Chapter 2

Kate spent any free time she could piece together over the following days beside Will's hospital bed, her motivation equal parts guilt, concern, and biting curiosity. The surgery for the bullet wound had been entirely successful, routine as she'd come to understand from his doctors, though she still wasn't able to reconcile that word - routine - with anything that had happened. Her friend - well, her old-friend-then-lover-now-who-knew-what - had been shot on her case, thanks to her recklessness or lack of forethought or both. She had to face that reality. And yet, as much as her usual inclination was to sift through all the what ifs and should haves alone, there was some comfort in being around him again after all that time apart, and that was something she hadn't expected. The relief Kate felt in Will's progress and recovery overwhelmed her; each time he greeted her with a smile or cracked a stupid joke or flirted shamelessly with a nurse, there was such gratitude. Regardless of the burdensome weight of the guilt she'd placed on her own shoulders, he was still there, very much alive, by medicine or miracle, and in that was light.

But somewhere in the stew of her emotions also raged an utter exhaustion, not only because meaningful sleep had eluded her since the shooting - the sights and sounds of flying bullets aimed at her past unrelenting in their invasiveness - but also because her mind raced endlessly in the light of day, like a marathoner without a finish line, going and going, with no end in sight. She'd ordered Castle to go and he had. He'd actually listened to her, for once, done what she'd wanted. Now she just wished her brain would accept that and move on, leave her in peace.

xxxx

On the morning of his discharge from the hospital, Kate sat in the dark blue, oversized chair in Will's living room as the sound of cascading water from his shower echoed between the apartment walls like the white noise of a lost radio station, banal yet romantic in its constancy. With a slow blink she scanned the room - not a large room, by any means, but comfortable by city standards - and took a brief inventory: a pile of worn paperbacks here, a discarded tie there, a mug and a plate from some breakfast past, abandoned for reasons unknown. His place wasn't remarkably lived in, the signature of its owner not on display for all to see, but it was inarguably Will Sorenson's home to anyone who truly knew him. And Kate did know him. Well, she did once.

The suede upholstery beneath her and the still air of the room a week empty smelled of him, and Kate remembered the scent all too well - confident, strong, thoroughly masculine. It used to permeate the thread of her clothing, of her towels and sheets, not overbearingly so, rather just enough to arouse want of more. And she always did want more. Wanting more is what made the end so difficult. More was something they should've defined back then, but they didn't, and then it was too late.

It was an odd sensation for her - odd among any number of other adjectives - to find herself in his space again, surrounded by his books and ties and discarded mugs. She never expected Will would be back in her life, let alone involved in two separate cases in her city within such a short span of time. Not that he was really back in her life. Certainly in nowhere near the same way he was before Boston seduced him away. Yet there she sat in his blue suede chair, with his scent and her guilt and confusion and memories she had no idea what to do with. How strange it was that a man it seemed she might never be free of was gone and a man it seemed she might never see again was now showering in the next room.

xxxx

"I thought I'd been in love before, but I was so wrong." Will's words took her by complete surprise. She didn't hear him sneak up behind her, but she could suddenly feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

"You-were wrong?" Once the words sputtered out, Kate couldn't help but wonder if they sounded as pathetic to him as they did to her. How foolish, she'd connected invisible dots to their history.

Will dragged his fingertips lightly along her shoulder as he stepped around the chair and perched along the edge of the coffee table. He was shirtless, covered only by the towel secured at his waist, his hair straightened hastily by way of hand. "A week in that hospital and finally a real shower," he said, his words dripping with satisfaction. "If I could've found a way to make out with it, I would've."

Kate silently chastised herself again for the unwarranted leap she'd made. A noticeably delayed and awkward giggle tumbled out of her, absent any immediate worthwhile response. He really was a beautiful man. Her eyes couldn't help but drink him in, battle scar and all - her battle, his scar. "Well, I try not to judge, so I hope the two of you will be very happy," she finally replied with a faint smile. "Now, besides being in love with your shower head, how do you feel?"

"Kate, you don't need to do that. You don't need to keep asking. I feel fine. I feel good." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the aroma of clean thrust towards her with the motion of his body. "Really, Kate, you need to stop beating yourself up about this. I know how you are, I know you feel responsible, like this was your fault, but it wasn't." He reached out and brushed her knee with his fingertips, let them linger there as he continued. "Look at me, Kate." He waited until her eyes found his. "It wasn't."

"Okay," Kate agreed softly, though she knew he wouldn't believe the acquiescence any more than she did. She didn't know what else to say. Her mind was everywhere and nowhere all at once. She'd been at his place for less than an hour and she already needed to run. "Listen, I, um-I need to head over to the precinct, actually. I have a mountain of paperwork to take care of and you know what happens when I leave Ryan and Espo alone for too long." Her work was her favorite hiding place.

"You're a cop, Kate, not a nurse. Go do what you have to do. I'll be fine. I've been meaning to paint the place and rearrange the furniture, anyway. It'll be easier with one less body around."

They shared a look and a laugh. "Don't you dare. Rest, please." She pushed up out of the chair and he stood to meet her. "I'll check in later this afternoon."

He took a step toward her and leaned in, placed a lingering kiss against her cheek. "Thank you. And, look, I know this all feels complicated right now, Kate, but everything will be fine."

She didn't know why, but she wanted to reach up and touch her cheek where his lips had just been. Talk about complicated. He didn't know the half of it. "I'll talk to you," she all but whispered as she pulled open the door to go. As she closed it behind her and leaned her weight against it from the other side, she silently counted the number of days gone by since she'd talked to Castle.

Seven.

It sure didn't feel like everything was going to be fine.

xxxx

The chime of the precinct's elevator startled Kate's eyes open and she watched the doors slide open before her in what seemed like slow motion. Everything seemed to be moving slower for her, both as result of her lack of meaningful sleep over the past week and the quicksand through which it felt like she was trudging. She was stuck - stuck in the past with her mother, stuck in the present with Will, and stuck in the future without Castle - and there was no rope in sight.

Kate stepped out of the elevator and into a bull pen that felt hauntingly quiet, the exact opposite of what she needed. She needed the distraction of noise, the din of a case, the interference of the city's worst to free her of her burden, if only for a few hours. She crossed to her desk stacked high with files and dropped her messenger bag at her feet. As she rolled her chair out to sit, she turned to her team's Murder Board and released a sigh of gratitude. It was covered in colored ink, photographs, sketches, and timelines; all the elements Kate needed to create a mask of normalcy.

She shifted the stack of files off to the side of the desk and sat, and it was only then that she noticed it. Leaning there against her computer monitor was an envelope with her name on it - only her first name, and there was no address. Clearly it hadn't been mailed, but rather left there personally by someone for her to find. It wasn't until she flipped the envelope over that she found out who that someone was. On its flap were written the initials RC, and suddenly there were butterflies in her stomach. Just two letters succeeded in instantly washing away any sense of calm the sight of the Murder Board had gifted her a moment before. She held it in her hands but remained motionless, unable to move even one second forwards or backwards in time.

"He came by early this morning," Espo told her, his presence beside her desk yet another surprise. "Left that for you and took off."

"This morning?" Kate asked, as though the answer to that question held any relevance at all.

"Yeah, why?"

She looked down at the envelope in her hands again, at the RC written there. "I don't-"

She could almost feel the quicksand.