Chapter five

Kate placed her elbows on the steel table, hung her head low and buried her face in her hands. She pressed the heel of her palm against her eyes until white spots speckled in the darkness.

When would this end?

"It's not my account," she insisted, for the third time, and pushed her hair back off her face.

Her head was pounding, her mouth dry. She had hoped that Haynes would have some good news for her today, after calling an 'urgent meeting' at this ridiculous hour. She should have known. He only ever seemed to bring more bad news.

"The bank says otherwise," he said emotionlessly. As if each of these meetings didn't push her that tiny bit closer to a place she wasn't sure she could ever come back from. "The manager says he personally opened the account for you back in February of 2011."

Five years. Five years of scheming, of planting evidence and leaving such a tidy little trail that all led back to her. LokSat had been onto her long before she ever knew he - or she, or they - even existed.

"Do they have footage of me at the bank?" she asked, her frustration so evident in her tone.

She knew there was no footage; no legitimate footage, anyway. She had never banked with Westmar Bank, never even heard of it before now.

Haynes sighed, chewed on his words for entirely too long.

"Well?"

"The bank had some, uh, technical issues about six months later," he admitted. Beckett knew exactly what that meant. "All server footage from about a five year period was lost."

"That's awfully convenient."

"We're obviously looking into the validity of that," he assured her.

But the fact that he was even here told her how little faith he had in that particular avenue. So far, every road had been a dead end. And, with only two weeks left until her trial started, it was really starting to feel as though hope were for fools.

Beckett rubbed her palms up and down her thighs. "How is it that every time we think we have a lead, you come and tell me that it's somehow led to more evidence against me?"

She didn't mean for her words to sound accusatory, for it to sound as though she was insinuating Haynes - or anyone else, for that matter - couldn't do their job properly. Still, her tone may have been a litter harsher than necessary.

"How?" Haynes repeated, as if the question had the most obvious answer. In hindsight, she supposed it did. "You pissed off some very powerful people, Miss Beckett. And they have had God knows how long to plan your downfall, to discredit you completely. Mason Wood would have known, from the moment he partnered up with William Bracken, that you were a liability that needed to be taken care of. You think it's a coincidence this account was opened just weeks after you shot and killed Dick Coonan? It was one thing when you were hunting Bracken, the lowly man on the totem pole, but Wood would never risk you getting too close to him. He was CIA, for goodness sake! And the best of the CIA, at that! The moment you reopened your mother's case, the moment you dug deeper, you set the wheels in motion."

Beckett closed her eyes, wiped her hands over her face and tried to keep her emotions at bay as the truth - the truth she had known for quite a while now - washed over her.

"I'm not getting out of this mess, am I?"

It had been a year. One whole year of their lives, wasted.

She had celebrated her birthday in isolation; cried because she couldn't so much as call Rick for his.

Holidays, anniversaries, birthdays and milestones: they had missed every single one because she hadn't been able to walk away when she should have.

She had been so sure that she was ready to risk it all, to give her life in the name of justice.

But that was before Theo.

In the five months that had passed since is birth, Beckett had been on one hell of an emotional rollercoaster.

The days had been better, nights had been longer.

Every taunt, every shove, every threat filled her with fear.

The fights, the bloodied noses and bruised knuckles, the days in solitary filled her with shame and guilt.

But every smile, every hug, every babbling conversation with her son filled her with hope.

Each visit had mended just a tiny part of her heart and, even if each goodbye fractured it all over again, she couldn't go back to those weeks of distancing herself from her family. She showed them every part of her life - the good, the bad, the ugliness she had once tried to hide - for Theo.

Her boy was so alert, so curious of his surroundings. He loved music - banging and singing and clapping his hands - and Martha insisted he was destined to be headlining Broadway shows. Jim argued with that idea every single time, without fail, retorting with a playful have you seen the arm on this kid? The way he flings toys across the room, he's gonna be an all-star pitcher! Beckett had no doubt that their little bear could be anything he ever dreamed of, regardless of the things she had done and the prejudices that would befall him for having two incarcerated parents.

He could have it all, even if she couldn't be the one to provide it.

Haynes sighed. "No one is giving up, Captain."

But her former title was only salt in the wound. She wasn't a Captain anymore and she knew, even if she was somehow cleared of these charges, she would never be a Captain again.

That part of her life was over.

Captain Beckett was dead and buried.

I won't lie - I'm struggling.

They had been trying to be more open about their experiences, trying not to keep each other in the dark about what they were going through. Because, if anyone could understand or relate to what she was going through, it was going to be Castle. The same went for him.

That didn't mean that these letters were easy to read. Or to write. Every bone in her body ached to protect him. I'm fine had been written and scribbled out too many times. She missed him, more with each day that passed.

She had eventually told him about her run in with Scarlett Price, about the subsequent run ins that had occurred in the months since. She told him that Scarlett had quickly realised Theo would come in for a visit each Tuesday, meaning she would wait until Monday to pick her fights. It had taken Beckett three missed visits to realise what Price had been doing, to see how the woman had found a much more effective way of inflicting pain.

But today's letter wasn't about her enemies. It wasn't about prison, wasn't about her trial. It was about him and how much she longed for the day they would be reunited.

I miss all the small things.

The way you'd always touch me as you passed; whether it be a touch of our hands or a kiss pressed to my temple.

I hadn't realised how much I had come to depend on those little touches. I never thought I'd go a day without kissing you goodnight, let alone a whole year.

It's weighing on me, I guess. What I'd give to have that normalcy back. To have you back.

I don't like wanting the things I cannot have.

Kate, my love.

You are struggling because, when it comes to me, you have never had to discipline yourself. I, however, am the master of wanting what I cannot have. I did, after all, have to wait for years for you to return my feelings.

And before you argue (because, let's face it, you love to argue with me) I can back up my claims!

Exhibit A: I asked you out after our very first case together. You assumed I simple wanted you to be a 'conquest' but no, my love, it was much more than that. Alas, you rejected my advances. And in the cruellest way possible, may I add! Leaning in, pressing your body up against mine and whispering in my ear. That moment was life-changing for me. Literally! That was the moment I became obsessed - hooked, like an addict on a new drug.

Exhibit B: the book launch party for Heat Wave. You sauntered on in, looking smoking hot in that little blue dress. I think that was the first time I truly considered just throwing caution to the wind and kissing you. The only reason I didn't was because I knew I'd be met with an almighty slap if I had. But, good God, that slap could have been so worth it.

And then there was those few nights where you stayed with us after, well, you know. I would lay in bed at night, wide awake just wondering if you were awake, too. Wondering 'if I were to go upstairs and knock on her door, would she let me in?'. Not even to do anything - I'd never have tried anything while you were so vulnerable - but just to talk. I thought I had lost you that night, Kate. I'd never been so shaken before, so absolutely terrified. There was a part of me that never wanted to let you out of my sight again.

That was when I knew I loved you. I made so many mistakes after that, did things that probably make you doubt the sincerity of that statement but it's true, I swear. In that moment, when I thought you were gone, I knew I was in love.

And I have loved you every day since. I will continue to love you, every day, until my very last breath.

Always,

Rick.