Chapter Three

A warm but not unpleasant weight rests against his right hand. It's the first thing he notices. The second is a dull ache throughout his entire abdomen. A sensation that doesn't throb or flare; it just remains constant as he lies there.

There…

Where is there?

Peeling one eye open, he winces and shuts it immediately, the bright lights over his head burning as though he'd been looking into the sun. The touch on his hand lifts, and then his daughter's voice sounds somewhere to his right. When did Alexis get here?

"Daddy?"

It's quiet. Her voice, that is. As though she's whispering, and that's odd because she doesn't need to whisper. Why would she be whispering?

He clears his throat, cringing at the raw quality to his vocal cords. That hurts. "Alexis, can you turn the lights off?"

Almost immediately, the fire in his eyes stops, and he attempts to part his eyelids once more. It's harder than it should be, his body so slow to respond, but finally they pop open, and little by little the darkened room comes into focus.

The room.

This isn't his room.

Is this a hospital?

"Dad, can you hear me?"

He drags his gaze to his daughter, giving his vision a moment to settle, for there to stop being five of her, before he finds his voice again.

"Hey, Alexis. What are you doing here?"

Tears spring to her eyes, dripping down her cheeks, and his eyebrows draw together. Why is she crying? Why is he in a hospital bed? Did he go to California? Wasn't she supposed to come to New York?

"What's going on?"

It's the only question he can manage to push past his dry lips and mouth. He's parched. Thirsty. Obnoxiously thirsty. Where is the water?

"Dad. Oh, Dad. I'm so glad you're okay. Are you in pain? Do I need to call a nurse?"

He shakes his head, and- Oh. That was the wrong choice. Closing his eyes against the throb, he tries to speak again.

"Fine. Water?"

"Yes. Yes. Here. It's here."

A straw touches his lips, and he draws it into his mouth, sipping the cool liquid until his throat doesn't ache so much.

"What happened, Alexis?"

"You don't remember?"

Remember? Remember what? He was… What was he doing last? No idea. Can't actually remember.

"No, I don't remember. What happened?"

She slumps into the chair, her head bowed as she takes a deep breath, and then turning her gaze back to him, hastily wiping her cheeks dry, she says three words he'd never expected to hear in his entire life.

"You've been shot."

He's confused, ridiculously confused. How the hell did he get shot? What? When?

"I've been what now?"

How?

But very specifically, why?

"Shot, Dad. Twice. In the chest. But surgery to repair the damage went well, and the doctors say they expect a full recovery."

He stares at the ceiling as she recounts the facts one by one. Shot. In the chest. No wonder everything hurts and his brain is so sluggish. These must be some good drugs that they've got coursing through his system. But full recovery sounds promising. At least there's that.

It takes a second for him to realize the room has gone silent again, and he looks back over at his daughter, taking in her black hair and bright blue eyes tinged with more red than he's seen in a very long time. She's been crying, a lot it seems, and that fact hits him like a ton of bricks.

They've grown steadily apart over the last five or six years, and every damn day he misses what they used to be, the relationship they used to have. She'd been his baby girl, his princess, his whole world, and it had been incredible.

But then something had changed. He'd changed. She'd grown up, dyed her hair, and moved out, choosing her flighty, absent mother, over him, and that had been the end of that.

Except, she's here now.

"When did you get into town?"

"Two days ago. I'm here for Gram's opening night of Mame." Confusion laces her words, but she's patient with him as she continues, "Dad, what's the last thing you remember?"

"I honestly don't know. I think I was walking down the street? But I don't... What day is it?"

"It's Friday. I flew in Wednesday morning."

"And I got shot?"

His brain is getting slower, the wisps of thought and memory becoming harder to grab onto. Shot. Alexis is here. Memory loss, maybe, although how much remains to be seen. Her palm slides against his cheek, a quick kiss against the other, and he slips further into sleep.

The soft tones of her voice are the last things he hears before the blackness takes over again.

"Sleep, Dad. I love you."

An hour has passed since Alexis had come back into the waiting room to trade places with her grandmother, hope and elation coursing off her in waves as she'd shared the happy news of another brief period of Castle being awake. Martha's own visit with him had been decidedly less exciting, seeing as he'd slept through the whole thing, but the matriarch had still returned with her own mood lifted.

And now Kate finds herself glued to the tile floor outside his room, staring through the window as she studies his still form. He's still asleep, his face tilted toward the door, features relaxed, and if she didn't know better, wasn't standing in this white, sterile hallway, she might almost believe that he's just taking a nap.

But she does know better.

And if she looks hard enough, she can see the tubes trailing out from under his hospital gown, the fluids that are being pumped from his lungs to aide in the healing process traveling steadily through each transparent line. She can hear the steady beat of his heart monitor, see the drip of his IV delivering necessary saline and pain medication, the puffy skin on his face, and the dark circles under his eyes.

It's not just a nap. Not just a time to close his eyes and rest his head.

"You can go in, you know."

Tearing her gaze away from him, Kate turns to her left to find the nurse - Meg - standing there, a sympathetic but encouraging smile on her face.

"I know," Kate says, clenching and unclenching her fists to gather up the courage to actually push through the door, to step foot into his personal space once more.

"It's hard when they look like that. Covered in tubes and swollen from all the damage and surgery. But he's going to survive. He will recover. This part is only temporary."

Nodding, Kate looks back through the window, studying the planes and valleys of his face, the flop of dark hair over his forehead, and the brush of his lashes against his cheeks. He really is a beautiful man.

"I know."

She reaches for the door handle, squeezing the cool metal as she pushes the door open, and, stepping through, she shuts it behind her, allowing the cocoon of the room to envelop her, locking the rest of the world away.

