A/N—This is a little shorter than usual, but I wanted to post something this week, and it felt like a natural breaking point for this chapter before the next.

This is continuing my post Season 3 AU story.

Post Season 3 AU

The Conspiracy: Chapter 2

Rick continued to visit every few days. He wanted to convince Kate to return to the city, to stay and convalesce in the guest room at his apartment. It felt safer, definitely, but also he needed her closer, for them to orbit each other in their daily lives again. Although his visits were frequent, he missed her. Every time he so much as mentioned the possibility of her returning home, he felt her emotionally repel away. She clearly had no interest in returning yet, so he tried to exercise patience.

On the following visit, it felt like a hundred obstacles delayed his departure, and later an accident slowed the highway to a standstill. He arrived at the cabin nearly three hours later than he typically did. When he got there, he didn't see Kate when he looked through the window, but found her at a lower stone patio next to the lake doing her strengthening exercises. He was surprised by how much stronger she seemed in just the last week. He couldn't help but wonder if she was pushing herself too hard. But in truth, working too hard practically defined Beckett.

As he walked down the path, foot crunching on some twigs, she swung around, quickly producing a gun from somewhere and almost immediately having it trained on him. He instantly noticed the unsteady quiver of the gun in her hands, so unlike her. When she realized who was approaching, she pulled the gun back and only then allowed herself to acknowledge the pain she felt. She struggled a bit as she tried to breathe normally. "I didn't mean to startle you," he explained as he hurried closer to help her. "You knew I was coming," he reminded, mentally checking boxes as he recalled their phone call from the night before.

"Yea, well, I figured that was done," her voice weakly responded.

"F—figured what was done?"

She groaned and sat on the uneven stone beneath her, holding her left elbow against her body.

"Are you alright?" he asked, dropping to one knee next to her.

"I'm fine," she replied, her voice indicating the opposite.

"Did something happen? Were you attacked or threatened or—"

"Yea…I was shot, remember?"

"I mean lately. Did something happen here at the cabin to put you on edge?"

"There's nothing to stop them from coming up here. I saw an unfamiliar SUV on that access road this morning. Checked it out, found someone visiting family at the cabin just south of here. But it made me think about the fact that I might still be a target."

The thought of her in danger made him broach a topic he knew she would not like. "Come back with me. My building is secure. You can have the guest room, I promise I have no other motive than your safety—"

"I'm fine. I have my personal gun loaded and with me at all times. If they come for me, I'm ready."

"You were shaking. You never shake when you pull your weapon. You could barely stop me and all I was packing was coffee."

"I have everything under control."

"Jesus, Kate. Just because you can handle everything on your own doesn't mean you have to." As if to demonstrate his point, he first stood and then helped her to her feet.

"I'm not on my own. You visit a couple of times a week, bring me stuff…and we talk almost daily. I'm not alone."

"You can count on me for more than just coffee, stories, and carryout."

"Don't you think I know that?" she countered, voice raising. "You're the only person I've really talked to in weeks, the only one who I've let come here besides Roger. If that's not trust, I don't know what is."

"And exactly why did you say you weren't expecting me today? What did you mean you 'thought that was done'?"

"I figured you weren't coming. Thought you found something better to do, or maybe some perky blond turned your head. You're allowed to have a life, you know."

"I was just late. Traffic and—"

"People are there until they're not," she replied coldly. "You think you know them, and you find out the truth." He watched her eyes move to a folded letter atop a small towel and bands she used in her training.

He reached down for it, and she didn't stop him. "What is this?"

"It's a letter. From Royce," she replied, taking it from his crossed fingers. "He wrote it before he died."

Taking a moment to prepare his attack, he was certain he'd need to delve to find out what was going on, to push and fight to get answers from her. But, unprovoked, she spoke, "Does every relationship end like that one? With betrayal? Pain? Loss?"

"Every relationship has some pain. People, even when they don't want to, sometimes hurt each other. It's part of what happens when another person truly matters to us. And the more someone matters to us, the more that hurt can be amplified."

"So it's best just to avoid relationships altogether."

"No. Not at all," he answered, his eyes full of understanding. "The pain is amplified, it's true. But so is everything else. The empathy. The connection, the bond. The trust. And sometimes, even passion, that fire. Th—the love."

"But there's no way of knowing if it's all going to crumble around you. If everything you think is true is a lie."

"No. You don't know. But isn't not knowing, isn't being surprised, part of being alive?"

