pretty sure I forgot to answer some of you and I'm sorry about that. I read each and every message and you guys make me so happy.

There will be just one chapter after his one then it'll be over. But you won't have to wait very long, it's already written and will also be up by the end of this week.

Chapter Fourteen

"Hey Castle," she picks up after the second ring, voice sluggish and heavy with exhaustion. He can hear the smile in her voice.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" He asks anyway a little afraid that he did.

"No, not sleeping," she mumbles but she's not very convincing.

"Yet." She laughs softly and he can hear a noise through the telephone, almost like she's pulling covers over her body, settling down in her- wait

"Katherine Beckett, are you in bed?"

"Well, you did promise me a goodnight story," he gulps at the deeper tone of her voice. She's going to be the death of him, he's pretty sure of that. And it is all intentional. But she loves him and yes, that's a pretty good way to die. And now he can't get the image of her in bed out of his head – not that he wants to.

"How was brunch with your dad?" He asks after a few moments to stir the subject away from anything that has to do with her in bed. When she chuckles on the other side he knows she caught him.

"It was nice?" It comes out more as a question than a statement and he can't really believe her in that moment. He knows it's not the end of the story, can feel that there is something bothering her, something she'd like to share with him but isn't quite sure how to say whatever is going on. So he waits her out, gives her time to sort out whatever it is that is going on in her head.

"I'm worried about him," her voice is quiet. Almost like it's not true if no one hears her.

"Why?" It catches him off guard. He's so worried about being worried about her he didn't think – he didn't really consider anyone else.

"I can't really explain, it's the way he acts," she stumbles over the words. "I haven't seem him like that in a very long time," he can almost see how she's nervously biting her lip right now and his heart aches for her. He wishes he was there instead of his office right now. But he wrote a few sentences today. Not much, nothing he'll be able to use in the next book – the one he hasn't even outlined yet – but it's the first time in months that he got something on paper.

"You think he's gonna relapse?" He's cautious, doesn't really want to ask the question as he settles back into his chair.

"No, no," her answer is immediate. "I trust him and, he's been sober for so long, but-," he hears her shuffling around like maybe she's sitting up again. A too serious conversation for lying down. "He always seems so exhausted and he lost weight, I'm concerned about his health and he's always so worried about me."

"Can you blame him?"

"No, but he acts like I might break and I'm not, I'm doing fine- I'm doing so much better. Whenever I mention work he looks like he's going to get sick, so I don't talk about that anymore. A few days ago he yelled at me on the telephone because I didn't call that day. Like I was a child or something. He wants me to get healthy and eat enough and sleep well but when I ask how he's doing he completely shuts off." She almost sounds angry.

At least he knows now from which Beckett she picked that behavior up.

"You need to be patient," he says after a while. "I know you don't like it but as a father, believe me- if somebody hurt Alexis- God help me, I- I can't even think about it," he rambles before he clears his throat. "Just- let him in, let him help you even if you don't need or want it. It'll take time but it's going to get better."

"You really think so?"

She trusts him. He knew that before but right now, her voice so small and hopeful it washes over him all over again. She trusts him and she told him that she loves him. He's so in love with her.

"Yes, your father is a strong man, Kate. You're a strong family."

"Thank you."

She really means it.

/

The exhaustion is visible as soon as she steps out of the office. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is up in a messy ponytail, bag slung over her shoulder. He wants to get out of the car and help her but he knows she'd strangle him as soon as he'd even thinks about it.

He needs to remind himself that all of that is progress and just a few weeks ago she couldn't even walk out of the office on her own after her sessions. She's doing great, he knows, almost strong enough to go back to work – he doesn't want to think about that. But those sessions still leave her tired and hurting for the rest of the day. Even when she tries to hide it most of the time. He wonders if it's different now – now that they've changed, that their relationship changed.

She carries and odd look on her face and whatever it is he knows it has nothing to do with physical therapy but with the session she had before that one.

She finds him then and a smile stretches across her face as she walks towards the car. She throws her bag onto the backseat before she settles in next to him.

"Hey," he greets and she seems to hesitate for a moment. Instead of buckling up she leans into him, touches her fingers to his cheek and kisses him. It's just a short brush of her lips, over before it started but she blushes as she leans back and secures the belt. This is what they do now. Wow.

"So, today went okay?" He asks when they're out of the parking lot and on their way back to her apartment. She's quiet next to him, not answering his question. "Kate?" He says as he reaches out his right hand to grab hers on her knee. She gives him a sad smile but doesn't let his hand go.