It's peaceful. Standing near to him after feeling so disconnected all day, since the moment the ambulance had driven away, crumbles the anxiety that's been on her shoulders, the relief and physical evidence easing the tension in her muscles.

He's safe now.

He's going to be okay.

And she has to cover her mouth to contain the sob of joy that is bubbling up her throat. Tears blur her vision, but she blinks them away, swallowing them down as she takes the necessary steps to his bedside. There's no need for more tears. Not anymore.

She's here. He's here. And that's all that matters.

Sitting into the chair that's been pulled up next to him, she tentatively reaches for his hand, pausing once to shoot her gaze back up to his face, wondering if she has the right to touch him. If she should or shouldn't.

She doesn't know him, hasn't earned the physical breach, but the need to hold his hand, to feel the warmth of his skin cradled in her own is too much and she reaches for him anyway.

His hand is large against her small ones, his fingers thick and strong, nails trimmed and neat. He's a writer, typing away at a keyboard all the time so of course he keeps his nails under control, but the feel of him, the weight of him is so right that it takes her breath away. She traces each of his fingers with her own, laying her palm flat against his when he twitches.

"Hi."

She startles at the gruff sound of his voice, pulling her hands from his and tucking them under her thighs as she looks up. Her fingertips tingle with the loss of him, but she ignores it, clearing her throat before she speaks.

"Hi, Mr. Castle. How… How are you feeling?"

His eyes are so blue, the color rich and warm, and she struggles against it, against him and the way he makes her heart beat faster with nothing more than a look. Who is this man and where the hell did he come from?

"Like I got shot."

The laugh that forces its way out is accidental, and her eyes widen at her own insensitivity. Good job, Kate. Really knocking it out of the park with this one.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"It's fine."

He smiles, but doesn't say anything more. She doesn't either, but she can't look away when his focus remains on her. His eyes roam over her face, and she lets it happen, lets him look because she can't find the will to stop him. Doesn't want him to stop.

"I'm glad you're okay. I was…worried."

"Thanks."

He's quiet again, unmoving in his half-reclined hospital bed except for the gentle expanding and contracting of his chest as he breathes, and that's when she realizes, when the truth sets in, when her heart stops not for the first time today.

It shouldn't hurt like this. It shouldn't crack her open and steal her ability to take in air, but it does anyway.

She knows the answer already, can see it in his eyes, in the lack of emotion, the lack of connection. She knows, but she has to ask.

"Mr. Castle, do you remember what happened? Do you remember…"

Do you remember me?

His eyes dip closed like he's trying to think, trying to sort through his memories, but when they open again, there is no clarity, no recognition.

"No. Alexis said it's Friday? The last thing I remember is Wednesday."

She nods, letting the disappointment sit heavy in her gut for a moment before she pushes it to the side. It's better this way, easier to walk away like she'd intended.

"Can I ask…" He pauses, his eyebrows furrowed, and she waits, giving him the chance to sort out his question. "As much as I love waking up to find a gorgeous woman at my bedside, holding my hand… I'm sorry, but who are you?"

And there it is. He's gone. That man from yesterday, the one digging his way under her skin, taking a sledgehammer to the walls around her heart and mind, is lost, and the confirmation leaves her reeling. It shouldn't, but it does.

She finally drops her gaze, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Time to get it together, to do this the way she's supposed to, and she gathers herself before looking back at him. He's waiting, just continuing to study her, and she pulls strength from the unfamiliarity written into the lines of his face, the small curve of his lips.

"Captain Kate Beckett, NYPD. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Castle. Again."

"Captain? You're a cop?"

"I am."

"Wow. Sexy."

His whole being lights up with that knowledge, and she has to fight the urge to roll her eyes as he continues.

"So, how do we know each other then?"

"It's…"

She huffs, unsure of how much more consciousness he's got left and how much detail she wants to get into right now. Or ever, for that matter. If he doesn't remember then she probably shouldn't mention all the things he's said to her over the last two days, everything he's made her feel. Stick to the basics. That's what's best. That's what'll get her out of this in the least painful way so she can get back to her life and leave him to his.

"You've been helping a pair of my detectives on a case, and you were shot during the final takedown of the suspects. I'm so sorry, Mr. Castle. I never intended to put you in harm's way like this."

"Hmm."

He rests his head back against his pillow, face pointed toward the ceiling, and closes his eyes. Her fingers itch to reach out, to trace through the hair on his forehead, pushing it out of the way, but she can't do it. She can't give into the urge to touch him again. Not now. Not ever.

Walking away before he falls asleep is the only way, the only choice she has left.

"I wish you well in your recovery, Mr. Castle, but I have to go now."

His eyes blink open, his gaze hazy and unfocused as he nods.

"Goodbye, Kate."

And then he's out, breathing slow and steady, body limp in the bed. But she stays in the chair, her feet choosing now to ignore the commands to move coming from her brain, and she counts his heartbeats one by one until a gentle knock on the door breaks her trance.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but your time is up," Meg says, her voice leaving no room for negotiation.

Standing, Kate takes one last look at him, committing him to memory.

"Goodbye, Mr. Castle."

She whispers the words, releasing them and him into the universe. She won't see him again. Won't feel the heat of his gaze on her, won't hear his voice as he says the three words she knows she won't ever be whole enough to deserve, words that were never meant for her.

She'll miss him. That's a fact. But missing people is nothing new, nothing she can't handle, so she turns her back on him, on the possibility of what could have been, and follows Meg from the room.

The door clicking shut behind her knocks the last of her loose bricks back into place. Those he'd beaten and battered without lifting a hand over the last two days, forcing her to feel the sunlight for the first time in years, and now she's crawling back into the darkness, settling behind her walls in the only way she knows how.

She's surviving, just like he will.