Author's Note: In which Castle and Beckett actually interact a little.

Nothing Lost

Chapter 21

Over the next day or two, Kate realized that her dad and Castle appeared to have concocted a benevolent conspiracy not to leave her alone. It took longer than it should have but she blamed the sluggishness of her realization on the pain meds fogging her mind, keeping her thoughts lethargic, and the fact that she was still exhausted and slept much of the time so she didn't exactly witness their constant presence.

More disconcerting still was the insight that a rapport had been established between her dad and Castle, a rapport that might have had its origin in their shared worry over her but had taken on a life of its own. Her dad not only liked Castle, he trusted him in a way that her dad trusted few others. Her dad tended to be reticent, reserving his emotional intimacy to a very small circle—Kate knew herself and her dad well enough to recognize that she had come by her own emotional aloofness honestly—but in the span of just a couple days, her dad had clearly come to trust Castle.

Not that her dad had said anything of the sort or for that matter, commented on Castle at all to her but Kate knew her dad. She could recognize trust when she saw it, was depressingly certain of it.

How could she send Castle away now, when she was sure Castle's presence and willingness to spend hours in the hospital was the only thing preventing her dad from keeping an unending vigil with her? There was no one else she could think of who her dad would trust to the same extent. Lanie would have been willing and, as a doctor, was certainly qualified and her dad knew Lanie well enough but Lanie had her job to do and wasn't available to stay overnight in the hospital.

And Kate would not—could not—allow her dad to stay overnight in the hospital on her account, only getting brief snatches of uneasy sleep.

So she had to let Castle stay, at least for now, at least while she was in the ICU. She had, reluctantly, accepted that. It would allow her time to gather her resolve and her strength so she could argue with Castle and persuade him to leave. It would allow her time to start to wean herself from the disquieting ease of relying on him, of finding comfort in his presence, of seeking out the warmth of his eyes and his smile.

Why oh why did he have to be so tall and broad-shouldered so he looked so terribly, appealingly strong? She should never have allowed herself to be hugged by him because it would have been easier if she'd never known what it was like to be held by him, to feel surrounded and sheltered and cosseted by his solid chest and strong arms. She had never been so aware of his physical strength as she was now when she herself was so weak. And sometimes, when the pain was worse, making it hard to breathe through the burning ache of the hole in her chest and the slash on her side, she found herself thinking irrationally, stupidly, that it might be easier to breathe if she could only rest against him, be held by him.

Why couldn't he have truly been the jackass she'd initially believed he was? Why couldn't he have been the shallow, egotistical playboy he'd so convincingly acted like at first? If he had been, he wouldn't have come back into her life on hearing about Captain Montgomery. She certainly would not have wanted him to stay in her life, would not have come to… like him so much.

And she wouldn't be so tempted to take advantage of his kindness, his loyalty, his caring. Well, he wouldn't have even been there for her to take advantage of, would not have put himself in a position to be taken advantage of.

She didn't normally dwell on what-ifs or wish the realities of the world away; she'd learned when she was 19 that brutal realities could not be changed. But now, when she'd once again hit rock bottom, she had little control of her mind or her emotions anymore.

All she knew, all she was certain of, was that she could not take advantage of Castle, could not be a burden on his life. She would not be a leech, taking from him the strength and emotional stability she no longer had.

So she didn't allow herself to find comfort in his presence, did not allow herself to seek his warmth, his touch, or his caring. She tried not to look at him much and talked to him even less, took refuge behind her admitted exhaustion to keep her eyes closed and did not try to stay awake when he was around. It was easier to sleep so she did not need to try to resist him.

Some faint noises, the sound of subdued voices, tugged Kate out of sleep, familiar voices. Castle and her dad. She didn't like it and hadn't admitted it to herself in so many words but it was as if the auditory synapses of her brain were attuned to Castle's voice so his low tones set off special resonances that tugged at her, managed to pull her to consciousness. She was tired enough—and the pain meds left her groggy enough—that the usual background noise of the hospital usually didn't awaken her. The sound of her dad's voice didn't keep her awake either; she had drifted off more than once to the quiet sound of her dad talking to her, reminiscing about the past or talking hopefully about things they would do when she was well again.

Castle and her dad exchanged quiet greetings and the usual update on her condition, a brief but revealing conversation, before Castle left for the day and she heard the sound of rustles, a faint creak, as her dad settled down in the visitor chair. She waited a couple minutes until she was sure Castle was gone and then another few minutes for good measure before she blinked her eyes open.

