It comes as no surprise that Kate enters the bullpen on Monday morning to see the shiny suit and tie of internal affairs. Her night had consisted of giving statements to all the necessary people, of retracing the events that forced her to discharge her weapon and the points of the investigation that led she and Castle to a hostage standoff in the middle her precinct.

The visit was expected, she was already owed one for her altercation with Vulcan Simmons, but Coonan's death just makes the situation that much worse.

She unlocks her office door with dread, facing the very real reality that these people could strip her of her job, not only as the Captain of the Twelfth Precinct, but of her badge in general.

Kate could absolutely be declared unfit for duty and a liability that the New York Police Department isn't willing to handle.

She tries to prepare herself for that as she sheds her coat, puts away her bag and starts up her computer.

The suit she'd spotted in the bullpen from earlier strolls into her office with a woman that needs no introduction. Victoria Gates had a reputation that preceded her, a woman who had grown up in a family of cops and been one of the brightest stars to come through the academy. Until Kate, she had maintained the record for the youngest woman to hold both the title of detective and captain.

Now, after twenty-five years on the force, the woman nicknamed Iron Gates was one the big shots in Internal Affairs. Someone who absolutely had the power to remove her from duty, effective immediately and permanently.

"Captain Beckett," Gates greets her with a no-nonsense approach, her smile pleasant if not overly friendly and offers a handshake of introduction that requires Kate to stand from her desk chair and lean over the desk to accept it. "Deputy Chief Gates. This is Mr. Troy Varga, from the Civilian Review Board," she adds, indicating the man who makes no move to shake her hand. In fact, Varga gives a disapproving scowl at her when she meets his eyes.

It feels strange to Kate to take a seat back behind her desk given the circumstances, but she's not exactly sure where else she could go. Clearing her throat lightly, she waits until Gates has settled in the second seat across from her desk, folding her hands to address the woman, "I'm sure you have questions for me…"

"Actually, no, this meeting is a courtesy," Gates informs her, Mr. Varga and I are here to tell you that you are being suspended from duty, two weeks with pay, while we conduct our investigation. The Civilian Review Board will also be looking into your self-reported incident with Mr. Simmons though we expect that to be cleared without issue."

Varga's scowl only deepens at her words, lips pressed tightly together with distaste until Gates cuts her eyes over to him. "If you would explain the situation, Troy…."

"Though you've reported the incident to Internal Affairs, and though they've sent the matter on to our board, we are not gaining much cooperation from Vulcan Simmons regarding this incident. The fact is that Simmons has no interest in going after you for your badge which, to be frank, I find to be suspicious enough on its own as you attacked him without provocation," the man replies, annoyance dripping in every syllable.

While she could possibly make an argument about no provocation, Kate keeps silent. Anything she might say will only make the situation worse. She broke the rules allowing her personal investment in an investigation to push her to cross the line, and she's sure it's only that Simmons wants to protect his own skin and avoid more cops that he isn't cooperating with the board.

"Provocation is a matter of judgement," Gates reminds Varga, "And we will both be looking at the record of interrogation in due time to determine that. But, Captain Beckett, I must insist that you turn over your badge, your gun, your department issued phone, and any files pertaining to these cases to me at this time. You can appoint an interim captain for the remainder of the day and, beginning tomorrow, OnePP will assign someone from administration to fill in during your absence."

Kate stands slowly, unholstering her gun and passing it handle first towards Gates. The woman looks a bit sorry to have to bench her while Varga maintains an air of smug satisfaction as she retrieves all the files relevant to the investigation and prints out all the reports that have yet to be added into the mix.

The last thing she does is pass over her badge, though Kate takes the time to remember the weight of it in her hand, how right it feels that it belongs to her. It's as much a part of her as her name and her birthdate, and a piece of her shrivels up at the loss of it.

She's well aware that she could never get it back, might never re-enter her office as Captain of the Twelfth Precinct, but as she packs up her elephants, a photo of her parents, and the handful of other personal items she's put into the space over the years, Kate chooses to hold on the little sprig of hope that it will all work out.

Rick steps between the two uniforms who are a step behind Esposito and Ryan as they read Damien his rights. The air is crisp and cold, just the slightest hint of snow that local meteorologists were predicting to roll in during the usual evening commute.

