Author's Note: The first of three chapters dealing with "Sucker Punch," which is also the last canon episode this story will be dealing with as this story is (finally) nearing the end.

Then Came Love

Chapter 56

Later, Kate thought of the week after The Anniversary as the calm before the storm. They did have one case but it proved to be one of the straightforward ones–Jack shot Bill over Jill, in the cop parlance–that was resolved within 24 hours. Which left her and Castle enough leisure time to make a start on setting up the nursery. Or rather, gave Castle time to arrange with movers to come in and take most of the furniture out of the guest room upstairs, moving it into storage while also taking Alexis's old crib out of storage. Kate didn't try to help, knew she couldn't in her condition, and instead allowed Martha to take her out, along with Alexis, to shop for some baby clothes.

It all felt… well, like a family coming together to prepare for its newest member, which it was. And she thought again that she was lucky. In so many ways, as much as she loved her dad and treasured their rebuilt relationship, she had lost her family with the loss of her mom but now, thanks to Castle and the baby, she was part of a real family group again.

Maybe she should have known that this peace, this contentment, was too good to last but she didn't think of that. Which made the storm all the more devastating when it broke.

The stabbing of Jack Coonan, known to be an enforcer for the Westies gang, only had her grumbling, not sensing anything except the disgruntled knowledge that in her current limited duty status, she would be largely sidelined for the investigation. As, in fact, she was, with the boys going to talk to the head of the Westies and bringing in Jack Coonan's girlfriend. Being allowed to interview the girlfriend and then Johnny Vong with Espo as backup marginally helped her mood but she was still irritable when Lanie showed up in the precinct with a Dr. Clark Murray.

And that was when the day went to hell.

Kate struggled to breathe, felt as if a boulder were sitting on her chest, ice spreading outwards from her chest. No, oh no, every instinct she had told her something was very wrong as Dr. Murray outlined his expert observations about Jack Coonan's stab wounds but even her instincts didn't prepare her for the staggering blow.

"Detective Beckett, there is no doubt in my mind that Jack Coonan was killed by the same man who murdered your mother."

And that was it. She died. Could have sworn her heart stopped. She felt no pain, not then–one doesn't when shot in the heart or so she'd been told.

But then her heart thudded back into painful, agonizing life as Dr. Murray's words returned to her, echoed in her mind, the devastating, clinical precision: rectangular bruising caused by the hilt of the knife striking with force enough to compress the skin… He kills with a single blow…

Her eyes fell to the model of the knife still held in her numb hand–the knife that had killed her mother!

Her mind pictured it with brutal clarity–the knife spearing her mother's body, the repeated stabs to her mother's corpse–her stomach lurched sharply, bile rising inside her. She choked, clamping her lips shut, dropping the knife as if it burned and at the moment, it felt as if it might have. And she fled without a word, moving as fast as she could manage until she was staggering into the restroom. She collapsed on her knees before the closest toilet and then she retched, vomited everything in her stomach until she felt hollow. She gagged, sagging against the toilet as tears stung her eyes, a few sobs shuddering through her.

Oh god oh god, her mom's killer. A contract killer. Someone had ordered a hit on her mom.

Killed with one blow. Her mom had already been dead when she'd been stabbed again and again.

She saw it again, the knife–the replica she'd held in her own hand–driving into her mom's defenseless body and for a moment in her fevered imaginings, it was almost as if her own hand had wielded the knife.

She choked on another sob, gagging as a fresh surge of nausea swept through her, although by now there was little left to throw up. Instead, she dry-heaved until her throat ached and she felt shaky, drained.

She heard the door opening and then Lanie's voice.

"Kate?"

She flung up a hand, warding off her friend. "No, don't."

"Oh, Kate," Lanie sighed, ignoring her injunction.

She heard water running and then Lanie was handing her a soaked paper towel. She accepted it reluctantly, not inclined to accept help from her friend at the moment but too aware of how gross she felt, the lingering bad taste in her mouth, to refuse. She swiped at her mouth but when Lanie placed a hand on her back, she recoiled, found the strength to push herself upright. Her legs felt a little shaky beneath her at first and she had to rest a hand against the stall, but she managed it.

And took refuge in a flare of anger–anger was easier to deal with right now, provided some temporary strength. "No," she gritted out again before swallowing and pushing on, clutching at the saving anger, the shield of her job and the side issue that was the only one she felt strong enough to get into at the moment. "I am the investigator of record on this case!" She was, no matter her duty status. "You had no right to withhold evidence from me!"

