Warning: cursing, darkness and a little bit of violence lie ahead.

one

She sees the flare of the light on the blade of the knife before she sees anything else. It shines against her eyes, making her bring her hand up to cover them. What is this? Too much, too bright, too much noise around her. Someone's pounding on the door, but she realizes suddenly that she's alone.

Cement walls, metal doors. A high ceiling and the constant roar of an engine that contrasts with the occasional pounding against the doors. It's dark, too dark, too scary and how the hell did she end up there, in that place? Why aren't her hands tied and why is she alone and oh God, make that noise stop.

And then she sees them.

He's lying against the wall at her right, his back to the cement and his legs in an unnatural position against the dirty, filthy floor. There's blood, too much blood. Oh God, there's a tear in his shirt where the blood seeps out and she can see his eyes closing. He's going, he's fading and she needs to get to him and press his wounds and —

A whimper, coming from the opposite wall, makes Kate's blood freeze. No. It can't be. This isn't possible. That woman who's lying so ungracefully against a pile of rubble, the red liquid seeping from beneath her, can't be her mother. Not again, not after all this time. Not after all the wounds have started to heal.

She moves towards her mother, but Castle's moan of pain on the other side of the room makes her stop and look at him. There's no time. She can't save them both, she has to make a decision and oh God, this isn't fair, she can't choose, she just can't make that kind of decision and it's been so long and she's learned to live without her mother, but the hole is still there and she can't let go and —

two

His hand places the coffee on her desk but she doesn't look up. He sits at his usual place and looks at her, his eyes regarding her curiously as she fills out paperwork. He's late. He had a meeting with his publishers and it's almost eleven, but he knows she'll take his coffee anyway. Whet he doesn't understand is why she doesn't look at him.

"You okay, Beckett?"

Her hand stops mid-word. No. Please don't ask that, please don't make her mind go back to that dream. "I'm fine." She manages to say, but his stare insists, bores into her like a some sort of laser. She knows he's taking in every small detail, analyzing the way she moves her hand, the sharpness of her intakes of air, the small spasm of her index finger over the pen. It's irritating, especially when she spent the best part of her night trying not to let him die. A part of her blames him and she doesn't understand why.

"Are you sure?" There's a touch of tenderness in his voice, in the almost parent like concern he exhibits towards her. She knows how she looks, she can imagine the paleness and the dark circles under her eyes that not even two layers of foundation and concealer can hide completely.

He's worried about her, and it warms her heart for a second. She gives in, allows her eyes to rise and meet his, her hand coming up to wrap around her coffee. She smiles, and he smiles back and she can see the relief in his eyes.

"I'm okay, Castle. I promise."

She doesn't like to lie, but she knows she can't tell him that in her heart, she's afraid she'd choose him.

three

Water.

She's swimming. Why the hell is she swimming? She live in Manhattan, the snow has now made itself shown, so why is she swimming? Why is there an ocean around her, why is the sky shining so brightly, and most importantly, why does it look like she's in the fucking Caribbean?

A low rumble makes her turn around in the water, her legs kicking and moving continuously, calmly. The sky is turning darker, the water below it accompanying the change of tone from soft shade of green to an angry, raging grey. A storm. There's a storm coming her way and it's coming fast.

The waves rise, start throwing her in different directions. She fights to stay afloat, her arms moving frantically, the water coming up to meet her mouth, to tug and pull and push and then she sees her, another woman just a few yards away, fighting for her life in the same way Kate is.

Kate swims towards her, managing to reach the woman just as she was going underwater. Her arms pull her up, hold her face above the surface of the tiding waves and the shock that invades the detective almost pulls the two of them down.

"Mom?"

The strong jaw, the brown hair, her lean body. The way she was fighting, fiercely. The way her arms move now, even though she's exhausted, still fighting. "Mom, hold on." Kate begs and Johanna smiles slightly, manages to move her arms and legs. Too softly, too slowly to keep herself above surface. Kate has to work for both of them. "Mommy, Mom, please keep moving, I'll get us out of here." She says like a mantra. Over and over again, but she doesn't know where she's swimming. She could be carrying them further into sea, there's no land in sight and oh goodness, there's someone else just a few yards away and her heart knows who it is before she even hears him.

"Kate!" He calls and she tries to pull her mother along, to swim towards the man who's calling her name. She sees him now, his hair pulled back, his blue eyes a color so much prettier than the water now, so much brighter. He sees her and he smiles, but a wave comes and overtakes him, makes his head disappear and the panic rises within her, makes her swim harder, faster, makes her reach him and pull him up.

She can't hold both of them up. She's not strong enough for that, they'll all die. They'll all die and she'll lose them both, and before she knows it her mother's escaped from her grip. She sees Johanna being pulled away by the waves and she screams and screams and her throat gets hoarse and the it's Castle's fingers letting go of hers and she's alone again.

four

She's not surprised to see him when she opens the door.

