HEY: remember that sequel I promised you guys seven hundred days ago? Well a liar, I am not. I know it's been well over a week, but better late then never (I think).
Anyways I underestimated the pressure a sequel promises- it's a lot of hype and anticipation and expectations to meet. I hope I did it justice.

I'm going to try and be good about posting, I promise. :)

First and foremost to my girls: Andy, for being the most thoughtful, giving person, and for Emily, for being my partner in crime and the bad cop at the same time.
AC, your order is ready. Sorry for being such a tease.
And Susan: never stop doing what you do no matter what.

Worry

...

The only sound that could be heard was clicking as Richard Castle typed. The soft, rhythmic clicking as fingers pressed against familiar, well-worn keys. Yes the fingers and the keys were very well acquainted, friends and co-workers, even. Fingers pounded across the keyboard, sometimes lightly and tentatively, but more often than not, hard, determined and purposefully.

The clicking filled the spacious office, and it was all that could be heard in the entire apartment. The lights were off- all but the light emanating from the computer screen. Night had fallen hours ago, but the writer refused to follow the sun in its slumber, content to keep the moon company. The words poured from his fingertips, fumbling every now and again as his fingers simply could not keep up with his brain, words flowing without effort.

It was rare that writing was this easy, this fluent.

He checked the time.

11:07.

Alexis should be home by now.
As a matter of fact, she should have been home seven minutes ago, like she was every night. It was rare she stayed out this late at all, but 'after curfew' was not an idea she would even entertain. His fingers paused in their typing, and the silence was louder than any flurry of cadenced clicks that he could muster. His fingers itched for something to do instantaneously, and despite his very noble attempts, he reached for the phone.

"You've reached Alexis Castle. I couldn't get to the phone-" she was cut off, followed by the distant sound of her elbow meeting someone's chest, and then: "Dad, cut that out. Anyways, please leave your name and a message after the tone."

The phone beeps, and her voicemail starts recording. She had been meaning to change that message for months, but she hadn't gotten around to it. "Hey, honey. Just me, checking in. Call me when you get this. I love you." With the simple message, he hung up the phone, staring at it an extra minute, worry lining his face.

That was weird.
He never got the machine.

This thought alone had him punching Paige's cell phone number faster than he knew was possible. He always had the number, just in case, but he had never had to use it. Not until now.

"Hello?" A female voice answered on the third ring. He recognized it as Paige.

"Paige, hey, it's Richard Castle- Alexis's dad?"

"Hey Mr. C!" she replied enthusiastically. "What's up?" The girl didn't question his reason for calling, despite the paucity of the occasion.

"Just calling to check in. I tried calling Alexis's cell but it went to voicemail. Everything okay over there?" He kept his voice casual. If Paige didn't think anything was out of the normal, either did he.

"What do you mean? Alexis left my apartment over an hour ago. Didn't she make it home okay?"

The next call Castle made was the last one of the evening. One and a half rings was all it took, and the line picked up.

"Beckett?" a groggy voice answered.

...

Kate woke to screaming. It wasn't the familiar wail of the alarm clock set to a static AM channel, but to the all-too-familiar sound of a ringtone, paired with the obnoxious sound of plastic vibrating on wood. A hand shot out from beneath the warmth of the pillow her head was resting on, reaching blindly for the source of the noise. Her fingers curled around the cell phone after only a moment of searching, and she raised it to her ear, rolling over to her back in the same motion.

"Beckett," she greeted her voice groggy, clogged with sleep. She didn't even have the energy to glance at the clock beside her, but she knew it was late. Castle's voice filled her ears. He was talking loud and fast, tripping over words and skipping others so that his sentences weren't making sense. "Castle, slow down," her voice still laced with sleepiness, but it was fading as she tried to decipher what he was trying to say. Thank god this time he listened to her.

"I'm really sorry to wake you up, Beckett, but I really need-" but she cut him off, a hand threading her hair.

"Castle if this is a Nikki Heat question I swear to god-" but she didn't even get to finish her sentence before he choked out:

"It's Alexis. I don't know where she is, Kate, and-" The shake in his voice and the use of her first name sent her flying out of bed even as he rambled on, holding her phone to her ear with one hand as she fought to get the nearest pair of jeans on.

"Castle," her voice was muffled for a moment as she pulled on a grey police academy hoodie. "You don't move, do you understand me? Stay put. I'm on my way." Her shoes were on and she was out of her apartment before she ended the call.

...

Kate knocked on the large, red door of Castle's apartment, and when he opened it, she didn't wait for an invitation, pushing past him and stopping in the foyer. "Hey," she greeted, when he turned to face her. "Where are your socks?" she asked, without thinking first. He was in what she had coined his 'work uniform'- a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt. His usually neatly combed hair was sticking out the way it did when he ran his hands through it too many times, and he was barefoot.

