Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or the recognizable characters who appear in this story. Any other names, for characters or businesses, are fictional, uncompensated, or are in the public domain.

A/N: Well, those of you who predicted I'd need more than two chapters to tie this off were correct. I'm posting three chapters and that won't quite get us to the end, though we'll be close.

"I can't believe Gates was pimping out Castle!"

Intended to break the tension after listening to the end of the surveillance tape, Esposito's comment is ignored entirely by a brooding Beckett and taken as a serious inquiry by his partner.

"Why not?" Ryan asks, sounding chagrined. "It's not like he feels welcome. You heard him – he's convinced Beckett's gonna kick him out and we just put up with him."

"We do put up with him," Espo agrees, not entirely seeing Ryan's point. "He said it, he's a pain in the ass."

"More so than anyone else who'd be in his place? For all his 'ridiculous' theories," Ryan leads, looking like he's not sure these theories are always so outlandish, "He helps with cases, keeps Beckett caffeinated," he says to provoke a reaction from her, unsuccessfully, "and has useful contacts. Castle's not bad to have around. We should probably tell him that."

Esposito's already shaking his head before Ryan finishes. "Not if he's doing something wrong, something that's gonna force Beckett to kick him out."

Esposito and Ryan trade glances when Beckett again fails to respond to something that would usually catch her attention. With shrugs and knowing looks, they wordlessly agree to push her a little harder.

"That's gotta be your case, right?" Espo asks. "He worked it until Gates kicked him out and it sounds like he hasn't stopped. Wonder why we didn't notice that. Kind of like his training, I guess. Never thought of Castle as a sneaky guy."

Still no reaction from Beckett, so it's time for Ryan to prod. "Remember that tumble he took with our suspect, the one who stole the antique desk? I wondered how he ended up pinning the guy. But now that I think about it, what happened there matches the elevator, right? If we hadn't stopped him, that guy would've ended up just like Eckes. But because he's Castle, we just assumed it was serendipitous."

"Serendipitous?" Espo asks his partner with a cross look. "Why not just say 'lucky'?"

"Castle would appreciate the distinction," Ryan sniffs, catching Esposito's subtle nod as they alight on another way to prod Beckett. "But you're right – some detectives we are if we didn't even notice the changes in him."

"Bruising," Beckett mutters, finally entering the conversation. "He's got bruising all over his torso, at least. I saw it when we confiscated his shirt at the Washington scene," she explains in a low monotone. Clearly, she's only half-present in the conversation as her mind explores other ramifications of what they heard. "He wouldn't talk about it. Refused to talk about it. I thought someone was hurting him."

"Someone probably was hurting him," Esposito replies, unhelpfully. "We all saw the video. Castle must've learned some painful lessons to be able to pull that off. Dude probably sleeps in an ice bath."

Ryan returns the cross look to his partner when this last comment causes Beckett to drop her eyes, thinking again about the punishment Castle's endured in his 'physical therapy' due to misplaced guilt. When she appears to be lost in her wanderings, Esposito tries to bring their meeting to a close so Beckett can retreat and come up with a plan.

"What are you going to do? Kick him out?"

"Don't worry about that now," Ryan interjects, immediately shutting down the more troublesome question. "We've got time on that. What are we going to do about the recording?" he asks, pointing to the surveillance equipment.

"Give it all to me," Beckett says after a long sigh, deeply troubled by the conflicted, roiling emotions surging through her after listening to the tape. "I'll talk to Castle. I'm not sure what'll happen after that."

Castle's nervous. He's never been a big fan of introspection or the doctors who require it, so he can hardly sit still in the bland, muted waiting room to which Beckett's text directed him. It doesn't help that he hasn't seen her for two days, their only communication in that time limited to her short text providing the time and location for her therapy session. They didn't even travel here together, since she's having a solo session with her therapist before he'll join them.

"He's not so terrible," the matronly woman at the front desk confides, startling Castle. Blushing while picking up the magazine he was pretending to read, he tries to remember the last time he felt so nervous. He knows he's got to get himself under control for Beckett's sake. She asked him here, which must've been incredibly difficult for her, so he needs to swallow his own discomfort and be there for his partner. This is exactly what he's been working towards so it'd be a remarkable failure to let her down now.

"Just nervous," Castle laughs haltingly while returning the magazine to the tabletop. "I've never really done this before," he admits, renewing his blush. "And I've got to get this right."

"Can I tell you something, Mr. Castle?" she asks carefully. "We're not really supposed to talk about this, but I know who you are. I've never managed to brave one of the lines for your signings, but I've read your books and watched your interviews. You've never seemed shy," she notes with a little laugh at his abashed look. "So just ignore the setting. Imagine him as a fan or someone you met on a book tour. This isn't a test. It's just a chance to talk."

