A/N - Thank you all for your reviews and comments. Fair warning: this one is rough, but stick with me, I promise it will get better.

Enjoy!

~GeekMom

Another Auld Lang Syne

Chapter 3

And Never Thought Upon

Kate opened up her apartment door and stepped inside. She kicked off her heels, relishing the coolness of the floorboards under her bared feet. She backed up and pushed the door closed with her behind and just leaned against the solidness, letting it support her for a moment.

Every time she had closed her eyes that day, his face popped up. She had noted that he looked older, more worn by life and less carefree. Yes, it had been five years since she saw him. That wasn't exactly true; she had seen him, parked down the street from the bar around closing time whenever her guilt got the better of her and she had to make sure he was all right, breathing and that she had made the right choice. He had moved on with his life and was better off thinking she was gone. She'd accepted that scenario when her alter ego, Charlie, had died.

She dragged the scarf from around her neck and hung her jacket on the back of a chair to dry out. Winter was back with a vengeance.

She pulled out her phone and pushed Lanie's contact.

"Hey," she answered.

"I'm on my way," Lanie said.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Is Chinese okay?"

"That's fine. Are you okay?"

"No, but it will be good to talk. See you in a while?"

"Okay."

She hung up and was about to put her phone away, but then spontaneously pushed her father's icon. There had been a time in her life when she did not have that option and was thankful to be able to talk to him whenever she wanted or needed to again.

"Katie?"

"Hi Dad."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah…well, no. I had a rough day."

"I guess that's going around."

"What…"

"Not me. A friend is having a hard time. I'm headed to his place now."

"A friend?"

"Someone I sponsor."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Are they…"

"You know I can't talk about the people I sponsor. What can I do for you?"

"Um, nothing...I just wanted to hear your voice."

She heard him sigh, torn between helping his daughter and helping his sponsee. "Are you sure, Katie? I could come by after…"

"No Dad, of course I'll be okay," she reassured. She understood what his supporting people who had been in his boat meant to him. She knew it was a way he gave back to the community which ultimately had helped him when he needed it most. "If you're headed somewhere to meet someone, they must need your help. That's more important than my bad day. It's okay, Dad; just a rough case. Lanie is coming for dinner, so I won't be alone. Just call when you can. Maybe we can grab lunch this week," she ended brightly.

"Okay. It is important, Honey." He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I truly believe he's in danger of stumbling tonight and he's made such great progress over that last couple of years. I don't want to see him fall. I don't know if I can help, but I have to try. I love you, Katie, and thanks for understanding. I'll call you as soon as I can."

Jim Beckett ended the call just as the cab pulled up to the bar. He could never understand how Rick could be so strong in and around the place. So much temptation and a million reminders, but then Rick asked how he could still live in the home he made with his wife. Jim had conceded the point. Rick had surprised him with his commitment and strength on many occasions previously. He'd said that being in his bar helped him stare down his demons and their memories and also reminded him of everything he could lose. He'd been resolute, but unsteady when he walked into his first meeting three years prior, clutching a picture of his daughter. He had needed a friend.

Jim had been making coffee in the beat-up urn in the basement of the church where they held their meetings when the man had timidly touched his arm. He turned and recognized the guise presented by the man standing next to him. He'd done his best to clean up and look presentable, but Jim saw the sunken, deflated look, the red-rimmed, but wide eyes, the almost translucent skin, the slight tremor in his hands. His hair was too long and shaggy, as if it hadn't been properly cut in a while. He had clean clothes on, even if they hung too big on his body as if he'd raided his dad's closet. Jim correctly assumed that he was not homeless and indeed had someone who had taken care of him. Someone who most likely had had enough, much the same way his own daughter had finally had enough and refused to have any contact with him until he could honestly claim persistent sobriety. It had taken Jim a few attempts, but he'd been sober for several years. He made no mistake and never permitted himself to get less than vigilant. His demons were always in close proximity.

The man was probably in his mid-thirties although the ravages of the addiction left him looking much older. Jim had learned to shave a few years off his first impression.

"Is that coffee for anyone?" he asked timidly. His voice was raspy, either from overuse, disuse, or abuse.

"Sure, sure," Jim said as he reached for a cup. "There's cream in the fridge. You're a little early, so I haven't gotten it out yet."

The man immediately withdrew and Jim mentally kicked himself as he watched him back towards the door. "I…I'm sorry. I probably should just go. Come back when you're set up."