Her dad immediately stood up, bending over her. "Katie-bug, you're awake. How did you sleep?"

She had a vague memory of a nightmare, of what she couldn't quite remember, but she remembered startling awake in panic, a silent scream tangled in her throat. And seeing Castle, dozing in the visitor chair, a book open on his lap as if he'd drifted off while reading. For once, since he was asleep and wouldn't notice, she'd allowed herself to find some comfort in his presence, enough at least to take the edge off her panic and calm her enough to fall back asleep, which she had, dreamlessly this time. But all she said in answer was, "I slept fine, thanks."

"And how are you feeling?" he asked, as he always did.

"Thirsty," she responded. She had adopted the expedient of brief answers about being thirsty or bored or tired to her dad's questions because she knew assuring him she was fine, which was her first instinct, would not work and she could not be too candid about her actual condition, any of the pain she felt.

Her dad rushed to hand her a plastic cup of water, visibly refraining from actually guiding the straw into her mouth, and watched as she drank the water with poorly-veiled worry tightening his expression.

Her heart clenched and she forced a small smile to her lips once she was finished drinking. "Better. Thanks, Dad."

"Of course." He placed the cup of water back on the table. "Anything else I can do?"

He was so transparently worried about her, so desperate to be doing something. She was suddenly reminded of the time she'd sprained her ankle when she'd been around 10 or 11 and the way her dad had physically carried her from her room to the living room couch for the first couple days, ignoring her protests that she could manage with the help of crutches. Her mom had been preparing for a big trial the next week and it was too late for any other attorneys to step in so her dad had done the bulk of caring for her.

Thinking about it now, Kate acknowledged that those couple days had been good for her and her dad. She could recognize that at the time, she had grown somewhat apart from him; the older she got, as she neared puberty and teenagerhood, she had shifted closer to her mom, perhaps understandably. And her younger self had started to rebel against her dad's protectiveness, his wish to keep treating her like a little girl. But spraining her ankle badly enough that she'd been made to stay off her feet for a couple days had forced her closer to her dad, not without some friction at first, but by the end, they had found common ground.

"Katie?"

She blinked. "I'm okay for now. I was just thinking about that time I sprained my ankle. Remember that?"

Her dad's expression eased into a smile. "How could I forget? You really hated being laid up like that." He sobered. "You always have."

She hurried to pull him back to the happier past. "I was such a brat. I don't know how you put up with me back then."

Her dad smiled, brightening again. "Oh, you weren't so bad, Katie. I rather enjoyed those couple days. We had some fun, didn't we?"

"Yeah, we did. I remember I schooled you at Scrabble."

"But I beat you at chess," her dad returned.

She pulled a deliberately childish face for his benefit. "I'm better at it now."

"I'm sure you are. You always pushed yourself so hard whenever you weren't good at something."

The reminiscences and the lightening of the atmosphere as a result ended abruptly as there was a little stir in the hallway and Kate looked up to see the familiar figures of the boys approaching. Oh. She wasn't sure if she stiffened or how her expression changed but her dad also turned and he definitely stiffened as he turned to face them.

"Javier. Kevin." Her dad's tone was cooler than it usually was with the boys and she knew he was concerned about how seeing them, the reminder of her work, would affect her.

She inwardly flinched. She hated this so much. Hated being helpless, hated the way everyone worried about her so much.

"Hey, guys." She made an automatic, instinctive move to sit up and then fell back with a gasp at the sharp stab of pain in her chest and along her side, a gasp that had her dad immediately turning with a frown. She forcibly smoothed out her grimace, mustering up as reassuring of an expression as she could, even as she held herself very still, waiting for the pain to subside. "'M okay," she lied. "Just pulled the stitches a little. Why don't you get a coffee or something, Dad? I'm fine," she said again for good measure.

"We won't stay long, just a couple minutes," Ryan hurriedly spoke up, his eyes bouncing between her and her dad.

"Okay, just a few minutes," her dad agreed reluctantly. "I'll be back soon, Katie."

Her dad left, leaving an uneasy silence that was broken by Esposito. "You look like crap."

"Dude," Ryan hissed. "We, uh, we're glad you're okay, Beckett," he added hurriedly but in a preternaturally gentle voice, as if he thought she would shatter into pieces at a harsh word.

