A/N: I am so, so, SO incredibly sorry that it's taken me this long to update. When I first started writing this, I had a clear picture of what was going to happen: Beckett would have a relapse episode of PTSD, Castle would find out and took her to the Hamptons with him to recover and all sorts of drama and angst would go down there. I didn't know how long it would take and what specific issues I wanted to tackle aside from the PTSD, but I knew that it would happen with Castle and Beckett in isolation.

It didn't happen that way. I tried. I really tried, but the characters refused to cooperate. Actually, Lanie refused to cooperate. She kept on popping up and saying how she would no way let any girlfriend of hers be swept off to the Hamptons with a man made a sudden about face from Mr. Always to Return of the Playboy with no discernible reason. So instead I had to rewrite and rewrite until they decided that this was the direction they wanted to take. Where it all ends up, I now have no idea. Thank you so much for all your interest and kind words thus far, and I sincerely hope that I won't have to wrestle my characters for control every single chapter.

On the upside, while I was figuring out how to write this chapter, I rediscovered my enthusiasm for vidding (which I haven't done in AGES). I'm a bit rusty, but I managed to bang out a promo video of sorts to go with this fic. Check it out and let me know what you think!

http:/ youtu. be/ KpXfi9WGlhk (fill in the backslash and take out the spaces)

By the way, this is completely unrelated, but fun to share. I went to the gun range with my dad the other day. (The whole time my dad was teaching me to shoot, I kept thinking about that scene where Beckett "teaches" Castle to shoot. Haha.) Seriously though, I have a whole new respect for people who can shoot consistently within the ten-ring because it's a whole lot harder than it looks. The recoil is a lot stronger than I expected, and the sound a whole lot more ear-drum busting (if you're foolish enough to go without earmuffs - I slipped one side off to get my hair out of my face, and my hearing in that ear was fuzzy for about an hour afterwards). All in all, an awesome experience, and I did manage to get more than three inside the ten-ring, so I guess I'm going home with evidence, eh? :D

Chapter Two

The pounding in her head won't stop.

She watches with a strange sense of detachment as rivulets of blood run down her arms from the glass shards embedded in them, and she recalls that this has happened to her before. Six months ago, she'd shattered a tumbler and cut herself with the glass as she made a mad reach for her gun. It's probably bad that the lines are so blurred between that incident and this one that she can't tell what happened when.

She knows something is seriously wrong with her, something terribly wrong with this apathy she feels, but she can't grasp it.

The pounding gets louder, and she thinks that the vodka is doing its job a little too well.

"Kate, open the door! Kate!"

Strange. That sounds a lot like Castle. But sometimes it sounds like Lanie, and she knows her mind is playing tricks on her when she hears Alexis' voice call out, "Detective Beckett!"

"Kate!" The pounding grows louder and more desperate. "Please Kate, I know you're in there. Open the door!"

That can't be Castle. Castle is done with her, done waiting for her. And that's how it should be.

This deep-seated sickness in her will only drag him down. She's too messed up. He deserves someone better, someone whole. She will never be that person. She knows that now. He has to know that too. Why else would he have given up on her?

The pounding stops.

See, a nasty part of her sneers to her miserable self. Nothing but her imagination (and too much alcohol).

But then the whole frame of her door rumbles like it's being rammed once, twice, and on the third time, the whole setting cracks as splinters fly into her foyer and the heavy wood panel creaks in exaggerated fashion as it slams open with a bang.

She sees none of it because she curls into a tight ball the moment she hears the loud crack rend through her loft.

Beckett's down!

Where's the shooter?

She hears her name distantly, feels hands on her shoulders, in her hair, but she doesn't uncurl herself. She can't. All she can see is a flash of light and then pain, pain that she relives in all her nightmares, rips through her chest.

He will kill her, and she can do nothing to stop it.

…

He cries.

When he sees her long frame bent into this pitiful fetal position on the apartment floor, he's assaulted by a dizzying mix of relief and heartbreak and terror and guilt and so many others vying for control that he can't even begin to stem the tide. The tears slip over his eyelids and down his cheeks without a fight.

His hands shake, and he wishes he had better physical control because she needs him to be strong right now. She needs him to—no. He needs her to need him to stand strong.

"Kate," he calls, and his voice breaks, but she doesn't notice. He wishes she would notice.

