Monday, October 27th, 2011
7:55 AM, Montauk, NY

Kate's eyelids betrayed her with a droop to half-mast upon hearing those two syllables trembled by that familiar timbre. Mmph. It had been one-hundred-and-fifty-four days since the last time she heard her name emerge from those lips. Amidst the pain and terrible silence of recovery, a number like that felt like a lifetime.

It took Castle a few seconds to process her, to devour her with those kill-me-now blue eyes. His fingers spasmed at his sides and curled into loose fists. Within a handful of long seconds, his gaze went from widened with surprise to being narrowed by a brilliant smile.

The greeting tumbled out of her mouth unbidden, riding a high, soft note. "Hey."

"'Hey'," he repeated and chuckled deeply. "Cool customer as always, detective. Wow." The man's lips held the end of the consonant a moment and then—blam!—swept back into their grander curve. "How are you?"

Beckett had expected anger after so lengthy a silence between them, resentment maybe, but he looked thrilled. Buffaloed by the surprise, but unquestionably pleased. That was the best news she'd received in months.

"Better," she lilted. A tentative willingness to believe her own eyes pushed her lips outward into a radiance that matched his. She buried her hands in her coat pockets to keep from fiddling.

"Much," he confirmed with a lift of his eyebrows and a slim nod. Even a passing comparison to the last time he saw her—bedridden in the hospital, pale as death, strung with tubes and somewhat emaciated by three days of an intravenous diet—stole some of the wattage from his expression. It returned quickly. "Wow. I-I'm sorry. I thought my mind was..." He fluttered a few fingers near his temple instead of concluding. He'd thought she was a figment of his imagination running wild. "I'm reeling."

"Likewise," Beckett confirmed. Her third one-word reply in a row elicited an internal wince. Jeez. Did I get a contact high from that campsite or what? "Uh, how about you? You've been well? You look...y'know, well." Ugh! If she had come to the beach outfitted with a shovel and pail she would have gladly dug a more literal hole in which to bury herself. Maybe it didn't come across as foolish as she feared. Castle's mouth didn't relinquish its joy for even a minimal notch of mockery.

"Thanks. I've been okay, yeah." He looked past her briefly, blinking distractedly, and lofted one broad palm in a wave.

Turning at her waist revealed the two other surfers and the girls headed back to their camp. Right. There was still the rest of the world spinning around them, wasn't there? Cool. When she faced forward again, he was finishing a determined evaluation of her figure. Oh? A lick of heat stirred low in her core but fizzled quickly. He wasn't looking for the pleasure of it. Seeking reassurance. Oh. The detective felt the warmth of her concealed scars with more certitude than either truly imposed.

"Walk with me?" He canted his head to indicate the beach farther along where his board lay. Beckett answered by keeping pace beyond the reach of the seafoam dispersing across the sand. She was all too aware of his unrelenting attention as they went. "Look at you," he murmured deeply, keeping her pulse at a steady gallop. "Goodness, but it is a difference. You look strong again. A little thin," he stipulated, for which she shot him a look that made him grin, "but otherwise one hundred percent. By appearances alone, I could almost believe nothing had happened."

"Thanks. It's taken a lotta work." Beckett's right hand dallied with a loose tendril of hair. She twisted it, worried it, and swiftly tucked it behind her ear when he noticed. "It's still kinda tight," she added, shifting the heel of her palm to the valley between her breasts and outward along her ribcage, "but physical therapy almost has me back to a full range of motion."

"Does this cold dampness aggravate that?"

"Maybe a little. The scar tissue is still taking some getting used to. The way it pulls sometimes and aches." Kate rubbed at the peripheral site again unconsciously while saying so. "If it's hot outside, they feel oddly cold. This morning it's vice versa." His attention held her steadily, interest tempered by a passing shadow of compassion.

She stopped as the author bent to retrieve his board. It was a six-footer, half white and half blue along the vertical with a squared tail and a single blue fin. He reeled in the leash and noted, as she did, that the clasp which affixed to the surfer's ankle had been torn amidst the plunge and rolls he'd endured. He let it fall and wedged the board under his right arm. "I'm parked up top along the roadside. You too?"

"Yeah." They set off towards the bluffs together.

"You could've waited for me up there in your car, you know. I wasn't planning on being out here for long."

"I could've," she agreed. He stared at her for a beat in the wake of the clipped reply. She gazed back until it was clear that her meaning had sunken in. His smile unfurled again, pleasantly surprised and already gaining confidence. "I wasn't even sure how to get here at first," she added at length as they walked. "I ended up over at the lighthouse. The guy working there helped me find the right path. Mid-sixties, full head of white hair, and what I suspect is an illegally modified wheelchair."