"I hate it," she confesses then. And he knows what she's talking about, doesn't have to ask. "I hate every second of it. It sucks and my whole body hurts, I can barely move and I'm scared that–," she sucks in a shaky breath. "– I'm scared he won't let me go back, yet."

He has to remove his hand from her grip at a crossroad and looks at her apologetic. "Why would you say that. It's still three weeks, right? The doctors said it's still three weeks until you're strong enough."

She leans back against the seat, closes her eyes and presses the palms of her hands against her eyelids. This suddenly turns out to be a far too serious conversation for a car ride.

"He asked all those stupid questions today and they had nothing to do with the shooting," she's pouting. Kate Beckett is pouting. And it is adorable but she's overly tired and emotionally stressed and probably hungry.

"What kind of questions?" He stops at a red light and turns to her for a moment but her eyes are still closed.

"About– about the night my mom died," she almost whispers. "And the first few weeks after."

They never talked about that. She told him a lot about her mother and of course, he knows everything about the case. She let him see more than maybe anyone else before and she told him snippets about that night but not much. He never dared to ask.

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth. That it's all kind of a blur, that I don't remember much at all. Just single moments but nothing really. Not after we came home that night."

He takes her hand again, enfolds it in his. It hurts, thinking about a nineteen year old Kate Beckett, coming home one cold night with her father, everything okay. Until they turn a corner and blue police lights change both of their lives.

There a lump in his throat. "Why would you think he's not letting you go back?"

"I kinda lost it, okay?" She snaps at him and pulls her hand back to wipe at her eyes gracelessly. "And can we please– sorry, it's not your fault," she grabs his hand again, apology in her tears. "Can we please not talk about that right now?"

/

He cooks lunch while she takes a shower. She stumbles a little through the apartment, tired muscles that won't cooperate the way she wants them to.

She comes back before he finished the pasta. He doesn't hear her, feels her first when she hugs him from behind. He forehead finds rest between his shoulder blades, slightly damp hair wets his shirt. She crosses her arms around his stomach, she's wearing that sweater he forgot at her place about two weeks ago. The sleeves are far too long for her arms. It makes him smile, as he grabs both of her hands with one of his.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you in the car," she mumbles against his back. He turns off the stove and then turns around to face her. She looks up at him with tired eyes. He brushes a kiss to the corner of her mouth, sees them tugging up in a soft smile as he does so.

"Apology accepted," he pulls her closer until her cheek rests on his chest. "How about you take a nap? Food can wait and I'll be here when you wake up." Even if she sleeps until the next day – which is something that she really should do. She didn't really sleep those nights after he invited her for dinner and told her to give him some time. And she looks like she didn't really get much sleep last night, with worrying about her father and therapy and going back to work.

– Neither did he, though.

She looks up at him, barely able to hold her eyes open. "You're tired," she says, follows the line under his eyes with her thumb.

"You have a comfy couch–," she rises up on her toes – even though he knows it must hurt every muscle in her body – and kisses him. It's a long kiss with her hands in his hair and his arms around her, pulling her closer. It's tired and a little messy, she smells like shampoo and tastes like toothpaste.

"Come with me," she says, doesn't ask, when she comes back down to her feet. Her lips are swollen and her cheeks are flushed and she's more beautiful than ever.

"Kate," he says because he's not sure what she wants from him. She chuckles and takes his hand, laces their fingers together.

"Not– just– we're both tired and I have a bed and– I'd like you to be there with me."

He just looks at her and then she rises up to kiss him again. Shorter this time, but with not less tongue, until she falls back and he grabs her by the elbows because she's stumbling a little.

She leads him into the bedroom, even though they both know that he knows exactly where it is. They don't talk about the fact that it isn't even the first time that he sleeps in here.

It's different today. So much different. They crawl into the same side and he doesn't even hesitate to pull her into his arms. She's not crying today. She looks happy, despite everything, she's smiling, she looks like a woman in love. God knows, he's in love with her.

He can't help but to mumble the words into her skin. Before he can think better of it. Before he can even consider that his might scare her off. Even though she told him she needs it slow, needs time.

I love you.

She just moves closer, pushes one of her legs between his thighs and grabs his hand on his stomach.

"I love you, too," it's not more than a whisper, not more than a breath leaving her lungs before she falls asleep.

A/N: It would make me so very happy if you could leave q quick review. Thank you so much.