Man, you guys completely shocked me. I honestly believed there'd be little interest in yet another 47 Seconds fic, let alone one rated M with trigger warnings to boot. Truly appreciate the support. Thank you.

He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?

He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.

I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,

And went with half my life about my ways.

-A. E. Housman

"Is there anything else you'd like to talk about today, Kate?"

The mellifluous voice of Dr. Burke breaking the silence was enough to startle her back to reality.

"Huh?" she managed. 'Great one, Kate,' she admonished silently. 'So smooth.'

"You seem distracted today, and I thought perhaps there was an issue you might want to discuss," Dr. Burke continued, his eyes pinning her in place. She really shouldn't be surprised anymore how observant her therapist was—his ability to connect some of her most disparate thoughts into a whole tapestry, all about Kate Beckett, was quite remarkable.

The past months had proven his competency beyond a shadow of a doubt. Many issues relating to her shooting and subsequent PTSD, her difficulty with her mother's murder, and the struggle with her father's alcoholism had been dealt with.

Unfortunately, that left the deeper issues: the heart of the matter, as it were, though even she was getting tired of the never-ending analogies involving her injured chest.

She wasn't sure she was ready to share the most recent events that served to illustrate just how fucked up her life really was. It was too raw; too painful to pull into the light for Burke to see quite yet. She preferred to marinate in the morass of her misery privately, at least for a bit longer.

"Talking about it often helps—it gives it a different perspective when you bring it all out in the open, you know."

"Of course you'd say that—it's your job," she bit back. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she closed her eyes tightly and regretted the harsh sound of her words. It wasn't fair to him; not fair at all.

He'd helped her, this man. Had listened to her broken narrative as she'd tried to make sense of her life after the shooting. Helped her to piece herself back, bit by bit.

The woman they'd cobbled together wasn't the Kate Beckett of old. This new version was hesitant—all too aware the price she might pay in her drive for justice might well be her life. Or worse—the life of someone she loved.

Beckett 2.0 was emotionally labile. The old Beckett had been locked down to the point of seeming an automaton at times. The shooting had smashed her ability to separate her feelings from her thought process. Suddenly she longed to be loved; wanted to be wanted. Gone was the woman who needed no one and expected nothing.

"I can see that whatever it is you're dealing with is bothering you a great deal. I don't think I've ever seen you so anxious, Kate."

Dismayed at how easily he'd read her body language—she was a homicide detective, for crying out loud—she deflected. "Anxious? I suppose I'm just worried about my shooting. I've been back to work now for some time, and I still have trouble dealing with the sound of a gun being fired, sometimes."

It was very true, just not what she'd been thinking about when he'd spoken. It was a point of pride with her that she'd never lied to her therapist: she'd wanted an honest relationship with him so she could truly heal. That commitment to the truth didn't mean she occasionally shied away from sharing everything. Especially how she felt about her partner. She'd not been ready—but was she now? Or would be soon?

"We've talked a lot about those issues in the last few months. I wondered if it might be something else, as your anxiety level seems much higher than I'd expect the shooting to elicit at this point."

"Why do you say that?"

"You're pacing. That's unusual for you."

She was what now? Looking down, she discovered that she was no longer in the chair where she normally settled to bare her soul for an hour twice a week. Heat blossomed in her cheeks as she stalked back to her usual perch, fists clenched as one part of her mind railed against the rest for revealing, even subconsciously, how undone this…situation…had made her.

Silence reigned for the next uncomfortable moments. Another sign of how this was affecting her. She'd always appreciated silence—reveled in it, utilized it, owned it—for both her job and her personal life. Most people were uncomfortable with quiet moments and filled the gaps with babble, often revealing things they'd meant to keep to themselves. Kate Beckett was not one of those people.

Until now. Now it was being used against her. She knew it, recognized it, but was unable to suppress the rapid beat of her heart or the quivering of the remainder of her internal organs as the absence of sound grew into a physical entity that engulfed and drowned her.

She broke, rocking in her seat, face buried in her hands. It was too much to bear, this burden she carried. Burke was not the man she needed to share it with, but perhaps he was right: saying it out loud would at least give her a place to start.