The bite of it feels good to his overheated skin, the deep breath he takes releasing some of the tension born from laying out to Damien the evidence that Michael Rutherford had handed to the San Francisco police to solve the murder of his father.

Amber Patinelli had killed Vicky Westlake but, decades earlier, Damien had plotted to kill his father in a move not that far removed from the greedy little boy looking for gold that Kate had pegged him as when the investigation had begun.

He can accept it with time, but it still stings and leaves him second guessing so many of the people in his life to which Rick has given unwavering trust and devotion.

It's not a life that he wants to live; always second guessing motives and intentions, and even in light of this situation, he's going to try and remember Damien as a friend who once helped him and put him on the path he's currently walking.

Even friends make mistakes, and he knows he's better off forgiving and forgetting.

Though it will take time.

With another heavy sigh, he lifts his head, eyes roving over the marked NYPD cruiser and then down towards the cherry red unmarked Dodge that Ryan and Esposito drive. That's where he finds Kate, hands shoved deep into the pocket of one of her innumerable coats as she leans against the passenger side door. She's watching him carefully, concern for him etched into the elegant features of her face.

He doesn't hurry down the stairs of the brownstone, but Kate is who he orients himself towards. She reaches for him first when he approaches, hand lifting to stroke against his cheek, "You okay?"

"Been better," Rick admits, arms easily winding around her waist to pull her in for a long hug. They're still standing together when the two uniforms lead a handcuffed Damien from the townhouse, holding hands on the sidewalk as he is loaded into the backseat. Ryan delivers the instructions to head back to the precinct so that they can officially book Damien before he and Esposito approach, unspoken questions on each of their faces.

"We heard IA came to visit you…." Espo says as they step up to them, "Don't tell me they benched you, Beckett."

Inwardly, she sighs, not having wanted to inform Castle of her suspension while standing in the middle of a sidewalk. But there's no good reason to put Espo and Ryan off, so she nods her head, flashing each of them a strained smile. "Two weeks with pay while they investigate."

"But you'll go back to work afterward, right?" Castle asks, hand squeezing against hers with a little more pressure than is strictly comfortable in his surprise.

At that she only shrugs, noncommital with an answer because she doesn't have one. "We'll see," she replies, "Chief Deputy Gates is the investigator on record, and she has all the files. So all I can do is wait."

"Damn, Beckett," Ryan mutters, "You were just protecting yourself and Castle…."

"That may be true, but I let emotions get in the way. My attachment to my mother's murder forced an unnecessary risk and while Coonan had intent with a deadly weapon as provocation, Simmons played me like a fiddle," Kate sighs, hating the way her throat gets tight with regret and shame at her actions.

For some time no one says anything, each of them caught in the circle of their thoughts until Espo and Ryan's phones chime in tandem with a text. Like the partners that they are, both reach for phones in sync, eyes meeting once they've read the text. "Dispatch," Espo informs her, turning the phone so she can read an address about twelve blocks north, "We've gotta go."

"Yeah, yeah, I understand," she says easily, nudging Castle away from the passenger side door while Esposito hurries around to the driver's side. "I'll text you when I know more."

"Do that," Ryan tells her as he slips into the car and closes the door. A moment later, Espo is pulling away from the curve, headed off towards 7th Avenue and the mid-morning snarl of Manhattan traffic.

Despite himself, Rick's brain is already at work, thinking about what they could potentially do with two free weeks. He, of course, has some writing that needs to take up his time, but one of the benefits of being a writer is that he can do it from anywhere.

They could go somewhere warm. Sunny and exotic, he thinks. A vision of Kate in a tiny bikini crowds his mind, and the idea of pulling it off her wet body and chasing the water droplets that drip onto her skin from her hair with his mouth isn't that far behind.

He can practically taste the salt of seawater, feel the warm rays on run on his face and sand between his toes when she nudges him with an elbow. "You still with me?" she asks him, her amusement undoubtedly stemming from the slack-jawed look that Rick is likely sporting after that particular little fantasy.

It's a damn good one he decides, even as he shakes his head to get rid of the image. "Yeah, I'm-" Rick starts, his voice a little huskier than it should be. With a quick clearing of his throat he tries again, pointedly ignoring the way her eyes narrow with an attempt of sizing him up and reading his mind, "I'm good."

"What were you thinking about?" she asks the question with a gentle tug of his hand, pulling him along the sidewalk. He goes willingly, enjoying the idea of his girlfriend leading him somewhere, even if it's just the end of the block for an easier shot at hailing a cab.

