A/N: So this is it. Final chapter. Be warned, there's a bit more cheese in here than in the rest of the story, but where else to place it if not the end? :P
In other things, I want to express special thanks to my very dedicated and patient beta reader, who never once complained about the kind of mistakes (like typos) I made, no matter how stupid they were. And without whom this story would have some little holes that I never even noticed. So, this is for you, Christine. Thanks a bunch, you're the best. :)
If you like, go check out her profile: ~WriteChristineR
And now, concluding the probably longest author's note I've written for this story: have a good read.
It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right
I hope you had the time of your life
For a long minute, nobody moved. Beckett and Ryan stood perfectly still, their guns still trained on Garving's body. Castle's right hand was frozen on its way to returning the phone to the pocket of his coat, his eyes wide. About two feet to his left, the bullet from Garving's single shot stuck in the wall.
Beckett's heels clacked loudly on the wooden floor as she walked around the desk and, using a handkerchief that lay on the desktop, extracted the gun from the dead man's hand. She laid both on the desk before she reached out and felt his neck for a pulse.
She knew that it must have looked ridiculous, considering the holes in his forehead and right cheek, upper chest and stomach, but with someone like him, she was willing to expect anything. Well, anything short of a rising from the dead. In any case, the absence of a heartbeat gave her a bit of comfort.
She shook her head, straightening. "He's dead."
Slowly, Ryan lowered his gun, but still kept it at his side. Castle, finally regaining his bearings, completed the motion that he'd seemed to have been stuck in, placing his phone in his pocket before clearing his throat.
"That's it? It's over?" he asked, as though he couldn't quite believe it.
Beckett couldn't manage to contain a chuckle at the slightly plaintive sound of his voice.
"What?" she asked. "Wasn't that conclusion dramatic enough for New York's number one mystery writer?"
"I don't know," he returned, "but it does seem a little… simple, for a case like this."
"Oh, so you would've liked it more complicated then?"
"Yes… No… Just a little less straightforward, more… sophisticated, you know?"
Fortunately for him, she did know. Or at least she knew him well enough to not take his words too seriously. Not the least bit seriously, actually. She let out a small laugh.
"Can't have everything, Castle."
He huffed a breath. "I know. It's a shame… But I am glad that it's over now."
"Not quite," said Ryan, "you're forgetting the heck load of paperwork we'll have with this one."
"Yeah, and–" Castle began, but just then the radio in Ryan's pocket beeped.
The detective quickly took it out, releasing the "permanent transmission"-button.
"Everything alright in there?" asked Lieutenant McDuff. "You lot seem awfully merry."
"All's peachy," Ryan replied, pressing the "speak"-button on the device. "But I'm afraid we'll need CSU in here."
"Gonna be a while until they get here," the Lieutenant said. "You want us to stick around?"
Ryan shot Beckett a questioning look, and she took the radio from him.
"I'd appreciate that, Lieutenant," she said. "The house is big, not to mention to grounds around it, and I'd just feel a little better if I knew someone was keeping their eyes open."
"Alright, Detective," came the reply. "Anything else?"
"No," she said. "Just send CSU in when they get here. Oh, and tell them to bring a lot of bags and boxes."
"Roger."
As she put the radio in the pocket of her coat, Castle started glancing around uneasily.
"What is it, Castle?" she asked.
He frowned, looking at her. "What about that butler guy?"
"What–" she began, then her eyes widened. The butler. We totally forgot about the butler.
Now she remembered the tall, athletic looking man in the gray suit who had opened the door and let them in, telling them that Garving was in his study on the upper floor. She'd taken stock of him in passing, but had been too focused on the confrontation with Garving to really appreciate his presence. Now that she thought about it, she had to admit that he hadn't really looked like the typical butler, but more like…
"Kate!" Castle shouted.
She whirled around to face him, and in the same moment she felt more than she heard a bullet racing past her, missing her head only by a few inches. Her head moved further in the direction the shot had come from–the door, she noticed. She brought up her gun, but then Castle was in front of her, his big hands grabbing her shoulders as he tackled her.
Another shot went off, and she felt a shock travel through Castle and onto her just before she crashed down on her side. She struggled against his weight keeping her down and barely registered the two following shots. Only when silence settled over the room, she realized that Ryan had fired. She heard feet moving toward the door, then something being kicked across the wooden floor. Moments later, Ryan was kneeling next to her, his face hovering next to hers. And Castle's, she noticed.