"I didn't withhold it. I just waited to be sure before I mentioned it to you in case I was wrong." Lanie's tone was gentle, reasonable, and in her current mood, Kate hated it. "What was I supposed to do, send you spiraling off when I wasn't sure there was a reason for it? The last time Castle tried to talk to you about your mom's case, you blew up at him."

Castle. The mention of his name jarred her. She had blown up at him–and then when he'd sought her out to explain himself weeks later, her anger and all her hurt had been channeled into blazing passion that had resulted in the baby.

Lanie's eyes flicked down to where Kate's hand had automatically come up to curve over her belly, the tell-tale evidence of the consequence of the last time her mom's case had been mentioned. Lanie's tone softened. "I noticed the wound similarity and reached out to Dr. Murray."

Dr. Murray was the expert Castle had told her he'd consulted, the obvious (and really irrelevant) fact going through her mind. (Minor irrelevancies were all that she could think about right now, keeping her from falling apart.) No wonder Castle had looked and sounded so off when he'd said that he and Dr. Murray had met. That should have told her, she thought in hindsight. The last time Castle had looked like that, so nervous and unhappy, had been that day in the hospital when he'd first told her that he'd looked into her mom's case. She hadn't even thought–that day, eight months ago now, had faded from her memory, been pushed aside with the last few months spent with Castle, as his partner, again, and more recently, as his lover. She could hardly remember how furious she had been with him that day. She hadn't wanted to see him again–and now, she could hardly imagine a day without him.

Lanie was going on. "I held off from telling you until I knew the evidence was rock solid but I came to you the moment we were sure."

Her anger had faded, partly due to Lanie's explanation, but also due to the memory, the thought, of Castle. The reminder that somehow, as strange as it seemed, her mom's case had led to the baby. Her mom's case that had turned her life upside down once had done so again but in a positive sense.

"Okay, fine," she finally responded.

She turned away to head to the sink, rinsing her mouth out and making a futile attempt to restore her appearance to some semblance of her usual self. Which failed miserably, she saw in the mirror. She looked ghastly, was paper-white, her eyes and brows standing out in sharp relief.

She was still at the precinct, she reminded herself. She could not fall apart here, not yet.

She steeled herself as she left the bathroom, knowing Lanie was following on her heels. Only to be faced immediately with Castle, who'd clearly been hovering just outside the restroom.

She sensed, rather than saw, him open his mouth, no doubt to ask if she was okay or some equivalent of that, but she didn't look at him, wasn't sure she could look at him right now because she thought if she did, she might collapse, fall apart, and that she could not do.

"Beckett, can I have a word with you?"

The Captain's voice cut across the unnatural quiet of the bullpen and provided an excuse to avoid Castle for a little while longer.

She turned and forced her legs to carry her into the Captain's office, aware that Castle was following behind her, although he stopped before the office door, as Montgomery closed the door behind her.

Montgomery studied her face and she knew he saw the evidence of her tears, probably guessed that she'd thrown up just now. "Under any other circumstances, I'd say you look like you could use a drink but as it is…" he made an uncharacteristically vague gesture with his hand.

She tried to force a wan twitch of her lips, knew she failed. "I'll survive."

He sighed. "I don't doubt that. Look, Beckett, I know your mother's murder was the reason you became a cop. And I know how you almost lost yourself trying to solve her case the first time you tried."

She almost flinched at the words, the truth in them. Montgomery was one of the only people who knew how close she'd come, was the one who'd saved her, intervened when he noticed her increasing gauntness and the stupid, careless mistakes she'd started making due to sleep deprivation. Mistakes that could have–probably would have before too long–gotten her injured or killed or gotten another cop or, worse, gotten a civilian injured or killed. Because that was the hard reality about life in the NYPD, being distracted or careless for whatever reason often ended very badly, not just for cops but for bystanders.

"I figured sooner or later when you were ready you would wanna take another run at it. I just never expected the killer to come around and sucker punch you like this. Kate, listen to me. You're the finest homicide I've ever trained, bar none. And I want you to stay on this one, if you can, if you're up to it. But I wouldn't be doing my job as your captain–as your friend–if I didn't ask. Can you handle this?"

She met his eyes. Even now, she felt the siren call of her mom's case, the need to find out who and why, the insidious voice telling her she was failing her mom by not finding her mom's killer, that she owed this to her mom, that she was a failure as a cop, as a daughter, if she didn't try… the obsession that had pushed her into the black hole of her mom's case.