"I'm scared," she whispered, still trying to hide, probably appearing as ostrich-like as possible. Her eyes remained hidden by her hands, which did little to obscure the rest of her body to those who knew where to look. And, oh, could Burke find her, no matter how hard she tried to conceal her secrets. He was a master at exposing most of her wounds.

Yet, this one was buried far deeper than the anger, hurt and guilt she carried around concerning her mother's murder and her father's abrupt descent into alcoholism. This one was locked up in a tower surrounded by a moat with an approach guarded by land mines and vicious, teeth-baring dogs. She really couldn't blame him for missing the mark, though he'd come close.

"It's ok to be scared, Kate. I'm not trying to push you; if you're not ready to talk about it, then you're not ready. I just want you to know that when you are, I'm here to serve as your sounding board. Sometimes you just need to say something out loud for it to begin to make sense."

She contemplated leaving it there, letting him misunderstand her meaning. That would be the coward's way out, and, boy, if she didn't have that part nailed down. Casting need look no further for the epitome of the Cowardly Lion in any modern resurrections of the Wizard of Oz.

Still, it was comforting to know someone out in the bright, cold world wanted to know what she was thinking; wanted to help. She just had to ignore the derisive voice in her head that counted out how much she was paying the man to listen to her.

Talking to him had made her realize how much she blamed herself for the issues brought about by the events begun so long ago, on that cold January day. Now came the hard part: the path she needed him to help her tread to repair the complete and utter shambles of her personal life.

She'd made her choice months ago, when she'd sought his help (though she didn't really have much choice. She had to fix this. Had to.). She lifted her head and spoke loud enough for him to hear over the pounding drumbeat of her heart.

"I'm scared. Terrified." It was hard to talk; her throat suddenly felt as though the arid sands of the Sahara were lodged within. Reaching for the water bottle sitting on the floor below her chair, she concentrated on suppressing her shaking hands sufficiently for a few sips.

He simply sat, waiting for her to continue. Recapping the bottle, she dropped it to her lap. Stalling for time as she considered where to start; how much to say.

"I've spent my entire adult life focused on one event. One moment has defined me," trailing off, she turned to stare out the lone window in the room. It was large; offered a good view of the deep blue sky outside. A few fluffy, white clouds scudded by, driven by an unseen, forceful wind. Another analogy drifted into her mind as she watched them and compared them to how she's lived since her mother's death: drifting past the world. Seen, but not touched. Ethereal.

"Your mother's murder," Burke prompted, cracking apart her reverie once more.

She looked at him; met his eyes for the first time since this whole discussion began. They were warm, interested. And concerned, but without the pity that she saw in so many other eyes when her mother's death intruded on the conversation. She couldn't stand the pity.

"Yes, my mother's murder," she nodded, sharply. "I chose my career based on that one act. Not only to put away the bad guys, but also to search for my own answers to my questions on her case."

Burke remained still; quiet. This was not new information for him: they'd hashed out her background within the first few sessions of their initial meetings. It was the framework for most of her dysfunction, after all.

Most. But not everything. She couldn't blame the recent fuck ups on anything other than her own contemptible actions.

"Nothing else mattered to me. I worked hard, slept little and ate enough to survive. Everything revolved around the precinct and if you were to ask how I defined myself, I would have said I was a cop. Nothing more, nothing less."

Burke shifted slightly in his chair. It was subtle, but she'd been watching for it. Not so imperturbable, her therapist. "Many people do come to identify with their work. Doctors, for example. But you said that is how you would have defined yourself, Kate. Has something changed?"

She ignored his question to put into words the thoughts that had been haunting her from the moment she'd regained consciousness after the sniper's bullet had ripped her chest open.

"But don't doctors have other definitions for themselves? Mother? Or Father? Wife? Husband? I have none of those titles. None. I've not looked for them…actively avoided them, I guess. They didn't fit into my single-minded quest. That's not to say I don't have friends—'cause I do, but they're all cops. Or their work is associated with cops. And while they'd say I'm their friend, I know what they are. Superficial, at best. I don't let them in very far. They've no idea how broken I am inside ."

Dropping her chin to her chest, she thought of the ways she'd kept people at arm's length. Lanie had made it the furthest into the bleak spaces of her mind, but that was mainly due to Lanie's bull headedness, rather than Kate wanting her there. Even then, Lanie still didn't understand her. She guessed well, sometimes, but much of her advice was far off the target.