"Taking you somewhere warm and sunny," Rick says with ease, grinning at the pleased smile that Kate gives him. There's a twinkle in her eye that has him sure that his admission has pointed her towards his thoughts of her in a skimpy swimsuit, but if he knows Kate at all, she's probably thinking of him shirtless on a beach.

"That'd be lovely," she replies, tucking herself against his body for a human shield from the icy gust of wind that whips down the wider canyon of seventh avenue. "But I have to stay close. They might need me for an interview and going off on a vacation wouldn't exactly win me any courtesy points."

Rick supposes he should have considered that given the circumstances, but he didn't. Now, standing with one arm banded around Kate and another in the air to signal a cab, he feels a sharp disappointment with the knowledge. It would be nice to go somewhere with her, to forget about all the emotional cases and their fight and just get back to being with one another.

He knows he needs the time alone with her. Time that's more than just a few hours in her apartment or his bedroom.

The cab that pulls to the curb already has a passenger, a woman who has a phone pressed to her ear and an air of frustration about her as the door pops open. She's dressed in an expensive wool coat in fire engine red, sleek black stilettos, and one of those bags in a buttery black leather that could easily hide an infant or a small dog and have room leftover for a takeout container and a wallet.

Her blonde hair bounces as she neatly exits the vehicle after tipping the driver, paying them absolutely no mind given her devotion to the phone call. While Kate steps forward to slide into the backseat, the woman gives an eyeroll to whoever is on the other end of the call, followed by a sharp huff of air, "No, if you can believe it, he wants to skip the Gala and spend the weekend in the Hamptons. The Hamptons, Paisley! As if anyone worth a damn is going to be up there in the dead of winter….."

The conversation continues with the click of her heels down the sidewalk, steadily going out of Castle's earshot. Still, the woman has given him an idea of his own, one that would give he and Kate some alone time without compromising her need to stay close to the city.

He's grinning once he settles next to her in the cab, giving the driver the address to the loft once the door has been closed behind him. Rick waits until they've merged into traffic to draw Kate close to him, lips dusting at her temple. It's a marvel how perfectly she fits against him, how well they fit together in all the ways that count.

Yes, they have some problems, yes they can have bitter arguments that absolutely have the power to ruin his day, but he wouldn't trade her for anything.

She's his. He loves her and, even if Kate hasn't yet found the courage to voice it, he knows that she loves him in return.

"What about going to the Hamptons for a few days?" he asks, "It's close enough that you could be back in a couple of hours if you are needed, far enough and quiet enough to afford us some privacy."

He knows that he has her convinced when she grins at him, a flash of her teeth showing between those curling lips. She's beautiful at all times, but there is something exceptional about Kate when he's managed to surprise her, a sparkle in those green eyes that fills him with joy that so few people can stir in him.

"I'd love that, Rick," she says, tipping her head up to kiss him gently. "When do you want to leave?"

"Tomorrow," he says decisively, "We can stay as long as you want. A few days, your whole suspension….."

"Let's start with a few days," she grins, "See how we feel after that."

It's a weird sensation to watch Lanie coo over the baby in her arms. At twelve weeks old, Nya has grown considerably compared to the tiny wisp of a thing that Kate had held in her arms shortly before Christmas. Now she's got a rather impressive sprouting of fuzzy hair all over her head, and fixes her mother with a gummy smile whenever Lanie speaks in a high pitched voice that has Kate trying to school her amusement into something a bit more neutral.

She settles for sipping her wine, grinning with the glass pressed to her lips while Nya enthusiastically sucks down the dredges of her bottle. It's fascinating to watch how at ease Lanie is with her daughter, how gentle and utterly happy she is to life Nya to her towel draped shoulder and begin running gentle circles between the girl's shoulder blades.

Motherhood wasn't something Kate expected to see on Lanie this soon, but she can admit that it looks good on her friend.

"You can laugh," she says, those dark eyes that her daughter seems to have inherited cutting across the small seating area in Kate's apartment to meet her own, "I know I sound ridiculous when I talk to her. It's a reflex."