She inwardly reeled, felt as if she were staggering back from the edge of a cliff. No, no, she couldn't do this. She might not admit it to a living soul but she was terrified.

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't," she finally rasped, her voice sounding hoarse and unlike herself.

She didn't stop to see the Captain's reaction, only turned to leave his office, coming up against Castle–again–as he waited outside the door.

And this time, she met his eyes, couldn't help it, saw the compassion–the love–in them.

"Kate," was all he said, his voice quiet, uncertain. He almost never called her by her first name in the precinct.

She felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes, her throat tightening, but she widened her eyes to keep the tears back, didn't dare let them out because she thought if she did, she might never stop and she was in the precinct. Felt the curious gazes of everyone in the bullpen. She wanted to collapse against his chest, let him wrap his arms around her and assure her that everything would be fine, that she wasn't alone–but that, too, would have to wait until they were alone. So all she did, all she said in a voice that was low enough he was probably the only one who heard it, was, "Take me home."

He sucked in a breath and then he did just that. He was the one who almost sprinted back to her desk to grab her things and joined her at the elevator door, helped her into her coat when they were on the elevator rather as if she were a child, and then he drove her car back to the loft.

She felt as if she were in a sort of fugue state, for the moment mercifully numb as if bludgeoned into semi-consciousness after the blows of the last minutes. It was about as much as she could manage to stay upright, put one foot in front of the other, and for once, she was distantly aware that at least, she had someone like Castle who she could trust to look after her when she was like this. She had no expectation that her current state of quiescence would last but for now, she could allow herself to be taken care of.

She hadn't said anything and neither had he for that matter, although she felt his darting glances at her, until they were inside the loft, blessedly empty at the moment, and then he ventured, "What can I do, Kate?"

She felt drained, rather as if she were sleepwalking or something. "I need to brush my teeth," was her not-exactly-responsive answer, again going for the mundane as a distraction.

"I'll make you some of the tea you like and get out some crackers," he volunteered.

She nodded and went to their bedroom, the en suite bathroom, to brush her teeth, the mundane action oddly reassuring, allowing her to feel mostly human again. She left the bathroom, her hand moving to her wrist to remove her dad's watch almost by rote–only to stop short, a strangled sound escaping her throat as her eyes fell on the keepsake box where she usually kept her dad's watch and her mom's ring. On the picture on the keepsake box of her parents' smiling faces, her dad, looking so young and so happy, her mom

Again, she heard Dr. Murray's words in her mind. He kills with a single blow… other wounds to camouflage the skill with which the initial stroke was delivered…

Oh god, the gratuitous violence inflicted on her mom's body.

She could picture it all, not just the knife going into her mom's body as she'd imagined so many times, but now she knew exactly what the knife looked like, remembered the pictures of the wounds in her mom's case file. Something like a wail ripped from her throat and she staggered back, almost fell onto the bed, as she curled up on her side, her arms cradling her stomach, the baby who was so vulnerable, who had no idea–yet–of what she'd lost.

She couldn't bear it, she just couldn't…

But then he was there, tugging her into the curve of his body, his arms so strong as they wrapped around her, held her. A little whimper escaped her throat as she fit herself against him, a little awkwardly with the curve of her stomach in between them, but she wriggled as close as she could manage, clutched at him as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Sshh, Kate, I'm here, I'm right here. You're not alone. I'm right here…"

And she fell apart, cried out all her tears, choked sobs racking her body. Afterwards, she simply lay there, drained, exhausted, in the circle of his arms, and for the first time in a while, felt the fog of emotion slowly begin to lift, her mind creaking into action.

She hadn't cried so much and so hard in years. It occurred to her, fuzzily, that it was… different… to fall when there was someone there to catch her. It still felt new and surprising, she hadn't had someone who would be there for her like this, hadn't allowed anyone else to be there for her like this, in years. Not since her mom.

It was different. It was better. He made it better.

They seemed to have come full circle since the last time her mom's case had come up, when she had kicked him out of her life for it. And now, now he was so firmly enmeshed in her life that she could no more kick him out of her life than she could cut off both her arms.

"I… don't think I can do this," she whispered, her voice a little raw from all her crying. "I told Montgomery I couldn't."

"Okay," he agreed equably. "You don't have to."

She drew back just enough to look at him, a little surprised, even… almost hurt, not that that made any sense, at his agreement. Somehow, she'd expected him to argue, to tell her of course she could. Tell her what he had told her before, that she was extraordinary. Most people come up against a wall, they give up. Not you. You don't let go. You don't back down. That's what makes you extraordinary.