Lanie doesn't hesitate to push past his frozen stance and to gather up the detective into her arms. The smaller woman rocks Kate's catatonic form while whispering soothing words against her hair. "Oh, honey, it's going to be okay. It's all going to be okay."

A small hand grips his sleeve hard and he glances over to see Alexis' glazed eyes.

She shouldn't have to see this. Kate wouldn't want her to see this. And though it takes everything in him to turn away from Kate right now, he needs to protect both Kate and his daughter.

He drapes his arm over Alexis' shoulders and turns her around. "Come on, let's get them something to drink."

She nods, but he can tell that she's still in shock.

"Come on, pumpkin."

He guides her to the kitchen where he puts a kettle on the stove and reaches for the tea bags he knows Kate stashes in her cabinets. Coffee fiend she may be at work, but when she's at home, she prefers teas. Castle loves those quirks about her. He loves knowing that he knows these quirks about her.

He takes out four mugs and pushes them toward Alexis for her to choose a tea and put it in. She does so mechanically.

He sighs. "I'm sorry, Alexis. I'm sorry I didn't push harder for you to stay at the morgue. You…really don't need to see this."

He doesn't need to see this.

No, that's not true. He doesn't want to see it because he selfishly can't face up to the knowledge that Kate had been through such trauma to paralyze her like this, but he knows he needs to see it. He needs to see it because he realizes he hasn't really understood. He thought he did, but he didn't.

When Alexis finally speaks, her words echo his.

"I was wrong about her, wasn't I, Dad? These past few months, I kept on thinking that Detective Beckett was so selfish with you and everything, but I never really understood it, did I?"

Like father, like daughter.

He sighs, deeply and heartfelt. "Neither did I, pumpkin."

"Is she going to be okay?"

"I hope so."

The murmurs from the open living room have ceased, and a surreptitious glance shows Lanie gently shepherding Kate into her bedroom.

Castle looks longingly at the closed door and wishes that he were the one with the right to take care of Kate like this.

He'd given up that right with his behavior these past weeks.

Or maybe…Maybe she'd never wanted to give him those rights to begin with.

That stings, and all the pain that he'd been trying to bury ever since he found out that she'd lied about remembering comes rushing to the forefront once again. Months of uncertainty and agony that he'd spent with nothing but her silence only to be replaced by months of unfounded hope so easily crushed by a lie.

Maybe he's being petty, especially considering how broken she'd looked when he'd knocked down her door, but it doesn't stop it from hurting less. If anything, it hurts more, this knowledge that she'd been struggling so much on her own and yet hadn't wanted to share any of it with him.

He tries to figure out when this descent back into the claws of her PTSD started up again. After that case with the sniper in November, he'd thought that she was improving. That she'd suddenly started spiraling again and he'd had no idea...It disturbs him deeply.

Was this something she's been dealing with even after that case, or was it triggered more recently? He doesn't even know which one he'd rather it be. If it's the prior, then he'd jumped to conclusions too quickly and blamed her for something that wasn't entirely in her control. If it was the latter though…

He can't help but wonder whether he's the one who brought this on.

(But no. She has to actually care about him for him to influence her to this extent. It can't be him. It can't. He doesn't think he can handle it if it's because of him.)

Lanie exits Kate's room and shuts the door behind her.

"She's sleeping now. Peacefully, or at least as peaceful as she's going to be with this hanging over her head."

Castle breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good."

"I'll give Jim a call to let him know that Kate is fine, but he's probably going to make the trip out here anyway. I'll stay with her tonight so you guys can go home and get some rest."

It's strange. The ever-unfolding story in his head tells him that he is the one who is supposed to take charge right now. He is the one who is supposed to stay over and make sure she's okay. She's always been the hero, but he is the protagonist, or if not that, then he at least can claim the role of the partner or the plucky sidekick.

In any case, he's the one who doesn't leave.

He's not supposed to be the guy whose worries get appeased by the best friend and waits for the next plot twist before he can interact with the heroine again. He's not supposed to be the one brushed off as an inconvenience.

He's not supposed to be, but he is.

It's moments like these that make him realize that he's never really given up trying to write the story of life. It's also moments like these that make him understand the impossibility of it all.

"She can come home with us," states Alexis suddenly, and both her boss and her dad stare at her in surprise. "She's stayed with us before."

