She doesn't know how it's come to this.

Kate sits on the edge of the bed, staring down at the bottle in her hand. As needed, it says. For insomnia. Insomnia - inability to sleep, get to sleep, stay asleep. Well, that's what they were for originally, anyway. For nights when they were so angry that she'd lie awake all night, either tossing and turning, or weeping, or both, curled up in the spare bedroom.

Wishing fruitlessly that Rick would make the first move, come upstairs, hold her and promise they could make their way out of the battlefield their marriage had become. She'd made the trip downstairs more than once, only to find him sound asleep, or writing - the one thing she'd sworn to herself never to intrude on - and she'd either linger out of sight in the living room or go back upstairs.

The one time she *had* intruded - well, that was an ugly exchange of words. Ugly enough to start her thinking about leaving, giving them both a chance to start over with someone else. Except there was no one else for her; she knew that now. Her love for him - and his for her, she was sure - had long since gone beyond respect and friendship, into a fiery romance that had taken a wrong turn, and turned to ashes.

There you go, overreacting again, she tells herself. You don't believe in soulmates, do you? Never did. Living with a writer, it's made you a drama queen. Time to snap back to reality.

But first - a night of sleep. Dreamless, she hopes; her dreams lately have been about as restful as walking on broken glass. Fragments of memories, full blown worst-case scenarios, what ifs that were absurdly unlikely but which haunted her waking hours long after.

Kate goes into the bathroom and takes the prescribed dosage, along with a full glass of water, pads silently downstairs to check that the front door is locked, her nightly routine even when Rick is home. He won't be back for another week, and there's no one else living in the loft now that Martha has moved out and Alexis is in Paris for the summer.

There's no reason why she can't sleep in the master bedroom. No one will know, no one will care, and anyway, it's her room, too. Still…

She turns out the lights and returns to her hiding place, upstairs, as far as possible from the bed they once shared.

Rick rubs at his eyes with his fist and sighs, brings himself to turn off the television that he's been staring at for the last couple of hours. His ears ring in the sudden silence and for a moment he considers turning the TV back on just for background noise while he tries to go to sleep.

He's hardly slept for days, not just because of jet lag or time differences or book parties, but because he's not sure how he's going to handle going home next week. At first he thought some time apart would give them a chance to breathe and settle and come back ready to start anew. To figure out how this rift had widened - hell, how it had even begun - and how to back away from the point of no return. From breaking apart, for good.

After a couple of phone calls home that turned into stilted small talk and long silences, he realized that he was fooling himself. And he stopped calling, and she didn't call him, either.

He's survived the end of a marriage before. Twice. He never thought he'd be contemplating the possibility again. But Kate deserves another chance at peace, with someone else, he tells himself. He wants to spare her, and himself, the indignity of another pointless argument; he hopes they can part, if not amiably, at least civilly.

Part of him deep down is still howling at the mere possibility of losing Kate, calling him the worst names his vast vocabulary can summon, berating him for ever thinking they could have forever together. He wants to shut that voice up, at least long enough to get more than a couple of hours' sleep.

He rummages among his toiletries on the counter of the hotel bathroom until he finds the sleeping pills he keeps for dire straits, when he can't stop chasing the mice in his head or when his inner clock is completely out of whack. Downing a dose, he turns off the lights and his phone and burrows into a bed that is not only not his own, but also devoid of Kate.

He doesn't know how it's come to this.

She does dream, but it's like no other dream she's experienced. This is clear and in color, and though the outlines sometimes fade into near-transparency, the setting is familiar.

It's Castle's house in the Hamptons, not as it appears now, but as it was the first time he brought her there. The landscaping in front has changed a little since then, and the decor in the sun room. (She can't believe she notices that.)

There he is, coming up from the pool shaking the water out of his hair, walking up to the window where she stands in the kitchen, daydreaming.

"Hey, Shaggy," she grins. He leans closer, to fling drops of water at her, but she doesn't even flinch. It's their version of playing chicken. Instead she pats him on the head and says, "Good boy. Lunch in five. If you're not dry by then you get to eat outside."

"Not a problem," he grins back and saunters off to get a towel.

Kate glances down at the sandwich she's making and is confused to see what's on her left hand. Her wedding ring. They weren't married on the occasion of that first visit, not even engaged, only recently consummated their long-smoldering passion. Her dream-self just goes on making lunch and carrying it to the sun room, where Rick duly appears and digs in after expressing his appreciation.

It's all so - normal. The kind of normal she longs for, aches for, the kind they've had until so recently. If she were awake, she'd weep - so she's glad she's not awake, and she goes on watching, wishing this vision were reality and that the current troubles were just a bad dream.

Rick has always been a sound sleeper. Insomnia, for him, usually means there's a story idea keeping him awake until he gets up to either figure it out or scribble it down for later. His dreams, even when dark, tend to reflect his love of the mysterious and his acceptance that some things cannot be explained.

Like this dream, for example. He's in the Hamptons, with Kate, but it's present-day Kate in an earlier version of his house - three years before she ever saw it for the first time.