"It's actually kind of cute," Kate says with a grin, surprised to realize that she actually wouldn't mind holding Nya for a bit. Usually she makes an effort to avoid interacting with babies until they can speak small sentences and understand potty training, but whether her attachment to Nya through Lanie or just simply watching the mother and daughter together, there's a piece of Kate that longs for that sort of connection with someone. "You look happy, Lanie. It's good to see."

"What I am is sleep deprived," Lanie says with a low laugh, "But this one has been worth it. Even when I left the apartment yesterday with two different shoes on."

Kate's own small chuckle sweeps out of her mouth between sips of wine, the flavor of what has quickly become one of her favorite blends sliding around on her tongue as she places the glass onto the side table. "DId you go back home and change?"

"No," her friend sighs, "I didn't notice until I was on the subway. Too much work for all that. Anyone could see I have a young baby and anyone who has been through this should be able to sympathize. If they can't…." Lanie shrugs, obviously unconcerned with the opinions of strangers as Nya gives a loud burp that's followed by an exhale of air that almost sounds like a sigh of pleasure.

"All better now, huh?" Lanie coos at her daughter, grinning down at the baby who stretches like a kitten and blinks sleep heavy eyes.

Kate waits out Lanie discarding the towel from her shoulder and her shifting of Nya from her upright position to nestle in the crook of her arm. No sooner than the baby has gotten settled, her face screws up in what she thinks might be preparation for a cry. Instinctively, Kate stiffens, waiting for that high pitched wailing to assault her ears.

It never comes, that tiny face relaxing with an enormous yawn as her mother continues to rock her gently with the swaying motion of her arms.

Without the baby as a buffer, the lingering tension seems to roll back in and thicken the air inside Kate's apartment. After over a decade of friendship, she doesn't really need to look at Lanie in order to see the frustration on her face, or the way she repeatedly fusses with situating the blanket Nya is wrapped in to give herself something to do.

"Lanie," Kate begins without preamble, waiting until that reluctant pair of brown eyes has lifted from the sleeping child to meet her own, "I'm sorry that I yelled at you. You were doing what you thought was best, and my emotions got the better of me."

She's so utterly grateful for Lanie's quickness to forgive, that she's found a friend who understand and accepts that apologies are always a thing that Kate struggles with. Somewhere in her life, she began to associate apologizing with weakness though somehow she's found a group of people who never hold that defect against her.

In the space of a heartbeat, Lanie's troubled brown eyes go clear, a bit of dark bronze burning softly in the flecks of her irises. "Girl, you're forgiven. Your mom's murder has always been a trigger, and we sprung it on you with no warning. I'm not saying I regret keeping it from you until I had some definitive evidence, I wasn't doing to pull the rug out from under you unless I had no choice, but I think my approach could have been better."

Kate considers that as she reaches back for her wine, picking up the glass and bringing it to her lips. The flavor bursts on her tongue, rolling down her throat with a smoothness that eases out the remaining tension that she's been holding on to. "It wouldn't have mattered," she says, clutching the glass to her chest, "You could have been feather light with me, and I'd still have lashed out. The whole thing is still so raw and I was already on edge with the Westlake case, my fight with Castle, and John Raglan's murder. Yelling at you was a scapegoat, a way to take out my frustration at various events and my disappointment in myself for how poorly I was handling all of it."

"Friends yell at each other sometimes, Kate," Lanie replies, careful with her slow movements to lower Nya from her arms into the waiting carrier. The baby settles in with no issue, those big, dark eyes remaining closed and her breathing steady. Her mother is a different story, getting to her feet with a flex of her arms to work blood back through the muscles and joints. "Then you forgive each other and move on. Don't dwell on it so much, I'm not upset anymore."

With a nod, Kate takes another swig of wine, watching with amusement as Lanie bends and stretches with a long sigh. "Well, that makes one of us."

The look she gets for that is long and searching, enough for her friend to cross the room. She expects Lanie to take a seat next to her, to spend a few minutes commiserating about the roller coaster that she's been through in the past few days, maybe even weeks if she threw in her fight with Rick. Instead, the other woman is tugging her up, pressing the bottle of half-finished wine from the side table into her hand and giving her a shove back towards the hallway. "Come on, you need to pack for this trip. We can talk at the same time."

It's with some surprise that Kate accepts she does actually want to talk it out. The words are bubbling up, crawling under her skin and begging to be released as they navigate the short hallway from the living room to her bedroom. She finishes the dredges of her wine in one swallow as Lanie's footsteps pad across the floor to the corner, placing both the bottle and her empty glass on the bedside table.

