Rick keeps his normal pace, keeping his breathing steady. He went a little farther than normal, but passing the bench where he found Sasha, looking out to the lake and lifting his hand in a wave to the father and son out on the water fishing, he feels it was worth it. Maybe he'll sleep better tonight than he did last night. Maybe if he does a bit of intense weight lifting this afternoon, he won't toss and turn as much. Sasha is usually very content sleeping on her green afghan at the foot of his bed, but she discovered last night just how comfy her human's bed is when Rick called her up, thinking that having his faithful dog to cuddle up with might get him to sleep.

It did eventually, but it was one in the morning and he only got five hours of sleep before his body woke him up.

He sees the end of the tree line up ahead and feels his system give him a cautionary cold sweat running over his already sweat-stained skin. She's going to be waiting for him, probably petting Sasha as she is every morning, and he'll have to deal with yet another morning of his emotions warring with each other. An old, more emotionally battered version of himself that he thought he trained himself out of being telling him to just swallow his pride and his ego and his grudges, while his brain is telling him he trained himself out of being that person for a reason.

Rick stops running just a few feet from the end of the trail, his arms pumping from having gotten two more pull-ups than normal this morning, his legs tingling and his lungs pumping. Putting the back of his hand to his forehead, pushing the sweat out of his brow, he lethargically walks into his yard with his eyes down to the grass and one hand on his hip. His heard feeling an odd mix of flutter and stonewalled, he chances a glance up to the two chairs and table under the oak tree.

But he stops cold when he finds her seat empty, Sasha laying down in the grass flat on her side on the ground directly in front of it. Rick shakes his head to try and clear a quick flickering of thoughts and reaches into the pocket of his gym pants to grab his phone, checking the time. When he sees it's the same fifteen minutes before eight that it usually is when they meet, he locks his phone again and slips it back into his pocket.

He makes his way slowly over to the table, getting Sasha's attention once he's underneath the oak tree. "Hey, you," he talks to her, kneeling down in front of the table. Sasha slowly pushes herself up off the ground and walks over to her master, her long-haired stringy tail wagging slowly. He puts his hands in her fur as she sits down in front of him, leaning in to sniff his face. "She leave already?" He asks his dog, massaging the back of her German Shepard ears. "Huh?"

He breathes a hard sigh, wraps his arms around Sasha once to scratch her back and side, and stands up looking down the street, waiting a long few seconds.

Every morning, I'll be right here... waiting for you, her words ring in his mind as he stares at her empty chair.

It's then that another kind of feeling slowly weaves its tentacles around his heart.

He bends down and unhooks Sasha from her lead, quickly ushering her back inside, then is in and out of the shower in a matter of twenty short minutes, is dressed in a pair of light blue jeans, a blue-white button-up with light blue pinstripes, and running shoes. Grabbing his keys off the side table next to the door, he kneels back down to Sasha, petting her face as she leans in to sniff at him again. "Be good."

He's out the door and is starting up his car, nothing in his mind even putting up a fight as to him doing this. She said, promised him, that she'd be here every morning. He wouldn't have believed her, even after everything he has said to her, that she'd keep showing up. He's scolded her, brushed her off, even yelled at her, but she still came back. And yesterday, it was probably the closest thing they've been to what they were before any of this happened.

He backs out of his driveway, hearing the tires squeal for a second as he shifts the car into drive. He drives a few miles down the street, slowly making his way away from the lake, and turns left into the suburbs, making a right turn onto Argyle after another few miles, and stops in front of the house he'd mentioned on the right, seeing a black Sebring parked in front of her silver Impala in the driveway. He parks on the curb and whips off his seatbelt, and jumps out of the car.

Bordering on running up to the door, he takes a few long breathes and reaches up, knocking on the door four times, feeling timid in the amount of force he used.

He stands nervously and worriedly on the step, his eyes down onto the plain brown-colored doormat, and waits with his heart palpitating almost awkwardly at the bottom of his throat. When the door finally opens after a long moment to himself, Rick looks up, expecting Beckett, but instead sees someone he wasn't expecting to meet.

