WORTH WORKING FOR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

MAY
36 WEEKS

Kate takes several deep breaths, her hands gripping the edge of the sink, tries to focus on the cold porcelain cutting through her skin instead of her racing heart.

It can't be.

This case…

She's come so far, finally let go of the anxiety that something would happen, that there was some other shoe that was going to drop.

Of course it would wait until she let her guard down.

She lifts her head when she hears the door open, and really, she shouldn't be surprised when she sees Rick come up behind her.

"This is the ladies' room," she says quietly, knowing by the concerned look in his eye that her words fall on deaf ears.

She braces herself for his touch, for him to come up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, as he so often does at home. But while his touch is usually welcome, right now she's too tense, too wired, her mind racing too much to be able to tolerate it.

He seems to sense that, because he just leans against the sink next to her and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"What do you need?" he asks in barely more than a whisper.

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. "I need this to be done," she admits, turning to mirror his pose. "I put it away, Rick, you know that. But for it to resurface, now, four weeks before I'm due…" She trails off.

There are too many words to describe her inner turmoil, and somehow, not enough.

"Do you really think this is related?"

She exhales a long, slow breath. "I don't know."

"Do you want it to be?"

"I don't know," she repeats, her chest lightening a fraction at the admission. "My whole adult life I've wanted answers about what happened to my mom, but I'm finally at a place where I'm okay not knowing. If this break-in is related to my mom's death, to my shooting…" She lifts her gaze to Rick's. "I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself from drowning in it."

Rick reaches for her now, slides his hand across her back before pulling her into his side. "I'll help keep you afloat," he assures her.

"I might push you away."

A low chuckle rumbles from his throat. "Kate, you tried to do that for months. No way in hell is it gonna happen now."

She sighs and leans into him, her cheek on his shoulder, and she lets her eyes drift shut for a few moments.

They both startle when the door opens, and her cheeks flush when Velasquez walks in and pauses.

"Sorry," Velasquez says, turning.

Kate steps away from Rick and takes his hand, tugs him towards the door. "No, we're leaving. It's all yours."

She ignores the pointed looks at Ryan and Espo cast her way, and she goes straight to the murder board. "What did Evelyn say?" she asks. When neither of them answer, she turns, almost rolls her eyes at the identical hesitant looks on her partners' faces. "I'm okay, guys. What did Evelyn say? Could she tell what Costas was going after?"

Ryan and Espo share a glance before Espo steps forward. "She said he took Montgomery's old laptop and some case files. She barely uses the laptop, thinks it has mostly case notes, electronic files. And she wasn't sure which paper files he took." He shrugs. "Unfortunately, she doesn't know what Montgomery had brought home, so she doesn't even know what could be missing."

Kate sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "Right. Well, keep me in the loop."

"Of course."

Spotting her empty coffee mugs, she grabs it and goes towards the break room. She isn't surprised to hear Rick follow, and although she doesn't mind his attentiveness - even if it does sometimes border on hovering - she does roll her eyes when he takes the mug from her and starts the espresso machine.

"Rick-"

"Let me do this," he interrupts, glancing at her. "There isn't much I can do with the case, but I feel helpless just standing around. But this-" He motions to the machine. "I'm doing something."

She gives him a long look, but, recognizing that he won't back down, simply nods and lowers herself into a chair. "Okay. Thank you," she adds when he sets a latte in front of her, complete with a foam heart that has the corner of her mouth lifting despite her inner turmoil.

Rick sits in the chair opposite her, his brows furrowed with worry.

Kate takes a long sip of the coffee before setting it down and curling her fingers around the warm ceramic. "I don't know what I want," she admits in a quiet voice. "Obviously, I want to know who's behind everything, want to take him down. But if I were to find out, then watch him cut a deal for a shorter sentence - if anyone would take up the prosecution at all - and see him walk in a couple years, or less?" She shakes her head, her vision blurry with unshed tears. "I don't know which would be worse: never knowing, or knowing but not being able to do a damn thing about it."

He reaches across the table and covers her hand with his, squeezes her fingers.

"And, like I said, I made peace with the possibility of never having answers. But now that it might actually be a possibility…"

"What can I do, Kate?" Rick asks quietly when she trails off.

She takes a deep breath in an attempt to clear the confusing, jumbled mess from her head. There isn't much that Rick even can do. The boys are doing what they can with the case, but they're at a standstill until some CSU results come back from the scene, or Evelyn can get them more information on what was stolen.

She flips her hand so their palms kiss, and offers a small smile. "If it does turn out to be connected, pull me back from the edge?"

Rick rubs his thumb over the back of her hand. "Consider it done," he says in a low voice.

There's a rap on the door, and they both look up to see Ryan, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

"Sorry, guys. Evelyn's here."

"I don't know how to feel."

"About what?"