"Hey, are you alright?" Ryan asked.
"I'm fine," she replied automatically. "Was it…"
"…the butler?" he finished her question. "Yep. Emphasis on was."
She tried to shift out from under Castle's arms. "It's alright, Castle," she told him. "You can let go now."
But Castle didn't respond. She shoved his shoulder. "Castle." Still no response. "Castle! Come on, this isn't funny." Nothing. Worry crept into her voice. "Castle?"
She wriggled around and managed to get her free hand up. Brushing the hair from his forehead, she searched his face. His eyes were closed, but she felt air rushing out of his nose in a regular pattern, and he was actually close enough that she could feel his chest expanding and deflating with every breath he took. She brought her hand to his neck, taking his pulse, and was relieved to find it strong and steady. So far he didn't show any sign of injury, if one discounted his unconsciousness.
"Ryan, take his head," she said.
"What?"
"I don't want to risk jostling his head, in case he's hurt his back," she explained. "And I can't really get both of my hands up."
"Ah, right," Ryan replied, moving around them. He set his gun down on the floor before he carefully slipped one arm under Castle's head, taking hold of his shoulder with his free hand.
"On three," Beckett said. "One, two–"
Before she could say "three", Castle let out a low groan. His brow creased and he clenched his eyes a little tighter shut than before, then slowly blinked them open.
Beckett held her breath.
"Ow," Castle muttered, the hand keeping Beckett trapped flying to his back.
She took the chance and wriggled out from under him. Ryan still kept one hand on Castle's shoulder to balance him, but pulled the other out from under the writer's head.
Castle groaned again, subtly arching his back. "I never thought that getting shot hurt like that," he said. His eyes searched Beckett's. "I think I've found a whole new appreciation for your toughness." His hand came up from his back, a little object held between his thumb and finger. "Bless the Kevlar," he added with a small grin.
A beat of silence passed between the three friends before they burst out laughing. It was as if they'd known that things hadn't been completely over with just Garving dead, but now they relaxed and let go of all the tension that had built up inside of them over the last couple of days.
Beckett was on her knees. With one arm wrapped around her stomach, she braced herself with the other as she drew shuddering breaths between bouts of laughter.
Ryan was sitting back on his heels, head leaning back, casting his laughter toward the ceiling.
Castle was on his hands and knees, laughing and heaving breaths like a child that had just survived a merciless tickle war.
They calmed down after a few minutes, and Beckett and Ryan helped Castle back to his feet.
"You should still get checked out," Ryan said, indicating Castle's back. "You'll probably get a big bruise."
The writer winced. "Feels like I've got one already."
Beckett punched him lightly in the arm. "Quit whining." She gave him a level stare. "And never do that again. 'Kay?"
He returned her stare, his only response being the unspoken question in his eyes.
Ryan cleared his throat. "I'll, ah, be outside, if you guys need a moment."
"Yeah, thanks," Beckett said, not breaking eye contact with Castle.
She waited until she heard Ryan reaching the bottom of the stairs before she spoke again.
"Thank you."
"Always."
"You didn't have to, you know? I'm wearing a vest too, in case you've forgotten."
He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. After a long moment of silence, he looked away, then walked over to the windows. The daylight had almost completely died away now, but there were no clouds, and the moon was clearly visible, casting a silver light upon the water. Waves lapped at the beach, falling back into the sea before they returned with new force. They were completely oblivious to what had happened only minutes ago inside this house, and they wouldn't have cared about either of the possible outcomes.
She joined him, looking out beside him. For a while neither spoke.
"You don't know how it was", Castle finally said, breaking the silence. "Seeing the flash from the rifle… twice… and still being too late." He sighed. "When you were back, I promised myself that I would never be too late again."
She was stunned. Really, truly stunned and at a complete loss for words. She knew that he blamed himself, just like she would had the roles been reversed. But hearing him say it like this, accompanied by the haunted look in his eyes that he now turned on her, was something entirely different than intellectually knowing. For the first time, she began to truly appreciate what her shooting had put him through.
Still unsure of what to say, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. She tried to smile at him, but by the sad look on his face it didn't come out as she intended. After a minute of silence, he raised his free hand to cover hers.
Finally, she found some words, though as she said them, she was absolutely positive that those were not the words she should've been saying.
"Are you sure you're fine? I mean, you were unconscious, so you must have banged your head pretty hard… You could have a concussion."
