Sooner than I thought! Hopefully this lives up to expectations. Was fun to write, unbetaed - all mistakes are mine, blah blah woof woof. Reviews would be ace!

#2 / The Funeral of Roy Montgomery

Here's what she remembers.

She remembers finishing her speech. She remembers feeling proud that the got through it without tears, or a hitch in her voice. The pain in her heart is replaced by what she recalls as a searing pain, that doesn't end. Humans apparently don't remember pain, once it's over it's finished, but she finds herself remembering the exact moment when steel hits flesh, and it stops her breathing every single time.

She remembers being on the grass as Castle holds her head up, asking her, telling her? To hold on and that he loves her? And thinking that the ground was damp. She remembers, as she drifts in and out of consciousness that maybe she can rest now. Just for a little while.

Here's what she knows.

The doctors are good. She knows that. And the nurses are patient. She knows that too. Her visitors don't stay long, and as she drifts in and out of consciousness, she is thankful for that. She knows Josh has visited and Castle too, and her Dad is there.

She knows above all that she's in pain and that this hurts, both physically and emotionally. She wants to give up some days and on others she is so, so angry that someone has done this too her that

She wants to fight, she wants revenge. Mostly though, she's tired. She knows her body needs rest, she lost a lot of blood and yes they had to shoot her heart. Like it wasn't already broken and roughly patched up once. Once should have been enough.

Here's what's she feels.

She doesn't love Josh. She's known that for a while. She breaks up with him when she can formulate enough breath to talk and breathe at the same time, using as few words as possible within the exchange, conserving energy and all that crap.

The analogy they use is like the old school phone battery bars, she used to have ten bars of battery which got her through the day, no worries plus reserves should she need it, now she runs on two, one is needed for all her 'activities of daily living' going to the toilet, using a shower (assisted), eating, drinking and all that crap . The other is used how she sees fit - on physio days it's completely used by practicing walking and breathing, on other days it's conversations, on the bad days it's used in nightmares and the occasional panic attack. The physio doesn't come on those days. She has no reserves. Once those two are gone, she's gone. And she feels so perpetually exhausted. There's no room in her two bars of batteries for love. Josh excepts this, easily, she thinks. And with a kiss of her forehead, he ghosts away.

She feels pain, for Montgomery, for herself, for everything that's lost when they struck her heart with a well placed bullet. The physical pain isn't nearly dulled enough but it's a pain that's better than the one that sits on and in her chest, in her guts and isn't ever relieved by painkillers.

She can't love Castle right now. There isn't enough room for love with all the pain in her body.

Here is what she needs.

Space. Time. She's told Castle, she's notified the precinct and negotiated with the new captain. She's had help from her dad and the boys, Lanie too. Espo is going to stay at her place, and cover the rent. Her dad has agreed to take her to the cabin. She's up to walking almost 12 steps independently and they've given her the clearance to go home. Finally. There is only so much people that she can handle being around day in day out. As a naturally private person she's not been truly along for over four weeks. Six weeks in the cabin is what she's aiming for, even though her dad can only stay for three of them. She's really looking forward to the solitude. They release her on a sunny Thursday. Her dad hands her sunglasses and they hit the road. Forty minutes in and she can't stand sitting and longer, biting her lower lip from crying out whenever the car is jostled or hits a bump. They stop soon after, lie her down on the backseat, give her pain killers and the rest of the drive runs smooth enough. Week one and two fly by and soon she's saying goodbye to her dad. She can't express enough how thankful she is for him. She is looking forward to the opportunity to spend some time by herself. A luxury which, since the shooting has been almost eight weeks. With three weeks in the cabin she has plans to make herself stronger and better. She thinks of the city, of Castle, of the precinct, but when she does, she has nightmares so bad that the next day is a write off. She needs help with that. And tries not to think about it at all.

When she returns to the city three and half weeks later, she is stronger physically. But emotionally, she needs help. She enlists the help of a Dr. Burke and hopes this is a positive place to start.

Here's what she learns.

People don't take kindly to being ignored. That after her talk with Castle in the park, it still takes her preparation and a whole bunch of courage to talk to him. Sometimes it feels harder than it did stepping into the precinct.

That a full day of paperwork at the office is more tiring than a day filled with walks and nature.

That there are only so many variations of 'yes I'm fine, how are you?' That she can think of, and talking is not, and never has been a strong suit of hers.

She learns that slow and sure are not bad things and that because she is so fastidious with her sick leave she can afford to take some afternoons off. She learns that handling a gun again is hard. And that with the right words and voice, it becomes easier.

She learns about the new captain. Hard as she is, there is something about her that she instinctively trusts, but it goes against everything she has to trust her. She keeps her distance, and proves herself again. She misses Mongomery.

She learns that sometimes company is not a bad thing and doesn't use up as many battery bars as it once did and perhaps more importantly, sometimes it helps in recharging her.

She learns that she has more than two bars of energy, not quiet ten but the stores are returning and she is so thankful.

She learns that whilst she isn't going to bed completely exhausted every night, sometimes this isn't a bad thing and actually lets her get sleep better.

She recognizes the importance of having a trustworthy source to impart her worries and fears in a way that does not burden others. And sometimes she wonders why she didn't do it years ago. She sums it up to the ignorance of youth.

Most of all she learns that life goes on. That those three months recovery become part of the journey of the year. That all the stories become interwoven, and the heavy feelings on your chest become heavier or lighter depending on the day. That some days are easier than others. And most importantly, it is easier to stand when you have someone to stand with you.