Visibly calmer, either due to her words or her manner, Castle stands and approaches while reaching out a hand. "Thank you …"

"Darlene," she answers, reddening a bit herself.

"Thank you, Darlene," he says meaningfully. "Please, call me Rick."

"Oh, I could never," she replies, blushing and scandalized and unaware she's still holding his hand.

"Please," he utters again, turning on the smile.

At that moment, the door to Dr. Burke's office opens and he emerges. His sudden appearance reminds Darlene of where she is. Dropping Castle's hand, she turns to face her boss and his wry look.

"Mr. Castle, I'm Carter Burke," the therapist offers with an open smile and outstretched hand after turning his attention to his guest. In truth, he's happy to see the writer. Detective Beckett's session has not gone well, for reasons that aren't entirely clear. She was guarded in her description of the topics she hoped to cover, had purposefully obfuscated the origin of some concerns, and is clearly deeply troubled about something that may or may not be related to what she intends to discuss. Perhaps her partner will restore her equanimity.

"You can call me Rick," Castle smiles in reply, shaking hands and darting a quick wink to Darlene.

"Thank you for coming in today. Detective Beckett's inside. Why don't you join her?" he offers, thinking it's best to give them some time alone. "I'll be there momentarily. I just need to speak with Darlene for a few moments."

Nodding, Castle's already on the move. Despite his discomfort at this whole setup and especially with entering the lion's den, that's where Beckett is so that's where he needs to be. He huffs to himself as he imagines whether there's a spectrum on which the magnetic forces that pull him toward her might be visible.

As anxious as he is to see his partner, he still pauses in the doorway. Something's wrong. Beckett's sitting on the couch, tucked to one side and displaying more than a few signs of discomfort. She's closed up, literally, with knees locked together and arms crossed. Her jaw's flexed nearly as tight as her hands, her eyes dart around defiantly, and her face is wan. In sum, she's radiating a powerful aura that screams stay away. So, of course, he rushes to her.

"Beckett, are you okay?" he asks urgently while stepping toward her after closing the door. "Did he…"

"I'm fine, Castle," she replies tightly, her words so laughably at odds with the situation that he actually speeds his approach.

Dropping to a knee directly in front of her, Castle cranes his neck in a vain attempt to make eye contact while tentatively reaching a hand out to grasp her knee. She focuses immediately on his hand with an unusual intensity, but says nothing.

"Beckett, we don't need to do this now," he offers. "There's no rush – I'll be happy to come here anytime you want. But it doesn't have to be today. Why don't we…"

"We need to do this, Castle," she replies, cutting him off while still staring at his hand. "It can't wait."

"Then we'll do it now," he pivots immediately, his effort to support his partner obvious. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

When Beckett says nothing, Castle backs off slightly. Lifting his hand from her knee and his knee from the floor, he takes the chance to glance around the office. It's almost exactly as he would've created it in a story, which doesn't help put him at ease. It makes him feel like he's being manipulated even before the therapist says a word.

"Be honest," Beckett says, voice still tight. "I need you to be honest," she says, knowing that her position for this demand is hardly unassailable. But Castle nods immediately.

"And…," she says before trailing off. "And you'll hear some things you'll recognize. I couldn't explain the circumstances to Dr. Burke, so just roll with what you hear. We can talk about the details later."

"If we're still talking?" Castle jokes, trying to pull a smile, or any usual reaction, from his partner. Instead, the smile slips from his face as she finally turns to look at him and nods in agreement.

Dr. Burke breaks the fragile silence when he enters a few long minutes later. Shockingly, Castle's thrilled to see him. While he's still fundamentally uncomfortable with the notion of counseling, he's increasingly agitated by Beckett's demeanor. His fears have taken flight since their brief conversation, so the doctor's arrival curtails the period in which Castle was working himself into a fine panic.

For his part, the therapist notices the tension immediately. Kate is still displaying the fierce defensiveness of a wounded animal. Rick looks bewildered – nervous about his presence here, concerned for his partner's wellbeing, and squirming under the weight of the office's oppressive silence. Dr. Burke knows he needs to get them talking, and soon.

"Let me describe the set-up for today," Dr. Burke begins, immediately collecting the attention of both people on the couch. "I've spoken with Kate, so I have an idea of topics that would be helpful to discuss. I'm not going to treat this like a normal session – I might prompt discussion with questions or suggestions to guide us to certain areas, but it is my hope that we'll have more of a discussion than a Q&A session," he offers gently. Beckett's posture hasn't changed, but then she'd known the plan for this session. Castle, on the other hand, looks cautiously optimistic about how things might proceed.