"Once, I would have said I was a daughter. But that title splintered apart with my mother's stabbing." Hot tears began trailing down her cheeks, and she wiped at them angrily. Burke leaned over and offered her a box of tissues, which she accepted gratefully.

"You're still a daughter, Kate. Her death doesn't take that away from you."

"But the essence of being the daughter to a mother no longer exists. She can't listen to me talk. Can't hug me. Or tell me she loves me, no matter what dumb decisions I make. I can't call her, or text her, or write to her. I carry a piece of her in my heart, but I don't feel her with me, most of the time. It's just like an empty space that's always there where she should be."

"You feel her physical absence leaves you unable to feel fulfilled in the role she would have played?"

Kate nodded, stifling a sob.

"What about your father? He's still in your life. You've told me previously that your relationship has improved now that he's been sober for so long."

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought about her father. "It's true, that our relationship is better. But it's never been the same, not since she died and he fell apart. I tried to take care of him, when he was drinking so heavily. It's like I became the parent, and he the child. Not entirely, but his drinking definitely damaged our bond, to a great degree. Even now that he's recovered, I still find myself waiting, watching for the first sign that he's slipped. I don't feel like I can share my deepest fears or worries with him. So, no, I don't feel like I have a father-daughter relationship with him. Not now."

"So, you said you've long defined yourself as a cop. It was enough for you, or so it seems, for many years. What changed?"

She picked at her jeans, at the nearly microscopic lint that suddenly needed her attention. Yet, she'd started this conversation. She was tired of hiding, so why was it so hard to say out loud?

"I got shot."

"Which made you realize how much in your life was missing? The near death experience?"

"No. Yes. Well, in a way." She struck her fist on the arm of her chair abruptly. "God, this is hard."

"Take your time, Kate. We don't have to get through it all today."

She took a deep breath and held it, trying to keep her body from folding in on itself until she was just a speck of dust. Releasing a long sigh, she nodded. "Getting shot, nearly dying was traumatic, obviously, but that wasn't the true catalyst for all of this. I've mentioned Rick, um, Richard Castle before?"

Burke bent his head, assenting.

"When I first met him, he drove me crazy. He challenged everything, inserted himself into places…and spaces that I didn't want him in. But, after a while, I began to realize that he made everything lighter, more fun. Then, after more time, I came to see that I wanted him there, next to me. We were partners. He became an essential part of the team."

"That's quite impressive for someone not trained as you've been."

"He's got a great mind," she smiled, thinking of all the crazy things that came out of his mouth at times. "He thinks outside of the box, and with the cases that we get, that's absolutely necessary. He's not always right, but he makes me approach things differently than I might otherwise, and sometimes that's all I need."

"He's quite valuable, then?"

"Yes. He is; more than we probably tell him."

Another pause followed, until she coaxed her mouth into cooperation. Time to launch into the crux of the matter.

"He's been interested in me since the beginning." She spoke in a near whisper, almost too low for him to even hear her. She risked glancing up at the therapist through her lashes, but found nothing to fear from his chair. He was seated, calm and open as always. "But I held him off. Didn't want or need a relationship coming between what we had as work partners. Didn't want a serious relationship with anyone, and I knew with him that it would be deep from the beginning. We connect in too many ways for it to be meaningless, for either of us."

"Did he know how you felt?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm very good at suppressing my emotions—years of practice came in handy, once more. He knew I never gave him any reason to think that I was interested, and seemed satisfied with the way things were. At least I thought he was."

"And he stuck around? He must have really enjoyed working with you all."

"I think he did like the camaraderie and the feeling that he was helping, but he's also stubborn. And, I discovered that he felt more for me than I'd realized."

"What happened?"

"I was shot," she repeated, tears beginning to flow again. "Do you remember a few months ago when I told you I remembered everything from the shooting?"

"Yes."

"Well, what I didn't tell you was that he whispered something in my ear as he held me in his arms. I was slipping away, but the last thing I heard before everything went black was that he loved me. He loved me."

Another short silence ensued as Burke let her mop her tears up before proceeding.

"How do you feel about him?"

"I—I love him too. I want to build a life with him. But it's all so messed up. I've screwed it up, as usual."

"He loves you, you love him. That seems like a solid foundation to me. How have you messed it up?"