And somehow, irrationally, the mere fact that he didn't tell her that prodded at her, tugged at all her stubbornness, her training kicking back in.

Because this was the sort of evidence that changed the entire complexion of a case. A contract killer. Four other victims. They knew the killer's MO.

The initial coroner who'd worked on her mom's case hadn't noticed anything unusual about the wounds, written it off as random gang violence, the work of thugs, a meaningless crime. The other blows had camouflaged the skill of the initial blow, Dr. Murray had said. Maybe it had worked and the coroner hadn't really been incompetent or just indifferent. All she knew, now, was that the coroner had been wrong, so very wrong.

Oh god, if only she'd known this earlier, years ago. Irrationally, she felt the tug of guilt, of blame, for not having seen it herself. She recognized, rationally, that she didn't have the necessary expertise, the medical training, to notice such a thing; she wasn't a medical examiner or a forensic pathologist. She'd been focused on the other evidence, her mom's life–the age old question, cui bono.

But now, this changed everything.

But this was still her mom's case and she knew what her mom's case did to her. It made her blind, made her reckless, made her vulnerable. Made her hurt.

"You don't think I should stick with the case?"

"I think you should do whatever you think is best," he answered carefully.

What did she think was best?

She wanted–oh yes, she wanted–to know who and why. Maybe even more now than she had before because now, her other fear, that she would find her mom's killer only to watch him strike a deal to walk away after a measly few years in prison, was assuaged.

Now, all that was left, all that was holding her back, was her fear. Fear, not only of drowning again in her mom's case, but more than that, fear of failing, of letting her mom down again.

How could she live with herself if she let her mom down, if she made some mistake that allowed her mom's killer to go free–again? But how could she live with herself if she didn't try?

"I just… don't know," she admitted very quietly.

"Is it because you're afraid?"

Her eyes flew up to his, the automatic, instinctive denial coming to her lips. She had a sudden memory from her childhood, her younger self insisting to her parents that she didn't need a night light because she wasn't afraid of the dark. It had been a lie then, just as it would be a lie now.

It occurred to her that the only other person who would call her out on being afraid was her dad. No one else would dare. Except for Castle.

"It is, isn't it?" he went on, very gently. "You're afraid that if you look into your mom's case again, you'll go back down the rabbit hole and lose yourself again. But Kate, it's different this time. We have good leads, strong leads. A new case, not just an old case file. And you don't have to do it alone. We can do it together. I won't let you drown."

She wasn't alone this time. Now, with Jack Coonan's case being active, with Dr. Murray's expert evidence of a professional contract killer being involved, she would have the full cooperation and weight of the 12th precinct behind her. She would have the official authorization to talk to more people, could get warrants for more evidence. It wouldn't just be her, alone, crouched over her mom's case file in the basement of the precinct. It wouldn't just be her, poring over every copied page of her mom's file in the solitude of her apartment until her eyes were scratchy. If she went after her mom's killer now, she would have the boys, her team, working with her on this because Jack Coonan's murder made this their responsibility too (and she knew their loyalty and their friendship well enough to know they would help her for her mom's memory too).

And most importantly, she would have Castle standing beside her, supporting her, lending her his strength to bolster her own.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

The fear wasn't gone, still lingered, but as she had thought earlier, it was… easier. She felt steadier, braver, knowing she wouldn't be doing this alone, knowing she had him.

He bent and kissed her, softly, his lips just touching hers, as if to seal the promise.

And then, as if to punctuate the moment, she felt the increasingly familiar movement in her stomach. The baby. Oh, the baby.

She must have stiffened or tensed a little–or perhaps he felt the baby's movement too–and their eyes met.

"That's how I know you won't drown again," he told her, the set of his lips easing a little. "The baby will pull you out of the rabbit hole, even if I can't."

He could. He might be the only one who could. "She will, won't she?" she agreed rhetorically.

"She will, because I'm sure she's going to be just as extraordinary as her mother. As extraordinary as her grandmother," he added, his voice softening, and she knew he was referring to her mother, not Martha.

Something like a sob caught in her throat even as she managed the watery beginnings of a smile. "I wish my mom could have met you."

Surprise flashed across his face before being replaced by indescribable emotion. "I wish I could have met her too."

"She would have loved you," she told him, not entirely steadily, her voice so soft she could hardly hear it above the thud of her own heart. Her mom would have loved Castle.