Kate's no more than turned to asses the disaster that has become her room in her poor attempt to back before Lanie's scowling at the piles of clothing littering her bed, a suitcase containing just the few items she'd managed to pack before her arrival with Nya had interrupted the process.

"Honey, no," Lanie announces, the pair of eyes that match her daughters narrowed with scrutiny at the clothing.

"What do you mean, no?" she asks, resisting the urge to scowl at her friend. Never one for barriers, Lanie has strolled over to poke at the stacks, heaving a large sigh when she unearths a worn long-sleeved t-shirt with Stanford printed over it in faded, cracked letters. Judging from the look that Lanie gives, Kate assumes she's supposed to explain why she still has a shirt that old, and she shrugs, "It's comfortable."

"It's a mess," Lanie challenges, folding the shirt up and dropping it on top of the low slung bookshelf that doubles as a bedside table for Castle when he stays over. There are little fragments of him littering what had once been an empty space; a few pens, a notebook, the extra phone charger he'd purchased specifically to leave at her place even though Kate had insisted he could use hers. "You cannot wear that on your first trip away with your boyfriend."

It's a strange realization that comes over her as she stands by her suitcase, a pair of her favorite skinny jeans resting in her hands. It is their first trip away, really their first chance to go anywhere and do anything outside of the city.

She can't even remember the last time she left the city for a vacation with a boyfriend, though a quick flip through her memories and rather short roster of relationships lands Kate at Tom Demming and a miserable attempt at a fun weekend of sand and sun on the Jersey shore.

They hadn't lasted long after that, both of them having returned home well aware that while they liked one another, that hadn't quite been enough. Not then, not for Kate. The robbery detective with his easy going nature and casual smile wasn't enough to convince her to open up to him, to take the type of risks that had come so easily with Richard Castle.

"He's seen me in it before," Kate tells Lanie, dropping the jeans into the suitcase with a defiant raise of an eyebrow, "He's seen me in my laundry day sweatpants and my NYPD Academy shirt with the giant hole under the arm, without make up and straight from the shower." Maybe that's going a little too far in proving the point that Castle isn't going to care what she brings, but Lanie gives her a the narrow eyed stare anyway.

"We're gonna talk about why you own shirts that are nearly old enough to vote in a minute," her friend says, rooting through a pile of sweaters to select two of Kate's favorites. One of them is oversized and a soft, warm cable knit that she knows will easily layer over other shirts and the other is a tight red v-neck, the sort that she bought on a whim one afternoon and rarely got worn with its low cut neckline being rather inappropriate for a police captain. "But for now," Lanie adds as she puts the two sweaters into the suitcase, "I want to know why you are taking a bunch of ratty stuff for a few days that are gonna be little more than sex and sleeping."

It's ridiculous to blush at the description, but Kate feels her cheeks burn hot anyway. The truth of the matter is that she hadn't given it a lot of thought, aware that Castle had no inclination towards her wardrobe because, truthfully, he had seen it all before.

"Lanie…." It almost comes out as a whine, how frustrated she is at this whole thing. She's not the best at relationships, is absolutely the type that still struggles a bit in the day to day navigation of what she should and shouldn't do. "He's not going to care," Kate adds, adamant on that point while she tosses a few more items into the mix. "We're going to stay close to his house, no real reason to take anything other than casual clothes."

"Katherine Beckett, you don't need a reason other than you want to leave him stunned," Lanie sighs, dropping in the soft gray yoga pants that Kate passes her.

There is a certain sense of pride and satisfaction when he gives her that glassy eyed stare simply because she's put on a short dress or a tight shirt, but she hedges on admitting it out loud. Instead, Kate picks up one of her favorite dresses, a dark emerald green that compliments her coloring and hugs her body in all the right places. It's a bit much for dinner in the Hamptons in the dead of winter, but she drops it in anyway, only relenting when Lanie keeps that perceptive gaze fix on her.

"I didn't want to make this complicated," she explains quickly, hating the way that her heart squeezes with regret at what she's only admitted to herself. "Things are already…..it's been a mess for a few weeks but now…." Kate sighs, feeling the tension that's an ever present knot deep in her chest begin to throb yet again, a steady reminder of her guilt and disappointment in herself for the selfish track of her thoughts. "I go between being grateful that it's over, that Castle wasn't shot and nothing happened to any of my people, to furious that I've lost the best lead I've ever had on my mother's case in twelve years of working at it."