"Nah, I'm fine," he replied, "no blurry vision and no trouble focusing." He looked directly into her eyes. "Nope, no trouble focusing at all."
She blushed slightly. Stupid, she thought, just stupid. Think, Kate. And then she knew just what she needed to say.
She cleared her throat. No, she was not ready, not whole enough yet; she knew that. But she also knew that she was never going to be anywhere near whole enough if she didn't start healing properly. And that meant she needed to acknowledge what had happened. Esposito had told her that being damaged didn't make her weak, not unless she let it. And he'd been right. She had embraced the experience, made it a full part of her, and it had made her stronger. Not fine, but stronger.
But there was still more. There was still part of that day, that moment, that she had kept buried, hidden away as deep as she could, just so she wouldn't have to look at it. So that it wouldn't complicate her life. On an intellectual level, she knew that that was not the right way to deal with it. She knew that she wouldn't be able to move forward as long as she held onto that, held part of her past back. On an emotional level, her insecurities, her fears, had won out and kept the secret there. Until now.
Now she had faced an almost identical situation, but the outcome had, for all purposes, been reversed. For a short moment, she knew she had felt the same dread that he had half a year ago. And she couldn't really imagine living with that dread being so close to realized, and then having to keep it bottled up. Because she hadn't wanted to talk about it, hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.
Stop blaming yourself, she chided. You had your reasons. And besides, what's done… is done. She drew a deep breath. All you can do now is try to make up for it.
For a moment, she considered looking out of the window instead of at him, but dismissed that thought immediately. She wasn't going to chicken out now.
"Castle, there is… something… I need to tell you."
He just looked at her, displaying curiosity and maybe a little confusion in his eyes.
She went on, "The day… of my shooting… I remember it." She made sure to capture his gaze with hers before she said the next words. "All of it."
He sucked in a breath, but remained quiet.
"I–I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say here, Castle, but…" She swallowed. You can do this, Kate, she thought. No, I can do this.
"I'm through talking in riddles, and… and hidden meanings. I thought that… that being vague and not really saying what I mean to say would help me, make it easier for me to talk about things, you know? But the thing is… it doesn't. Not really, anyway. I feel… safer… when I don't say it out loud, but at the same time, I'm just treading water. I'm standing still, not moving forward. Not… I'm not healing that way. Not if I keep trying to deny what has happened. And that's exactly what I've been doing for the past six months."
He was still looking at her curiously, probably trying to figure out where she was heading. Although she thought that he knew well enough where this was going. He was the writer after all, the one who dealt in subtext and double entendre for a living.
"I've been avoiding it, I tried not to think about it, because it hurt. At first everything hurt, everything that reminded me of that day. Gradually it became better, but only in so far as I got better at blocking it out. It took me long enough to figure that out, and even longer to accept it. Hell, I'm not sure I really, completely accept it now, but I know that I should. And I know that I can only really heal if I acknowledge everything that has happened, even if that hurts for a while. Pain is part of the healing, or so I've heard…"
Hurts? Pain? he thought. He'd been positively curious before, but he couldn't deny that her words scared him. For a brief moment he was wondering if she was aware that she was hardly doing any better than four months before on the swings.
She had the ability to evoke the greatest, most perfect images in his head just by being around him, which was the reason he'd "picked" her as his muse. That, and that he was fascinated by her personality. Now, however, the words she said to him only served to conjure up visions of dread. All he could think of was that he had misunderstood her, that she didn't really reciprocate his feelings for her, and that her knowledge of them was causing the pain she was speaking of now.
She could see his expression change, and she recognized the one that was taking over from experience. It was the one that she probably hated the most: the dread that appeared on someone's face once they realized that she was going to deliver them the worst news of their life.
She was unsure what it meant, but she was about to come to the core of her whole speech, and she was going to say it. If she wasn't doing it now, she figured, then she wouldn't ever do it.
"The only part that's left, that I've avoided until now, is what you said to me, Castle." She took as deep a breath as she could, hoping with all her might that he hadn't changed his mind, that she hadn't taken too long to make this choice. "You said that you loved me."
He deflated before her eyes, his face going through a strange mixture of falling a little further and lighting up at the same time. He squeezed her hand, opening and closing his mouth a few times, not finding the right words to reply to this.