"Rick?" Jim seems surprised, dressed in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and the same army green t-shirt she wears every morning.

Rick musters up as friendly a smile as he can, "Hi," sir, Mr. Beckett, guy, "... Jim." He says, feeling awkward.

"Uh..." Jim starts, seeming to hesitate to think of what to do for a moment before stepping aside, "come on in, please."

Rick would stop and explain, but Jim is already darting back inside through the living room and into the kitchen. Not feeling as in the right place as he should, Rick pushes his hands into his pockets and steps inside just enough to ease the door shut behind him, deciding to stay quiet until Jim addresses him again, and takes the opportunity to look around the house they'd rented for themselves.

It seems cozy. The living room is spacious and large enough for the two people that live here with a familiar grey couch on the left wall that he has fond memories from her apartment of, and an entertainment center on the wall to the right. Joining it is the kitchen in front, a small dinette set in the corner next to a sliding glass door that leads to the backyard, an island with two stools on one side and a stove, refrigerator, sink, and dishwasher taking up the opposite wall to the right. On the right is a hallway, probably leading to what he assumes are the bedrooms. Jim is in the kitchen, having just grabbed his keys.

"It's good to see you again, Rick." Jim says to him casually as he spins his keys on his finger before slipping them back into his pocket.

"Likewise, Jim," Rick says back with a forced smile. He can't tell if the guy hates him or not. Being a father, he would understand, but Beckett's dad has always been sort of an enigma to him. He knows how he would feel if Alexis's boyfriend did what he did, but also knows that Alexis wouldn't do what Beckett did to cause it. All he knows is he'd understand if Jim hated him. Most of his ex's parents did anyway.

Jim seems to notice the silence as Rick stands at the door with his hands tucked into his pockets. "Did you need something, son?"

Rick's heart is hit with an odd feeling at hearing Jim call him that. But he squelches it the best he can. "I was actually looking for Kate. Is she okay?" His tone sounds more honest than he wanted it to sound in his head.

Jim nods, "Yeah, Rick, she's fine." He waves at him dismissively. "I guess I just assumed she would have called or something to let you know." Jim says as he moves over to the coffee table to take up some papers. "That's why I was surprised to see you here."

"What happened, is everything okay?" He asks, his worry and concern still boiling over despite himself.

"Ah," Jim sighs as he stands back up, "she came down with the flu last night." It's then that his heart can finally unclench from his gut, knowing that at the very least she's okay... that she hadn't just left again. "I didn't want to leave her at the store alone last night, but she said she was fine. She took some aspirin last night for her headache, but I heard her up late last night throwing up." He explains in a heavy voice. And Rick can't help but feel his heart sink. "She's in bed now and I told her to take the day off."

"Well," Rick starts in a tight voice, "I just wanted to make sure she was okay."

When Rick starts to turn back to head out the door, Jim stops him. "It would mean a lot if I could stay and take care of her," Jim starts. Rick stops and turns back around to look at her father. "But I've really got to get back to the store before I'm missed and... not having Katie there today is going to make it tough."

Rick forces a nod, not wanting to get on any more of a bad side by telling him he just doesn't want to be here. "Jim..."

"I just..." he continues over him, "know that it would mean a lot to her," Jim says in a soft tone, looking Rick in the eye, "if someone were here with her." All Rick can do is stand there. Jim has a tone in his voice, a demeanor he carries himself with that Rick can't help but feel a certain weakness for. He gave up wanting to know who his real father was a long time ago, and what he got wasn't exactly what he wanted when he actually did meet him. "Katie never got sick too often and... to be honest, Johanna was usually the one to take care of her when she did, so... I'm not exactly sure what to do."

Rick looks away, feeling small. "Alexis got the flu for a few days just before she turned four." He says as if he's explaining himself.

Jim seems to smile. "It would really help me out, Rick."