"No, please that's not what I meant. I'll get the cream out. You're absolutely in the right place at the right time." He had no doubt that this man needed support. "I'm Jim," he said as he held out his hand.

"Rick," he replied as he shook Jim's outstretched hand, but then frowned. "Unless you're not supposed to give your real name."

Jim smiled warmly. "No, your real name is perfect." He gently guided the younger man by the shoulder. "Come on, let's get you that cream."

Rick hadn't been kidding about the crime scene tape and he had to give a lengthy justification to the pair of overly-enthusiastic cops at the entrance. But finally, after showing his ID, was granted access.

He closed the door and stomped off the snow that clung to his coat and shoes in the vestibule, while he scanned the bar area for any sign of Rick. Walking beside the highly polished bar, he spotted Brian, the head bartender speaking softly to Rachel, a waitress at the end. Jim knew the longtime staff held an affinity and concern for their employer that was a rarity in the often-brief young workers who gravitated to successful bars because of the good tips. Rick had always been good to his staff and had taken the time to apologize to each of them once he'd gotten sober. He'd always treated them as his extended family. He had even matched half of Rachel's tuition costs and supplied the venue, food, and spirits for Brian's wedding reception as well as helping numerous others in his employ.

In return, they were protective of the 'Boss,' as they teasingly dubbed him. (He preferred Rick.) He'd made a family in the warmth of the old bar; a place where people could come and be genially welcomed, even when the rest of the world had turned its back and things seemed grim, they could always find a sympathetic ear and a sense of belonging there.

"Brian," Jim greeted as he waved to Rachel who had left the bar area. "Heard you had some excitement."

Brian, the normally buoyant, wise-cracking, and talented man inhaled resignedly. He'd been with Rick since he'd rescued the old speakeasy from a corporation hell, the likes of which were akin to the Chuck E. Cheese of tavern establishments. Rick had sunk everything he had saved into the bar and in the process, had earned Brian's trust, loyalty, and his friendship.

"Hey Jim," he replied, "Yeah, it's been a hell of a day. Could be worse though: could've been one of us in the freezer." He shook his head. "I don't think I'm going to lose that sight anytime soon."

"You found the guy?"

"Yeah. Rick had a thing at school this morning, so he asked me to open up."

"Do they know what happened?"

"They think he was robbing the place and got locked in there. I hope it does turn out to be insta-karma because if someone used our freezer to kill a guy…" He let the rest of the thought drop and shivered at the thought. "Well…"

"Where's Rick?" Jim asked while searching the bar.

"He's good, Brian. I'm headed home," Rachel called from the back.

"I'll call and let you know if you shouldn't come in tomorrow." Brian inhaled and then pressed his lips together, turning his attention back to Jim. "He's in his booth." Brian nodded toward the back of the bar where Rachel had been. He leaned forward. "He ever tell you about Charlotte?"

Jim raised his eyebrows. Charlotte's disappearance and reported death and how it had affected Rick had been a major contributing factor to his alcoholism.

"Um, yeah." Brian shook his head angrily, but kept his voice low. "She waltzed in here today, very alive. It was all a lie. She's some cop. Some kind of bitch if you ask …"

"No one asked you for your opinion, Brian." Rick's cold tone iced over the two men as surely as the freezer had iced the dead guy.

"Sorry, Boss. I just hate to see you…"

Rick hung his head. "I know. I…why don't you just call it a day. Take Lucy out for dinner tonight." He pulled some cash from his wallet. "On me."

"Rick…"

He waved away his protest. "Least I can do for the guy who found a body to start his workday. Get out of here."

Brian took off his apron and stowed it behind the bar. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we should be good to open then. We'll either get a boost from the city's creepers because of the publicity or we'll be dead because it's just too damn creepy."

The bartender grinned. "Yeah…okay, good night, or afternoon, I guess," he finished awkwardly. He headed toward the door while slinging his coat off the rack.

"Brian?" Rick called and the man turned to look at him. "Sorry for snapping. Have a good night."

Brian offered his boss and mentor a smile. Concern colored it as he wrapped his scarf around his neck and he came to a silent understanding with Jim Beckett to take care of their mutual friend. Jim nodded once, promising him silently.

"Sorry about that, Jim," Rick said reaching behind the bar for a couple of bottles of Coke.

"That's okay and completely understandable under the circumstances."

