Castle almost laughs at how ridiculous it is that he's humming the tune to "Happy Birthday" as he begins sudsing his hands in the little scrub sink outside the door to her ICU room. He is instantly reminded of sheet cakes, sparkling candles that never extinguish, and presents wrapped with oversized bows. But in this place that houses so much sadness and death, it almost seems disrespectful to have such whimsical images popping into his head. He glances down the hall of identical fishbowl rooms with their sliding glass doors spaced evenly along the dove-grey walls and sees a medical team in their uniforms of starched white making their morning rounds. He looks away quickly, but not before he sees they are stopped in front of a room towards the end of the unit updating a crying family member. The cheerful melody suddenly sticks in his throat as he is reminded of the stark reality of his surroundings.

Turning back to the sink, he continues to wash, staring at the little sign attached to the paper towel dispenser: "Wash with soap for 30 seconds ("Happy Birthday Song" three times), including back of hands, before entering patient area." He realizes he's lost count, so he begins again, humming a little more softly this time. He's just following the rules after all. Yes, for once in his life, Richard Castle is following the rules. It only took Kate Beckett escaping the grips of death twice to convince him that bad things can happen when you don't follow protocol, when you do your own thing.

The guilt has tortured him incessantly since her shooting. He can't help but think that if it wasn't for him, she would never have started investigating her mother's murder again. If it wasn't for him, she would be happy, probably basking on a beach this Memorial Day weekend instead of laying in an ICU bed. If it wasn't for him, the Captain would still be alive, there would never have been a funeral, there would never have been an opportunity like that for the sniper. There wouldn't have been blood, ambulances, surgeries, or life support. If it wasn't for him.

He lets his foot off the sink's floor control and the water shuts off abruptly. As he towels his hands dry his minds wanders, recalling that vivid first twenty-four hours in the hospital- two weeks ago to the day. After they had wheeled Kate back for surgery, he had stood at a similar sink for almost five minutes feeling like a fool because he could't figure out how to get the water to turn on. Lanie had finally found him waving his hands frantically in front of it, thinking there had to be an automatic sensor or something. She hadn't said a word, just stood beside him holding down the foot pedal for the water, watching as he had scoured away until his skin burned from both the heat of the water and his anger.

As he washed, his blood had risen beneath the skin, rosy pink blending with the deep crimson of her blood that streaked his hands. He had rubbed and rinsed and rubbed again, but despite his vigorous efforts the flesh under his nails had remained stained with her. Hours later he had clasped these same hands together in prayer to something or someone more powerful than he as a resident doctor informed them that she had coded a second time during surgery.

In that moment he didn't cry or shout, instead he had simply looked down to his fingers, captivated by the blood in the crypts of his skin. This was her blood. It had coursed through her veins, given her life, painted her body with emotion and feeling. Emotions like anger when he challenged her about their relationship; then it had been a flash of deep red across her entire face. Other times it was an almost bashful pleasure revealed by a compliment or when he stood a bit to close to her on the elevator. Those moments always elicited a delicate vine of pink winding up the soft curves of her neck to blossom on her cheeks.

Later that day when faced with his hands again in the men's room, he had found himself not wanting to wash away this last bit of her still clinging to him. What if this were the last living part of her, the last bit of her he got to feel? And so he had wept as he reluctantly turned on the faucet, pumped the soap into his palm and massaged his fingers clean. He still remembers staring at the water as it had rushed down the drain, crying for the first time that day.

He throws away the paper towel and approaches the door to her room hoping to catch a glimpse of her before he goes in, but most of her bed is hidden by the privacy curtain that is partially drawn. He takes a measured breath and tries to get a reign on his emotions. Anxiety and a bit of happiness swirl violently in his stomach. The happiness is new, stemming mostly from the fact that the breathing tube is finally gone, removed the day before much to everyone's rejoicing. When Kate's father had told him "it's coming out today," they had both cracked a smile for the first time in weeks.