"You would think. Lately it feels like all of my surprises involve the people I trust most betraying me, doing things I'd never imagine them doing…or being shot. I could do without surprises like those."

"Give it time. Surprises aren't all good. But many of them are. And the ones that are, the times when something unexpectedly wonderful and exciting happens…those are the things that make life worth living, that make it worth enduring the bad times to get to the good times."

"It's so hard to trust, to really trust, another person. But I think what really scares me is that I can't even trust my own judgement. Maybe I can't see through the lies when I have that connection with someone, like I'm wearing blinders. Maybe I'm a poor judge of character when it comes to those closest to me."

Castle saw segues into actually discussing their relationship, so he optimistically continued, "But there are certain indicators when what you have is something real. People who really care about each other won't let go…no matter what. Look at you and me. After everything, we're still here."

"Are we going to pretend that we haven't hurt each other?"

"No. We aren't going to pretend. We've known each other a while now. We've faced some pretty extraordinary situations together, life and death situations. And, yes, we've had a few bumps in the road, but we've overcome so much, so many problems and obstacles, the kind most people never have to even think about."

"And none of it has been easy."

"That's what makes it worth it. When things go wrong, when people fight and explode, but always find their way back to each other no matter what… When someone cares enough to struggle and claw to get close to you again, someone you can't get rid of. That, Detective Beckett, is when you have something real. Something worth the struggle."

She was frozen in fascinated attention, and then he sensed again that he was too exposed, so he deflected with humor. "Or an obsessed stalker."

She tilted her head, crinkled her nose and said, "Excuse me?"

"If you have someone you can't get rid of, you either have a once-in-a-lifetime partnership…or an obsessed crazy person."

"There's no in between?" she reluctantly laughed.

"Nope. So…unless I receive a restraining order, I'm not giving up. I may be late once in a while, but you're not going to get rid of me that easily."

She smiled at him, widely, and shook her head, "No restraining orders have been filed. I'm the one who called you, remember?"

"Speaking of which," he began mentally arguing the merits of pursuing his line of thought, "What made you call that first night? You really just wanted someone to read to you?"

Her mouth twitched as she worked through her response, gazing out over the lake. "I…missed your voice. I wasn't ready to talk about anything, definitely not ready to come back to work but… I'm so used to you in my ear."

Adoring the bashful look on her face, he gently replied, "I missed it too, being that voice in your ear. And hearing yours as well."

The romantic in him dreamed of a sunset, and the warm auburn glows that would radiate from her face in the slowly dimming light. He imagined a world where her every movement wasn't highlighted by pain, and this conversation flowed through their hearts when she finally closed the gap and kissed him. If only. But he sighed, knowing that this still wasn't the time for them, and as much as he would fight whatever stood in his way to be close to her, he knew well enough not to push and risk losing it all.

Just as he was prepared to change the subject, she apparently had the same idea. "I sure could use a cup of that coffee right now," she suggested.

He held up a thermos and nodded toward the house. She reached for her pile of things on the ground, but he hurriedly gathered them up for her when he saw the pain she was in. He put the note from Royce, the one he was dying to read, on the pile without so much as unfolding it. As they walked up to the cabin, he asked, "You aren't pushing yourself too hard, are you?"

"Pushing myself just hard enough. I need to be ready, Castle. I need to get back out there."

That afternoon, Kate seemed particularly tired, so they went through the collection of DVDs left there by the family. This cabin didn't have cable or WiFi, so they finally selected a tattered box set of black-and-white classic horror movies. The pair settled in the tacky loveseat, beige with greenish forest scenes printed on fabric. It was the only piece of furniture perfectly placed to watch the tiny, ancient television. The screen turned on, the top of the snowy image bent slightly, but the DVD player refused to work.

"I can't believe you haven't watched any TV this entire time!" he commented as he studied the machine. He messed with it for a while and sighed in disappointment. "Oh, we could watch it on my laptop," he suggested.

When he turned, he saw Kate nestled down in the sofa, brow wrinkled in discomfort. "Yea, that's fine," she answered, her voice distant.

"You have been overdoing it," he commented.

"I just want to be ready, figure out what's going on, and put all of this behind me."

"I want that, too. But you have to do it the right way. It takes time. Roger said rest is as important as—"

"I know," she grumbled. "I just want to soak in a steaming bath for an hour, maybe two. A shower just isn't the same. My muscles are sore, that's all. I'll be fine."

