In From The Cold

Chapter 5
Resurrection

Castle's whole world came crashing down. Or did it simply implode. It didn't matter. The effect was the same. He stared at the woman standing right in front of him, lost in a state of shock and discombobulation. How could he have been so blind? The truth of it was, quite literally, staring him in the face. He felt like such a fool. When he looked past the blonde hair and really looked at her, it was painfully obvious that Nicole Brennon was really Katherine Houghton Beckett. The glasses and hair weren't really that good of a disguise.

Just how could he have missed it?

"Kate?" he stammered out, recoiling, like he'd just seen a ghost. And in a way, he had. Kate Beckett was supposed to be dead. He distinctly remembered being in the hospital when it happened. Josh—her cardiac surgeon boyfriend—had come out of the operation room to tell them. Castle vividly recalled their encounter. Dr. Davidson had blamed him for her death. His hand went to his jaw at the memory.

You pushed her to look into her mother's murder!

She was shot because of you.

And Josh had been right. He had reopened Johanna Beckett's case. If it hadn't been for him poking around where his nose didn't belong, then none of that would have happened. But… his eyes blinked, returning him to the present. He frowned, staring in disbelief at the beautiful woman standing right in front of him. Alive. Kate Beckett was alive!

How?

"Beckett? Is that… are you real?" he questioned in a wavering voice, struggling to retain his sanity. He closed his eyes, inhaling a deep breath in hope of centering himself. When he opened them, she was still there, standing right in front of him. His brow furrowed. "This… this can't be real? Can it? I'm dreaming, right? Please, tell me I'm dreaming."

Nicole—No, Kate… Kate Beckett—took a step forward and, after a moment's hesitation, cautiously reached up to cup his face in her hands.

"I'm sorry, Castle," she said, and this time he recognized it—truly recognized her voice. It was her. It was Kate Beckett. "I'm so sorry. And no, this isn't a dream." And then, as if to prove it, she pushed up on her toes and captured his lips in a soft and gentle kiss.

He stood stock still, not knowing how to react. From the profound pounding in the center of his chest and the warmth of her breath caressing his cheek as she drew back, Castle knew that this was no dream. It was very much real. He was still trying to grasp ahold of this new reality, when Beckett started speaking again.

"I wanted to tell you," she claimed as her hands shifted to his shoulders.

It didn't seem she was able to let him go. Her fingers curled tightly into the material of his jacket, clutching at him, almost desperately so. Soon she started to ramble, unable to stop talking. If he wasn't so disoriented by her sudden resurrection, he might have found her rambling cute.

"I'm so sorry, Castle. I wanted to tell you," she repeated. "But I couldn't. There's a reason why. And I know that's a poor excuse, simply to say there's a reason and not explain. But… God, Castle, you don't know how difficult it was, how… lonely it's been. I… I'm just sorry. So very sorry. You have no idea just how sorry I am; how much guilt I've had to carry over the past three years. But they told me I couldn't and I—"

"They?" Castle gently nudged her away from him, and took a step back to create more distance between them. He shook his head in dismay and uncertainty. He felt swindled, betrayed, furious, outraged—a combination of all of the above. He stared into the eyes of the woman he'd met at the bar, seeing another person; seeing someone he'd once thought dead. He just didn't understand any of it. He felt dizzy with it. "Who are they, Beckett?"

"The FBI," Beckett answered.

"I think I need to sit down," Castle murmured. He swayed around her and plopped down on the edge of the bed. He bent forward, putting his head between his knees as he took several deep breaths.

She remained standing, arms wrapped around her middle in an almost protective manner. He glanced up at her when he was more settled, eyebrows knitted together as he attempted to reconcile what was the truth with what he had once believed to be so.

He shook his head. "I don't understand. We were told you died during surgery. Cardiac arrest, if I remember correctly."

She gave a gentle nod. "I did go into cardiac arrest, yes," she confirmed. "But Dr. Kovaks was able to revive me."

Castle frowned. "But… but Josh? He said they tried everything they could to save you, but they couldn't. You… he saw you die on the operating table."

He stared up at Beckett, challenging her to refute what he'd just said.

