Disclaimer: Not mine, but I oh so wish they were.

Stand With Me

Chapter Four: Of Caffeine and Crime Scene Photos

"So where do we stand?" Kate asked, sipping from her eighth – or was it ninth? – cup of coffee of the day. She, Ryan, and Esposito sat huddled around Castle's dining table examining the crime scene photos from the funeral that were scattered across its polished surface. The Chief had put her on an indefinitely leave of absence until such time as the shooter and the person who hired him could be apprehended. Beckett was officially off the case. Unofficially, however … well, that was another story.

Nevertheless, it was the first time since the disaster at the cemetery that Beckett had left the confines of the hospital, but only because Martha and Gin had tag-teamed her earlier that evening to make sure she got some real sleep.

"You look a fright, my dear," Martha had said with a critical eye as she assessed the rumpled clothes that Kate had been living in for the last two days. "That lovely Dr. Parish brought some of your things to the loft earlier today, and Alexis put them in the guest room at the top of the stairs. Go and get some rest and something to eat. I guarantee that Detective Ryan's cousins will keep a close eye on all of us while you're gone."

Kate was far more comfortable giving orders than taking them, but when Gin threatened to strap her to a bed with an Ambien IV, Kate knew she was beaten. She had gotten to know the graveyard shift nurse quite well over the last few nights, and though she was pretty sure Gin took the words of the Hippocratic Oath as her only law, Kate wasn't willing to bet her life on it.

"We're creatures of the night around here, Detective," Gin had told her with a wicked smile the night before. "And strange things can happen in the dark." So when the nurse, backed by an insistent Martha Rodgers, had waved a capped, but full, syringe in her general direction, Kate grabbed what few items she had, and with her pair of cousins in tow, relocated to Castle's loft where the trio of detectives had agreed it made more sense for her to stay if for no other reason than to concentrate the protective detail around Kate and Castle's family.

"It's been over 48 hours, and we're pretty much nowhere." Pure frustration rang in Esposito's voice. "The weapon's a modified Mark 11 sniper rifle, but it's clean for prints. Serial number has it registered to a Navy Seal named …" he checked his notepad for the name, "… Martin Holst who was killed in action seven years ago. Holst's body was recovered on a subsequent mission, but his weapon was missing."

Kate picked up a handful of the photos and began thumbing through them until she found the sequence of stills depicting the rifle. "Any trace DNA?" she asked.

"Lab's still working on it, but they're not optimistic."

"What about the groundskeeper?"

"Typical situation of 'eyes wide shut,'" Ryan complained. He searched through a couple of the case folders on the table until he found what he was looking for, a three-page list of names of people who were at or near the funeral at the time of the shooting. "Dozens of eyewitnesses who say they saw a groundskeeper ducking behind a headstone right after the shot, but not a single one of them can give us a description solid enough to put together a useable sketch of the guy."

"The grounds crew insists they weren't working in that area," Esposito clarified. "Nothing was scheduled until after the Captain's funeral had ended when they'd cap the grave."

Kate flipped to a photo of the distant headstone behind which the sniper had taken his shot. She ran her fingers lightly across the smooth finish of the paper as if to etch the memory of it into her mind. "So this groundskeeper is our shooter," Beckett said, more to herself than to the guys.

"For all the good it does us, yeah. The man's a freakin' ghost," Ryan ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

Beckett looked up from the photograph in her hand to the two men who sat across from her. Her eyes narrowed as she considered them. Esposito looked haggard and worn and probably hadn't shaved since the shooting. Ryan was at least trying to keep up appearances, but his eyes were heavy, and the dark circles under them looked as though they had been painted on with a smudge brush. Each looked like they had aged 10 years in the last week.

"When's the last time either of you slept?"

"I dunno. What day is this?" Ryan asked with a half-chuckle of amusement that wasn't meant to be funny.

"Go home. Both of you," Kate ordered. She gathered all the photos and the rest of the files as she stood from the table. "You're not doing yourselves or the investigation any good as tired as you are."

"Like you're any better," complained Esposito. "You've been running on nothing but caffeine and stubbornness for two days."

Longer, Kate thought. She hadn't had a full night's sleep or a decent meal since Lockwood escaped custody, but she wasn't about to admit that to the boys. They would take it as tacit permission to go longer and farther simply because she had.

"Yeah, well even I'm crying 'uncle' for now. I don't want to see either of you for at least 24 hours," she said and pointed at the front door. "Home. To Bed."

"Yes, Mom," they said in unison. Each grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch and headed for the door.

"Hey, Esposito. Ryan." They turned and waited for her to speak, but Kate was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion over everything these two men – her brothers – had done for her in the last several months. 'Thank you' seemed grossly insufficient, but no other words would come.

They didn't need to. The two men saw in Kate's eyes that which she was unable to convey through words, and it was enough. They each nodded their understanding and appreciation with a half-smile, opened the door, and were gone.