"How much longer until you're allowed to soak again?" he asked, fetching and turning on his laptop.

"Next week I have to go back to the city. I see the surgeon Thursday, and the cardiologist Friday. If the incisions are healed enough, I'm soaking all Thursday night," she chuckled.

"Would you let me drive you?"

"No," she immediately scoffed. She picked up on the rejection he felt and said, "It's too much to drive the whole way out here to turn around and—"

"I'm driving here anyway. I'll make you a deal…you let me take you to your appointment with the surgeon, and I will book you a hotel room with the absolute best Jacuzzi tub in the city. After the surgical follow-up, you can soak straight through the night until the cardiologist."

"That isn't necessary."

"But it is so worth it. Believe me…you don't want to turn down this reservation." Worried that she would be suspicious he was suggesting a romantic evening, he added, "A reservation for one."

"Fine," she nodded, scooting a little closer to him so she could see the screen on his lap. "We going to watch this movie or what?"

He noted her soreness just in those few inches of movement, determining that her exercise routine on her days alone was probably more rigorous than the one he saw. The obsession in her to solve the case, to avenge not only her mother, but the attack upon her as well, was burning more furiously than it had before. He was quite certain, if she kept going like this, she was going to get herself killed. Buying time, he added, "The case, those people who did this, will still be there in a week, or a month, or a year. When you're back to 100%, we'll get them together. But don't try to go after them before you're ready. I don't send my books to my publisher before they're done. You need to be completely healed. Give yourself time to get there."

"I am, Castle," she winced, and he couldn't tell if it was from pain or irritation. "Speaking of books, how's yours coming?"

"Slow. Mother has been intense. Even for her. She had Alexis rehearsing all through the apartment yesterday. I couldn't even think much less write anything. She has this retreat going on this weekend with a few friends and I thought she'd be gone, but apparently they've decided to have it at my place. She's roped Alexis in. It's going to be hell."

"Sounds like it," Kate answered.

He clicked play on the DVD menu, and as the movie came up, she said, "I kinda owe you for all this coffee."

"I'll add it to your tab," he countered without concern.

"I thought maybe I could pay off part of my debt now."

His head jerked to face her, and his throat went instantly dry as he tried to swallow, wondering what she had in mind. "Uhh," he began, once again at a loss for words when he needed them.

"You could work here this weekend. Instead of going home this Friday when you come up, just stay until Sunday. Even Monday if you need to. The sofa's not the best, but it's quiet here. I'll leave you alone to write during the day. When you need a break we can crowd around your laptop and watch a movie, or sit down by the lake. Probably not the most exciting weekend you've ever had, but I promise there won't be any acting retreats here."

"You'd do that for me?" Before she could withdraw the offer, he added, "I accept. I'll bring groceries, and—"

"Let me handle that," she assured. "You've brought me enough coffees and dinners. There's a local woman who runs to the store for me so it's not a problem."

He grinned, wishing it was Friday already. The movie started, and he felt Kate's arm brush against his. His laptop screen wasn't very large, and it gave him the perfect excuse to sit huddled close to her. Had he thought of this sooner, he would have suggested a movie and intentionally broken the DVD player during his first visit there.

She was so close he could smell her skin, the lightly fruity scent of her hair. He could feel her arm move with each cycle of breath, and his lungs began to match hers. The places where their bodies came into incidental contact felt like they were on fire, and they consumed all of his conscious thoughts. Part of him was ashamed this his easy, debonair persona had gone missing, leaving behind a nervous excitement more befitting a very first date.

Before he knew it, the movie was half over, and all he remembered about it so far was Kate, and her closeness, and how much he enjoyed even these circumstantial touches even if they weren't enough. He seriously considered putting his arm around her, making some excuse that it would make it easier to see, but instead he felt frozen in place, soaking in the intimacy they shared over the flickering screen.

When the movie was nearly over, Kate fell asleep, her head lulling slowly to his shoulder as she sunk down in the cushions. He'd never known her to be so thoroughly exhausted, and he couldn't help but note a totality in her trust, a trust that allowed her to be entirely vulnerable next to him.

The end credits began to roll, and there was no way he was going to move. His left arm was against her, so he reached out with his right and opened the document that contained his book ideas. He started pecking at the keys, making notes for the story, because it felt like ideas were somehow flowing from her into him. Typing was a slow process with only one hand, not that he cared. He wondered if, one day, they'd sleep next to each other intentionally, cuddled in an actual bed.

