A little delayed, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Many thanks to Angie for the fabulous cover art :)

Disclaimer: All I own is a laptop and my imagination.

Concentric

She wakes tangled in the sheets, heart beating a panicked cadence in her ribcage, pain clawing at her chest. The images are hazy at best; pleading blue eyes, the crack of a rifle echoing through the silence, soft words that she's never forgotten. Everything is jumbled together behind the fog of sleep, but it's enough for her to know exactly what she'd just dreamt.

Only this time, it was Castle lying on the ground.

It's by no means the first time she's had this particular nightmare, although it hasn't happened in months.

But after today...

Next to her, Castle sleeps soundly, chest rising and falling in a deep, slow rhythm. A faded grey t-shirt covers his chest, the bruise that she knows has spread from the point of impact, an ugly splotch of black and purple marring his tender skin. They'd checked him out at the scene, assured her that no, nothing was broken, but yes, he was going to be pretty sore.

But that wasn't the point.

A sob escapes her, unbidden, and Kate hastens from the bed, a dash through the darkness for the sanctuary of the bathroom. She silently closes the door behind her, claps a hand over her mouth as she sinks back against the wood, slides to the ground.

She'd forced it back at the crime scene, suppressed it during the ride to the Old Haunt. Drinks and company and the liveliness of their celebration had pushed all thoughts of the day to the back of her mind, and the delicious buzz of champagne upon their return to the loft had successfully held the memories at bay. But here in the darkness all of that has dissipated, leaving only the stark reality of today, of how close it really was.

Another stab of pain shoots through her chest and Kate flinches, curling into it. She's okay. So is he. Just a bruise, nothing he won't recover from in a few days.

But it could have ended so differently. A single inch higher and he'd be fighting for his life in a hospital bed. Or worse.

She chokes out another sob, can't muffle the sound. He could have died.

Oh God, Castle...

Kate drops her head to her knees, allows the tears to flow, the stream from her eyes dripping onto the bare skin of her thighs as silent sobs wrack her frame. The water droplets weave their own paths across her skin, wet trails along the contours of her body. She wraps her arms around her folded legs, but it doesn't help because she's alone in the bathroom and Castle is in bed with a bruise from a bullet on his chest and she feels so tiny, so frail and helpless against it all.

He could have died.

It's minutes before the tears gradually slow and her breathing begins to stabilize. Her chest is still tight, fear and pain and love and everything in between compressing her heart and lungs. Kate finds herself awash with an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia, feels utterly paralyzed by the intensity of her emotions.

Slowly, shakily, she rises. She crosses to the sink on tentative legs and turns on the tap, watches as the water flows from the faucet, spatters against the porcelain bowl and swirls down the drain. The cool liquid is palliative when she splashes it over her skin, hoping to wash away the tear tracks smeared across her cheeks.

No amount of water, however, is sufficient to hide the redness rimming her tired eyes.

She's standing in front of the mirror in just her pajamas, neckline of her shirt pulled down with her right hand, index finger of her left tracing the raised circle of marred skin nestled between her breasts. It's fainter now, more pink than red, and the rough edges have smoothed over with time. It's still there, still visible to the eye and recognizable by touch; it always will be. But it's faded, just like the memories of that day.

Until today.

The door cracks open behind her, and Castle's figure appears in shadow. Even in the dim light she can see his eyes on her in the mirror, following the reflection of her finger as it maps the familiar blemish. Her engagement ring catches the light, a dizzying array of coruscating diamonds shining back at them in the mirror.

"Kate," he rasps, drawing nearer. As he approaches, he can see the tears that linger. The liquid reflects in the pale light, but he can see through it, can see how her beautiful green eyes are haunted. "Hey," he consoles as he steps up behind her. He doesn't reach out, though, doesn't make contact. But he's there, his solid form looming behind her in a gesture of love and support. If she needs him.

She breaks then, folding in on herself, twisting around and curling into his side. His arms rise of their own volition, seeking her, wrapping around her and holding her close. Fresh tears slip from the corners of her eyes and her shoulders shudder gently beneath his touch. His left hand trails over her arm, a rhythmical sweeping motion, as his right raises to cup the side of her head, fingers weaving into her hair.

Castle presses a kiss to the top of her head, closes his eyes and focuses on projecting an aura of calm. He doesn't know what exactly is bothering her, though he has a fairly good idea. But he also knows that he won't get anything out of her until she's had a chance to work through it on her own.

And if a hug and some time is what she needs, he's more than happy to provide.

He's cradling her to him like a precious thing, and somehow the tenderness of the gesture makes it worse, elevates the reality of all that could have been lost today. Paragraphs of words are lodged in her throat, all of them yearning for an exit but none seeming sufficient for this particular scenario.

It's a long moment before she speaks, and when she does the words are barely a whisper. "You died."

"What?"

"In my dream," she clarifies. "You died, Castle."

"Hey," he soothes, tugging her closer. "I'm here. I'm okay."

