Florida Heat

A/N: I apologize for the delay but here is chapter 17. I hope you enjoy! :)

Chapter 17

The clock on the wall had annoyed her at first. The ticking was so loud it made her think for a moment that she had super human powers. Then, her heart panged in her chest because that was something Castle would say.

Her face must have twitched or something because that is when Dr. Burke asked her what she was thinking.

The sound of the ticking clock faded into the background.

Her scars had faded and she had gotten used to the short, dark hair again. She could look in the mirror and see Kate instead of some random woman with bleach-blonde hair staring back at her. She still had scars on her arms and across her belly from the jagged plastic she had forced into her flesh. She could still feel the sting of her own fist hitting her face but outwardly it didn't show.

Inside the storm was still there, brewing beneath the surface.

"What are you thinking about Kate?" His voice was soft, low. Comforting.

But that was the point, wasn't it. You were supposed to be able to trust your therapist. Confide in him. Tell him your deepest darkest secrets and trust that they would never be spilt.

She still couldn't answer. Answering meant putting the jumbled mess of words in her head into coherent thoughts. She wasn't a wordsmith. She wasn't a writer. She was…

She didn't know what she was.

That was the problem.

"I don't know who I am." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

He was startled. She could see it in his eyes, but outwardly he showed no other indication.

"What do you mean? Are you still having memory lapses?"

He was leaning a little bit forward in his chair now, looking at her in concern. Probably wondering if he would need to escort her to the hospital for more brain scans.

She shook her head slowly, still slightly surprised when the ends of her straight hair slapped her cheeks gently.

"No, it's not that. I remember who I am. I just don't know what any of it means."

She was sitting with her feet curled up in the chair with her. Her back pressed into the crease between the back and the arm of the dark blue upholstered chair. Her pale skin and white shirt stood out in stark contrast against her dark wash jeans, almost black hair and the dark fabric of the cushions. Her eyes flickered up at him from where she had been staring at her knees, a fingernail picking at a loose string. The bright green irises almost showed like beacons; a sign of hope. Almost.

"Well, you're a single thirty-one year old woman. You're a cop. You're a daughter," Burke stated calmly, sinking back into his chair. "What else are you?"

Kate stared up at him, pulling her knees and feet closer to her body. Becoming smaller.

"I'm, um." She paused as she felt the tears start to swell in her eyes. She wouldn't cry. No. Not now. She took a deep, calming breath. She would cry later in her shower, when she was alone in her apartment. Her tears would mix with the water and then she could pretend like it never happened. Like the tears never spilt. "I'm a reader. I like to read. I've begun to like country music lately…"

She let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "I'm a lover. I want to love…"

Her voice trailed off. I want to love him…

"I'm stubborn. I'm driven… I'm driven because of my mother."

Burke nodded. "Your mother's case. We've talked about that before. When Montgomery was shot. Do you want to talk about it now?"

Kate shook her head. Her words were slow. Drawn out as she felt them roll of her tongue as she mapped out the path they were leading her down. "No, everything was going so well until it came back up… I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to think about it at all, but it's all I can think about. I don't want to betray her but I want to move on and I can't."

Burke's pen tilted up slightly in his hand as he flicked it up with his words, the point moving in beat. Kate's eyes followed the pen as he talked. "You're mother's dead, Kate. She can't feel anything. What about you? Do you think she would like you to be living your life like this? Do you think she would want you to carry this burden because of her?"

Kate stared at the tip of the pen. His words were like a slap in the face. Blunt. They stung for a second before the hurt started to fade. He wasn't trying to hurt her. He wasn't…

Her lips pressed together as she swallowed and she could feel the prickling return to her eyes. The first tear fell and she was thankful she had forgone make-up for the day.

"I, um. I don't think she would. She always wanted me to live my life for myself. She always encouraged me to follow my dreams."

Burke nodded as his hands fell to his lap, his pen with them. "I think you need to listen to your mother, Kate. I think you need to figure out what your dreams are and follow them."

Kate stared at the spot where the pen had been moments before, her cheeks slick with tears and oil. She had to part her lips to breathe, her tongue darting out to moisten the cracked skin.

