The crunch of nearby leaves makes Kate flinch and look up from her book. Even now, well out of danger, surprises are hard to take. The honk of a car horn, Alexis' new kitten knocking a plastic cup off the kitchen counter, Rick entering their bedroom in socked feet when she's completely engrossed in a book – it all runs her heart rate up a little. Not like before, not like the aftermath of her shooting. Just a jolt of adrenaline and a half a lifetime of the creeping unknown adding up to a bad startle response. She hates it. Doctor Burke says it's understandable, and that time is the only cure.

Behind her, the footsteps grind to a halt.

"I'm sorry, young lady. I didn't mean to surprise you. Yours is just the nearest bench, and my bad knee is talking to me. Mind if I sit down for a minute and rest?"

A sport coat, slacks, and a head full of silver hair. Kate realizes she is stink-eying a grandfather with a limp, and relaxes a little. "Sure, no problem."

"Thank you," he says and drops down on the far end of the bench. He leans in with a wink, sharing a secret. "It's a drag getting older."

She smiles against her will. "You don't look all that that worse for wear."

"Ah, tell my orthopedist that." He grits his teeth, rubbing a hand over his left knee. "When the weather changes, it protests a lifetime of jogging in the city. All concrete then, no cartilage now. "

"Something for me to look forward to, I guess." Kate smiles politely. She returns her attention to the book and scans for her lost place on the page.

In her periphery, the man leans forward a little, getting a better look at her, and a low chuckle rises up out of his chest. "Look at you, how wonderful! I have a daughter-in-law who's expecting, I imagine you're about as far along as she is. What are you, six months?"

She closes the book with a finger to mark her place. "Six months next week," Kate answers before thinking. She's not exactly running off at the mouth, but still. It must be the hormones. The star of this conversation picks this moment to flip over in her belly and stretch out. Kate bites back a smile and soothes a hand over a little bump – a protruding elbow, or maybe a foot, she's never really sure.

"That's so great, your first?" he inquires.

This should be driving her nuts, these personal questions from a complete stranger. But there is something pleasing about this older gentleman, the purposeful way he carries himself, a winsomeness in his address. A story to be told, she's thinks. Castle has taught her to love the story.

Kate absently twists the channel set wedding band on her ring finger. A new habit of late, one of several, so much nervous energy. Castle, with affection, calls them her baby ticks. She can't just take off and run ten miles in her current state, and the pent up feeling has to go somewhere. Today, on her day off, it took her to the park.

Remembering his question, she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, you asked - we have an older daughter."

"We? The lucky dog."

"Not so lucky today. He's been in meetings all day, they drive him crazy."

"Married with kids," he laments and shakes his head. "Good thing I'm too old to flirt with lovely young women in the park. I'd be sore out of luck today."

Kate laughs. Out loud. Really, it must be the hormones. Clearly there will be no getting back to her book (one of his, which she has read four times before). Kate drops it into the worn, canvas messenger bag at her feet and turns toward the man, taking in his open countenance and weathered laugh lines. She's accustomed to picking apart suspects and locating the causes for concern. Nothing pervy yet. No cop radar going off. Just a nice old guy who likes to talk.

She's probably missed the opportunity for a lot of conversations like this over the course of her adulthood. Burke keeps telling her to be more open to little unplanned moments in her life. She tells Burke he sounds like a bumper sticker. Still...

"I'm Kate."

"Charles, nice to meet you, Kate."

She takes the hand he offers - warm, but brief. She's relieved when he retreats back to his end of the bench.

"Does your family live here?" she asks.

His gaze falls to his hands, now clasped together at his knees. "Yes, my son and daughter-in-law live in the city, but I'm not here much and I don't get to see them like I'd like to. And honestly, with my work, I haven't made choices that allowed us to be close. But it does me good to see them happy and doing well, so that's something, I guess."

He looks back up at her, trying for a smile, but it comes off more like weariness.

Kate studies him, nods in understanding. "Regrets are kind of unavoidable, in my experience. I'm sure they know you've done your best."

Something passes across his face. Longing maybe? The intensity of it is hard to miss. Charles looks beyond her, past the trail with its joggers, to a small playground where a half dozen boys and girls take turns at the slide and swings.

"I...no, probably not." It's barely audible, and he sighs, heavily, as if this conversation is suddenly too much to continue.

A breeze blows across the lawn, and Kate's visitor pushes off the seat, like he's being carried away with it. "Thank you for permitting my little intrusion into your solitude...and for sharing the bench. I need to get moving again."

Kate makes to rise as well, feeling like there is some farewell to be said. He waves her off. "Sit, dear girl. No, need to trouble yourself."

"Thanks." Kate hopes her smile is reassuring. There's an edge on the breeze, and she tugs her cardigan closed in the front. He's on his feet now, but isn't making any forward progress, and Kate's gaze narrows a little. "Knee not cooperating?"

"No, it's fine. But Kate...may I trespass on your kindness just once more?"

Part puzzled, part intrigued, Kate asks on a laugh. "Since it's been absolutely no trouble so far, what's on your mind?"

The older man shakes his head at first, clearly second-guessing. Then, slowly, with two fingers, as if he's afraid to alarm her, he draws an ivory-colored envelope from the inside breast pocket of his coat.

"Would you please take this?" His expression is suddenly earnest, determined. "For him?"

There is one word written across the envelope in bold script.

Richard.

Kate draws back, glares, her posture now rigid, on alert. A fan? Who apparently knew she would be in the park. In all these years, she has never been recognized on the street without Castle. Six months pregnant, not exactly in fighting form, it's more unnerving than she would have imagined.

About thirty yards to her left, a jogger has been stretching and cooling down for a couple of minutes, but he's the only other adult within earshot. She feels isolated, and dislikes it. A lot.

Without ever breaking eye contact, Kate drags a heel back to make contact with her bag on the ground. She knows the flap is already open. It's ridiculous, Charles must be 65 years old, but knowing exactly where the bag is, and by extension, exactly where her off duty piece is, makes it easier to force her heart rate back down. The baby must feel the adrenaline, too, and kicks her sharply under the ribs. She flinches, struggling to keep her face neutral.

Something of her heightened state of vigilance must be translating, because Charles drops the envelope on the bench and backs up a couple steps; arms by his side, but palms open toward her, a gesture to indicate no threat.

"It's a letter. One that's long overdue. I don't intend to intrude where I'm not wanted. I just want to explain some things he's probably wondered about for a long time."

She's shaking her head; this is all too strange. "I'm sorry, but-"

"Kate, I'll go now. But please, just give that letter to my son."