She began to mumble softly, and at first he hoped she would talk in her sleep, maybe tell him some tidbit he needed to hear. But he began to realize she was arguing right before she bolted up to fight the dream. Seconds after engaging the unseen threat, her physical limitations knocked her back down on her ass. She called out her discomfort, clenching her side. He saw beads of sweat forming on her forehead. "It's okay, Kate," he said with his most reassuring tone. "Just a dream."

"Sorry," she mumbled stiffly.

Her shoulders were bunched up around her neck, and it looked like she was in the grips of a terrible muscle spasm. He placed a hand softly on her upper back and said, "I think I can help with that."

"It'll pass."

Spreading his fingers along her shoulder, his thumb settling on the space right beside her scapula, he very subtly massaged the spasming muscle. Careful to keep his touch cautious and respectful, he glanced at her face to measure her reaction. He was rewarded with an immediate, although soft, sigh of relief.

"Want me to stop?" he queried.

"You don't have to do…" she began, her jaw going slack and shoulder dropping a bit as her words faded.

"I want to. Unless I'm making you uncomfortable."

His hand stopped and he pulled it away, but she shook her head. She smiled softly, and said with striking sincerity, "You don't make me uncomfortable. That felt nice."

"Good," he answered, hoping she couldn't see the flush across his skin that she provoked.

He brought both hands to her shoulders and began working the tension from them. Her shoulders gradually relaxed, and she started to tilt her head from side to side, stretching and appearing more able to move than she had been even a few minutes earlier. He wondered how she could even function with so much stiffness, not to mention the pain more directly associated with her wounds.

He touched her hips to direct her to turn so her back was fully toward him and she was seated sideways on the furniture. "Where's the incision on your side?" he whispered, his voice emerging in a much lower register than he'd expected.

She reached across her body, covering the spot to show him where to avoid. He worked down the sides of her spine cautiously, deeply massaging into her lower back. Her head lowered slowly until she leaned on a pillow over the arm of the love seat.

His heart swelled with the gravity of her surrender, but at the same time the depth of her pain punched at him. His desire to love, protect, and care for this woman was redefining him, shaking him to his foundation. It hurt not to hug her, to restrain his arms from pulling her close and holding her while she slept. But he breathed evenly and reminded himself of how difficult vulnerability was for her.

She sat up suddenly, and he looked at his hands to verify that they were respectfully placed. He verbally stumbled, "Sorry. Did I—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. I was drifting off again. Thank you. That feels so much better, but you can stop."

"Okay," he awkwardly began.

"I really appreciate it. You know if you ever decide you don't want to be a writer, or a volunteer detective, you clearly have a future in massage therapy."

"Any time you'd like, my hands are at your disposal."

"I never thought the day would come that you'd pass up a chance to suggest that I take my shirt off," she teased, but he sensed her confidence was still not healed either.

"Oh, trust me, I'm cataloging every missed opportunity, every time I have to withhold comment, or refrain from ogling you. And I intend to cash them all in," he teased. "I need you to be healed so I can feel the full brunt of your disapproval. Or, if you're so inclined, I'll be ready for one of those temping little suggestions you toss out there that you know will scramble my brain and reduce it to cave-man-thoughts only mode. Either way, I can't wait."

She chuckled and answered, "I'll be prepared for the onslaught."

"You better be…It's gonna be spectacular."

A little later, he stood and gathered his things to go home for the night. She looked like she had something to say, and he tried to imagine what action he could take or words he could speak to unlock her secrets. "What?" he finally asked.

"I was just thinking it will be nice Friday…when you don't have to leave," she tentatively answered.

"Oh?" he wondered, moving into her personal space.

"You're still planning on spending the weekend, right?" After a moment of silence, she added, "I meant are you still planning on coming here to write?"

"I wouldn't miss it—," he replied, suppressing the desire to crush her up against him for what felt like the millionth time that day. After an effective pause, he added, "—the chance to write."

He pried himself away from her stare and walked out to his car. As he buckled his seatbelt, he saw her looking out the window toward his car. In spite of all of the things she'd faced as of late, he felt the spark of hope was still there within her.

He'd been optimistic before that maybe things were about to change for them, but this time something really felt different. Friday couldn't come soon enough.

Up Next: Chapter 3: Castle overhears Kate and Roger clashing over her recovery and fitness regimen. Although Rick worries about their timing, words and actions begin to heat up when he spends the weekend.