"Please remember," Dr. Burke adds as a final note, "I'm not here as a judge or even really as a therapist. My role is to help you talk to each other. I hope the topics and interactions here can grow into conversations away from my office." Beckett looks slightly more present and Castle's nodding along. Time to go.

"Shall we get started?" he asks rhetorically. Then, to kick things off, he puts Beckett on the spot to compel her to engage. But, considering the concerns he's just discussed with her, he offers a different path than what she probably expected. "Kate, why did you first suggest to me that we invite Rick to join one of our sessions?"

Beckett blinks at the question. It takes her a few moments to frame an answer. Castle's agitation at her side doesn't help – it looks like he's uncomfortable with her being put on the spot and is thinking about interjecting.

"The anger," she offers quickly, forestalling any thought by her partner to interrupt. "First it was the anger, then it was the bruises."

Castle's look of concern is quickly replaced with one of defensiveness. "That was supposed to stay private," he offers unhappily.

"I broke my promise, Castle," Beckett answers immediately. "I was worried. I talked about it with Dr. Burke. Not that it matters," she offers vaguely before looking away from her partner.

"Before we explore that comment," Dr. Burke interjects to prevent Castle from seizing on her last words, "will you share what you asked me, Kate, before you learned of the bruises?"

"What?"

"You asked me to recommend counselors for your partner," he reminds her, concerned about what's occupying her thoughts and using 'partner' intentionally to reinforce this connection. "You knew that if you suggested he seek a counselor, Rick would inquire about your own therapy."

"Yeah," she replies uncomfortably.

"Why?" Dr. Burke asks. "You're an intensely private person, yet you were willing to reveal the fact of your therapy to Rick. Why?"

"Because my pride wasn't worth Castle's safety," she answers, annoyed by his focus on her.

"And has that…," the therapist starts to ask before Castle finally interrupts him.

"Hold on a second," Castle interjects. "If this is going to be a Q&A session after all," he says with an upturned brow, "shouldn't some of the questions be pointed at me?"

Dr. Burke is surprised by his comment, but Beckett is not. She's seen her partner play cute before, countless times. It's often been helpful, either distracting the boys or helping put a witness or suspect at ease. But not now. Now, it's inflammatory.

"Stop it, Castle," she spits out, turning in her seat on the couch to look at him. "Just stop it."

"Stop what?" he asks, honestly confused.

"Stop trying to protect me!" she shouts. Unable to sit still, she launches to her feet and starts pacing the office. "You sit there and you take shot after shot, Castle," she growls. "You drape yourself over me like a flak jacket and it's got to stop!"

Castle looks at her aghast, caught unawares by this burst of anger. After a few long, tense moments to ponder, though, his demeanor slides from confused to resigned.

"I'm sorry, Beckett," he apologizes, sounding oddly formal. "I didn't think we were here already. I'll step back," he offer vaguely, not clarifying in what context he'll desist – here or her life in general.

"Step back now?" she fires back as she stops her pacing. "When I'm only at 70 percent?"

She watches his face carefully as he ponders her comment, jumping in again after his eyes widen in realization. "That's right, Castle, I heard you. I heard it all," she growls, starting to prowl again. "So don't tell me you're not getting hurt trying to protect me. Dixon and women like her," she scorns, holding out a hand and raising a finger. "Your 'PT instructor' beating the hell out of you," she says, lifting another finger. "You," she adds while raising a third finger, "risking your neck by working on my case." Then, she brings her fingers together and uses them to tap on her chest, right above her scar. "Me," she says, sounding heartbroken, "just me being me."

"It's nothing I can't handle," he answers warily. He thought he knew where she was going with her complaint when she started, but including the two of them in the list of his tormentors blew that theory.

"But you shouldn't have to!" she rails again. "Don't you get it? I'm not worth it!"

Her last comment casts a pall upon the room, leaving everyone frozen in place. Castle stares at Beckett as if he doesn't recognize her. Beckett herself has halted her pacing beside the window, out of which she stares resolutely. This is what's really destroyed her in the long hours since hearing his conversation with Gates. All he's done since she fled the city is take abuse, all of which seems to trace back to her in one way or another. She feels an acute responsibility for every bruise, every scar he's earned since her shooting.

