The Push

Chapter 25

Dr. Burke ushered Kate into his office, leaving Castle behind in the waiting room. Despite encouraging Kate to relax, for the first time in a couple of weeks, Rick's head was pounding, and the room was wavering. He was still within the three months the doctor had told him it would be likely for the effects of his concussion to reassert themselves from time to time, but he was close to the end of it. When he went back to work with Kate, if he went back to work with Kate, he couldn't do it like this. He resolved to face one problem at a time. Neither he nor Kate was going back to the precinct if Dr. Burke did not pronounce her psychologically fit. Fortunately, he and Kate had come by cab, and he would not need to get behind the wheel of a car to return to the loft. There was no way he could have driven, and Kate's incisions sometimes still pulled when she turned a steering wheel. Distracted by his own discomfort, for a moment he didn't know if the crash he heard was from within Burke's office or within his brain. When he heard nothing else, he assumed something in the office had fallen.

Kate was on the floor, shielding her head with her arms. Pieces of the vase Burke had pushed from his desk, lay on the floor near his desk. Kate barely heard the deep rumble of Burke's deep voice. "What happened, Kate?"

She scanned the unfamiliar room before slowly getting to her feet. "I thought I heard a shot."

"Was it a shot?"

"She regarded the shards on the hardwood floor beyond the area rug she stood on. No, it was the vase. You knocked it down. Why did you do that?"

"Kate I'd think that would be obvious. I wanted to see how you'd react. Most people would be a bit startled. You were more than startled, Kate. You were showing classic signs of PTSD. That's something we're going to have to do some work on before I can clear you to go back to work."

Kate raked her fingers through her hair. "Are you kidding me? Can't you give me a pill or something?"

"Kate, medication can help, but you need to cope with the root of your problem, your reaction to being shot, and whatever other traumas you've suffered. We'll need to set up regular sessions for a while, and we'll see what kind of progress you make."

"How long?" Kate demanded.

"There's no way to know," Burke said. "You'll just have to put the work in Kate, however long it takes."

Castle pushed himself out of his chair when the door to Burke's office opened. Kate's face was a stony mask as she walked past him to the elevator. He followed, barely making it in before the door closed. The descent of the elevator made his headache worse, and bile rose in his throat as he stared at Kate's stiffly held body. His voice rasped. "Kate, what happened?"

"Damn! That's exactly what Burke asked me, Castle. I lost it. I lost everything. He's not letting me go back."

Castle wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "You mean he's not letting you go back this week, right?"

"No Castle, I mean he's not letting me go back until I complete a course of therapy, and even then he wasn't issuing any guarantees."

Kate strode out of the elevator as the doors opened and Castle lurched after her. "Kate, wait!"

"Not now, Castle. I need to walk. I need to figure this out."

The lobby tilted and Castle leaned against the wall, thankful that his breakfast had been hours before. "Kate. No. Don't shut yourself off from me again. I can't…."

Kate turned back to him. "Rick, are you all right? I thought you were all right."

Castle swiped at the perspiration dripping toward his eyes. "And I thought you were all right. So, I guess we both still have some healing to do. Please, let us do it together."

Reluctantly, but concerned for Rick, Kate agreed to return to the loft. Castle wasn't sure he'd make it back without an unscheduled stop, but he managed to keep his insides where they belonged. When he and Kate arrived, he downed a couple of pills and propped himself up in his most comfortable position on the bed, while he waited for the medication to work. Kate paced the floor of the bedroom. "Hey, wearing a track in the floor isn't going to help anyone except the guy who refinishes it. Please, just come here and talk to me." Her back still stiff, Kate sat cross-legged on the bed next to him. "Tell me, exactly what did Burke say," Castle urged.

Kate's jaw clenched. "The bastard smashed a vase deliberately, and when I reacted to the sound, he accused me of having PTSD."

"And you don't think you do?" Castle asked.

Kate shook her head vigorously. "No! I mean I hit the ground, but cops are taught to do that."

"Kate, I've seen you around gunfire, and your reaction was always more like making sure everyone else hit the ground. Everything that's happened, the bullet that nicked your heart, then Wood coming in here, you can't just shake off effects of trauma like that. Couldn't Burke be right?"

"I-I don't know Castle. I just can't deal with some uncertain open-ended treatment regimen before I'm allowed to go back to work. I've been away way too long already."

"What about a second opinion?" Castle queried. "Maybe someone who works with veterans returning from combat. If anyone understands PTSD, it would be doctors who work with the military."

"Maybe, but my N.Y.P.D. health insurance only covers the doctors in their plan. For me, that's Burke."

Castle reached out to cup her chin. "Kate, if you'll let me help you, money isn't an issue, you know that. Compared to the rip off that merc. tried to pull for protecting us, doctor's appointments are chump change. And I can't think of a better way to spend the money. You should talk to Espo. I bet he knows someone or knows someone who knows someone."

Kate shook her head. "No way, Castle. I do not want this getting around the precinct."

"Alright," Castle agreed. "Mother's behavior, especially combined with Meredith's, drove me to the therapist's couch, a time or two. I can call the shrinks I know and see about getting a referral for you. I'm going to try hit up Columbia for another neurologist. Maybe I can get a referral there. I won't mention your name. It can't hurt to try."

"No, I don't suppose it can," Kate agreed reluctantly. "But make sure whomever you see at Columbia is the best." She squeezed his hand. "When I do go back to work, I want my partner at my side."

"Deal," Castle agreed.

Rick, I'll have to get a baseline reading of your cognitive tests from your records to be sure there was no deterioration," Dr. Milton related, "but since you scored in the very upper range, if there has been, I would not expect it to be significant. There's no sign of seizure activity on your sleeping EEG. It is of some concern that your balance is on the low side of normal, and you are showing a hypersensitivity to sensory stimuli."

"Hmm," Rick mused. "I have never been classed as graceful, although I am a better than decent fencer, and that last part can have a definite upside. So, what's your diagnosis, Doctor? More to the point, what's your prognosis?"

"From the history you've given me, I'd say you're still recovering from a concussion, but I don't see anything that will put you out of the game unless you're planning to take up ballet. I would urge you to be careful, especially on uneven ground, or where there might be unexpected obstacles. If the headaches become worse or more frequent or you have other symptoms, come in again to be checked out. Other than that, just give it time son, and try very hard not to get hit in the head again. As I'm sure you've been told, damage can be cumulative. Now regarding your friend with PTSD, no promises, but I can give the name of a colleague who is doing cutting edge work. It would be up to your friend to take it from there. I wish whoever it is, well."

Castle nodded. "Not nearly as much as I do, Doctor."