Of course he's there, of course he's got a container of something that smells suspiciously like chicken soup in his hand, of course he's carrying three books under his arm. And of course it makes her stomach revolt and has her running to the bathroom, leaving the door open for him to let himself into the apartment.

She vomits once, twice; feels the veins beneath the skin of her cheekbones strain with the effort. She'll have marks, those tiny little red dots that appear in her face whenever she throws up too much. And he'll see them, and ask, and then she'll have to tell him that this is not a flu, this is not a virus, this is the reaction she has every time she dreams that her mother is dying again. This is stress, this is how her nervous system takes the pressure of being forced to relive the events that made her who she is. Add seeing Castle vanish under the water just beside her, and she has the recipe for a sick day, since she can't seem to get away from the bathroom for very long.

She feels his fingers first, pushing her hair aside and exposing the back of her neck to the coolness of the wet cloth that he presses against her skin. She rests her head against the side of the toilet and gives him a faint smile. "Glamorous." She murmurs and feels the rumble of his chest against her side.

He's so close and she's so disgusting, she smells like sweat and the horrible night she had and she might even smell a little like the ocean she spent the dream swimming in and oh goodness, what is he doing? Did he just kiss her hair?

She leans into him, finally allowing her head to lift from the side of the toilet and moving it to lay on his shoulder, her face close to the skin of his neck. It's intimate — intimate enough for her to want to run away and hide, but she needs this, she needs the closeness of his body, the certainty that's alive.

His arms come up to cradle her against himself, his fingers running through her hair. It's a bold move, and he knows it. She could twist his arm, break his fingers. But he can't really help it, can he? She was off during the day, yesterday, and today she's lying on the floor of her bathroom, her legs naked under a long NYU tee shirt, her head on his shoulder, her hands trapped between them, against their chests.

"It's just the flu, Kate. You'll be okay."

She doesn't feel like contradicting him.

"Okay."

five

Now all she sees is the barrels of two guns, the faces of the people in front her dark, terrified.

He hides it well and she knows it. He's got a smile on his face; it's tight, but she knows it's there because he wants to tell her than it's okay to choose, that she can say it. It won't hurt him, she can pick the woman who stands beside him. Her mother.

"Katie." She whispers and and smiles widely, almost happy. Why is she happy? She has a gun pointed to her head but she's smiling and so is he, and they both love her so much, so deeply. It's heartbreaking.

"Katie, darling, you've grown up so well. You're such a wonderful woman." Johanna's words make the tears fall from her eyes, make her face crumble.

"Mom." It's all she can say.

"Kate, listen to me." His words make her eyes travel to him, to his kind eyes and his soft expression. "It's okay. It's your mom. You'll get to live the live you were supposed to live before she was murdered, and it's okay. I swear it's okay."

He talks slowly, and the image of Alexis crying, of her own life without him makes her fall to her knees. No. She can't be the one to tell his daughter that her Dad isn't coming home. Not to keep her own mother. But how can she watch while they kill the woman who gave birth to her, who brought her up and shape her entire existence? She can't. This is a choice she can't make.

"Take me." She whispers. The hand that is holding a gun to her mother's head twitches slightly. "Take me instead. Let them live." She pleads.

And then the shots go off. One. Two.

One body down. Two bodies down.

A third shot.

And then the pain and all she knows is darkness.

six

She shudders against him, her consciousness assaulting her like a criminal, like a fighter. He's awake; of course he's awake, it's the middle of the day and he's only been there for a couple of hours. They've been lying on her bed, her head on his shoulder and she doesn't know why she allows it. The problem is that a part of her needs this, and she's not willing to let it go. Not now. Not when she just saw him fall to the floor with half his head blown up. Not when she just offered to give her life for his.

"Are you okay?" He whispers against her hair and her arms wrap around him, hold him close, desperate and frantic.

She can't lie. She can't bring herself to. "No."

"Oh, Kate." He sighs and pulls her face up, makes her look him in the eye. "The dreams? Are they the cause of this?"

She nods and feels like a child, because there she is, against his chest and she can't speak, can't function without the warm palms of his hands on her face. "I had to choose. You or my mother and I just—

The fierceness with which he pulls her against himself is not surprising, but it still chases the air out of her lungs. She doesn't care. She wants him there, she wants the man that she loves and the smell of his neck and the soft stubble that is showing on his face and the hair at the back of his head .

She wants him. She can't choose him, she can't choose her, but for now she has him here and that's all that matters.

A/N: You know those days when all you want is to throw grammar out the window and write just like you think, the words tumbling out of yur mouth without filter or control or any kind of sense? Yeah, that's what this is.

The idea of having Kate choose between Castle or her Mother isn't mine — it came from a post at castlesays(dot)tumblr(dot)com. I just wrote down the way it worked in my head. And I ended up forgetting the coffee. Pardon me.

Bee, over at tumblr, wrote one as well. I reblogged the link on my tumblr (luminous-lu(dot)tumblr(dot)com), so you can see it there and it's lovely. :)