Oh, he was happy, alright. Happy that she remembered, happy that she trusted him with it. He knew that opening up this much could not have been easy for her, and he appreciated it. But all the same, another part of him twisted in pain with the emotions on her face, the fear in her eyes, whose cause he could only guess at, mixed in with his own memories of the shooting. In a way, he realized, he had done just the same over the summer. He'd buried himself in his writing, poured everything in there, and then he rewrote the ending. He still wished he could have done so in reality.
She was scared now. Really scared, because she had no idea what the conflicting expressions on his face meant. Had he meant it then, but didn't he love her any more? She swallowed against the lump in her throat. She'd stared down the barrel of a gun, quite literally, a number of times and she had conquered her fear then. So she damn well could do the same now.
"I… I'm not whole, yet, Castle. I'm better than I was when I came back, but I'm still far from being whole. I'm far from the point where I trust myself to handle a… change… in our relationship. But I promise you that I'll be working on it, and if you're willing to–if you still want me, then… then I'll say it back, one day."
Now he smiled, truly smiled, his face threatening to split with the width of his grin. Gone were the confusion, and the pain, and in their stead was happiness. Happiness at his luck, at the knowledge that she, on some level at least, returned his feelings for her. At the promise that one day, she would fully do so. But most of all, he was blissfully happy to be here with her, both of them alive and well. The physical part, at least.
Slowly, while watching his smile grow wider and wider, her own lips quirked, then pushed her cheeks out of the way. Sure, she would have liked him to say it again, tell her that he still wanted her, but then, she thought, the way he smiled at her was confirmation enough that his feelings for her had not lessened in the least.
If that alone makes me feel this… good… inside, she reflected, then how's it gonna be when I'm ready for the real thing?
…
"Damn cops," Smith cursed, slamming his fist on the desk. Everything was always black and white to them, just victims and suspects. In his eyes, they all lacked a sense for the bigger picture, for delicacy and politics.
Word of Garving's death had reached him in the early morning hours. The police had managed to keep the press out of the loop–or, actually, completely oblivious to what had happened–so far, which was the only slightly positive aspect about the situation, from his point of view. Everything else was a complete mess.
If they'd just kept their noses out of the case for now, he'd have been able to set his backup plan in motion… The final result would have likely been the same for Garving, because Smith would have made sure that Beckett went to confront him. For Smith, though, the result would have been completely different. Given six, maybe twelve months, he'd have been able to obtain enough information about some of Garving's key operations to contact his old employers and let them take care of things. That would have been preferable.
But with the news of Garving's death about to leak to the public in less than two days–he had no faith in the NYPD's capability of controlling the press–he knew that the people overseeing the operations would go off-grid. At least for a while. Consolidate their own, limited power and then resurface, maybe a year from now. Maybe in a different location, or maybe they were going to return to where they were now. In any case, they would be loath to work together, so anyone trying to get to them all would have a hard time.
Unless someone stepped into the void that Garving had left, to try to keep it all together. Alone, Smith had no idea who would be capable of doing that. He had seen Garving several times, and was sure that it was only thanks to the man's dominant and ruthless personality that his little shadow empire had existed for so long.
Smith sighed. Beckett and her colleagues might be celebrating victory and the closure of the single most important case of her life now, but they had no idea what their intervention had kicked off. And if things were going his way from now on, they never would. Sometimes, like now, he envied their ignorance.
How nice their lives must be, he thought, sighing as he pulled a couple of papers from a folder.
…
As Rick Castle unfolded the newspaper on Saturday morning, he only skimmed the front page, seeing as he already knew every detail about the story. The NYPD's press statement was surprisingly terse, giving barely more facts than Garving's background and that, during a routine interview, there had been a shooting, in the course of which Garving and his "housekeeper" had been killed by NYPD detectives. Not a word about what the investigation was about or how Garving was involved in it.
Naturally, the journalists were speculating wildly.
He didn't care much about that, though. He knew the truth.
Over the previous day, Beckett had kept him up to speed about every bit of development in closing the case.
Anthony Preston had been found dead in his hospital room around half past ten on Thursday night. The doctors had been unable to determine a cause of death, but the following autopsy hadn't turned up any hint of an unnatural death, so the official report listed "heart failure" as COD.
