Chapter two

Three months ago, Castle had thought his luck had changed. On a Monday morning, no different to any other Monday morning, he met Officer Tran: the prison's newest guard who just so happened to have transferred from Beckett's prison.

Tran knew Beckett - he'd seen her, talked to her - so Castle had made it his mission to befriend the guard. It hadn't been difficult to do so, the man was incredibly friendly and seemed to genuinely enjoy learning the inmates' stories. And Castle enjoyed learning his, too. Particularly the friendships he had formed at while in his former position, the friendships that stayed strong even after the transfer. Within a matter of weeks, Castle had yet another system in place for getting information and updates on his wife in between her letters and his family's visits.

That was how he learned of his son's birth, in the darkest hours of the night.

40 days ago, Tran had woken Castle with the news that Beckett had gone into labour and been transferred to the nearest hospital.

He hadn't heard from his wife since.

The very next day he was able to call home, where he was given the tearful news (tears of joy, mostly) that little Theodore had made a speedy entrance into the world and would be coming home that day. Martha, Jim and Alexis had all been at the hospital for the delivery. That, unfortunately, was about as far as the good news went. Martha informed her son of everything she knew, which wasn't a great deal. She told him that Katherine was unwell, that Theo was born via an emergency caesarean. His midwives assured them all that he was a picture of health, and that Kate would be fine, too, but no one was able to see her.

He had been checking in almost every day since. They hadn't heard from her, either.

Jim tried relentlessly to get into the prison to visit her but, each time, had been told that she was not accepting visitors for the time being.

Even Tran's reports were few and far between. He had found out she was recovering in the prison's infirmary and, from what he had been told, she was recovering well. But Castle couldn't help but worry. She was grieving alone, pushing everyone away. Was she spiralling, like he had?

He'd spent these weeks tense. He'd cried for her, worried himself sick, written a hundred letters to her just begging for her to send word that she was dealing with this, one way or another.

But now? Now he was filled with an anger he despised, an anger that only seemed to flare as he looked at the letter in his hands. The letter she had finally been bothered to send to him.

As if she didn't care that he was going through this, too.

He had needed her, needed to know that they would get through this together, but she had bailed on him.

He was tired of always being the understanding one, tired of being the source of optimism.

He had missed the birth of his son. He would miss every other opportunity to see him grow up and, God damn it, he wanted to be pissed off about it. He wanted to sulk, wanted to scream and whine about just how unfair all of this was. He wanted to blame her for ruining their happily ever after because it was her fault, right? If she had just stopped digging, walked away when everyone had warned her to, they wouldn't be here.

He never thought he would see the day where he wanted to hate her, but he did. He wanted so badly to hate her, because surely that would be easier. Surely it would be easier to be able to direct all of this anger at her and not give a damn about her feelings, about her well-being. Surely it would be less devastating - even just a little bit - to be able to grieve for what he had lost without his mind painting him such a clear picture of what she had lost. He thought about that all the time, watched it play out in his mind as if he were watching the most tragic movie: Kate, coming to after her surgery only to find that she was all alone, that the one thing she had been clinging to - the chance to birth her son and have that one, short moment of normalcy with him - had been taken away from her without her knowledge. He'd had months to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn't be a part of that moment. She hadn't. It was all she had.

He tore open the envelope in his hands, unfolded it slowly. The pages shook uncontrollably from the tremble in his hands, so he took a moment to just stare at her handwriting.

To my dearest Rick,

His anger and sorrow battled, consuming him entirely.

I am so sorry.

His mind raged. You should be, it screamed. I needed you. A part of him wanted to scrunch up the paper in his hands, to toss it away or burn it to ash. He wanted her to suffer, just like he had: in silence.

But he had spent forty days aching for her, forty days of hoping and praying for this letter to come. So he took a deep breath, read her letter and allowed her words to wash away his anger.

He didn't hate her, could never hate her.

She was the love of his life. In sickness and in health, through the good and the bad. They just had to make it through the bad.

Beckett sat on her bed, reading over the letter she had received earlier that morning.

Castle had responded to her apology in exactly the way she had expected - by insisting there was no need for her to apologise, that he understood she needed time to process everything that had happened. While she appreciated his seemingly never-ending understanding, she knew he must have gone through hell in that time, too. She wanted him to be able to talk to her, to lean on her, but she understood why he couldn't do that.

She had let him down.

I spend most of my day just going through these photos. He is perfect in every way.

She couldn't agree more. Little Theo was the spitting image of his father with his big, blue eyes and dark brown hair.

Yesterday, he was six weeks old.

On their nightly phone call, Alexis had told Kate that he was very brave for his vaccinations. He had cried, of course, but not as much as Martha had, apparently.