"I'm sorry, Castle, but I honestly don't know all the details," she claimed. He didn't know if he believed her. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that she was actually alive. "What I do know is that the FBI somehow arranged for it to appear like I died. They needed people to think I was dead."

"Why?" Castle asked. "Why do such a thing? Not just to me, Ryan and Esposito… Lanie… but to your father." His voice cracked as his vision grew watery. "Do you have any idea how hard that hit him; to lose his only daughter to the same monsters that took his wife?"

Beckett stared at him for a long moment before sitting down next to him. She looked like she wanted to touch him, to offer some sort of comfort, but she held back, recognizing that now was not the time.

"I didn't know," she said. "When I woke up in the hospital after I was shot, I was greeted by an FBI agent, Brent Culpepper. He explained what was going on and that this deception was crucial to a big corruption case he was working. At the time, I was still heavily medicated, and a little disoriented. So it's still kind of fuzzy, even now. But to make a long story short—"

"Too late," Castle interjected, earning a small, somewhat relieved, smile from her. Humor; He'd always used it as a coping mechanism in times of stress. "Sorry, continue."

Beckett nodded. "I was placed in witness protection almost immediately."

He held up a hand to stop her. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't they need your consent to do that?" he questioned.

"Let's just say Agent Culpepper wasn't exactly following procedure when he set this all up," Beckett explained. "He'd been working this case for a while and hit a lot of dead ends. Then a link popped up between his case and the one we were running. But I was shot before he could reach out."

"So this is all his fault?" Castle asked, already despising the guy for putting them all in this situation.

"Yes… and no," Beckett grimaced. "When I was lucid enough, he returned with consent forms for me to sign. And I did."

"Why?"

"It'd been a couple of days, and the damage had already been done," she shrugged. "Honestly, at that point I was just thinking how this was the best chance I had to get the bastards who were behind my mother's murder. So, I signed the forms." She paused, swallowing. "To be honest, I was naïve. I thought it would all be over in a handful of months, not three years."

Castle let out a sigh as he nodded. He didn't like it, but he understood. He could see her deciding to go along with the plan after the fact, simply for that very reason. Beckett was single-minded when it came to her mother's case. It should hurt, knowing she chose that obsession over him, but for some reason it didn't. He'd grown numb to it, Castle supposed. It was who she was. And, damn him, that was the woman he'd fallen in love with. He'd gone in head first, fully aware. There was no reason to fault her that. Kate Beckett was just being Kate Beckett. And he loved her, the complete package, including all the flaws she possessed.

"From what I remember," she went on, "I was kept in protective isolation at the hospital until I was well enough to travel. When I could be moved, Agent Culpepper returned with the US Marshals and transported me to a safe house in upstate New York where I could begin therapy. I was never alone. There was always a deputy marshal or caregiver with me at all times. It was a little unnerving."

She paused for a breath. Castle kept his mouth shut. This was one of the few times in his life when he didn't feel the need to interrupt. He stared down at the rich carpeting, studying the intricate pattern as he waited for Beckett to continue with her story.

"Getting better, it was a bitch," she said with a slight watery chuckle. He glanced up in time to see her hurriedly wipe at her eyes. She sniffled a bit and dropped her hands into her lap. "Struggle was my constant companion. It took a lot of work to get back into shape. If things had been different, I don't know how I would have managed." She shook her head and let out a dry laugh. "Alone, probably. My Dad, he'd try to help me—you would, too—but, I'd probably push both you away, wanting to do it on my own. Be independent."

Castle nodded. From everything he knew about Kate Beckett, that sounded accurate. It amazed him, though, that she actually admitted it.

"Needless to say, I got better," Beckett pressed on, clearly wanting to move beyond that part of the story. "Once I'd healed up enough, the US Marshals moved me again. This time to Nebraska, where I was given the name and identity of Nicole Brennon. I was told to lay low and stay out of sight. Basically, go against my very nature." She stared off into the distance, her eyes glazing over with the memories she hadn't yet shared. "It frustrated the hell out of me, having nothing to do. All I wanted to do was work the case. Agent Culpepper had said I'd be helping. But they had nothing for me. They told me to just relax, let things play out. So, for the first few weeks, I just lazed about, binge watching Nebula 9 and Temptation Lane."