But even with the tube out she had still slept most of the day, only opening her eyes periodically when the blood pressure cuff inflated around her arm. She really hadn't spoken to anyone yesterday, not even her father. Nevertheless, Castle had waited outside her room until almost midnight last night hoping she'd wake up and give them a sign. He'd take anything at this point- a smile, a frown, even an eye-roll- just something to let them know that she's back, that she's still Beckett. But she hadn't stirred, and so he had left the hospital feeling deflated, frustrated, and thinking how naive he has been to expect that she would just sit up and casually rejoin the world.

But this morning things had taken a turn for the better. Her father had called just after dawn to inform him that she was more awake and talking now. And not just talking, but that she had actually asked for Jim to call him. Hearing this Castle had been ecstatic, breaking no fewer than five separate traffic laws while driving half the length of Manhattan to get to her. So as he stands here now outside her room, he doesn't quite know why he hesitates. Despite skipping his morning coffee, his hand trembles a little as he reaches for the door handle. He feels like a man going through withdrawal, and to some extent, he has been. A withdrawal from her- his muse. His best friend. His hopefully forever. He has prayed for this moment for the last 13 nights, to finally hear her voice. Just to talk, to laugh with her. But this new, more realistic side of him worries that she won't feel like laughing for a long while. Maybe she'll never laugh like she used to. Maybe he won't either.

A nurse comes through the door before he has a chance to open it. She stands aside, waiting for him to enter, but he pauses at the threshold.

"It's okay. You can go on in if you'd like," the woman in dark blue scrubs says kindly. "I gave her some pain meds a little while ago, so she's getting a bit drowsy again." He nods in understanding and starts to move past her, but she grabs his shirtsleeve lightly and lowers her voice as her eyes focus on his for emphasis.

"She's been restless. Didn't sleep well during the night, so try not to excite her too much," she says firmly. With that she releases his arm, allowing Castle to enter the room where he can finally see the shadow-cloaked figure in the bed.

He closes the glass door, muting the hushed noises of the hallway and continues into the heavy silence of her room. It seems bigger today and his eyes wander to the vacant spot where the ventilator had stood up until now. He also sees that there are fewer IV pumps clamped to the metal stand on the other side of the bed and he reasons that's a good thing as well. The tubing from the pumps leads to her bed, vanishing under the sheets into her central line, the last invasive device that remains. He hopes it will be the next thing to go.

From the tubing, his eyes jump to her arms, seeing the fading circles of yellow, green, and purple bruises that have erupted just under her skin from old IV sticks. What's not bruised is pale, but quite an improvement over the ashen-grey from those first few days after the shooting. He found out later that the bullet had almost drained her. Seven units of blood during surgery before they finally got the bleeding under control. Even with all the transfusions, the doctors are clear that it will take time for her body to recover from such massive blood loss, that she'll be weak for some time.

He stops his approach, hearing the bed creak as she shifts her legs a bit. Her eyes are closed, so he's fairly certain she's still sleeping. He waits and studies her profile. A sleeping beauty- so soft and delicate without any makeup. She doesn't move again, so he quietly moves closer to her side, allowing himself to smile at what he sees next. Her cheeks are different today. It's a silly observation really, but her face holds the promise of a flush for the first time in weeks. He's learned to cherish the small things like this. He remembers that first twitch of a muscle in her arm, and later the warm squeeze of her fingers after the paralytic drip had been stopped. He takes a step closer, his hand already lifting of its own accord, wanting to stroke the pink-tinged skin. He stops himself at the last moment though, and takes several steps back until his body finds the couch near the window.

He just sits for awhile, admiring her from the chair- precious and alive. Her breathing is even and strong. It soothes him, calms him, and he matches each of her breaths with one of his own. But suddenly his chest tightens, aches. She is so still, so calm, just like she had looked right before Lanie had pulled him away from her at the funeral. He closes his eyes, pushing these thoughts from his head, silently chanting the ME's words that have become his mantra since that day.