After only a moment, Rick looks away and nods, but looks back up to meet Jim's eyes with a nervous smile when Jim steps back up in a rush, heading toward the door. Rick feels as if his normal alpha male stature is utterly meaningless in front of this man, feeling small and weak, which is odd when Jim steps up to him with a soft, humble smile and reaches out his hand and Rick notices that physically, he's almost twice Jim's size. But Rick shakes Jim's hand, returns his humble smile with a nervous smirk, and steps out of the way of the door.

"And please, make yourself at home, Rick." Jim says to him as he opens the door. "Anything in the fridge is up for grabs, the cable is all hooked up."

Rick smiles the best he can and shuffles toward the couch, facing him. "I'm fine."

Jim smiles again and looks down to his watch. "I should be back by eight o'clock."

Rick stays silent, only offering another nervous smile and a stiff-necked nod, only until Jim seems to decide to end the awkwardness between them by closing the door behind him and heading out, his shadow behind the drawn curtains over the front window moving by in a flash. Rick feels out of place, suddenly feeling as if the entire home is either booby-trapped or made out of glass, standing stiffly in one spot near the couch, slowly rotating around to look at things. After Rick, hears Jim pull out of the driveway and take off down the street, he cautiously moves over to the window and pulls open the curtains to let the morning light into the home.

He turns back around and practically tiptoes his way through the living room toward the kitchen, first going to the fridge and pulling open the door, taking a quick inventory of what he has to work with. No suitable orange or apple juice, a large bottle of smart water on the top shelf, some chicken breasts in the freezer that he quickly migrates to the sink turning on the water to run over for a minute. When he spots a small cardboard can, he shrugs his shoulders, thinking he could always replace what he takes, and snatches up the cinnamon rolls from the door.

After about twenty minutes if quietly pattering around the kitchen, checking what cooking supplies he had to work with in the way of spices, herbs, vegetables, and after preparing the cinnamon rolls for himself that were just past their expiration date anyway, he hears the oven ding, reminding him that it was preheated. He quickly turns around and opens the door, feeling the heat wash his face in one hard breeze, and puts the baking dish inside.

While he's pressing the buttons on the stove timer, he hears the floor at the far end of the hallway he has yet to explore creak with movement, followed by the slow sound of a door being pulled open. He quickly reminds himself of the situation, shoring up his emotional armor into the same cold, unfeeling demeanor he's put on with her as he hears her come down the hallway.

"Dad?" She calls out in a weak, raspy, annoyed voice. "Dad, what are you doing here?" She slurs. "You're supposed to be at the..." He hears her words fall and Rick looks up and over his shoulder from the island to where she's standing at the entrance into the kitchen.

But what he sees is enough to make him forget what all that emotional armor was even for, and the sight only lasts a few seconds. Standing at the edge of the grey carpet, is Kate, her face tired and makeup free, her hair slept on and unkempt, hanging tiredly by a loose, meaningless ball in a hair tie, clad in a pair of baggy, faded pink pajama bottoms that are hungover and balled up at her bare feet, a worn, faded white robe that's left open, and lastly, something that makes his heart flutter painfully. Underneath the robe, she has on a very familiar-looking grey flannel with black and brown stripes on it, the shirt coming down to her thighs and the top button left open.

She's wearing his shirt.

Kate stops cold when she sees Rick standing in her kitchen, looking directly at the shirt she's wearing. On instinct, she reacts as swiftly as she can with her body still feeling weak, frail, sick, and just plain terrible, and snatches at the sides of her robe, wrapping her arms around herself to cover up the shirt she's wearing, backing away from him a few steps, her shoulder pressing against the wall of the hallway. "Castle, what are you doing here?"

Ignoring how frail and small her voice sounds in the moment, Rick silently turns around to face her and takes a few slow steps toward her. As he approaches her, she seems to want to fight him by shrinking away when he reaches his hand out cautiously. He stops for a moment, looking her in the eye and seeing her hard furrow he's all too familiar with, and then goes in, taking the edge of her robe in between his finger and thumb, pulling it away.