She shut her eyes against the stupid, angry tears she felt pricking at the back of her eyes. Shut her eyes so she couldn't see the concern that was too close to pity in Ryan's blue gaze.

His blue eyes inescapably made her think of Castle, those darker blue eyes that haunted her dreams. She thought again of the worry she'd seen clouding Castle's eyes. This was why she had to make Castle leave, let him go. Because she couldn't stand it, couldn't stand to see the admiration, the caring, in his eyes turn to pity. To have Castle of all people look at her the way Ryan was now.

She opened her eyes to focus on Esposito. Espo, who would not coddle her. "What have we got on the—guy who did this?" she asked, trying to sound as close to her usual self as she could. Which didn't work. Even to her own ears, she sounded pathetically weak. And she found she couldn't say the word, shooter, flinching away from the word even in her mind. She felt again the burning pain in her chest and clamped her lips shut on a gasp, forcing herself to focus on the sound of Espo's voice.

"He's gone," Espo told her bluntly, his voice harsh with suppressed frustration. "A ghost. No witnesses on the scene, security cams around the entrance caught nothing useful. We're running down some thin leads but… we've got nothing."

"Nothing," she echoed hollowly. Nothing. The word seemed to repeat in her mind.

He was still out there. The man who'd shot her—she tried not to flinch—he was still out there. She wasn't safe.

"There's a uniform outside, 24/7," Ryan inserted. "We're gonna get this guy."

She didn't look at him, could not look at him. She knew they would try, would not give up. But it had been, what, almost 96 hours. She knew from experience that the first 72 hours of any case were the critical ones; after that, leads tended to dry up, memories got fuzzy, evidence could be lost, criminals had more time to escape. The odds weren't good.

"Yeah," she managed faintly. And then, in desperation, added, "I'm tired."

"And some of us still have to work," Espo added but this time his attempt at a jibe didn't sound natural.

She shut her eyes. "Thanks for stopping by," she managed. She could still be polite. Never mind that she and the boys were not much for polite niceties at usual times but this was not a usual time and she wasn't her usual self and even Esposito couldn't pretend she was.

"Enjoy the days off, Beckett," Espo returned dryly.

She heard some faint scuffling sounds as their steps retreated and guessed that Ryan had elbowed Espo and Espo had returned the favor with a sock to the arm or something. They, at least, were their usual selves.

While she… still had a target on her back. The man who'd done this was still out there and she had no reason to think he would give up.

Which meant that people close to her, by which she meant Castle, would not be safe. She had to send him away, sooner rather than later. Could not let him get caught in the crossfire, flinching at the word. All the more because she knew Castle well enough by now to know that if something like this happened again, he would try to protect her, shield her with his own body if necessary. It was just the sort of foolish, brave, reckless, heroic thing Castle would do. And that she couldn't allow, not only for his sake but because he had a daughter, a family, who needed him.

She'd known she had to send him away, these past days with Castle had been stolen time and she could not steal much more. Another day or two—she would need to ask when exactly she would be moved out of the ICU—and then Castle would have to leave. She would have to make him leave.

She shut her eyes against the prick of stupid, useless tears. No point in crying; it was what she had to do, for Castle.

Castle had settled into a strange routine of sorts over the past couple days. Jim spent most of the day at the hospital and then Castle arrived in the hospital every evening for the night shift, spending the nights in the hospital while Jim returned to his apartment to get what sleep he could. During the day, when he wasn't at the hospital, Castle attempted to write, with little success, and attempted to sleep, with even less success. He managed to take brief naps but often woke up in terror from a nightmare and would then be too antsy to return to sleep.

He'd always tried to use new experiences as a challenge to write about them and describe the experience accurately and a hospital vigil after having someone he loved be critically injured was certainly new to him but he couldn't write about it. Didn't want to write about it because it seemed almost like minimizing or belittling the horrors of it so no, he couldn't really write either. He'd attempted to work on the next Nikki Heat book but that only hurt with the constant reminders of all that Beckett could no longer do.

The single bright spot in the first few days was having dinner every day with his mother and daughter. Both his mother and Alexis stayed close to home, his mother only going out once or twice for brief errands and Alexis only leaving the loft to go to school. With how busy they both usually were, he thought it might have been almost the first time since his mother had first moved into the loft that all three of them had been home for dinner on three consecutive evenings.