"Oh, honey, that's sweet of you," Lanie begins and flickers her eyes at Castle, "but I really don't think it's a good idea for Kate to be there."

They all know what she really means is that she doesn't think Kate should be staying with Castle.

"Please, Dr. Parish. You're needed at the OCME, and if you don't mind, I could just take a couple of days off to stay at home, if you don't think Detective Beckett would be comfortable alone with—alone."

"Alexis, you don't have to—"

"I want to. Please. I…owe it to her."

Lanie sighs. "Alexis, I think you're about the sweetest girl to have ever been born, but you have to know that she's not going to be easy. And I'm sorry I have to say this, but I don't know if I can trust either you or Castle to stick with her through the worst of it. I've seen what she was like when she first entered the Academy and how she drove herself into the ground even worse than she did last year. This is going to be even harder than that. It's not something you can get through because of an obligation. And to be frank, Kate doesn't deserve to be treated like one."

Alexis' crisp blue eyes cloud with tears and he's never seen such a stricken expression on her before. "That's not what I meant. I just…I just want to make sure she's okay."

"I know sweetie, but trust me on this: the last thing Kate would want is to wake up feeling weak and vulnerable in front of people she wants to be strong for. Let me take care of her tonight, and we'll see what happens tomorrow. Okay?"

Alexis glances at him, eyes wide and needy, and Castle forces himself to nod. With all the tension thrumming just below (and above) the surface between him and Kate these days, Lanie's way is probably for the best. It doesn't do anything for the agitated tattoo of his heart that demands that he stay, but this isn't about him. He can't make it about him.

"Let's go home, pumpkin. We'll check in on Detective Beckett tomorrow."

Alexis wavers, clearly wanting to say something, but she swallows her words and sighs. It sounds far too old and weary to be coming from his eighteen year old. "Alright. But you'll let us know if you or Detective Beckett need anything, right?"

"Yes, I will."

They leave, and Castle knows that he has failed miserably at his attempt at switching off his love for her. He feels like he's left his heart in her apartment, and he has, in more than one way.

…

When Kate wakes up, it's to a hammering headache and heavy limbs.

It's dark in her room, and for a moment, she can't recall how she got to bed. The last she remembered was being out in the living room with a glass of vodka in one hand and her head clutched in the other. She remembers…the memories. They'd rushed at her, drowned her, until all she could see was blue of the sky, blue of his eyes, and red, red, red.

She bleeds crimson, and he leaks saline tears that etch every word onto her punctured heart.

Kate, I love you. I love you Kate.

She shuts her tightly and braces herself against the onslaught of emotions that render her immobile.

She hates this so much. She hates this physical weakness that's been conditioned into her. She hates her screwed up mind. She almost wants to hate herself, but she's not that far gone yet.

She's a fighter; she always has been and always will be, but she gets so tired of scaling the same wall every time and plummeting back to the ground whenever she (inevitably) loses her grip. There's a limit to how much a person can handle—mentally, physically, emotionally—and she's afraid of how dangerously close she's treading that line.

The door opens, a slat of artificial light slanting into the room, and she blinks owlishly at the silhouette standing in the way.

(She will deny to her last breath that she's disappointed it isn't him. She knows her head had been playing tricks on her last night; she just knows it.)

"Lanie," Kate manages to croak out. Oy, that was just pathetic. She tries to clear her throat, but the wad of thick cotton refuses to dislodge itself.

The door opens wider, and Kate flinches when the soft light floods her pupils. She shuts her eyes tightly, and by the time her vision has adjusted, Lanie has already made her way to the side of the bed.

"Hey girl."

That…was not a very happy greeting. It's not like Kate had been expecting rainbows and unicorns considering how her friend must have found her last night (at least she thinks it was last night), but she so isn't ready for that look. The one that's pity and sadness and disappointment and exasperation and concern and I-swear-to-God-if-you-do-that-again-I'll-disembowel-you-myself all wrapped together. (Gotta love having someone more than handy with a scalpel as your best friend.)

They stare at each other for a while, and Kate abruptly sits up, not liking the feeling of being at a disadvantage when they "talk." She knows that there's a very high likelihood that Lanie is going to flat-out ream her, deservedly she will admit, and she needs to be not lying down if she's going to take a verbal beating.