Positive thinking. Good vibes. None of that negativity.

She's doing well. She'll be fine.

The doctors keep assuring everyone that she's recovering quickly, all things considered. The words of a young trauma surgeon stick out in his mind, "Being young and in such good physical shape probably saved her life."

That's good. Cause I certainly couldn't. He's deep into his thoughts, so he jumps a little when the pool of silence filling the room suddenly ripples with her voice.

"It must be killing you, having to sit there so quietly."

Her eyes remain closed, and so he thinks that he might have imagined her voice like he has countless times in his dreams. Then a weak smile flickers across her mouth and she turns her head towards him, eyes slowly opening for him to see.

"But, I didn't say a thing. I was so careful, I was practically tip-toeing. How did you know...?"

The smile reaches her eyes now. "Your aftershave." She takes a long breath for dramatic effect. "It gave you away."

He straightens himself a bit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. She smiles a little wider at his reaction, then glances at the chair beside her bed before she speaks. Her words come deliberately, and it's clear that she's fighting to stay awake for him. "You know...I got shot, Castle. It's not catching. Perfectly safe for you to come a little closer."

Did she really just crack a joke?

When he doesn't move, she tilts her head a little, gesturing towards the chair. He finally moves to sit next to her, shaking his head disapprovingly. "That's so not funny." She gives him a sideways smirk as her arm extends towards him and he quickly captures her hand between his without hesitation.

"Come on. It was a little funny," she insists. Her voice is worn and gravelly, but it is still music to his ears. He finds that her grip is surprisingly strong as she wraps her fingers around his hand. His throat burns and his eyes blur, but he tries to muster up a smile.

"Okay, but only a very little," he finally agrees.

Not wanting to lose it completely, his eyes dart away from her face, but his throat constricts even more as he finds himself focusing on their hands. The pad of his thumb passes slowly over the thin web of muscles between her thumb and forefinger. Without thinking, he brings the back of her hand to his mouth just long enough to feel the firmness of her bones imprint against his lips. She tenses only slightly before he guides their hands back to the mattress, letting his fingers linger against the pulse point of her wrist.

Alive.

Their eyes meet then and no amount of opiates in the world can dull the pained look on her face. The realization that she almost left this world for good hits them both, and at that moment the force of every emotional high and low of the last 14 days presses into Castle's chest with such ferocity that he thinks his heart might stop. She can see his agony in that moment, but she loosens her hand from his grasp to adjust the blanket over her legs. Even though they haven't said much, they are in desperate need of a change in subject. "So how's the book coming along?"

He grins at her weak attempt at small talk. "Ha. Like I would be able to write anything worth reading over the last two weeks."

"Good point," she says with an apologetic frown. "So what else then?"

"Well, I've been here mostly, and if not here, then at home dealing with Alexis." He sees the look of concern wash across Kate's face and rushes to cover his words. He really shouldn't worry her with his Alexis issues right now. "I mean Alexis is fine, it's just... she's supposed to be leaving for that summer enrichment program at Princeton next week, but..." He pauses, not knowing how to finish the sentence. After the shooting? After you almost dying? He avoids her eyes and continues. "After this, she's thinking about not going, sticking around with me instead. I keep telling her she should still go though. She'll be a senior this fall. It's her last opportunity to do something like this."

He feels Kate studying him as he tells this white lie. The truth is Alexis is refusing to go because she knows he still wants to investigate the sniper and that he plans on returning to the precinct as soon as he gets the 'okay' from the new captain. Alexis has made it clear that she's not only staying in town out of concern, she's staying to keep an eye on him.

"It's understandable that she'd want to keep close to home. She's probably traumatized after being there when..." Her voice falters slightly, but there's no other way to say it. "I got shot." Her fingers inch out from under the sheet to find his hand still resting next to her on the bed. She breaths in as deeply as the pain in her chest will permit, outlining the slopes between his knuckles gently. The hint of distress in her words and the familiar nature of her touch are just about to break him and he wishes he could just fast forward to the part where they're both better, healed.