She shakes her head against his shoulder. "You're not."

"Kate..."

"You could have died," she chokes, has to draw in a gasping breath. She closes her eyes, forces herself to exhale slowly.

"But I didn't. I'm okay."

Her eyes open, focus on the hand that rests on his bicep, on the way her fingers trace aimless patterns over his skin. "When I heard the shot..."

"Kate," he calls, her name a placating balm against the panic that's once again rising within her. "We could spend all night drowning in what-ifs, but they won't get us anywhere."

She opens her mouth to protest, allows it to fall closed again when no words come out. Castle hugs her more tightly in silent reply, but the motion brings her head in contact with the tender skin over his bruised ribs and he flinches sharply.

Kate jerks out of his arms. "Sorry."

"No, no, it's fine." He grimaces, the words losing all credibility against the pain that twists his features.

Her gaze lifts to his face, searching his eyes as they blink open again. Beneath the brave façade, he's still fighting the pain. She knows him well enough that she can see it. Dropping her arms, Kate finds the hem of his shirt, gently draws it up over his torso until she reveals the bruise. It's a giant circle of discoloration, the center a dark purple and gradually fading into the reddish, rough edges. It's bad. It hadn't looked like that at the crime scene. She knew it would get worse as the day went on, but she hadn't envisaged this.

She drops her hand, lets the shirt fall back into place as her other hand rises instinctively to her chest, fingers pressing over her own scar.

"Hey," Castle coaxes, one hand coming to cover her own on her chest. A tear catches in her eyelashes as she shifts her gaze and he lifts his other hand, gently thumbs it away.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. He's not entirely. He negotiated the release of a mother and her child. He proved Emma's innocence and, ultimately, the hostages were all safe. And he's not sorry for that. But for going in alone, leaving Kate standing helplessly on the street – he still remembers all too well the feeling of standing in the apartment as the seconds on the timer ticked away almost to zero. It's not something he ever wants to experience again. Never wants her to, either. For that, he is sorry.

"You did well, Castle," Kate promises. She doesn't want to discount the way he handled himself. But she also doesn't want him to wind up in a situation like that ever again. "Just promise me you won't do that again."

"I won't," he whispers roughly.

She nods, leans in and dusts the softest of kisses over his chest. Castle returns the sentiment, raising their stacked hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to her fingertips before placing them on her chest once again.

"What happened that summer?"

She closes her eyes, leans into him, forehead coming to rest on his shoulder. Castle drops her hand and his own, wraps his arms around her once more as he awaits her answer.

"I left the hospital before I should have," she recalls softly, curling her arms into her chest. "Those white walls and the beeping machines and – I couldn't do it anymore. So my dad took me up to his cabin."

"He stayed with you?"

"At first," she answers. "I couldn't even breathe without pain. Couldn't do anything, really. I was so weak."

"I wish I'd been there."

She shakes her head, forehead brushing back and forth against the fabric of his shirt. "No you don't."

"Yes I do," he presses.

Kate wants to protest further but she knows it would be of no use. And despite how firmly she'd convinced herself at the time that having him there would have changed how he felt about her, she knows now that that wouldn't have happened. But at the time, it was all too much. The hole in her chest. The lie. The love in his eyes every time he looked at her. She wouldn't have been able to handle it. Yet some small part of her thinks it might have been easier with him by her side.

Regardless, he's here now.

Castle too seems content to call it a truce. He settles his hands on her shoulders, thumbs curled over the peak of the bones as he guides her back enough so he can meet her eyes. "Come on," he encourages, bends down to drop a kiss to her forehead. "Let's go back to bed."

Kate nods her acquiescence, allows him to guide her out of the bathroom with his hand splayed wide against her back.

They silently settle back into bed, Castle on his back, Kate curled around a pillow. She doesn't speak but he can tell by the unevenness of her breathing that she's fighting her emotions once again. He's starting to feel it wash over him now, too. It's finally beginning to sink in, what happened today.

He got shot in the chest. Just like Kate.

He could have died. Like she almost did.

No, not almost, he reminds himself. She did. Her heart stopped. Twice. For three horrifyingly long minutes, the life had completely drained out of her body.

Castle rolls onto his side and reaches for her, suddenly needing to touch her, to feel her warm and alive against him. With every shift of position, pain radiates through his chest, but he presses through it until he's wrapped around her from behind. He crooks his elbow, slides his hand up her torso so it comes to rest between her breasts. There's a layer of fabric between his touch and her skin but he knows exactly where it is. His hand settles over the scar and Kate curls an arm in, presses her palm to the back of his hand.

"I love you."

He releases the words into the darkness, hears her shaky exhale in reply.

He'll buy a new vest for himself; after all, this one saved his life. He's definitely getting it framed.

But he'll be more careful, too. He'll try to stop getting himself into these situations. It's not in his nature to avoid trouble, but he silently promises to try. For his family. For Kate.

Because they both know that it could have been so much more than just a bruise.

END