Rick eyed his friend as he twisted the caps off, handing a bottle to Jim, sinking onto the stool next to his.

"How are you doing?"

Rick blew out a dark chuckle. "I want a drink." He reached with the bottle and clinked it against Jim's.

Clasping the other man's shoulder, Jim nodded and agreed, "I know what you mean." He watched Rick's eyes scan the shelves behind the bar. "Do you have to stay? I mean for the cops?"

"No, Crockett and Tubbs have it covered out there, but I don't want to go home either."

Jim shook his head and set the soda aside. "I was thinking of getting some coffee. Any place good around here?"

"Yeah," Rick acknowledged. "Let me get my coat and lock up."

"Mu Shu or Egg Fu Yung?" Kate asked from the kitchen.

"A little of both," came her friend's unsurprising reply. "Stop stalling and get in here."

Lanie had already poured the burgundy wine she'd brought, kicked off her shoes, and had tucked her legs under her on the couch, completely ready for a chat. Impatiently, she bit her tongue knowing her friend would begin speaking when she was ready and no amount of prodding would change that. They were opposites that way. She tended to over, well, way over share and Kate kept things close to the vest, almost secretive.

"Thank you," Lanie said as Kate handed her a plate and with as much restraint as she could muster, she added, "Now spill."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "I haven't even sat down yet," she carped.

Lanie pursed her lips and shook her head. "Nuh uh. No more stalling. Sit your butt down and tell me about mister dreamy bar guy."

Pursing her own lips, Kate asked, "the corpse?" She stuck out her tongue which was met by a rolling of her friend's eyes and a nearly silent scoff. Sighing, she realized that the teasing had ended almost as quickly as it began and she would have to delve back into those memories. Most were pleasant, but some, like the look on his face in the photo after he'd been released from questioning, much like today's just before he disappeared to his office, left an indelible dark ink splotch on her mind as if she had her very own guilt-riddled, private Rorschach Test.

"I worked with vice. I was a patrol officer and because of…" she paused, grimaced and shook her head.

"Your looks," Lanie finished.

"Yeah," Kate answered through a sigh. "Because of that, I was given the chance to work undercover along with homicide detectives. Someone had been assaulting the women…a client or as it turned out, there was a group of three men with mob connections who thought they could get away with anything. It had escalated to the murders of two women just before the operation was initiated."

"Sweetie, that's so dangerous. I take it you caught the guys?"

"Not right away, but I had been made, so the captain faked Charlotte's abduction and subsequent death. I didn't even know about it, to keep it authentic and to keep the original undercover in place, he brought in another squad to investigate. I didn't find out until later that Castle had been a suspect."

"You skipped a bit."

"What do you mean?"

Lanie's eyes bugged out. "What do I mean?" She rolled her eyes. "The man said that he loved you and that he mourned you."

"He loved Charlie and mourned her."

"Kate."

Beckett sighed and held her glass up to her friend who obliged, refilling it with the dark red. After she took a sip, she softly smiled as she explored her memories, like opening a chest that held all of the mementoes and letters from your first real love affair, which had been tucked away in an attic, out of sight and safely out of mind.

"He was so kind. I was dressed…well let's just say my father would have had a fit. I was made to look the part. I went into the bar to canvass the patrons and staff. I was ordered there, but thought it would be a waste of time. He ran a good, above board place, but Rick had some…um, connections."

"What do you mean?"

"He's friends with a couple of guys who happen to be members of a crime family."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but they grew up together. He's not…or at least he wasn't involved with them. Anyway, it was cold outside and he approached me, offered me a drink…"

"He hit on you?"

"No, just gave me a drink and a meal and politely asked me to ply my wares elsewhere."

"So he kicked you out."

"No, even after I finished, we talked. I think he was fascinated by my, I mean Charlotte's line of work. He asked so many questions."

"Like what? I mean, she was supposed to be a hooker, right?"

"I don't think he ever truly bought that I was…damn it, that Charlotte was a hooker. He certainly didn't treat me that way. I began to look forward to going into The Haunt, looking forward to seeing him. It made the rest of the operation bearable, you know?"

Lanie nodded and sipped her wine thoughtfully. "He said he'd loved you…Charlotte. Damn it, we know who we're talking about. I call we can say you, because I don't think it was Charlotte who loved him back."

Jim turned around from the counter with two coffees, scanned the room for Rick and having found him, swallowed. He looked as if no time had passed at all between that first AA meeting and now. Broken, devastated, forlorn were all words that immediately leapt into mind to describe him.