"It really flies," Rick acknowledged with a quivering of his shoulders. "Henry Calloway. He's a good man."

"A bit pushy in my opinion. He made me a breakfast bagel—wouldn't take no for an answer. Actually, I don't recall being able to squeeze in the 'no'. He's silver-tongued."

"He's the source of my best seafood recipes, and he, ah, certainly has a tale or two worth sharing with the right audience."

The writer didn't mention it outright and so Kate didn't expound upon the history there. Henry was the one who'd found Rick many years previous, wandering past the lighthouse along the side of Montauk Highway, alone and blood-soaked. Six-years-old and fresh from a cave of horrors, from the clutches of serial killer Llewellyn Matthews. The energetic old keeper hadn't mentioned that during their visit. Kate knew his role because she was familiar with the case. She knew its details painfully well.

Soon enough she and Castle reached the narrow footpath cut into the slope of the bluff. Waist-high stalks of pale beach grass stood in patches across its slope. They chorused unintelligible whispers and bent longingly towards the northeast under the fierce wind. Kate began ascending first at Rick's nod of behest since he was lugging the board.

"Were you waiting long for me to come in?"

"No." She paused while hauling herself up a sharper dip. "I'd arrived only a few minutes beforehand."

"Ah. I assumed you'd been sitting. Your butt's all sandy."

Thankfully, he couldn't see her chagrined expression and wasn't likely to have heard her huff of private amusement. Her own tumble that morning had been far less humorous until he got his hands on it. "Five months," she observed dryly, "but you still know how to flatter me, Brute."

A rumbling chord of quiet humor strummed in his throat. "And that's still a horrible nickname, Allie."

The reply made her smile, but also sent her thoughts miles away. She came back to present sharply when the ground shifted, softened, and gave sickeningly under her right foot. "Oh sh—" Kate was falling before she could determine what had gone wrong, before she could even get that hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. The backward momentum was arrested equally abruptly by a hand planted squarely at her backside. She blinked, poised neatly in an almost sitting position with her legs out straight and the toes of her boots dug into the bank. The gulp around her surprise felt like swallowing a chunk of ice. A slight turn to look at Castle revealed only the plunge below.

Her companion sounded like he was trying not to laugh. "This is a first. Seeing you fall, I mean. Well, also touching your—"

"Shut it," Beckett interrupted and kicked viciously at the hillside despite the awkward angle. "I paid my dues coming down this fucker. It has to gimme grief going up too?" He did chuckle at that. "Put me upright before I charge you with a misdemeanor."

With a slow and steady push from him she was returned to solid footing on the bank. They completed the ascent without further incident. Looking down the bluff from above… She gulped again while replaying the near-miss in her head. "I could've broken my leg. Or my damn neck."

He looked backward too but only shrugged. "It's not so high. Less than twenty feet."

"Steep though. It wouldn't take much to get hurt at that angle." He didn't answer. She looked over to find him studying her like he used to—like only he could. If it had been five years instead of months she would have remembered that peculiar quality. No one else looked at her in precisely the same fashion. "Thanks."

Her companion shook his head in an easy dismissal of gratitude. "Are you more aware of your body now? Its potential frailty or limitations?"

Beckett moistened her lips, primed to tell him to mind his own beeswax, but found herself candidly replying, "Somewhat. I'm not afraid exactly, but at times I feel, um, hyper-aware, I guess? Of the time that would be lost if I needed to heal again like I did recently."

She walked in step with him as they approached a yellow Range Rover parked along the wide shoulder of the highway. The automobile was a charming splotch of brightness against the bleakness of sea and sky. Her navy NYPD sedan was parked behind it and a bit farther along was an old, white, wood-paneled VW van with a host of surfboards atop.

"You've always been aware of how easy it is to lose what matters."

"To death, sure," Beckett confirmed, watching as the other used a few bungee cords to secure the shortboard onto the sports rack atop the SUV. "Death is over and done with quickly. Infirmity..." She glanced right to the vista beyond and smoothed up and down the sleeves of her coat with the opposite hands. "All you can do is lie there and watch everything pass you by."

A blur of motion drew her attention back as Rick was tugging on a red and black fleece pull-over. Her gaze slipped and fell down the musculature of his trunk and hit every tensed ridge along the way. Fine, small hairs bleached almost blonde by the sun gave way to the more concentrated, dusky trail connecting his navel to the low-slung waistline of his shorts. Her lower lip dimpled beneath the clench of her teeth. The article was tugged down into place without her being nabbed in the act.