Deep down, she knows it shouldn't matter about the lead, that any good investigator will keep digging until they find a new one, but it still tugs at her. She had the answers in her grasp, and she lost them by killing the man who had them.

"I think that's normal," Lanie says, passing her a pair of skinny jeans that would look great with the oversized sweater that Kate's half-heartedly tossed in the suitcase because it's on top of a pile. To complete the outfit, she tosses in a tank top and a button up shirt, thinking of cold mornings and the benefit of layers to stay warm.

"Is it?" Kate asks, hating the way that her voice sounds scratchy and raw with grief. "Because sometimes I find myself wishing that Castle had been quicker, hadn't been so easily caught in Coonan's trap so that I wouldn't have had to make the choice. I spent as much time mad at him as I do losing the lead in the first place."

And that she'd had to accept the idea of living without him. Underneath all the rest of it, she's blazing with anger that Richard Castle had thought for even a second that she would be fine without him.

She wouldn't be fine. She would fall apart and exist in shambles if he died because of her. She's already watched some alternate version of him die and Kate knows she couldn't go through it again. Not with her Castle. Not with the one that she loves.

It hits her like the crashing of a wave into the shore, pounding over her with a sweeping realization that leaves a tingling from the top of her head to the tip of her toes.

She loves Richard Castle. She loves him enough that if she'd been needed to put herself in front of a bullet to save him, she would do it without hesitation. Nothing about being a cop and protecting the innocent, she would do it to protect him, to keep him safe, keep him whole. Even if it meant she could no longer be with him.

Kate sinks down onto the bed, ignoring all the clothes that form awkward lumps underneath her, scrubbing a hand through her hair. Even months later, the memory of a different Rick Castle, one with his quiet certainty and his fearlessness in bulldozing through her life to push her to be better, jumping in front of a bullet to save her replays like a movie clip in her head. From the explosion of the bullet leaving the barrel of the gun, to the muffled groan when it embedded into his chest, she remembers every detail.

The honesty of the fact he loved her, even this version of her that he'd just met, it still leaves chills running down her spine because, now, she understands that sacrifice.

Short of her parents, short of Lanie, Espo and Ryan, Kate isn't so sure she'd have made such a selfless choice.

"Kate, are you okay?" Lanie's voice pulls her out of the memory, her friend staring at her with obvious concern. Somehow, she's crossed the the other side of the bed, kneeling down to get a better look at Kate who quickly flashes her a smile to ease that worry.

"I'm good I just….." Kate blows out a breath, "I finally realized something that I think I've known for a while."

Those brown eyes of Lanie's warm in an instant, her mouth curving up with quiet approval as she gets to her feet. "About time you figured it out," the woman purrs, practically strutting back to the opposite side of the bed to pick up a short black skirt that Kate had mostly laid out as an afterthought.

She adds it to the suitcase with a glint in her eye that just dares Kate to challenge her, following it up by snagging a black lace balconette bra and it's matching thong with the same challenging expression.

Ignoring that her friend just happily picked up her underwear, she instead turns her attention to what Lanie hasn't said. Not that she needed words. The smugness is right there for anyone to see. "How in the world did you know before I knew?"

"Girl, please, I see you with him all the time. You've been in love with the boy since he brought you birthday cake and topped it off with the best sex you've ever had which, I should add, was your description and not mine," Lanie replies. "Anyone that sees the two of you together can figure it out. You just needed time to catch up to the rest of the class."

That hot rush of pink is back on her cheeks, burning bright enough that Kate wishes she could hide her face with her hair but it's tied in a messy bun high on her head. Instead, she just suffers through her blushing, pointedly ignoring the self-satisfied smile from Lanie as they quietly pack up the remainder of clothing piled around the suitcase.

"He makes me happy," she admits once they've finished filling her suitcase with clothes, a plentiful amount of lingerie and the sexier components of her underwear drawer, a leather jacket, and her currently favorite overcoat and at least two more pairs of shoes than Kate will actually need. "Happier than I thought I could be."

"Which is why you've got to hold on to him with everything you've got." Lanie says, reaching out to press a hand against her forearm, "He's a good man, Kate. And you are as good for him as he is for you."