Lanie wordlessly hands her a cup of water, and Kate downs it greedily.

"Thanks," she gasps almost breathlessly when there's nothing left in the cup. Not half-empty, nor half-full. Just empty. Jeez, that's pathetic.

Kate places the cup on her bedside table. "What time is it?"

"Eleven-ish."

"Oh." She chews her bottom lip relentlessly. "How long was I out?"

Lanie's eyebrow ticks and that's not a good sign. "You've been sleeping for about three hours. Before that…God knows."

"I just…had a little too much to drink. It was stupid, but it won't happen again," she tries to explain, but the words are empty. She and Lanie have known each other long enough and well enough for both of them to know that that's complete B.S. As long as Kate is shadowed by this monster dogging her every step, there's every chance in the world that this will happen again, never mind Kate's usual aversion to over-imbibing thanks to a young adulthood filled with memories of cleaning up after her own alcoholic dad.

(Why is it that people always run headlong into the things that they know will destroy them?)

Lanie sits—no, slumps—on the bed next to her, and the weariness radiating off of her entire demeanor is disconcerting. In all the years Kate has known Lanie, she has never before seen her so exhausted. Not even after her first double shift as a lowly intern at the OCME had the saucy M.E. looked this completely worn out.

That twisted piece of flesh in her chest squeezes painfully at the knowledge that she's managed to bring even this fount of energy to her last reserves.

"Kate, Kate, Kate. When are you gonna let someone in, sweetie?"

"Lanie…"

"Usually, I'd mean that romantically, but right now…This…you just—You're so far gone. When are you going to let your friends be there for you?"

Kate clenches her jaw, a choking sob just waiting for her guard to come down before breaking out of her lips.

She doesn't know. She doesn't know how she became this person whose natural instinct is to evade all forms of intimate relationship, whether it be familial, romantic, or fraternal.

No, that's a lie. She knows exactly how. She let herself become this way because it was easier than letting someone else see all her numerous flaws. Stupid, she knows because here she is in all her weakened glory despite all those fences and walls and parapets and guard-towers she'd formed around herself.

If Castle were here, he'd tell her that this was a classic example of irony at its finest.

Lanie sighs when Kate doesn't say anything. "I called Jim to let him know you're okay, in a manner of speaking. Knowing your dad, he'll probably show up bright and early, so you should get some more rest. God knows you'll need it."

It's on the tip of Kate's tongue to ask about Castle, to ask whether he had really been there earlier that night or if her alcohol-fogged mind had dreamed up his presence.

She bites down on the words. She doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to know whether Castle had seen this destroyed version of Kate Beckett. She doesn't want to know in case he doesn't care enough to come.

Lanie makes to stand, but Kate's hand of its own volition darts out to grab her friend's wrist.

"I'm sorry, Lanie. I really am."

"I know you are, honey. And somehow that makes it worse."

Kate's fingers fall from the sturdy arms that have held her many an impromptu girlfriend cry session, and as she watches helplessly as another relationship hovers by a pit of flames, she wonders how she'd managed to distanced herself so fully from the people who really mattered without her realizing it.

(She doesn't have to wonder; she knows that it happened the same time a bullet tore through her flesh.)

A/N: A reviewer mentioned that the last chapter sounded like a bit like Castle-bashing. I just wanted to clarify that that wasn't my intent in this particular fic. In fact, I don't want the focus to be on who screwed up more. They've both screwed up a lot and if we were to sit down and try to figure out who wronged the other the most, there logically wouldn't and shouldn't be a Caskett. Every relationship has its ups and downs, but it's useless to point fingers. Sometimes things happen where it's both of their faults and none of their faults, and what I want to do is to show the journey of working through it. This is about the process of recovery from a traumatic event, and the fact that it affects every single person in their circle.

That being said, I'm trying to give a realistic portrayal of how I think the characters would react given that they have limited knowledge of the situation. Obviously, I had Lanie bash on Castle because she's coming from the perspective of Beckett's best friend and the fact that she has no idea why Castle suddenly started acting like a jerk and she's upset and worried about Beckett from a psychological standpoint. However, if I were to write Alexis' reaction to Kate's lie, then she would be definitely all up in Beckett's face for breaking her dad's heart. It's all a matter of perspective.

Okay, sorry for the super long author's notes and I'll try to keep it contained next time. Thanks for reading!