Kate turned slowly and surveyed the now empty living space. With her grandmother taking the night watch at the hospital, Alexis had apparently long since gone to bed. In fact, Kate hadn't seen the teenager since she had left Castle's bedside shortly before the dinner hour. Over the last few days, Alexis had spent as much time with her father as her Gram would allow, but both Kate and Martha could sense that she was close to her breaking point. The façade of strength and maturity that Alexis had been hiding behind since the shooting was starting to crumble, and the reality of a scared little girl whose father lived at the center of her world was incrementally exposed.

Alexis had grown more and more frustrated with the doctors and their seeming inability to give her the straight answers she so desperately needed; even when Dr. Herod had finally given them a cautious "a few more days" in response to Alexis' "When are you going to wake up my Dad?" the teenager had stormed angrily from the Critical Care Unit. Martha finally found her an hour later, alone in the Atrium, staring at a ladybug encamped upon a hibiscus leaf. Her eyes were red from crying.

Suddenly, the loft – which had always felt so welcoming to Kate, full of the life and love of the family who lived there – felt cold and distant. Alien. Everything that had made this loft a home had been tossed about, uprooted from the known and tossed haphazardly into uncertainty. Clutching the bulky case folders to her chest, Beckett drifted to the open doorway of Castle's study. If the kitchen – where the small family so often gathered to share food, advice, and experiences – was the heart of the home, then this office – and the fantastical musings of the man who toiled at his laptop behind the desk – was its soul.

Kate hesitated. This was Castle's sanctuary. His escape into the worlds of his own creation. She almost felt as if she would be betraying a trust by entering uninvited, but her need to feel closer to him – no matter how illogical it might seem – pushed her across the threshold.

The painting of the never-ending stairway that hung on the wall behind his desk drew her in as it always did. It was an optical illusion, of course, designed to make the modestly sized room seem much larger than it actually was, but how easy it would be to lose oneself in its endless possibilities. Something she was sure Castle did on a regular basis.

He had left a jacket on the back of one of the oversized leather chairs that sat in front of the desk. Kate recognized it immediately. It was the one he had worn that night he came to her apartment. The night he asked her, begged her, to walk away from her mother's case to save her own life. The night she had told them they were through.

Kate set the files she held on the desk and picked up the jacket. She pressed the soft suede to her cheek and inhaled. It smelled of eucalyptus, mint, and cedar – the trio of scents that were uniquely Richard Castle. The scents that had at first annoyed and distracted her, before comforting her, and, finally, enticing her.

Kate slipped her arms into the sleeves and shrugged the jacket over her shoulders. Though she was almost of a height with its owner, the fabric hung loosely on her much smaller frame. Wandering to stare out the windows into the dark, rainy New York night beyond, Kate grabbed the edges of the cuffs with the tips of her fingers, nestling them into the supple leather, crossed her arms at her waist, and wrapped herself in memories.

"And what about you, Castle?" She had demanded of him that night when he mentioned the affect her death would have on the people who loved her.

"Of course I don't want to see anything happen to you. I'm your partner … I'm your friend," he insisted, but she could tell he was holding something back.

She pushed.

"Oh, is that what we are?"

She had watched his expression turn from one of concern and fear to anger and contained frustration. "All right, ya know, I don't know what we are. We kiss, and then we never talk about it. We nearly die, frozen in each other's arms, and we never talk about it. So, no, I've got no clue what we are."

She responded by calling him a child.

He pushed back. Accused her of using her mother's murder as an excuse for not living the life she was meant to live, and Kate saw red.

"You don't know me, Castle. You think you do, but you don't"

"I know you crawled inside your mother's murder, and didn't come out. I know you hide there, like you hide in these nowhere relationships with men you don't love. You could be happy, Kate. You deserve to be happy," she had failed to hear the compassion in his voice, "But you're afraid."

His words had struck home, so she had lashed out. "What we are, Castle, is through! Now get out!" It wasn't what she had wanted to say. Kate had regretted the words as soon as the door to her apartment closed behind him, and the fact that she didn't go after him was something that she would always hate herself for doing.

The next time she had seen Castle was in the darkened helicopter hanger when he had carried her away – kicking at him and pleading with Montgomery – to safety. He had trapped her between his body and the door of the car outside the hanger, whispering comforting words, pleading with her to stay quiet, while Montgomery made his final stand – a stand intended to atone for his sins; a stand intended to save her life; a stand that Castle had ultimately taken upon himself to complete.

Now Kate was left with the memories of all that had been left unsaid between them. Please give us another chance, she pleaded with the universe that Castle always spoke so reverently of. Give me another chance.

"You were right, Castle," she said. "Iwas afraid. We were afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

Kate was so caught up in her own thoughts that she never heard Alexis enter the study. She jumped and spun away from the windows to face the young woman, blushing slightly that she had been caught so unaware of her surroundings. "You're awake!"

"I was never asleep. Tried, but … it's kinda hard right now."

Kate knew exactly how hard. She looked down to check her father's watch, but remembered where she had left it. "What time is it, anyway?