Today, four days after his world had fallen apart, he manfully told Alexis it was fine for her to go out and spend time with the friends she had neglected over the past few days, provided she used the car service. His mother had, to her credit, offered to stay with him but he had assured her he was fine being left alone for the few hours before he would have to return to the hospital, all the more willingly because he wanted to think.

Beckett was improving slowly but steadily. The last he had heard from Jim, Dr. Ogawa had indicated that Beckett might be able to be released from the ICU as early as Tuesday but more probably, on Wednesday or Thursday. Beckett was recovering as smoothly as could be expected, thank god.

And yet, Castle was becoming aware of a small niggle of unease over the last day or so. A burgeoning tendril of doubt, of worry, that somehow, something was going wrong not with Beckett's health, thankfully, but with their fledgling relationship.

He tried to tell himself he was imagining it. After all, their relationship was so new, of course it was a little uncertain and under the circumstances, nothing could be normal anyway. There was no precedent for something like this so how could he know anything was going wrong?

All he really had to go on was instinct, some intuition that there was something troubling Beckett that she wasn't telling him—no, more than that, was deliberately concealing from him.

Was he imagining things, allowing his fears to convince him that his relationship with Beckett, even in its current state, more than friends but not exactly dating, was not going to proceed smoothly? Certainly, it wasn't as if anything concerning Beckett had ever really proceeded smoothly before.

It was nonsense, had to be nonsense, didn't it? Of course Beckett wasn't her usual self and they hadn't talked any more about their relationship because there were more immediate concerns. They didn't need to talk for him to be determined to stay with Beckett and help her however he could; that was already decided. And she hadn't demurred or tried to protest so she had accepted that he was staying with her.

And because he was staying in the hospital overnight, it was completely natural that Beckett was always asleep when he was there. For that matter, from what he heard from Jim, Beckett slept about half the day too. Sleep was healing so it was understandable, even good, that Beckett was sleeping so much. Maybe it was a sign that she made an effort to seem less exhausted than she actually was when Jim was around in order to assuage his worries but trusted Castle enough that she didn't feel the same need to try with him.

He tried but couldn't completely convince himself of that.

Finally, partly out of frustration and partly out of this nagging concern he could not shake, Castle made a decision and a plan. There was no rule that he had to wait until later tonight to return to the hospital and if he returned earlier, before it was completely dark, it should allow him to spend some time with Beckett when she was awake. That would help. Spending time with Beckett was the best cure he could think of for his concerns.

As always, Castle found his step lightening, his heart lifting, the moment he arrived at the hospital and entered the ICU, the knowledge that Beckett was close, just feet away, easing the constant tension he still felt when he was away from her.

Jim was seated in the visitor chair and, Castle noted with a leap of his heart, Beckett was awake, her eyes open, and she was even smiling faintly at whatever Jim was saying.

"—don't you think?"

Beckett noticed him first, some combination of emotions he couldn't identify flitting across her features before her expression became strangely blank. He felt a vague niggle of unease as her eyes flickered to him before returning to her dad. "Castle."

Jim turned and offered him a welcoming smile. "Rick, hi, you're earlier than usual. Is something wrong?"

Castle mustered up a smile. "Hi, Jim, Beckett. Everything's fine. I just thought that, rather than eating dinner alone, I'd come here and have dinner with you. Jim, I thought you wouldn't mind a home-cooked meal and Beckett, I know you're not allowed to have caffeine but I have some decaf coffee if you want or I also brought juice." He inwardly winced at the slip of mentioning the prohibition against caffeine; talking about Beckett's limitations was what he expressly tried to avoid.

Beckett grimaced at his offering. "A juice box? I'm not a child."

The juice box had been because Beckett couldn't sit up so she could only drink from straws, reclining as she was. He felt his heart twist at the reminder but Beckett's (cute) display of disgruntlement made it easier to answer lightly, almost teasingly. "Of course you're not but Alexis is, at least sort of, and I still keep a bunch of these stocked at home for her because they're portable and convenient for mornings when she's running late and has to have her breakfast on the go."

"A home-cooked meal sounds great, Rick. I appreciate it," Jim chimed in.

Castle set the picnic basket on the ground. "I'll just go ask a nurse for an extra chair and then we can eat."