Kate shoves a hand through her hair and grabs a throw pillow, wraps her arms around it. "About this case. The victim stole files from my old captain's house, Montgomery had been involved in my mother's murder. I thought-" She sighs. "I guess I thought, assumed, that the victim would be connected, too."

Dr. Burke crosses one leg over the other and folds his hands on his lap. "And he isn't."

"No. DNA found on the scene traced back to someone in his old gang. We don't have a confession yet, but…" She shrugs. "It's looking like it's connected to his prior gang association. That's all. I knew the odds were low that it would be related to me, but…"

Dr. Burke hums. "But there was still a chance."

"Exactly. And now that it's pretty much guaranteed to be gang-related, I don't know what to think, how to feel."

"You've been searching for answers about your mom's murder for thirteen years, Kate," Dr. Burke points out. "It's normal to feel conflicted, even disappointed, when the hope is gone."

"That's the thing though," she argues, standing and walking behind the couch. "I'm not disappointed, not really. It's disappointing, sure. But I'm not…" She shrugs. "It's okay. I'm okay. I've made peace with not knowing. Even though it's been the driving force behind my life for so long, the thing that kept me going, it isn't anymore."

Dr. Burke doesn't say anything, but the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile.

Cradling her belly in her hands, she looks down, smiles when she feels her baby move.

"I have a different purpose now," she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have more to live for."

"Kate?"

She looks up and finds her therapist looking at her with what she can only describe as pride.

He nods and sets his clipboard on the small table next to his chair. "You've done it."

She blinks in confusion. "Huh?"

"Earlier this year, you told me how your mom's murder shaped you, made you who you are. You also said you wanted to be more, to get to a point where you weren't being dictated by it," he explains. "From what I'm hearing, what you just said?" He holds his hands out from his sides. "You're there."

She opens her mouth to argue, then pauses and closes it. "Oh my God," she breathes, realizing that he's right.

She's noticed that her and her mom's cases have taken up less space in her everyday life, of course, has vaguely recognized that they don't hover in the back of her mind as much as they used to. She doesn't feel the urge to look at one - or both - of the cases when she has a moment of downtime at the precinct.

She still has the case notes up in her window - she moved her makeshift murder board to her bedroom when she started converting her second bedroom to the nursery - but she hasn't looked at it in weeks.

Hell, she doesn't even remember when she last looked. It could have been months.

She does wear her mom's ring daily, but even that's different. She told Rick once that she wears it as a reminder of the life she lost, but that's shifted. The ring doesn't feel like a burden anymore, or a reminder of what she's failed to accomplish.

Now, when she puts it on every morning, she does so knowing that she's honoring her mother's memory by searching for closure, truth, justice.

The ring isn't a symbol of loss anymore.

It's a symbol of purpose.

"She'd be proud of you, Kate."

Dr. Burke's quiet voice cuts through her thoughts, and she swipes her fingers across her wet cheeks, tucks the ring back under her shirt.

"Even-" Her voice cracks with emotion, and she clears her throat, takes a few seconds to compose herself. "Even though I've never solved it? Her murder?"

"Yes." Dr. Burke must see the surprise flash over her face, because he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "Because you're not letting it dictate your life anymore, Kate. Because, after all these years, you're finally living."

She's so lost in thought as she leaves her therapist's office that she just about jumps out of her skin when she hears her name behind her.

She turns to find Rick jogging to catch up to her, the ever-present smirk on his lips fading when he's close. For a second she thinks something's wrong, but when he lifts a hand and tucks her hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek, she realizes that he can tell she's been crying.

"What happened?" Rick asks, his brows furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?"

She offers him a small and - hopefully - reassuring smile, and covers his hand with hers. "I'm okay. This is just me after therapy. If I don't cry, he doesn't get paid," she teases, almost sighing with relief when Rick visibly relaxes.

He lowers his hand from her cheek and laces his fingers through hers as they resume walking. "Good. I didn't want to add your therapist to my shit list," he jokes.

She chuckles, then tugs his hand in the direction of a nearby park. It isn't often that she feels the need to share what she discussed in her session, having the firm belief that the therapy is solely for her own benefit, that she doesn't owe anyone anything.

But today's different. She's different.

Rick lets her take the lead, as usual, and although he doesn't say anything, she can practically feel his curiosity as they sit on a bench.

"I graduated today," she says, breaking the silence. "That's what Dr. Burke called it. Not entirely, but instead of weekly, I won't see him for a month."

"Wow," Rick breathes, his hand covering her knee and squeezing. "I assume that's a good thing."

"Yeah," she chuckles, "it's a good thing. It means that I don't need to see him as often, that I'm doing okay, not backsliding as much between appointments."

Rick squeezes her knee again. "That's amazing, Kate. Congratulations."

"Thanks." She covers his hand with hers and curls her fingers around his palm. "After I got shot, I couldn't just go back to work when I felt okay. I needed a note from my physical doctor, and…" She trails off and looks out into the distance. "And I needed to be cleared psychologically, too. I saw Dr. Burke a couple times, he cleared me, I went back to work."