"I told you, it was allergies!" Kate had heard Martha declare loudly in the background of their phone call. It gave her a much needed laugh and her heart filled with joy when she recognised her father's own chuckle somewhere in the distance.

That was a part of their new routine: spending Friday nights together in the loft. They'd have dinner, Martha and Alexis would update Jim on the events of the week and then he would stay for the weekend, giving Martha and Alexis the freedom to come and go as they pleased. Once Theo was a little older, her father would most likely venture further than the loft, taking him home for the weekend or maybe even out to the family cabin. But, for now, the loft was Theo's entire world. He was safe there. Comfortable, and happy.

Beckett dropped Castle's letter to her mattress and leant her head back against the wall, taking a long, steady breath.

She had never asked Castle to refrain from having his family bring Theo along for visits but she knew that he had been waiting, too. Sure, she had expressed how much she hated the thought of their baby coming to the prison, but she had never outrightly asked him to sacrifice his visits too. He did it because he loved her, because he didn't want her to be making the sacrifice for no reason. Once again, he was putting her desires ahead of his own. So selfless, this man who had fallen in love with her. She didn't deserve him.

She looked at the letter once more, to the part where he told her that he received his trial date.

I still believe that we will make it out of this mess, Kate. We know the truth. Vincit omnia veritas, right?

Truth conquers all.

I dream about it - about the boys breaking the case, finding that one piece of evidence that will clear our names. In my dreams it is that simple. The judge dismisses the case with prejudice and we both get to go home to our family.

I know it's a long shot. I know I'm more than likely setting myself up for disappointment. I don't care.

I refuse to let this be it. I refuse to give up on us.

Beckett tucked Castle's letter under her pillow and pulled herself off of the bed. A woman on a mission, she strode down the hall toward the common rooms.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" a familiar voice asked, loud enough to be heard over the chatter in the room.

Beckett stopped her stride, took a deep breath and then turned to face Scarlett Price. In the few weeks that had passed since she re-joined general population, Beckett had managed to avoid trouble for the most part. But Scarlett had it in for her; she sought Beckett out every chance possible. For Beckett had 'ruined her life' and Scarlett wanted revenge.

Sure, Beckett may have been a little harsh on the woman who had played them all for fools - and maybe she deserved whatever 'revenge' Scarlett had planned for her - but she would never be able to forget the betrayal in Castle's voice when they arrested the woman he had only tried to help. You never stop manipulating, do you Scarlett?

Even now, all these years later, she had managed to paint herself as the victim once again; jailed for crimes she didn't actually commit. She had too many of the inmates here wrapped around her finger, offering her all kinds of protection. If only they knew how dangerous she really was.

"To make a call," Beckett answered the woman, determined to keep the peace as long as she possibly could.

"Going to call that gorgeous husband of yours?" Scarlett asked with a little too much insinuation in her silky smooth voice.

Beckett knew that nothing had ever happened between Castle and Scarlett back then - nothing more than a misguided kiss, anyway - but that didn't mean she was immune to Scarlett's taunts. Each mention of Rick was like a tiny paper cut to her soul.

Before she could respond, Scarlett's expression morphed into a caricature of feigned empathy. "Oh, wait... you can't."

Her posse of unnecessary bodyguards snickered amongst themselves and for a moment Beckett wasn't in a prison, she was back in high school, cornered by a mean girl and her minions. But she had survived high school, and she was going to survive this.

"What do you want, Scarlett?"

Scarlett had the audacity to look shocked - annoyed, even - that Beckett wouldn't play her games.

"I'm just trying to make conversation," she said innocently. "I thought maybe we could be friends."

Friends?

"I figured you could use some. I mean, you're not very popular in here, are you... Detective?"

The word was like a drop of blood in shark-infested waters, and the silence that followed had Beckett on high alert. When had the chattering around them even stopped? She looked to her left, then to her right: a dozen women were watching, like predator watches prey. Acutely aware of the unnerving lack of guards, Beckett's heart began to race - each beat forcing the contents of her stomach to churn and rise to her throat.

Everyone knew what came next.

"It's a dangerous place to be when you're all alone, with no one to watch your back."

Scarlett stepped forward and Beckett fought against every muscle in her body that begged her to step backward, to leave a safe amount of space between them. She knew that looking scared or intimidated would only make things worse for her. It was a fine line to balance: don't appear to be a threat, don't appear to be an easy target.

She needed to get out of this situation before it escalated too far. Her eyes darted around the room once more, searching for any sign of the two guards who were supposed to be in this room at all times but, still, they were nowhere to be seen.

Someone bumped into Kate from behind and threw her forward, crashing into Scarlett. Before she even knew what was happening, she was shoved back again by one of Scarlett's posse.