He slipped into the seat across the booth from Rick who fidgeted. Bouncing his leg or rubbing his hands on his thighs, Jim could see he was only holding it together with mere threads, which appeared to be unraveling. He stared at the table, lost in thought.

Pushing a coffee across the linoleum, he cleared his throat softly.

Rick lifted his head, but it took a moment for his gaze to clear. "Um, thanks," he said quietly, reaching for the cup.

"Do you want to talk?" Jim prodded after several minutes of silence. Jim had taken the time to study his friend. Rick had gawked everywhere but at Jim.

Lifting his eyes, he answered, "No."

About to cajole, Jim was interrupted by "Yes…I don't know. I…You won't believe it. Hell, I don't believe it. God. Have you ever been eviscerated?" Jim raised an eyebrow, but shook no. "Neither have I, but I think this is what it feels like."

"Brian said Charlotte is alive and actually a cop?"

"Yeah," he said bitterly, his voice rising. "Ironic, huh? That I was arrested for killing someone, who didn't actually exist, by her own cop buddies."

An older woman stared at Rick wide eyed. Jim smiled at her to reassure her that Rick was not a psychopath. She gathered her belongings and hurried from the café anyway. Rick remained oblivious, staring into his cup.

"I thought…" Rick began. Jim waited him out. "I just…I mean after everything…" He shook his head and buried his face in his hands.

Jim Beckett recognized the moment. That moment a recovering alcoholic might face when everything is perceived as his fault, that it really didn't matter if he were abstemious or drunk; alive or dead. It usually preceded back tracking or falling off the wagon completely. When circumstances threatened to overwhelm the tenuous thread held onto so desperately. Rick had back slid once since that first meeting. When Rick lost custody of his daughter, Jim had been on a business trip in Europe and had missed his call.

Jim had felt a kindred spirit to Rick since the first time he'd heard his story. His love brutally taken from him, his daughter estranged, although Rick's daughter had only been ten when her mother sued for custody and won even though he'd been sober for over a year at that point and had raised her on his own since his ex-wife had left her with him when Alexis was three. He had convinced Rick to believe that he would eventually reunite with Alexis. He would represent him whenever he gave the word. He never had. Rick hadn't admitted it, but Jim suspected he believed he deserved everything that had happened. It was a self-perpetuating punishment into which it was all too easy to fall.

"Have you seen your therapist lately?"

Rick looked up from his empty coffee cup and gave Jim a sardonic, humorless grin.

"Look," he tried again, "This is a shock. I'd be…honestly, I don't know how I'd react if Jo walked through the door, but you know that booze isn't the answer."

"It wasn't just that she's alive." He stopped and inhaled, tears sprung to his eyes. "God Jim, she's alive." He exhaled and slumped back, letting his head roll on the top of the cushion.

"So that's hope?"

Rick's head snapped up. "No, not at all. She's alive, but it was all fake. She apologized for not being able to tell me the truth? I've thrown away…" he angrily swiped at his eyes. "I've thrown away everything important because of that lie. I'm such an idiot. I wish I never…I just want it buried again. I want her buried again. I want to forget it all again."

"I was ordered to stay out of the neighborhood, not to contact anyone there."

"Did your captain know you were having an affair with Castle?"

Kate inhaled. "Yes. He said it was good for the cover and gave me permission. It was such a mess, Lanie. They sent me for training during the time I was killed," she made air quotes with her two first fingers of each hand, "they hauled him in for questioning because someone at the bar knew of our relationship. I didn't find out until I came back a few months later. The ongoing operation was given to Montgomery to try to clean up. He kept the Haunt and Rick under surveillance because of his mob associates. I saw that photo during the debrief once the operation concluded."

"Which photo, Sweetie?"

"He's broken, Lanie. It didn't even look like him."

Silence filled the small apartment for a few moments as each woman considered the story. Lanie from the outside, Kate from within.

"The question now is," Lanie began, "Are we going to try to fix it or rebury it, and never think on it again, while you hope you'll never see him again?"

Kate turned the word hope over in her mind. Hope that she'd never see him again? It sounded ridiculous when Lanie had said it out loud. Kate had buried her feelings for long enough, too long, and she never let her thoughts or her feeling stray toward him, but now…now that he knew she was alive she did hope. She hoped for more.