"By lying. I lied to him when I first woke up, told him I didn't remember anything from the shooting."

"Why would you do that?"

"I was scared. Scared of what he'd said, what it meant. Then, I ran off to my father's cabin and didn't see anyone for months. But in that time, I decided that I wanted a life with him. I had to get better first, I knew that. Which is why I came back; why I started working with you. Trying to sort out my mess of a life so that I could have an adult relationship for the first time in my life. A real relationship."

"Well, as your therapist, Kate, I think you've done an incredible job. You've worked hard over the last months. I see a lot of progress, and I've no doubt that you'll get to where you want to be with more time. You have to be patient."

She almost jumped up and started pacing again, but grabbed the arms of the chair instead. The held her in place, though her tight, white-knuckled grip threatened their integrity. "I know I've made progress, and I'm thankful for the help you've given me so far. I just wish…I'm such an idiot. I've fucked it all up again."

"What happened?"

Silence stretched between them as seconds became minutes. Still, she was afraid to confess her sins. He wouldn't absolve her. But, perhaps, he could help her see her way out of the quagmire.

Despondent, she felt her breathing speed up as she contemplated the last few weeks of agony that had characterized their current détente. "I'd told him when I came back from the shooting that I needed time. He'd been so angry with me, when I disappeared and didn't contact anyone. I don't blame him for that. But, I knew I wasn't ready. So, I asked for time and he was ok with it. Things were the same. But as time went on, I started getting impatient." She sighed, exhausted by her confession and the constant replaying of the last three weeks in her brain.

"I wanted more, and I thought he did too. We had this case, and as usual his help was invaluable. At the end of it, he was talking about dreams and whether they came true. I told him one of mine when I was a kid, something that's long past fulfilling now. I wanted to tell him more, about what I dreamt for the two of us together, but the words got stuck in my mouth and he left before I got them out."

"You were disappointed you couldn't share your dream of the two of you together? That you were ready to start with him as a couple?"

"No. Yes. Well, no, not really. It just didn't seem like the right moment. Looking back, I think he was the one who was disappointed. He called me later that night. He sounded drunk, and he was challenging me about the meaning of dreams. I got a little worried about him, so I threw on some clothes and went to the Old Haunt—that's the bar he owns."

Burke just nodded. She was in so far now that she couldn't stop, but the rest of the events from that night were difficult to talk about.

"He'd been drinking, though I wasn't sure at the time just how much. He looked so sad and lost sitting at his desk."

She swallowed, lost in the moment. "Something in me just snapped. I was so tired of being the one holding us back. So, I did it. I slept with him," she whispered, voice hoarse and unrecognizable. "I slept with him and then he didn't show up at the precinct the next day. The day after, he acted as if nothing had happened. Like we were just as we'd been before. And I thought…I thought, ok, he was drunk. Doesn't remember, though it killed me to think that. It was...such an intimate moment, our connection should've been stronger after. But, I just decided to forget it, like he must've. Thought, well, we'll just...start over. Build into this. Build it together."

She wasn't aware she was crying again until the warm drops were hitting her arms, folded in her lap. So many things happened these days that she was oblivious to, especially when she got lost thinking about the last few days.

"But then he was acting a little strange over the next week and a half, so I told myself I just had to be patient. You know, give him some space. Then, just when I thought he was in a place where we could talk, this Boylan Plaza case erupted."

She drew her legs up in the chair, curling into as tight a ball as possible. She rocked forward, nauseous but with a throat so tight she wasn't sure she could vomit even if she lost control. A few seconds of silence ticked by before she could continue.

"A-a-after the bombing, any personal thoughts had to be shoved aside. I... I figured once I solved it, then we'd talk. Get through the case as quick as possible and go from there. But...but, then a few days ago—I don't know, something—something happened. Something changed, with him."

She took a deep, hiccuping breath, as tears fell unchecked down her face and dripped onto her shirt, a darkening stain visible on her shirt and pants like blood leaking from an unseen wound.

"He's barely talked to me since then. He...he acts really angry and he's so...brusque. He's never been like this before. Something happened and I have no idea what it was or what I did or how to fix it. I don't know what to do."

She looked up at Dr. Burke, overbright eyes staring unblinking at him as he sat watching her.

"Tell me what to do."

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