It wouldn't have been weird if he were barefoot, except it was freezing in the apartment and his work uniform always, always involved socks. "They are the first thing I put on in the morning," he told her once, arching an eyebrow, playfully.

"What?" he asked, her, confused.

"You're not wearing any socks, Castle; your feet must be freezing." She wasn't sure why the lack of socks bothered her so much. Maybe it was easier to focus on the absence of the socks than it was the much louder absence of a certain teenage girl.

"I don't care; I want to find my daughter." The bluntness of his words caught her off-guard, and she suddenly cared much less about his lack of socks.

"Have you had anything to eat? Drink?" She asked, switching into Detective Beckett mode. She needed to make sure he was okay before even thinking about Alexis. She grabbed his arm, pulling him into the kitchen and under the stove's overhanging light.

"God, Kate, I'm telling you that my daughter had been unreachable for the last hour and a half, and you're talking about food?" He was confused and he was worried and the emotions were translating into anger. She ignored his burst, lifting his chin with her thumb and forefinger, looking at his eyes in the light.

Conflicted and blue as she'd ever seen them, but his pupils were dilating just fine. "Have you gotten sick or experienced shortness of breath?" She asked, using her grip on his jaw to pull his eyes down to meet hers, firmly.

"What is this, a monthly physical?"

"Answer the question."

"No, I haven't eaten, no I haven't thrown up and no, I haven't experienced shortness of breath," he replied, exasperatedly. "Will you let me go now?" she held him still a moment longer before deciding she was satisfied with the answers she got, releasing him from her grip.

She immediately turned to the refrigerator, opening it and helping herself to its contents. She pulled out a Tupperware container that held leftover lasagna and opened it, tossing it in the microwave. While it warmed up, she pulled out a pitcher of water and filled the cup that sat on the counter, pushing it towards her partner. "Drink this," she demanded.

He would have rather had scotch but he bit his tongue and obediently took a sip of the water. She retrieved the lasagna and pushed it towards him as well, grabbing a fork from the silverware drawer. He looked down at it, then to her.

"Humor me," she said, dryly. He managed three bites before pushing it away like a child who didn't want to eat his vegetables. She wasn't satisfied but she was so relieved he didn't put up a fight that she pulled him away from the harsh lights of the kitchen, sitting him down on the couch in the living room.

She sat down beside him, maybe a little closer than she should have, and pulled his hands into hers so they rested on her crossed legs. "Start from the beginning, Castle," she told him, forcing her voice to remain measured. "Don't leave anything out."

...

20 minutes later Castle finished his story, Kate asked her questions and they had a trace pending on Alexis's cell phone.

"Can you do that?" Castle had asked. She gave him a look that told him no, she couldn't, but she remained silent.

"I need to know if there is anywhere she would go. I want to put Ryan and Esposito on the streets, and I need to know where to focus them," she explained. "Is there anywhere she would run too? To get away, after a bad day?" She rubbed her thumb in a circle across the back of his hand, still clasped in hers, in her lap.

"Home." He said, after a moment. "She would come home." The crack in his voice nearly broke her but she didn't let it, instead squeezing his hand gently before she released it to pull out her cell phone. His hand stayed where she left it, resting on her leg as she made a call

"Ryan. Yes, I know what time it is. Yes. No, not a-" her eyes flicked to Castle, who was hanging on to her every word, and thought better of using the word 'murder.' "No," she said, simply, instead. "Look, I need your help. Personally," she added, hating the word as it crossed her lips. She hated asking favors, but by god she would ask a hundred favors to get the youngest Castle home safe.

She was only on the phone a few minutes longer before she had arranged for Ryan to meet Esposito and patrol Alexis's everyday route, as well as Paige's house and the closest subway stations.

When she hung up the phone, she grabbed Castle's hand back in her own.

"Why don't we get a whole taskforce to cover more ground?" he asked her. It wasn't an angry question or a patronizing one, but an honest one.

"Castle, you have to understand, if you go to the cops now with a seventeen year old, missing in action for two hours, they are going to file your report away and forget about it. Twenty-four hours is the customary time. There is some wiggle room, since she is a minor, but two hours won't cut it." She saw the pained expression on his face and squeezed his hand again. "They don't know Alexis like you do. They won't understand that she never goes out like this. Let Ryan and Esposito do what they do." Then, after a half a beat of hesitation: "Let me do what I do."

He looked at her for a long moment and she swore she would spontaneously combust. "Okay," his voice was so soft she almost missed it.

And for the first time that night, he squeezed her hand back.

...

It's often just enough to be with someone. I don't need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You're not alone.

Marilyn Monroe