"I know living is learning and all that, but I wish you didn't have to carry the burden." It didn't sound like pity. That was a welcome change of pace. Rick used his fingers to comb ruffled hair back from his brow. Some of it remained erect in a few boyish tufts. It looked shorter than last she'd seen it. Hers had grown longer. Different pages, per usual. "Speaking for myself," Richard continued mildly, "it certainly didn't feel like I was passing you by." The implication being that he felt fixed in place during her absence. Waiting for her return or a simple phone call. Something. Anything. As rebukes went, that was probably the gentlest Beckett could've hoped for.

It still hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Her voice was tight as she forced the words out. "Are you upset with me? It's okay to be. I mean, ugh, obviously it's okay to be. You're entitled..." She brought a hand up and smooshed a couple fingers into the corners of her eyes in mute frustration. "I would understand if you were."

Goodness, the smile he flashed her. "Uh, thanks. It was frustrating at times, sure, but you told me what to expect before you'd even left the hospital. I figured then that a length of radio silence was no idle threat."

She frowned and hugged herself tighter. "It took longer than I expected. I'd be pissed."

"Look at yourself, Beckett. I'm...very proud." He looked away while saying so, and then back again as though wondering if that was okay to share. Oh gosh, you betcha. "It wasn't easy," her companion went on to concede, "not for anyone, but I wouldn't imagine that compares to what you were dealing with. I did some reading. Spoke with friends who practice medicine and a few people at the Twelfth. Not about you specifically," he adds hurriedly, which was some relief even if the questions he was likely to have asked would be plain as day to their colleagues for their relevance to her. "They helped me understand what you were dealing with. That made a difference. Uh, anyway. Seeing you now, like this, seems proof like no other that you chose the right way to go about it."

Breathe, Katie. She did, deeply, and the labor involved was unfortunately obvious.

Castle's brow furrowed. "You were really bracing for the worst, huh?"

"Yeah," she croaked.

"It's behind you now," he assured with a slight return of his smile. She'd have given almost anything to believe that. "Let's get out of the cold. Will you follow me back to the beach house? We can talk there. I assume it's more than just a reunion that brings you out this far."

He was correct. She had completely forgotten until he mentioned it.

A slight wince accompanied the reluctant confirmation, "There's more, yeah."

Castle didn't seem off-put by an ulterior motive for the visit. "You could've called," he suggested kindly. "I only rode out here early this morning, and I'd planned to return to the city by midday."

"I know. I spoke to Martha."

Castle arched his eyebrows at the news of her conferring with his mother. "Last night you mean?" She nodded and he stared for a beat, bemused before the realization sank in. Then he smiled, leaning a hip against the SUV as he regarded her. "Wait, so, Detective Beckett specifically wanted to see me today, hrm? Not just that, but wishes to share a long drive back to the city with me?" She nodded again, matching his grin. "Well, well," he rumbled, "color me flattered."

Beckett huffed an amused exhale. It was a clipped sound broken off at the end by the weight of gratitude. "I'm glad you understand. So fucking much," she expelled in a relieved rush. The veracity was almost too much to contain with words. Almost a warmth threatening to gather in her eyes, which was ridiculous, but seeing him again was going so much better than she'd allowed herself to imagine. "I wasn't lying. It would've been okay to've been mad. B-but having you on my side is—"

She looked up again at the reassuring squeeze of his hand on her shoulder. "It's our side, Kate. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." Hearing her first name on his lips again, like the waves beyond, reverberated through her like a distant peal of thunder. It made her teeth clench with a powerfully charged receptiveness.

Beckett answered with something rarer still: she lunged forward and hugged him.

He hesitated for an instant with his arms awkwardly aloft at either side. "I'm wet."

She hummed her amusement. "Color me flattered."

"Filthy," he accused and rumbled a brief chuckle. Those strong limbs swallowed her up. It wasn't painful but tight enough that in the brief stillness to follow she gradually became aware of the becalmed cadence of her heart. His palm smoothed her back and slid upwards to curl at the back of her neck. By then it had been almost four weeks since returning to the city. Five days since returning to the precinct. Time in which she'd haltingly reconnected with friends and colleagues, begun settling into a tense norm with her new Captain, and continued spilling the darkness within to Dr. Carter Burke.

All that painstaking progress…

None of that was rendered less meaningful by comparison, but it took being in Richard Castle's arms again to feel as though she'd finally made it home.