He couldn't hold back the little laugh that came out at that. Beckett frowned and gave him a pointed look. Castle just shrugged his shoulders, and held up a conciliatory hand. Yet somehow having her glare at him again was comforting. It was normal.

"Sorry," he said, anything but. "I couldn't help it. Nebula 9, really?"

"What!?" she hooted in surprise, her eyes going wide. "I thought you'd like it."

"I like good sci-fi," Castle stated with a smirk, his eyes alight with amusement, at her expense. "Star Trek. Battlestar. That Joss Whedon show. But Nebula 9? No, no. It's all phony melodrama and lifeless acting."

Beckett's face fell, like he'd just kicked a puppy in front of her. If this were any other time, Castle would have attempted to lighten the mood. But he was still cross with her. She shifted, bringing a hand up to card her fingers through her blonde hair. Castle watched, brow furrowing as he observed.

"The hair?" she questioned, having noticed his intent stare.

He nodded.

"They asked me to do it," Beckett said. "Another way to hide, they said." She paused, head tilted to the side as she gazed at him, uncertain. "That argument we had in my apartment, before Montgomery—before everything else that happened—you were right about me. About a lot of things. But I was afraid. Still am." She nibbled on her bottom lip and averted her eyes. "You're angry, aren't you?"

Castle clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "You're damn right I am," he said, pushing up off the bed to pace away from her, needing some distance to allow his irritation at her actions some air to breathe. What had she expected? Did she think she could just waltz right back into his life and be welcomed with open arms? And what was this all that lying down in the bar? Why had she kept up the ruse of being Nicole Brennon?

He placed his hands on his hips and allowed himself some time to simply stew in his own thoughts. All these questions needed answers. But at the moment, he had trouble even looking at her. Keeping his gaze away from her, Castle glared at the wall. He couldn't think straight if he was looking at her, especially when he knew what little she was wearing underneath that fluffy bathrobe.

She gave him time, not pressuring him to say anything or make any decisions. She simply waited him out. He wondered if her current restraint in not pushing him was a skill she'd picked up in the interrogation room. Thinking back to the days when he had shadowed her, Castle recalled how astonished and in awe he was of her interrogation skills. He'd never seen anyone as good as her. She had been the best. It had been a pleasure to watch her work.

"I… just need some time," Castle asserted, waving a hand in the air, and moving towards the bathroom, not even bothering to look glance at her. He suspected she wasn't going anywhere.

Closing the door and locking it behind him, Castle spun towards the sink, turning the nozzle and cupping his hands under the cool gush of water streaming out. He closed his eyes and splashed his face a few times, before twisting the knob, shutting off the stream of water. Eyes still closed, he groped around for a hand towel, and padded the soft material against his face.

Lowering the cloth, Castle stared at his reflection in the mirror.

God, he looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot. He had an overall haggard appearance. And he had far too many frown lines for his liking. He shook his head, dragging his gaze away from the image he saw before him. He let out a breath of air, and scrubbed a hand down his face. He honestly didn't know what to make of any of this. There was a part of him that wanted to sing with joy that Kate Beckett was alive. But there was another part that was deeply conflicted, unsure whether or not he should trust anything that came out of her mouth. She'd spent the last three years living a lie, growing accustom to deception and duplicity.

Castle stared hard at the bathroom door, as if he could glare at her through the solid frame.

Was that woman even Kate Beckett anymore?

He glanced over at his reflection again, this time seeing a forlorn and lovesick man. Castle sighed and closed his eyes, willing the tears away. His chest clenched and he inhaled a deep breath. He still loved her. Damn him, he did. He couldn't help it. He wanted to hate her for doing this to him. The three years without her had been a living hell for him. He'd fallen, returned to a meandering existence of meaningless one-off relationships with women he cared little for. She had destroyed him. Yet, in a strange sort of way, she had also restored him. Just a few weeks ago, the love he still bore for her had given him the encouragement to better himself.

There was positives and negatives on both sides. It was complicated. But life, by its very nature, was complicated. Nothing that was ever truly worthwhile was easy. That was something he'd learn from his time with Kate Beckett.

Castle looked at himself in the mirror once more. There was still so much he didn't know; more he needed to know. And if there was one thing Castle couldn't stand, it was an unfinished story.