And Kate did love him–but that last confession stuck in her throat.

"Thank you," was all he said, quietly, but the look in his eyes made the words eloquent.

Silence settled over them for a long couple minutes as they just held each other, their eyes holding, and she had the odd sense that this might be the most intimate moment of her life.

But then, he broke the silence. "Your tea must be getting cold."

Her tea–oh right, the tea he'd said he would make. And it occurred to her that she should try to eat something, after she had thrown up earlier. For the baby's sake, if not her own.

"And I should probably eat."

The faintest hint of a smile just touched the corners of his lips, probably imperceptible to anyone else except her and possibly Alexis, but he didn't say anything, only moved carefully to get up out of bed and helped her up too.

In the kitchen, she perched somewhat cautiously on one of the stools at the island. The tea Castle had made for her earlier had cooled but he reheated it and she sipped at the tea and nibbled on a few crackers. Her insides still felt rather tentative, although she wasn't sure how much of it was due to lingering emotional reaction, but in any event, she wasn't brave enough to tax her system with a full meal, even if she had been hungry, which she wasn't (for once). But for the moment, her stomach appeared to have settled and when she was able to finish the tea and the crackers with no adverse effect, she gave in to Castle's mild urging and essayed a piece of toast too.

She had only taken a few bites of her toast when a thought occurred to her and she paused, dropping her toast back onto her plate. Oh, wait, she'd forgotten–how could she have not thought of this until now?

Castle had stiffened at her action, another frown of worry forming between his brows. "What is it? Are you feeling okay? Can I get you anything?"

She gave him a small reassuring flutter of her fingers. "I just remembered, I need to talk to my dad." Her dad, who of all people certainly had the right to be informed of such a development in her mom's case. But oh god–nervousness clutched at her chest–what would it do to her dad to be told that her mom had been killed by a contract killer? Which meant her mom had been killed for money.

Contract killers didn't have the usual motives of some sort of personal grudge against the victim; there was no prior connection to the victim which made them harder to track in the usual way. For them, killing was just a job, something they did for money; it wasn't personal, didn't really have anything to do with the victim at all.

It was something that had always bothered her in thinking about her mom's case. Kate had worked on enough homicides to know that the perennial lament of victims' families that 'everyone loved the victim' was almost never true–but in her mom's case (and yes, she admitted she was biased), she had thought it was about as close to true as possible. She hadn't been able to think of anything to indicate a personal motive. Her mom had been well-respected and generally liked by her colleagues; there had certainly been no extramarital affairs or other such complications, no shady secrets that had come to light. And her mom might have worked in criminal law but that didn't usually lead to murder either, especially when her mom had worked to defend those accused of crimes. As Kate also had reason to know thanks to her job, it was usually prosecutors and judges who received threats from criminals.

It was vindication of her belief in her mom, she supposed, but that made it worse too because now she knew it hadn't been about who her mom was. Her mom had been… collateral damage for someone who had the resources to hire a professional contract killer.

Her whole life–her dad's life–had been devastated for something that hadn't really had anything to do with her mom as a person at all.

And she needed to tell her dad just that. Not that she would in so many words but whatever she told her dad, she knew he was smart enough, realist enough, to reach the same conclusions she had.

Her stomach seemed to clench and she abruptly lost what little appetite that she'd had.

Castle had straightened up. "Oh, right, of course. I'll get you your phone."

Castle handed her phone to her and studied her, worry clouding his expression. "Do you want to be alone when you call your dad?"

Without conscious thought, she reached out and grasped his arm. "No, stay." It wasn't as if any of this was a secret but more than that, she felt as if Castle's presence made her feel stronger somehow.

He nodded and slid his arm around her and she momentarily allowed herself to lean against him as she called her dad, using his office line since he would still be at work.

"Jim Beckett," her dad answered, his voice brisk, professional, and even the sound of his voice squeezed her heart at the moment because she couldn't help but be reminded of all the years when his words had been slurred, his voice always a little unsteady.

"Hi, Dad, it's me."

She tried to sound as much like her usual self as she could but she knew she hadn't entirely succeeded when her dad's voice instantly sharpened with worry. "Katie, what's wrong? What's happened? Are you okay? Is it about the baby?"

Oh, shit, of course her dad would assume if something was wrong, it had to do with her condition. "It's not about the baby," she quickly reassured him. She tried to avoid outright lying to her dad and she could not say she was fine now, not really, but she was safe and healthy and so was the baby, which was what her dad meant. "It's just… something's come up and… can we meet? I… there's something I need to tell you."