The summer he was here with Gina. Gina isn't here, though, and he thanks the dream gods for that. That would be a nightmare.

It's Kate coming to bed, dropping the short robe she'd been wearing, present-day Kate with fading scars and a wedding ring, Kate whom he rolls in his arms and buries his mouth against her skin. After they make love they lie together and talk plot twists and cases and drink wine, and he wonders where their lives went off course.

Work has been dull and duller for Kate, made worse by the absence of Castle in the precinct. She's a Lieutenant now, on her way to the captaincy, her tasks adjusted but dealing with the same kinds of cases that got her here. Ryan transferred to Cyber Crime (higher pay, less chance of leaving Jenny a widow) and Esposito is grooming a new partner - L.T., who made Detective last month.

She should be pleased for them, but she's unreasonably annoyed. How dare they have their own lives and plans - especially when hers have run up against a wall of marital turbulence. Lanie's still there for her, but Kate knows well enough not to wring her friend out with her own problems.

They're supposed to have a drink later on, but Lanie has had to swap shifts to help out a colleague and Kate goes alone to the Old Haunt and drinks her red wine in a dark corner.

It's been two days since she had that dream. She slept all right last night, and the night before, no need for narcotics, but no dreams, either. She wants to go back there.

Rick finishes his second scotch and flags the bartender for another. When the lady gives him a visual once-over he gives her his most charming, approachable Richard Castle smile and tells her he's staying in the hotel and this will be his last drink, he promises.

He hopes it'll be enough to get him to sleep. He woke up twice last night and at least once the night before, his nerves on high alert even though he can't remember what he'd been dreaming about. He's leery about the sleeping pills, so tonight he's self-medicating with booze instead. It's very writerly of him, he thinks wryly.

(He also knows how to outsmart himself - now that he's had the drinks, he knows he won't be tempted to take the pills, always afraid that he'll wake up in a hospital getting his stomach pumped, or worse, on the front page of a tabloid.)

For once he skips his bedtime rituals, just strips off his clothes and puts out the "Do Not Disturb" sign and flings himself down on the bed, pulling the covers up almost over his head. He's had just enough to drink that the room isn't floating, and he thinks he can sleep.

"Can't sleep?"

It's Kate again, dream-Kate, coming up beside him in his Hamptons bedroom as he stands looking out at the full moon over the ocean. She leans into him, wrapping her arm around his waist. He's not ticklish, but he feels something itchy just above where her hand lies on his side.

He looks down and sees the discoloration of healing skin in a short line across his ribs, the injury he woke up with after his lost summer, and just below it, dream-Kate's fingers, once again with her wedding ring.

"Can't get my brain to shut up," says Rick, eventually.

"Go write it down," she suggests. She knows him so well. Knew him. Still knows him, and yet they're still at odds too much of the time, himself and real life Kate.

In the dream, he says, "I can't seem to nail it down - there's something in the back of my mind, something I'm supposed to have done. Not sure what it is. Every time I look at it it hides, like the stars you can only see in your peripheral vision."

"Come back to bed and close your eyes," says Kate. "Maybe it'll show itself to your dream brain."

Way too meta, thinks Rick as he follows her back to bed.

Kate sits on the edge of the bed, once again in the spare bedroom, contemplating the bottle in her hand. The sensible thing to do would be to get into bed and trust that she'll be able to sleep without the help of the pills.

To hell with sensible. She takes a pill, turns out the light, gets into bed and tries to think about things that might bring that dream back to her. The sound of Rick's laugh. The sound of her own laugh, for that matter. The tension, the good kind, that connects them when they're on a case together. His blue eyes steady on her as he shows her again and again why there is reason for hope.

"There's always reason for hope," says dream-Rick from the passenger seat.

She's driving as fast as she legally can toward Washington, D.C., toward what she prays is the final showdown with William Bracken. Ryan, Esposito, and a couple other NYPD personnel are already there, hanging back, keeping an eye on Bracken's whereabouts while staying out of sight.

They've combed through the evidence, swiftly and thoroughly, and the DA has no doubt that a case can be made. He also has no doubt that Detective Beckett is the right cop for this job.

Kate reaches out with her right hand, and as usual, Rick's hand is there to fold around hers.

"You give me hope," she tells him. "Until you came along, I had given up the idea of ever reaching closure on this."

Eyes on the road, she feels him lift her hand to his lips, feels his smile against her fingers. Feels the ring on his finger, and there it is again, the incongruity of something not of this time. It doesn't bother her, but it's a puzzle. As is the ring she feels on her own left hand.

All she cares about is that this dream continue or, if it has to end, that another rise to replace it, one just as hopeful and comforting.

The following night, Rick is standing next to dream-Kate's desk at the precinct, apologizing for looking into her mother's murder. Rather than being dismissive, dream-Kate stands up and pulls him into a long, tight hug. He feels like he could stay there forever.

Kate dreams she's in the plaza when the backpack bomb goes off, but when the dust settles it turns out dream-Rick has snatched her away from the blast zone and they both tumble to the ground, relatively unharmed. She lies on her back, trying to catch her breath, and the first thing her ringing ears can make out is the sound of Rick's voice saying, "I love you, Kate."