"But you've still been seeing him."

"Yeah. Twice during my first case back, someone stuck a gun in my face, and I froze. I realized that I wasn't as healed as I thought, so I called him again. And over the past months, I-" She sighs. "I won't bore you with a play-by-play. Suffice it to say that I had my identity so wrapped up in my mom's murder, and it being unsolved, that I literally could not handle the thought of any failure in any part of my life. Other cases, even relationships."

She nudges his knee with hers at that, and he hums in acknowledgment. She falls silent again for a few seconds before taking a deep breath to continue. "That, and it turns out I had pretty severe PTSD from my own shooting. That's why I had such a hard time with that sniper case in December," she adds, squeezing his hand.

"I'm not fully healed. I might never be able to stop therapy entirely. Mental health is a journey, a constant work in progress. But right now, I'm in a good place." She turns to look at Rick, reaches up to brush her fingers across the worry lines on his forehead. "I have coping mechanisms to help when I feel myself sliding, and I actually use them. The case we're on, when I found out it's gang-related, and not related to my shooting? Even just a few months ago, I would've put those blinders back on, insisted that we were missing something, shut out anyone who disagreed. But today? I'm relieved."

"I don't have to choose between the case and my happiness, or my sanity, anymore. I'll probably never know who's behind everything, might never learn whether the target on my back disappears." She shrugs. "But I'm okay with that."

After a moment she stands, and she takes his hand and tugs him up. "Do you have anything this afternoon?" she asks, lacing her fingers through his.

His eyes darken and he smirks, and she rolls her eyes. "Not for that."

"Hey, your mind is just as dirty as mine," he points out.

She rolls her eyes again but doesn't argue. He's right about that. "I need to do something at home, and I'd like you there with me."

Rick smiles and leans down to briefly brush his lips across hers. "Then I'd like to be there," he says in a low voice. "Lead the way."

"You sure we're not here for nefarious purposes?" Rick teases a short time later as she leads him to her bedroom.

She ignores him and just stops in front of her shuttered window.

The windows had been a selling point for the apartment. Although the shutters were meant to be decorative to cover the blinds, she saw them as something potentially useful.

One of the first things she did in this apartment was put up her mom's murder board. Instead of an actual white board that would be in the way, though, she used the window in the second bedroom, where it could be shut away if she found herself starting to drown.

It was also easy to hide.

She moved it to the bedroom, which conveniently has the same shutters, after she got pregnant. Even she couldn't justify having it in the nursery.

She hears Rick's sharp inhale when she opens the shutters, revealing for the first time in weeks the details of the tragedy that, up until now, shaped her life.

Her gaze lands on the crime scene photo, of her mom lying in the pile of garbage, lifeless.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Rick step forward, and she watches as he lifts a hand and traces the edge of the photo with his finger before pulling it from the window. "This is-"

"Mm-hmm."

"Jesus," he breathes. "And there were other victims?"

She looks back up at the window, where she has pictures of a few of her mom's acquaintances who were killed around the same time, index cards with her notes and unanswered questions.

"Yeah. I thought they might be connected, maybe related to a case they had their hands in, eventually I found out that they were. Traced it back to some vigilante-type kidnapping operation that fell apart when someone got killed. Eventually, I ended up with all the players." She motions to the pictures of the various participants, including her late captain and former mentor.

She taps her finger on the silhouette of a head with a question mark in the middle of it. "But not who's behind it all."

She grabs a small keepsake box and opens it, takes off the picture of Montgomery, and places it in the box. "It's beyond time to take it down," she says, lifting her gaze to Rick's. "I've put the case away, did so a long time ago. But this-" She motions to the window. "This, I haven't been able to bring myself to do. Not until now. Not until I realized today that it isn't a burden I have to carry. When I realized that my mom is a memory, not a ghost."

The corner of Rick's mouth quirks. "Nice metaphor." He holds out his hands. "Want me to hold it?"

She smiles and takes the crime scene photo, places it on top of Montgomery's. "Please."

She can almost hear Rick's mind racing as she takes everything down, one-by-one, and slowly fills the box with her past. But he doesn't speak, doesn't ask any more questions, and for that, she's grateful. The familiar urge to investigate tugs at her even now, but she pushes it down, persists, until she takes down the last picture.

A picture of her mom.

Not the crime scene photo, but the DMV photo that Kate acquired over a decade ago. She stares at it for several long moments, and then she places it on the top of the pile and closes the box, watches as the clasp catches with a quiet click.

She reaches up and pulls her necklace from under her shirt, curls her fingers around her mom's ring as she stares at the box in Rick's hands. She doesn't know what, if anything, she expected: that she'd burst into tears, or immediately regret it, or something else entirely.

But she just takes the box from Rick, walks over to her closet, and puts it on the shelf, where she won't be tempted anymore.

She's finally done.