He returned in a couple minutes with a chair and busied himself handing one tupperware to Jim along with a napkin and silverware before pulling out bottles of water and then his own portion of pasta in tupperware. "It's nothing fancy, just pasta, but it should still be warm. And I brought chocolate pudding for dessert for all of us." This time, he remembered not to add that he'd decided on pudding because Beckett was still not permitted to have solid foods.

"It's a feast, thank you, Rick. Did you make the pasta? I didn't know you cooked."

Castle answered Jim lightly, explaining about how he'd taught himself to cook after Alexis came along, as he kept an unobtrusive eye on Beckett, who was directing an inimical look at the decaf coffee before she apparently decided against the coffee and settled on the juice box instead. She reached for it almost surreptitiously and Castle made a show of focusing his attention on eating.

"So where are Martha and Alexis now, that they're not home for dinner?" Jim inquired.

"They've both been sticking close to home so I told Alexis she should go hang out with her friends. It's the weekend and I don't want her to get restless."

"Are they okay? Alexis wasn't too upset about all this?" Beckett spoke up.

Warmth blossomed in his chest and he directed a smile at Beckett, although she was looking down at the juice box. "She was a little shaken up but she's fine, glad you're getting better." So like Beckett to be concerned about Alexis even when she was the one who was laid up in a hospital bed.

So unlike Meredith, the thought darted into his mind. Meredith, who reacted to something like a broken nail as if it were a tragedy of Titanic proportions and then proceeded to milk every such occurrence for all it was worth. Not that Meredith had gotten sick or injured when they'd been together but he could easily imagine her reaction. He'd sometimes thought the only thing Meredith liked about being pregnant was being able to claim the spotlight because of it; she always did like being the center of attention.

Maybe that was one reason he felt so sure that a relationship with Beckett would work, because Beckett was essentially Meredith's antithesis.

"It was nice getting to meet Alexis the other day. She's a junior in high school, Katie said, right?"

Castle pushed thoughts of Meredith out of his mind with all the more ease because Alexis was, of course, one of his favorite subjects to talk about. "Yes, she is. She just took the AP exams a couple weeks ago and now her finals are coming up in another week. But I'm sure she'll do great; she always does. Oh, and she did manage to do an extra credit assignment for physics, Beckett," he added.

A small smile flickered across Beckett's lips. "Good. Tell Alexis I'm glad and wish her luck on her finals."

"I will. She'll appreciate it."

"Physics?" Jim inserted questioningly.

Castle gave Jim a brief summary of the drama about Alexis's physics test, focusing more on how Beckett had talked to Alexis than on Alexis's upset.

Jim threw his daughter a wry smile. "I seem to remember more than a few times when your mom had to give you similar advice. It's nice to see you passing it on."

Something quivered across Beckett's face before she controlled her expression. "Mom was good at giving advice." Beckett focused her gaze on the juice box, regarding it as if the juice had suddenly started to disagree with her.

Jim's expression softened and he reached out to pat his daughter's hand while Castle made a production out of putting away the now-empty tupperware of his pasta and taking out the containers of pudding.

"So, has Alexis started thinking about where she wants to go for college?" Jim asked with somewhat forced brightness.

It was Castle's turn to grimace as if something had disagreed with him. "She's decided to go to Stanford to be with her boyfriend but I'm still holding out hope I'll be able to persuade her to change her mind and stay closer to home."

Jim gave a little huff of amusement. "I wish you luck with that, Rick. If Alexis is anything at all like Katie when she was Alexis's age… well, from all I've heard of Alexis, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

Castle manufactured a look of exaggerated surprise. "You mean Beckett wasn't a meek, tractable teenager? I'm shocked, absolutely shocked."

Jim relaxed enough to snort. "Katie's never been meek for a day in her life. I could tell you stories about Katie as a teenager that would turn your hair gray."

"Dad." As warnings went, Beckett's voice still didn't have enough strength in it to make it very effective, even paired with a look.

"I could but I won't," Jim hastily added.

Castle's heart pinched at this display of Beckett as such a shadow of her old self but instead, he turned wide, pleading eyes to Beckett. "Oh please, Beckett, just one or two stories about you as a teenager? Think about the insight it could give me into Alexis."

Beckett narrowed her eyes at her dad, looking more like her old self than she had in days. "Not a word, Dad."

Jim mimed zipping his lips closed. "My lips are sealed."

Castle pasted on a pout. "You could take pity on me as the father of a teenage girl, help me deal with her teenage silliness."

Beckett rolled her eyes. "Nice try, Castle, but Alexis is more sensible and mature than you are."