There had been no evidence of any kind in the house in the Hamptons, and Garving's apartment in Washington was outside of the NYPD's jurisdiction. That had been the subject of a rather animated conversation with Beckett on Friday afternoon, or rather how the case was being packaged to be handed over to the FBI. She had been very reluctant to let go of it, but eventually he'd managed to convince her that it was probably for the best. Garving was dead, and they knew that it had been him who'd ordered the hit on her mom. That is, they had no irrefutable proof that it had really been him, but all the evidence they had pointed to him and after the events at his beach house, neither of them doubted it. Leave it to the FBI to draw the missing lines between New York and Washington.
Beckett hadn't gone into further detail about what she'd told Gates concerning Karl Weston's identity. Castle assumed that she'd made something up, but even he couldn't come up with a convincing story, much less one that he believed Gates would buy. However, considering that Beckett hadn't been kicked out of the precinct and no uniforms had come to haul him in for an interrogation with the captain, he guessed that the story must have been good.
It had been a little weird for him, not being at the precinct for a whole day in this situation. It wasn't like he usually engaged in the wrap-up paperwork that had to be done for every closed case–he rarely ever did that. But in this case he had wanted to be there. He'd wanted to see this through until the end. Not to mention wanting to see Beckett. After hearing her confession, knowing that she knew how he felt and having her promise that she was working to reach a point where she could really be with him, it was the hardest thing in the world to not be around her.
But she had convinced him to stay home. To say that Gates was edgy was a gross understatement. Castle couldn't–and didn't want to–imagine the pressure that she had been getting from all sides. He wondered what was worse, that or being hassled by Gina when he was half a book behind with a week until the deadline.
In any case, he had seen the reason behind staying out of Gates' way, considering that she wasn't too fond of him in the beginning. He did not want to be on the receiving end of her temper.
And maybe the little distance between Beckett and him wasn't too bad in the long run.
…
She called him around four in the afternoon, telling him that the FBI had just collected the last pieces of paperwork.
"So it's really over for us now?" he asked.
"Looks like," she replied. "We've given our statements already, so there's nothing more the FBI could want from us."
"And if they find something…?" he trailed off, leaving the actual question unspoken.
"I doubt it," she said. "I talked to Agent Shaw earlier. She's been assigned to the team, apparently the feds haven't found any evidence at Garving's apartment or office over in Washington. Now she is supposed to try to find out what he could have been involved in, where he could have kept evidence and so forth."
"Sounds like a tough job," he said. "But if there's no further evidence about anything, then–"
"Don't worry," she spoke over him. "We're not in trouble. IA completed their investigations for both the shooting at the precinct and at Garving's house, and cleared Gates, Ryan and me."
"Good." He paused, thinking.
"So…" she began.
At the same moment, he said, "Listen–"
There was a beat of silence, before she said, "You go first."
"No, you go first," he replied. "I insist."
"Okay," she said, "uhm… I was wondering if you were doing anything later. I… I don't really feel like spending time in an empty apartment right now… After this."
He let out a small laugh. "Funny, I was thinking almost the same thing. Alexis, Mother and I were going to order in for dinner… Do you want to come?"
"That sounds great," she replied. She paused for a second before continuing. "Would you mind if I brought Ryan and Espo along?"
"Of course not," he said instantly. "Hey, how about we turn this into a little celebration? Ryan could bring Jenny, and you could call your dad and Lanie…"
He could hear her smile even through the phone. "Perfect. When should we come?"
"Whenever you want. I'd say we order around six, that sound okay?"
"Yeah. See you in a bit."
…
At ten minutes to six the door bell chimed for the third time that afternoon.
"That'll be Lanie," Kate said, "finally."
Castle rose from his chair, leaving his partner and Jenny to open the door.
His mother and Jim Beckett sat at the kitchen island, keeping Alexis engaged in an apparently deep (and probably philosophical) discussion. His daughter seemed to hold her ground well against the two adults, judging from the confident smile that lit up her face.
Joy filled him while he watched her, pure happiness at seeing her alive and well. He didn't want to spoil the moment by remembering the terrible few minutes in Garving's study when he felt like his world was about to come crashing down around him. But he knew that that memory was going to haunt his dreams for a while, as it had since Thursday.
Ryan and Esposito were arguing animatedly about baseball. He hadn't really been following their conversation, but they were obviously at a point of total disagreement.
"No way," Ryan said loudly. "No, Javier."
"Oh yeah," the Latino countered, "you just watch and see."
Castle reached the door and opened it. Sure enough, Lanie was on the other side, but she wasn't alone.