Rick dreams of Paris, racing through the dark alleyways holding Alexis' hand and bursting into the open space in front of the American Embassy. As he draws on his last bit of adrenaline to sweep up the stairs and through the gates, he sees dream-Kate standing inside, laughing, her arms open as he and Alexis barrel into them. And a ring on her left hand.

Kate doesn't even question her use of the sleeping pills, night after night. She's a little less alert during the day, but extra coffee helps with that, and she goes home on time every night for a change. A good habit to adopt, except for the reason behind it: she goes to bed early every night, almost as soon as the sun goes down, and every night there's one less pill in the prescription bottle and another visit from a dream memory.

The night before Rick is due to come back from the tour, Kate prepares for bed as usual, but the water glass in the spare bath isn't there - she took it downstairs to put in the dishwasher. She takes the pill bottle with her to the kitchen, takes her dose with water drunk from a wine glass just because it's the nearest receptacle. Goes to check the front door.

She pauses for only a moment before turning away from the stairs, toward the master bedroom.

Rick is tossing and turning and grumbling. This is ridiculous; he has to get on a plane tomorrow - today - he's got to get some solid sleep before dealing with travel arrangements and business brunch. He gets up and takes a pill, tidies the bedclothes and sinks back down.

His dreams that night are not of happy times or victorious escapes. Dream-Kate is there, but in each near-memory setting that flits through his mind, she walks away and doesn't come back. In a couple of settings it's himself that walks away, and when he looks back she's already vanished. When the next dream arrives he tries to steel himself for dream-Kate's disappearance, tries to remain in the moment, enjoy her presence, but in the end he's alone every time.

This dream is the best, Kate thinks. She hopes she gets to stay this time.

She's standing under twilight, on a lawn overlooking the water. The sound of a car pulling away is followed by the swish of long strides in the tall grass, Rick coming up behind her as their few guests depart.

"You're so beautiful," dream-Rick says softly. "I'm almost afraid to touch you."

She turns to smile at him. "What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"This might be a dream. I might wake up. I don't want to wake up."

Rick mutters, "I don't want to wake up."

Dream-Kate places her hands on his face and kisses him gently. "Neither do I."

"Neither do I," Kate reassures dream-Rick. He sinks to his knees and wraps his arms around her waist and she runs her fingers through his hair. "If I did, though, I know you'd still be here, babe."

"I will. Waking or sleeping, Kate, I will always be here."

"Always," Rick gasps and finds himself bolt upright in bed.

"I'm here, Kate. Always. Right here."

She wonders why dream-Rick keeps saying that. Maybe he's trying to convince himself it's true. His upturned face is covered with tears - why is he crying? These are her happy dreams. He should be happy too.

"Rick. Babe. I know, it's all right. Come here."

He won't get up off his knees and he won't let go of her, and now she's alarmed. She goes down on her knees to wrap him in her arms and hears him sob against her cheek.

"Kate. Come back to me, Kate. Don't give up. Come on."

"Never give up," Kate mumbles, holding him more tightly. "I swear, I'm not going anywhere. Don't you go, either."

"I won't. I promise. Just come back now, okay?"

"Back from - ?"

She hadn't realized her eyes were closed, but now that they're open she finds herself in another setting. It's their bedroom in the loft, it's just getting light outside the tall windows, and she's half-sitting in the embrace of her husband. There are the tears on his face. There's the ring on his finger - and on hers.

This is her real bedroom, and this is her real Rick.

"Rick?"

He surges forward to take her mouth in a kiss, like no other kiss before, and she clutches his hair and his shoulders and returns his fervor with her own. When he draws back to search her face she sees the bottle in his hand.

"Wait - where did you get that?" she asks. She left it in the kitchen before she came in here, to remind herself to refill the prescription, as she'd taken the last pill.

"It was on the kitchen counter," he tells her in a low, anxious voice. "Next to a wine glass."

She stares dumbly at him for a minute, blinking. Finally she blurts out, "I'm - am I asleep? Is this a dream?"

Rick - real life Rick - shakes his head. "Not a dream," he says. "You're alive, and this isn't a dream."

"I'm alive - of course I'm - "

Something shifts in her mind and she knows now exactly why he's crying.

"Rick," she says, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I want to be alive. I don't want to die. I didn't take a bunch of pills and drown myself in alcohol - I took the last pill and came in here to sleep. I didn't try to kill myself, I swear."

"I dreamed," he mutters. "I dreamed that you went away. You were always going away. You'd disappear the moment I turned around. Even when I finally got my arms around you, I was still afraid."

"You said you'd be there if I woke up," says Kate. "Asleep or awake."

"And I had to get here before you disappeared again," he says. "I got the first flight out. And I got here, and there was the bottle, and you were asleep - but this isn't a dream, now, God."

"Not this time," she says, more confidently than anything she's said to him in weeks. "We'll figure it out, right? Whatever happens. Whatever happened. Together."

A glimmer of relief rises in his eyes and he kisses her again and again.

"Always."