"Get your hands off her!" the woman yelled.

"I didn't-"

The woman shoved Kate again, this time with enough force to knock her off balance. Time seemed to slow as she fell, her arms flailing as she tried to reach for something to keep her upright until the wind was knocked right out of her lungs as she collided with the cold, hard floor. It was only then that her fight her flight instinct kicked in. She thrust her leg forward, kicking out the leg of the woman had had pushed her down. The woman - easily twice her size - came down, the full weight of her landing on Kate.

Kate pushed with all her might, determined to get away, but the other woman had the advantage.

She was pinned and helpless.

Sharp nails punctured Kate's skin - her cheek, her forearm, her chest - and she felt sticky blood pool in the shallow gouges.

She swung wildly until her fist made contact - with what, she wasn't quite sure - and suddenly the weight that had her pinned was gone. She was free.

She rolled onto her stomach, forced herself onto her hands and knees and began to crawl away from her attacker, only for a new opponent to grab her by the back of the shirt. "Bitch!"

Kate wasn't sure what to expect next - a fist to the back of her head, a kick to the ribs, the tearing of her hair; pain, in one form or another - but she wouldn't go down without a fight. She threw her weight back and twisted her body, bringing her attacker to the ground. Hit after hit landed, but she felt nothing at all. No pain, no relief.

"What is going on in here?" a loud, male voice bellowed.

Kate felt hands on her biceps, then she was being pulled to her feet.

A little disorientated, and with adrenaline still pumping through her veins, she pulled herself from the forceful grip and turned in anger, ready to fight.

Officer Lartius stared at her, wide-eyed and shaken.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Kate looked over his shoulder at Scarlett - who had, unsurprisingly, done none of the fighting for herself - and then back to Lartius.

"Nothing," she said, still out of breath. "I tripped."

"You tripped?" Lartius repeated, incredulously.

"I went to help her but the crazy bitch kicked me!"

"That's enough!" another guard - Officer Angelov - growled at the inmate.

Kate gently touched her cheek, hissed and recoiled at the instant sting. She looked down at her blood-coated fingertips.

"I'll take you to the infirmary," Lartius said quietly.

He grabbed her by the arm and began to lead her away from the crowd of on-lookers.

"I need to make a call," Kate insisted, trying to pull away from his grip but he only held her tighter.

"A call?" he repeated with a scoff. "You'll be lucky if you don't end up in solitary for this."

Kate looked at him, wide-eyed. "I didn't do anything," she insisted.

"Didn't do anything? I came back to you fighting two inmates!"

"When you came back," Kate echoed bitterly. "Where'd you go, anyway?" she asked, not even trying to hide the accusation from her voice. "Guards aren't supposed to leave their post, not unless there's an emergency."

"And cops aren't supposed to kill people and get themselves thrown in jail," Angelov said with a smug grin as he approached them. Then he turned his focus to Lartius. "Let her make her call. She's not worth the hassle."

Whatever was going on, Angelov was smart enough to not draw attention to it but his fellow officer hesitated. "Now, Lartius," he ordered.

Lartius dropped his hand from Kate's arm and took a step back. "Fine. Go."

Kate didn't give him a chance to change his mind. She strode with purpose toward the phones and, this time, she wasn't going to stop for anyone.

She picked up the handset, held it to her ear as she dialled the phone number. She could see her blurred reflection in the metal-plated box that was mounted to the wall; could see the stark contrast of crimson blood against her ghostly white face. She lifted her shirt by the collar and wiped the rough material over the scratches, trying not to wince from the pain.

"Hi, Katie."

Her father's voice instantly soothed her; wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

"Hey, Dad."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I just wanted to hear your voice." She knew she didn't sound even slightly convincing but she couldn't bring herself to care much. She just needed to hear a familiar voice. "How is everyone?"

"We're good," he answered. "Martha and Alexis are going to visit Rick tomorrow afternoon. Is there anything you'd like me to get them to pass along to him?"

"Just that I love him," she said softly. The words triggered her tears, forced them to come crashing over the mental barricades she had set up. She sucked in a shaky breath as she fought to keep her emotions from her voice. "And that I miss him."

"I don't need to hear him say the words to know that he misses you too, Katie."

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool metal telephone box, taking one deep breath after another in attempt to keep herself from breaking completely.

"Are you sure you're okay?" her father asked quietly.

She inhaled, straightened her posture and slowly let the breath out again.

"I'm fine," she lied.

But, she was determined to make it be true so it didn't really count as a lie, right?

"Look, I uh- I feel like I'm constantly asking you for favours-"

"I'm happy to do them," he assured her. "Whatever you need, Katie."

"I have an idea."