Giving up hiding it, Kate's arms fall down to her sides on a strained huff, showing him that yes, she's wearing his shirt. She promised herself that she wouldn't, that she wouldn't taint the last memento of him that she had with any of her own scent or being, that it would remain his... but god, she just needed some part of him last night to be around her.

His heart swelling in his chest, Rick looks up to meet her eyes with a vulnerable arch in his brow, seeing she's looking up at him softly. "You left it in your drawer in my dresser."

Rick can't speak as his hand falls away. He just can't fathom that he'd mean that much to anyone that they'd actually keep something of his around like that, much less that he'd mean that much to someone like Kate Beckett.

Kate continues as Rick takes a few steps back toward the kitchen. She can't shrink away and pretend that it makes her weak, letting him know about things like this. "I promised myself that I wouldn't wear it and I haven't, but... I just..." she says, her throat feeling tight with sickness as she feels his eyes on her. When she looks up and sees that his eyes are shining, not cold and iced over like they usually are, she rips open the sides of her walls around her heart, "I just needed some part of you around me last night."

Rick finally manages to break his eyes away, fighting in himself to shore up his armor as best he can, taking in a breath and squaring off his shoulders, turning back around and moving into the kitchen again.

Weakly, she follows him, her feet dragging over the carpet until she hits the linelium in the kitchen and her cotton pajama bottoms slide along the surface. "What are you doing here?" She asks in as non hostile a tone as she can.

Having gathered himself, Rick looks over to her as she shuffles her way to a stool on the other side of the island. "You said you'd be coming by every morning, right?" He starts in a calm tone, sounding unfeeling. "So when you weren't there this morning, I came to check to see if you were alright."

As Kate pulls out a stool that feels oddly heavy, she feels her sickened chest flare as her heart swells. "You were worried about me?"

"Is that not allowed?" He asks her, eyeing her with a lidded gaze. "Your dad told me you were sick and so here I am." He says as he turns around to grab the box of ginger tea out of the cupboard next to the stove.

Kate watches in silence as he moves about the kitchen, setting the tea down next to the stove and filling up a teapot, grabbing a mug from where they keep them next to the coffee maker, and a bottle of barely used honey from the pantry next to the fridge. "Castle, that's very sweet of you," she starts, trying to give him an out if he wants one, "but I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. It's just the flu."

"Hmm," he hums to himself as he sets the honey down and leans against the island across from her, "this coming from the woman that said she would have said yes to my marriage proposal?" He asks, his voice too casual to be an insult. "I guess we would have skipped the whole 'through sickness and health' thing then, huh?"

She musters up a smile and a roll of her eyes, slouching as she sits on the stool. "I just don't want you getting sick, is all." She tries again.

"I don't get sick, Beckett." He tells her as he grabs the honey and turns back around to the stove. "I'm more of a carrier."

"So what," Kate starts, feeling an odd sense of love, admiration, annoyance, and caring for the man in front of her, "you're going to stay here all day and wait on me hand and foot?" When he doesn't reply, she continues. "And what exactly do you get out of this?"

Rick only replies as the kettle on the stove starts to hiss and he turns around to prepare her tea for her. "Out of the house," he states. Kate fights her smile and reaches up, pinching a stray strand of her unkempt, frizzy, probably horrific looking hair. He slides a steaming cup of tea in front of her after having squirted a small doze on honey in it. "Take small sips." He orders.

She grasps the cup with both hands and brings it to her nose, taking a cautious sip of the liquid, her stomach already churning and her throat already wanting to reject it. After it goes down smoothly, Kate nods to herself and puts the mug down in her lap, watching Rick take the loaf of bread from the top of the fridge and a jar of peanut butter from the pantry, silently watching him as he puts the bread in the toaster.

Kate nods over to the peanut butter, "What's that for?" She asks in her weak, sickly voice.

"It's a trick I picked up when a certain three-year-old redhead was being tucked into Daddy's bed for a nap when she was sick and said she didn't like being sick because quote... throwup tastes icky." He says in a serious tone, making it that much funnier to her.