"A little after three." Alexis curled up sideways in the leather chair closest to the door and looked at Kate. "Whose arms?"

"What?" Kate shook her head in confusion and leaned her hip against the corner of the desk where she had left the files. She was clearly missing something.

"You were talking to yourself. 'Nearly froze to death in each other's arms, and we never talk about it,'" Alexis parroted.

"How long were you standing there?" Kate asked. She saw the answer in Alexis' unflinching stare.

Too long.

Castle had told Beckett on more than one occasion that while he never hid anything he did with the NYPD from Alexis, he also tried not to be overly detailed in answering the questions she invariably asked. She was the daughter of a writer and had a brilliant mind in her own right; he knew that specifics would only cause her unnecessary worry, and he wanted, above all, to protect her from the dangers inherent in his research.

Kate could see in Alexis' eyes the culminating result of three years of "not overly detailed answers". She had put the pieces of the puzzle together in spite of her father's best efforts, and Kate wished that for once Castle's daughter wasn't so damn perceptive.

"How many times has my father nearly died for you?" Alexis demanded. She rose slowly from the chair and took three measured strides toward Kate who could feel the anger and tension radiating from the girl.

Kate had never lied to Alexis, and she wasn't about to start now. She stood and faced the wrath that was about to be unleashed upon her for her sins. "Too many."

Kate's head snapped back in response to the slap. In retrospect, she probably should have seen it coming, but it was so completely out of character for the teenager that she never considered it a possibility. Kate rubbed her left cheek. To say that it stung would be an understatement. Given that the girl was normally one of the most relaxed and tranquil people Kate had ever met, Alexis sure knew how to give one hell of a slap. Of course, things couldn't be any less normal right now.

"Alexis … " Kate attempted to reach out to the girl, but Alexis brushed her hands away.

"It's not enough that he follows you all over the city no matter the time of day or night, but you put him in constant danger. Guns? Drug dealers? Professional hit men? Terrorists?" Alexis' anger surged again and she shoved Kate as far away from her as she could. When Kate grabbed the edge of the desk to keep her balance, the file folders fell to the floor, and the photos spilled across the carpeting and Alexis' bare feet.

Oh, God, no! Kate thought as she watched Alexis reach for the photos. She tried to grab them, but knew it was too late.

Alexis knelt and sifted through the images. Esposito had brought Kate the comprehensive files. Every lead, every detail, and every photo that was even remotely tied to the conspiracy surrounding the murder of Johanna Beckett lay at their feet: Johanna's lifeless body in the alley; Coonan' carcass in the hallway of the 12th; Raglan's bloodied corpse on the floor of the diner; the torture chamber Lockwood had created to persuade Ryan and Esposito to reveal what the cops knew; Castle's knuckles that he had battered and bloodied on Lockwood's face; McCallister's death chamber; the carnage in the courthouse; the massacre at the hanger; Montgomery's lifeless face staring blankly at the ceiling; Kate's stained gloves lying in the thick pool of Castle's blood at the cemetery … and dozens more. Everything that a concerned father had tried to keep from his daughter stared her in the face in sharp, clear, digital perfection.

Kate watched a little more blood drain from Alexis' face with each new photo. "Alexis, please understand that – "

Alexis' entire body trembled as she rose to her feet to face Kate. Her hands clenched momentarily around the photos she held, crumpling them before she let them slide from her fingers back to the floor. "You bitch!"

Beckett was ready this time. She grabbed the young woman's arm mid-swing and wouldn't let go. Kate pulled Alexis to her as she raged at the detective, struggling against the embrace.

The façade then crumbled completely.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" Alexis screamed, but Kate only held her tighter. Beckett knew that the tirade was born of days, possibly years, of fear and worry. She also knew that it was only a matter of moments before the rage would turn to tears. She had been there before herself, after all.

Alexis' knees suddenly crumpled, and the two sank back to the floor. Kate cradled the girl in the circle of her arms. She stroked Alexis' red hair and murmured soothing words as she cried out all her anguish. The tears were punctuated by the occasional, "I hate him … I hate him … I hate him …" There was no venom to the words, only despair.

Kate felt her own tears begin to spill down her face at the pain in those words, yet she took up a mantra in response to the teenager's sobbing declarations. One that she knew was truer than the sun rising in the East each morning.

"He loves you … He loves you … He loves you …"

Author's Note: This chapter was a bit of a pain in the butt to write, but I think, ultimately, it works. There's a lot of angst, but given the circumstances these characters are facing, angst is what they should be feeling. I wanted to get this out before the start of the week since things are rather backed up right now with my grading, and I can't guarantee another chapter before next weekend. I do hope that you enjoy it. Please review if you do. Reviews generally spur me to find a few minutes between piles of essays to get some personal writing done.

Thanks for reading!

~ Sarah

P.S. Fear not. We'll get back to Castle himself soon enough, but I don't like rushing things. I hate dragging things out even more, though.