She inhales slowly again, her voice stronger now. "And she has good reason to be concerned. You were right, Castle. About them trying to kill me." She laces her fingers into his and continues. "I thought I had come to terms with the possibility of me dying, but I was wrong. And more importantly, I somehow forgot how I might be putting others...you, in harms way." She pauses, dipping her head. "I'm so sorry for that."

He leans towards her from the chair. The guilt rises up now, pouring into his voice. "You're sorry?"

He doesn't want to discuss this with her now, but he also can't stand the thought of her bearing this. She's already carried her mother's tragedy for her entire adult life. He's won't allow her to carry this too. "Kate, I know what I've gotten myself into. I've been in the thick of this with you for awhile now. And if we're going to assign fault here, it's mostly mine."

Her eyes shoot towards him and she starts shaking her head in protest, but he gives her no time to speak. "Reopening your mother's case files, all the stuff with Coonan, the Cap-" His voice cracks suddenly, but he recovers. "Roy. And now you. All roads lead back to me. My interference, me sticking my nose where it doesn't belong." He lowers his voice, realizing that he's nearly shouting. "If I weren't here..."

"I'm glad you're here," she almost whispers. He tries to move away before he says anything more to upset them both, but her hand travels up his forearm and she clenches it firmly, narrowing her eyes at him. Her breathing and words are even and clear. "You listen to me, Richard Castle. Because I'm not going to repeat myself: this is not your fault. The only fault lies with this coward behind it all, this evil who uses good cops like Roy Montgomery as his pawn." He opens his mouth to argue, but she quickly cuts him off. "No. It's not up for discussion."

"Alright," he exhales dismissively. It is obvious that he doesn't mean it, that he's only trying to close the subject.

"Castle..." Although her voice is demanding, her hand slides down to grip his wrist lightly, pleading for him not to argue. He starts to answer, but is distracted by the fact that she's clearly breathing harder, and judging from the sudden beeps on the monitor, her heart rate has also shot up. But what really strikes him in that moment is the flash of authority in her eyes, the fire, the spunk. It's still there. She's there. Inside this tired and injured body before him, her spirit is primed, ready to pounce. Castle clenches his jaw, holding back a smile as he thinks. He feels so grateful that she is alive, so privileged to witness the fight in her resurface. It amazes him, this inner resilience, and he prays it will serve her through the difficult months that he knows still lie ahead.

He weighs her words in his heart and knows that she's right. This guilt must be put aside before it consumes him. It will only make him weak, and he wants to be strong for her.

"I know I'm not to blame," he says sincerely. But he can't let her have the last word. It's not his style. "But neither are you. Not for your mom, not for the Captain. And definitely not for what happened to you at the funeral. None of it."

She doesn't answer him, taking some calming breaths instead. Her eyes close for several seconds and when she reopens them, he can see there are tears building. She sniffs once, but that's enough to keep them from spilling out.

"You know something?" Her voice and gaze drift as she dips into the recesses of her mind. "I don't remember much about it at all. The funeral, I mean. I don't really recall the eulogy. What I do remember is walking up to the podium. Looking out, seeing Roy's family." She bites her lip to hold in the sob building in her chest, turning to offer Castle a tender smile. "I remember you standing up there too." She focuses on him for a fleeting moment before staring back towards the morning light now streaming in from the window.

Castle suddenly feels that it's hard to breathe as his own memories take over. She was in shock, bleeding to death. She couldn't possibly remember his body crashing into her as she hit the ground, or his tears, his words that followed. He sits very still, contemplating whether to say something. He swore he would never ask if she remembered. It would be selfish. It wouldn't serve any purpose. Now is a time for her to heal, not worry about his feelings.