She needed to remember to pick up a new tube of chapstick on the way home: one with aloe.

"How do I do that?"

Burke let out a soft sigh, tilting his head to look at her. "Figure out who you want to be Kate and then choose to become it."

Kate leaned against the rough brick wall of the office building that housed Burke's office. The large sunglasses on her face camouflaged her red puffy eyes. She was limp: physically and emotionally drained. Therapy had a tendency to do that to her: rip out her insides and turn her into a swirling pile of flesh and bones. Her beating heart crushed somewhere on the sidewalk beside her.

She pulled out her cell phone, and, with shaky fingers dialed the number.

It rang three times before the person on the other end answered.

"Gates."

"Captain, it's Beckett," Kate paused, lowering her head to pinch the bridge of her nose. A headache was building. "I think I will take that month."

She sighed as she hung up the phone and leaned her head back against the wall. It was a mess. A huge, fucking, mess.

She stopped at her apartment only long enough to pack a bag before heading back out again: a sturdy pair of boots on her feet and a leather jacket pulled around her top. Her eyes paused on her makeshift murder board and she felt the anger, guilt and hurt bubble back up inside of her. She hadn't known that she had done it.

Looking back over the notes, some had been dates June and July 2011 so she knew that she had been looking further into the investigation after Montgomery's funeral but she honestly hadn't remembered when Castle had seen it. She still didn't. It was a blank.

Maybe it's blank for a reason. Maybe this is a sign that you need to let go.

Kate sighed as she pulled the door shut behind her and turned the key in the lock, her motorcycle helmet tucked securely in the crook of her left elbow.

She needed to get away from it all.

The open road felt good around her as she leaned forward slightly on the bike, urging it to go faster. She turned off the interstate, onto the exit ramp and slowed down as she wound through the streets lined with elegant beach houses. The side of town where the locals lived was a stark contrast to the vacation homes. Worn down houses with chipped paint full of history and hard work in a stand off with well-manicured lawns and glass doors. She turned the bike down the driveway and killed the engine as she stared up at the large beach house.

It was dark, no lights from the house or the street. The sound of the waves crashed in the background and Kate was plunged into darkness as she turned off the headlight on her Harley. She pulled her helmet off of her head and stared up at the building looming over her, a ghost of it still visible. Part of her had hoped he would be here, brooding in his own beach-style bat cave. But she wasn't surprised to find it empty. Dark.

Just like you. The voice in her head taunted.

She shook her head as she swung her leg off of the bike and unstrapped her bag, so she could sling it over her shoulder as she made her way up the walk by the light of her cell phone.

She didn't want to be empty anymore. She didn't want to be dark. She didn't want to be alone.

The irony.

She slipped the key Castle had given her into the lock and turned it slowly. The door swung open and she could smell the musty air of the house that hadn't been used for the better part of a year. She flipped on the light and stared around the room. The floors were tile and the walls were beige. Minimalistic. The furniture was "beachy" for the lack of a better term: bright, cheerful, colors that stood out from the off white tile. Her lips tugged up at the sight of seashell art on the wall.

She shook her head as she snorted. Of course he would have seashell art. Sometimes that man reveled in clichés.

Her smile turned genuine as she wandered down the hall of Castle's Hamptons beach house. Her steps echoed down the halls, filling the house with staccato notes of sound, as her boots connected with the large tiles. Pictures lined the walls. Mostly of him and Alexis. She could see the girl growing up as she walked farther down the hall. A series of freeze frames on a timeline. Some pictures included Meredith, Gina or Martha but mostly it was just the two of them, covered in sand or playing in the waves. Cuddled on the couch watching movies. She reached up and ran her fingers over the glass covering of one photo.

She forced her weary body up the stairs and made her way through the first open door she found, flopping down onto the bed the moment she had entered. Her bag fell from her fingers and she rolled onto her back, reaching down to pull off her boots. She struggled to shrug off her jacket, stripped off her jeans and maneuver her bra out through one sleeve of her t-shirt without ever leaving the mattress, her eyes drifting shut seconds later.

She couldn't go to him and ask him to help her through this. She had to do it on her own, but at least this way she could have him around her while she did.

They would do it together, if only in her head.