"So what, it's supposed to settle my stomach?"

"Nope," Rick shakes his head. "Tastes the same coming up as it did going down."

Kate wants to fight him on it, but the toast popping up from the toaster stops her. After he spreads a thin layer of peanut butter on the toast for her, putting it on a small saucer and sliding it over to her, she takes another small sip of her tea. "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to thank you for this or not."

"You will later, trust me. Just eat it slowly." He says as he takes up the bread to put it back.

"So," she begins, taking a small bite of her toast, "I assume that three-year-old redhead you took care of was Alexis?"

"Meredith sure as hell wasn't going to do it." He mutters.

"It just sounds like something that you would have picked up from your mother is all." She shrugs, taking another bite of her toast and raising her tea to her lips.

Rick snorts a laughter as he spins the top back on the jar of peanut butter. "My mother only became mother hen after Alexis was born. If I was ever sick, all she did was tell me to be good for the baby sitter."

She sucks at her teeth as she sets her toast down. "Where is Martha, anyway? I thought she'd be living out here with you guys."

Rick shrugs to himself as he comes back from the pantry. "She came down with me and Alexis when we first came out here, came to stay with us for about a month during the holidays." He explains casually as he leans back against the island across from her. "To her credit, she tried to like it out here like Alexis and I did, but... she just had too much of a social life she was used to living in New York, so... she's staying in the loft and against my better judgment, I gave her carte blanche."

Kate nods and cradles her tea in her hands, her stomach feeling queasy again. On a small, dark, chuckle, she looks down to the cup. "She probably hates me now, right?"

Rick looks up from the counter, seeing her eyes down to her lap.

Kate looks back up with a guilty smile on her tired, makeup scrubbed face. "After what I did."

Rick sighs deeply, his heart feeling heavy. "Honestly?" He preempts. "Me proposing to you was her idea."

Kate's guilty arch in her brow slowly fades. "It was?"

He nods slowly. "She was the one that told me that I had to be the one to take the plunge for us. She said that..." he explains, looking away, "with everyone else I've ever been with, I always dove in headfirst except with you. She told me I had to take a chance if I really wanted it."

Her heart feels so heavy right now, and her churning stomach and lumped up throat isn't helping. "She really must hate me then."

When he doesn't answer, she just takes another small bite of her toast and downs it with another sip of her tea. "And here I was worried that your dad hated me," he says in a joking tone as he turns around back to the stove.

Kate smiles softly as she slouches on the stool. "He's happy out here, Castle. And he doesn't hate you. Actually, you're probably the only boyfriend I've had that he likes."

Rick chuckles to himself from across the kitchen. "Really?" He asks over his shoulder, seeing her give him a nod with a smile, and turns back to the stove to get out the cinnamon buns. "Because I never asked him for your hand or anything." He explains, taking out the baking sheet. "Being a father, I might hold a bit of a grudge of Alexis's boyfriend didn't at least run it by me."

"You're making cinnamon buns?!" She practically scolds him as he sets them down on top of the stove.

"They're not for you." He says with an innocent pout. "Besides, they were expired anyway."

As Kate rolls her eyes and looks away, Rick tosses the potholder down to the counter, until he hears her push out the stool from under her and sees her dart down the hallway.

It's a conscious decision he makes in his mind to go down the hallway after her. Through sickness and health, whether she truly needs him here or not, he'll be here. And as he hears the first sounds of Kate's stomach letting its contents out from the bathroom, he knows his place as he steps inside after her calmly, seeing her on the floor, huddled over the toilet bowl, her face hanging inside.

Without a word, he kneels down next to her, putting himself between her and the shower, and gently takes the unkempt ball of hair that's hanging over her shoulder, and holds it back for her.


A/N: Ended up being a lot longer than anticipated. Continued in the next chapter. Whole lot more Rick and Kate. Hope you guys like this chapter. This is a scenario that started me writing this story.