Dr. Burke sits back in his chair, goggling at this declaration – either her partner is far more gifted at eliciting responses from her than he appreciated or Detective Beckett was far closer to an explosion during their private session than he realized. In either event, they're in unexpected territory. Instead of talking about what's happening to her partner, it sounds like his patient is internalizing the guilt from any harm that befalls Mr. Castle. She must know, he realizes far too late to be of use, what's happening to him. And whatever it is, it's something for which she's blaming herself. If this conversation goes poorly, he realizes in alarm, his patient may suffer a significant setback in her efforts to recover. He'd better…

"Of course you are," Castle says earnestly. "I don't understand how you don't see this, not when it's blindingly obvious," he tries to cajole, to no effect. "You've been wounded. I get that. But that doesn't change who you are, not inside. You're still the woman I've always known, Kate. You're extra…"

"Don't," Beckett interrupts, pinioning him with a look and an upraised hand. "Don't say it. It's not true and I'm tired of trying to live up to it. I've let everyone down," she confesses in a low voice. "I'm tired of letting you down, Castle."

"Kate…," Dr. Burke starts to speak before Castle rolls over him.

"You know that's not right," Castle replies, his attention wholly focused on Beckett. "You were shot, Beckett. In the heart. And here you are, five months later – back on duty, bringing justice to the bereft and working so hard to heal. How is that not extraordinary?"

"You can't see me, Castle," she laments, turning back to the window. "Your… affection for me blinds you to the truth."

"You're wrong if you think my feelings for you make me blind to your faults, Beckett," Castle replies immediately and with a quiet defiance. "But, fine, take me out of the picture," he continues, resigned to a situation he expects to happen soon, perhaps even today. "You think your colleagues – the ones who respect and admire you – are blind, too? Espo, Ryan, Lanie, Roz, LT – the list is endless, Beckett."

"They don't know me," Beckett admits in a low tone. "I don't let them. They get bits and pieces, only what I want them to see. They don't know about…," she trails off as the misplaced shame she carries due to her PTSD again wells up.

Castle can tell she's holding something back. He turns to Dr. Burke, who gives only a concerned look in response, his comments bound by his professional obligations to his patient. But his withholding confirms for Castle that there's something deeper at play here, something that's been the subject of Beckett's therapy sessions. He may be facing the end of his welcome on her team sooner than he thought, but he'll be damned if he leaves while she's feeling like this.

"I know you," he answers with quiet passion. "I've known you from the beginning. That's why I fought my way into the precinct. That's why I've stayed."

"You stayed because of Nikki," Beckett replies, though she knows that's not right. She suspects, strongly, that at some point his writing became an excuse for his continuing presence at the precinct. It's not a theory she ever voiced for fear that the resulting attention might presage his departure. "I can't be Nikki anymore," she admits, feeling weak. "Nikki's extraordinary, Castle, not me."

Dr. Burke looks like he's going to speak but Castle halts him with a raised hand. "Hold on," he says firmly, trying to pause the conversation. "You know Nikki is fictional, right?" he asks, getting an angry eye roll in reply.

"Obviously," Beckett scoffs. "You're a gifted writer, Castle, you always have been. You don't need inspiration to create incredible characters. And you don't need me."

"You don't get it, do you?" he asks, astonished. "Why are you my muse, Beckett?" he asks directly, pausing and staring at her to reinforce his hopes for an answer.

"Kate?" Dr. Burke prompts when Beckett remains silent. He's not sure about this line of inquiry, but his patient seems to be struggling and Mr. Castle seems to be driving the conversation toward something that might help.

"Because you wanted me," she answers, cheeks radiant and head falling. "At first, you wanted to sleep with me," she manages to mutter through her discomfort. "And then you wanted to love me."

"Both true," Castle admits, shocking everyone in the room with his forthright declaration. "Except for your use of the past-tense. I still want those things, even if you don't feel the same way. But that's not why you inspire Nikki."

Comically, Beckett and Dr. Burke trade confused looks, prompting a sigh from Castle. "What would've happened," Castle postulates, "if I'd written the same books and the same character but had someone like Hastings as my muse?" he asks rhetorically. "She's an impressive officer, what happened the other day notwithstanding. She's attractive, too, and destined for promotion. So, why not her?"

Beckett remains quiet, brows knit as she wonders where Castle's going with this.

"She would've crumbled," Caste answers, sounding sad and resigned. "Inspiring a character isn't enough, not if the disparity between the real and the fictional is too great. That's why it's you, Beckett, why it could only ever be you," he explains, begging her to understand. "If Nikki were real, she'd run rings around Hastings or anyone else," he says before pausing to let this thought sink in.

"Anyone except you," he concludes with certainty. "I know it. Your colleagues know it. And if you don't know it," he ends with a teasing note, "then it might be the only thing you actually did forget because of your shooting."