"Castle," she said by way of greeting, a smile playing over her lips. "Look who I found in the elevator."
"Good evening, Dr. Parish," Castle said, smiling himself, before he turned to the other arrival. "And to you, Jake. Glad you could make it."
"Thanks for calling, Rick," Jake said, extending his left hand. His right forearm was wrapped up in a thick white bandage and strapped to his chest. "I'm not supposed to move it," he explained. "Much."
"That's right," said Lanie, while Castle shook Jake's left hand. "He described the stabbing. Honestly, he was lucky that no major artery was damaged."
Jake chuckled. "Yeah, I'm really lucky."
Castle stepped aside, gesturing for the pair to enter. After he closed the door, he turned to see that Kate had made her way over to the hall. She and Lanie were just disengaging from a hug when she took in Jake.
"Good to see you, Mr. Mansfield."
"Please, call me Jake," he said, offering his left hand again. She took it.
"Jake. I'm Kate." He nodded in response. "How's the arm?"
"It'll be fine in a few weeks," he replied.
As they ambled back to the living room, Castle caught Kate's arm, gently tugging her back. She stayed, a quizzical look on her face.
"Are you okay with him here?" he asked. "I forgot to tell you, but it didn't feel right leaving him out. Even though he's not, you know, part of the 'family'…"
"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked in return. "He may not be part of 'our family', but he saved Alexis' life nonetheless. He deserves to be here, Castle. And besides," she added after a moment, her eyes flashing strangely, "I kinda like him."
He knew he shouldn't ask, but he did anyway. At least he thought to temper the question with a grin. "Should I be worried?"
"How long have you known me, Castle?" She caught his hand, squeezing once. "I keep my promises."
Getting everyone seated around one table was practically impossible, so they ended up lugging the desk from Castle's study over to the dining area, arranging it end-to-end with the dining table. Procuring Castle and Alexis' desk chairs as well as one chair from each Martha's and the guest room, they managed to seat everyone, too.
They finished just in time for the food.
It was, as Alexis cheerfully informed the group, a "real Castle order-in-feast."
Which meant that there was everything, and lots of it.
Still, somehow Ryan and Esposito managed to get into a squabble over the spring rolls, at least until Lanie broke them up by snatching the second container from the other side of the table.
Jake took a slice of pepperoni pizza. Castle got up and went to the island, returning moments later with a glass of chillies. Kate chuckled as he offered them to her, but she declined. Jake took some, spreading them over his pizza.
When everyone had something on their plates and drinks in their glasses, Castle cleared his throat and stood.
"I'm sure you're all hungry, so I'll keep this short. You know what happened over the last week, so I won't bore you with recounting that, either."
"Hear, hear," Alexis interjected. "Are you losing faith in your incredible storytelling skills, dad?"
He narrowed his eyes at her in response. "What I mean is, the last week has been taxing and it ended with a bang. But at least it was a good bang. Sort of. Anyway, to get to the point… Now that the man who was responsible for Kate's mom's murder is gone, we can relax. Just for a moment. And while we do that – " he picked up his glass – "we should take a moment and remember those that are missing around this table. Those that, if it weren't for him, would be sitting here with us." He let his gaze wander around the table, locking eyes with everyone for a moment. He raised his glass and everyone stood, mimicking him. "To absent friends," he said, his words echoed in murmurs.
"I'd like to say something, too," said Kate. She paused for a moment, gathering her courage. "What ended – what ended on Thursday was the reason I became a cop. But I think I've… come a long way in those thirteen years. And a lot of that is thanks to you. Every one of you." She swallowed and looked down, but couldn't prevent a lone tear from trailing down her cheek. When she looked up again, a smile graced her lips. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… I miss my mom, and I always will, but I'm still glad to be here and to be able to call you my friends." She chuckled, then locked eyes with her father. "Mom would throw a fit if she were here," she said softly. "She'd tell me to stop living in the past, to start looking forward and get on with my life."
Jim nodded, his expression caught somewhere between serious, astounded and maybe a little bit happy. He managed a smile. "Yes, she would."
Kate cleared her throat. "To life, in all of its facets. And to living it."
She shared a look with Castle, and they clinked their glasses together, smiling.
A/N (the second): hope you enjoyed it. I hate to bother you, but I'd like to know how this ending sits with you. You'd be doing me a favor if you could give me a line or two (or more, if you please) of feedback about it. :)