Castle absurdly felt like crying. She'd rolled her eyes at him and was needling him just like old times, the first time in days. This was the Beckett he loved so much and she was back. But he managed to rally. "You could be nicer to someone who brought chocolate for you."

"Being mean to you is more fun." A smirk played around her lips and he really, really wanted to kiss it but then he heard Jim cough to cover up a laugh.

Castle pulled a ridiculously exaggerated sad face and Beckett's smirk gave way to a laugh that cut off on an involuntary little gasp of pain that guillotined Castle's own amusement.

Jim half-started up out of his chair with a frown. "Katie, are you—"

Beckett waved a quick hand, her expression already smoothed out. "I'm fine, Dad, it was just a twinge."

She was lying and one glance told Castle that Jim knew it too but refrained from calling her on it.

Castle hurried to hand Beckett one of the small containers of chocolate pudding along with a spoon, forcing himself not to flinch at the fact that she didn't even try to lift her arm to receive it but only turned her hand, palm up, on her lap. "As promised, chocolate pudding," he announced with artificial cheer. She couldn't laugh without pain, was avoiding lifting her arm again. Oh, Beckett…

"And for you, Jim." He handed Jim his dessert before Castle settled down to eat his own pudding.

Castle had to fight to hide his wince as he surreptitiously observed Beckett start to eat her pudding, her movements so slow and cautious it was clear she was still in some pain, faint lines of strain appearing around her lips. Everything in him was urging him to help her, spoon-feed her if necessary, but he knew perfectly well that Beckett might kill him if he did any such thing.

Jim was clearly tense with worry again but he too made an effort to hide it, keeping a desultory conversation going by asking questions about Alexis, although his questions were random and unconnected enough to betray Jim's level of distraction. Alexis's favorite subject in school was followed by an inquiry as to Alexis's favorite color and then whether Alexis played any sports.

Once they'd finished the pudding, Beckett visibly started to droop, her reserves of energy tapped out.

Jim noted it and made a show of yawning himself. "Well, dinner was delicious, Rick, thank you. But I'm beat so I think I'll head home for the night. Will you be all right, Katie?"

Beckett managed a smile for her dad. "I'm fine, Dad, just going to sleep myself."

"I'll see you in the morning then. Sleep well, Katie-bug." Jim bent and dropped a kiss on his daughter's forehead before turning to clap a hand on Castle's shoulder. "Thanks again for dinner, Rick. Have a good night."

"You too, Jim." Castle forced a smile that he kept on his face as Jim gathered his things and left. And by the time he turned back to Beckett when Jim was out of sight, it was to find that Beckett's eyes had fallen closed as if she was already on the verge of sleep.

He packed everything back up in the picnic basket quietly, sneaking glances at Beckett as he did so. The vague niggle of unease was back, stronger now, as his mind replayed the last hour. Beckett was still weak but even so, it had seemed as if she was avoiding looking at him. She had kept her focus almost entirely on her dad and while Castle accepted that Beckett did not want to worry Jim and made an effort to reassure him, Beckett's demeanor towards Castle had seemed almost… timid, except for the brief flash of her usual teasing. As if she was reluctant to meet his eyes. But this was Kate Beckett, who was never shy, so if she actually had been avoiding his eyes, it was for some other reason.

He focused on Beckett again, noting her even breaths, and was conscious of a sharp pang of doubt. Not of his feelings for her—he loved her, that was one thing he was absolutely certain of—but of her feelings for him. He wondered with a sinking feeling if he was really enough for her, if she would ever trust him enough to stop hiding.

How had she put it—that she had built a wall inside her after her mom died. An apt metaphor. And the wall was still there and all this, all that had happened, had not helped. Looking at Beckett now, watching her as she slept, he was uneasily conscious that he felt apart from her, divided by that wall of her making. He didn't know what to do, how to break down the wall. Another fitting metaphor because it implied the use of pressure or force—which was the problem.

She had just been shot, had almost died! He could not force it or otherwise pressure her to trust him fully, confide in him, even if Beckett were someone who responded well to pressure, which she wasn't.

All he could do was be here for her and hope that his continued presence would somehow help, like water wearing away a rock.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Fair warning and apologies in advance for not being able to post next week as I'll be travelling. And thank you all for reading and reviewing. I appreciate everyone who's still sticking around for this story and helping keep this fandom alive.