She continues, speaking slowly. "Everything gets choppy after that. Screams. Shouting. Then there was silence. And warmth. I didn't know I had been shot, but I knew... I knew I was dying." Her brow furrows a bit as her shoulders slump. Her eyes appear heavy. He can tell she's tiring, but he can't bring himself to make her stop. Her eyes slide shut again as she struggles with those final moments just out of her mind's grasp.

"You know how they say you see a light? Well I didn't. I could't see anything at all. Just black. But it wasn't scary. I actually felt safe, loved somehow." She opens her eyes, turning towards him.

"And I never believed in this kind of stuff before, but...she was there, Castle. My mom. I never could see her. But, god, I swear I could feel her, maybe even hear her." Castle doesn't say anything, he can't. So he just watches her intently, but he knows it wasn't Johanna Beckett that she heard.

Kate shakes her head now with uncertainty. "It was so distant though, just echoes of words really- missing me, telling me to stay. How she loved me. I know it sounds weird, but the last thing I remember wasn't pain or regret or fear. I felt at peace, almost happy."

Air vanishes from his lungs in disbelief and his chest burns both from lack of oxygen and his own memories. Memories of her last breath as he cradled her against the grass, and of his words to her, perhaps the only thing that made sense amidst the chaos of that day.

Kate, I love you. I love you, Kate.

Hearing now that perhaps these words somehow comforted her in those terrifying seconds after the bullet took her down overwhelms him. When he finally allows his lungs to expand, something like relief rushes over him. That she will never know that it was his words, his love, doesn't bother him in the slightest. He was there for her, he eased her pain- that's enough for now.

"You know, it's not weird at all," he says thoughtfully. "I'm sure she was there in some way." He clutches at her hand then, more to steady himself than to reassure her. His head feels dizzy with emotion, so he can't imagine how tired she must feel considering her condition. "I like to think we'll all have someone like that when the time comes."

She smiles back warmly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her fingers. "Thanks, Castle."

The door to her room slides open and the nurse's voice cuts into the room. "Everything alright in there? The alarms were sounding."

"Yes, we're fine," Kate answers softly and they hear the door slide shut. "By the way, that nurse is going to be ticked at you if she thinks you made me cry. She keeps warning everybody not to upset me," she jokes, letting her head fall back against the pillow. This is the longest she's been awake in the last 36 hours and it's taking a toll on her.

"Yea, she warned me too." He shrugs. "But I never have taken direction very well." He laughs lightly, adjusting the blanket up across her shoulders. "I guess I'll end up on her 'naughty list' after making all those alarms go off. She might not let me back in here to see you after this." Castle winks at her and she grins back at him lazily. Her eyelids flutter shut and her hand slowly relaxes from around his.

"Ha. I'd like to see them try..." Her voice trails off as she finally succumbs to the medication and emotion of their conversation. "...to keep us apart."

"Yea," he whispers. "That'll be the day, won't it?" He moves to stand, but she catches the tips of his fingers with her hand.

"You...you're leave- leaving?" She's almost mumbling now, and he finds it endearing to watch her drift off to sleep.

"You need your rest."

"Please. Just... stay?" The hint of pleading in her voice makes his heart swell. He really doesn't want to leave her.

"Okay. I'll stay."

Castle watches as her breathing deepens and her muscles go lax. The remnants of a smile fade from her face. He leans over to her, brushing his lips against her forehead, eliciting a small sigh even as she sleeps. His mouth lingers, lips ghosting silently across her skin, whispering the words he said to her then, the words he will say to her again.

He knows she will hear them when she's ready.

Maybe not today, but someday.

A/N: What a long summer...

I wrote most of this a few months back after the finale, but then put it aside mainly because I couldn't get the ending how I wanted it (also the title, come to think of it, which I'm still not sure I like, by the way). This was kind of an emotional write, so I'd appreciate any feedback greatly.

Also, I edited and edited. Please forgive any typos/grammar issues.

And, for those of you who are sneak peek-free like me: stay strong! Only 4 more days. :) -KB