"Of course we can meet but what is this about, Katie? You sound–something's wrong, I can hear it in your voice. Has something happened with Rick?"

She briefly shut her eyes. "No, no, it's nothing like that. It's… about mom."

"Oh." She heard the immediate change in her dad's voice, the faintest quiver of emotion that would probably not be audible to anyone who didn't know him as well as she did. She could picture the way he would duck his head for a moment as he gathered his composure, steeled himself, and then looked up again. "What is it, Katie?"

She hesitated but then admitted, "It's about mom's case."

"I… didn't think you were looking into it anymore."

"I wasn't. It just… something happened and it turned out to be connected," she managed. She felt Castle's arm tighten around her a little and somehow, it allowed her to go on, although her voice wasn't entirely smooth. "There's another case, Dad, a new one, and… it looks like the man who… hurt mom has killed again. There's evidence that he's… a professional."

She heard her dad suck in a sharp breath and inwardly flinched a little. As she'd thought, her dad understood what that meant.

There was a long silence and Kate shut her eyes against the threat of tears, could not let her dad hear her cry, not now. She leaned against Castle as his arm tightened around her again. It was comforting, reassuring somehow, to feel the pressure of his body against hers, the strength in his embrace.

"Are you okay, Katie?" her dad finally asked quietly and she could hear the effort he was putting into controlling his voice.

"I'm… I just want to see you, Dad."

"I just need to finish up a few things but I can be out of my office within 15 minutes. I can meet you at the diner in about an hour?"

"That's fine, thanks. I'll see you then."

"Drive carefully, Katie. See you at the diner."

"Yes, bye, Dad."

She ended the call and allowed herself to lean on Castle for another minute.

"You're meeting your dad?" Castle asked unnecessarily.

She nodded against his chest. "In an hour." She lifted her face to meet his eyes. "I think I need to talk to him alone. You don't mind, right?"

"Of course you should talk to your dad alone. Don't worry about me." His expression softened. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

She let out a breath. "I will be," she answered with more candor than she would have used with anyone else in her life except for her dad. She wasn't there yet, felt as if her composure was being held together with fraying strings, but she had to be okay. No matter what happened next in her mom's case, she had to be okay, somehow. For her dad, for the baby.

"I know you will be," he agreed, his eyes filled with indescribable tenderness. "It's what I love best about you, you know."

Oh, oh god. Her heart abruptly thudded in her chest and she wondered fuzzily if she would ever become accustomed to hearing him say he loved her (she doubted it). "Oh," was all she could say, inanely. He loved that she… wasn't okay at the moment but she would be?

"You're Invictus."

"Because 'my head is bloody, but unbowed'?"

The corners of his lips just barely tilted upwards. "Exactly. You have an unconquerable soul. 'In the fell clutch of circumstance, [you] have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance…'"

She didn't; she wasn't. She didn't recognize this person Castle described with such indomitable strength and she certainly didn't think she deserved it. He, of all people, had just seen her fall apart and sob like she might never stop, had seen her cry more than once now. He knew how afraid she was of looking into her mom's case again.

"Also," he added with a change in tone before she could make some sort of demurral, "the fact that you caught the reference so quickly is really hot."

She choked on the beginnings of a somewhat soggy laugh. Only Castle. "I think you're biased."

"I'm definitely biased but it doesn't make it untrue. You don't give up, you persevere." His voice softened, became gentle. "After what happened to your mom, anyone else might have given up, but you didn't, you used it to become the best cop in the City."

"I need to get ready to meet my dad." She knew it was lame, the worst deflection, but she didn't know how to respond, how to tell him that she wasn't nearly as amazing as he thought she was–and she was a little terrified too what might happen if he ever found out how little she deserved to be placed on such a pedestal. Terrified that she would let him down, disappoint him.

But, she reminded herself sharply, she really did need to be getting ready to leave, needed to wash her face and generally try to cover up all evidence of her earlier breakdown before going to see her dad. She didn't want him to worry, or at least not more than he inevitably would.

"I know. You don't want to be late to meet your dad."

She lifted her hand to cup his cheek and leaned in to kiss him, softly, lingering long enough to try to show him at least some of what she felt even if she didn't have the words for it now (and would never have his facility with words as it was).

And it was only then that she left him, reluctantly, first to return to the restroom to repair whatever damage the emotional upheaval of the day had left on her face and then to meet her dad.

No, she wasn't okay yet–far from it. But she had Castle and that helped.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.