Disclaimer: I own nothing, other than their words.

Significant Progress, Other Than…

Chapter 5: Give A Little Love

They sit down to eat at her dining table, making a production of laying it properly, distracting themselves for a few quiet minutes from the enormity of all the things Castle just threw out there between them with place mats and silverware and napkins and water glasses.

He watches her covertly while she eats in silence, that thoughtful, worried, pensive look on her face that he so badly wants to replace with her beautiful smile and her clever laughter.

When it comes to her personal life, Castle has learned over years of observing her that she worries things too much, feels things so deeply, and he wishes he could get inside her head sometimes to understand her fears and calm them with words more grounded in reality than the twisty imaginings of her mind. Her fears are informed by years of witnessing the worst that people can do to one another. And while he may be the fiction writer, she has enough horrifying material to fuel an entire lifetime's worth of nightmares.

But tonight he gives her all the time she needs, since he basically broke his own rules, and instead of listening to her, went off on the mother of all rants, purging years of pent up frustration and giving breath to all manner of suppressed feelings.

But it seems as if she's coping with his over-sharing, his information download of their last four years together, at least for now.

And so he watches her eat and tries to focus on his own food, grateful that they're making progress, since this is huge for them, even if it was sparked by his ex-wife's meddling. And he is grateful for the small things too, things he is determined never to take for granted, like sharing a meal in her apartment, curling up on her couch to talk, knowing that they'll be going to bed together later and that he gets to fall asleep with her in his arms. Mere months ago, all of this would have seemed like a pipe dream. Some days he still can't believe his luck.

She has these cute little salt and pepper shakers that she told him she bought years ago on a trip to Paris. A pair of little porcelain figures with their arms outstretched to hug one another so that the set fits together when not in use.

He watches Kate absentmindedly shake black pepper over her lasagna, and then put the little yellow figure back down on the table, several inches away from the little pink figure.

Castle quietly sets down his fork, and then he lifts the two little figures up, carefully setting them back down on the table in their intended embrace without uttering a word.

Kate watches him, her eyelashes flickering with every movement, acknowledging silently, with the tiniest of smiles, what he's trying to tell her.

'Every time you break us, Kate, I'll be there, putting us back together again.'

Because he will, fair or not. And if that is to be his burden in life, then so be it. Because as he already said, he thinks she's more than worth the heartache.

They eat for a good few minutes without talking about anything of consequence, other than to check how the food tastes, if it's hot enough, whether he has sufficient to drink, where her wooden salad tongs are hiding.

The silence eventually makes Kate a little anxious. Her head is filling up with snatches of their earlier conversation, and she feels a responsibility to contribute more than she already has; to share more of herself with him and to prove that she is in this as much as he clearly is.

But she decides to start with the one thing she has neglected far for too long; finding out all she can about her partner and lover, Richard Castle.

"Castle?" she says carefully, after swallowing another mouthful of Rioja. "Why didn't you and Meredith work out?"

Castle's head shoots up from his plate, and he looks at her, surprised and wide-eyed, clearly not expecting this question from her, or right now, she's not sure which.

"I…I don't mean to pry, so if you don't want to tell me…really, it's okay. I'll understand."

He pats his lips with his napkin, takes a drink of water, and then gently places the glass back down.

"It's just that... Well, I asked her the same thing before she left today, and her answer sounded plausible at the time. But…" Kate trails off.

She blushes at her own burst of candor, revealing to him that she cared enough about the reason for the failure of his marriage to risk asking his ex-wife about their relationship, and, in turn, everything it tells him is running through her mind in relation to their future together.

"But now you're wondering?" he asks, watching her thoughtfully.

Kate nods, forcing another mouthful of food past her lips and trying not to choke on it.

If she's questioning the answer Meredith fed her, he thinks that's probably a good thing. On the other hand, he doesn't know how she'll feel about the real reason for their separation and divorce, about what he's always felt it said about him.

"Can I ask what she told you?" he says, clearing his throat.

"Eh, sure. She…uh…she said that being married to you was great, like a wonderfully sweet soufflé," smiles Kate, unable to hold it back.

Castle snorts derisively and Kate pauses, pursing her lips until he nods for her to continue, promising to keep quiet until she finishes with a lock and throw away the key mime to his lips.

"She said that her life with you was…filled with romance and excitement. But that after a while she realized that, while you knew enough about her to, and I am quoting here, 'write a million novels', she said she didn't know enough about you to write a pamphlet."

"Are…are you serious? She actually said that?" he exclaims, throwing his napkin down on the table.

Kate nods slowly, smiling at him, enjoying his reaction and the burst of irrational joy that appears back on his face after the earlier angst and stress.

"With a straight face?"

"Yes, Rick. With a straight face," she grins.

"And you believed her? A million novels?" he scoffs. "She's the one with barely enough depth to warrant a pamphlet."

He takes a swig of wine and then wipes his mouth on the napkin again.

"You're supposed to be a detective. Why didn't you smell a rat? She played you, my dear Kate. She played you like a violin."

"Okay, stop being so smug. It doesn't suit you, Castle. And…I don't know, I guess my guard was down. It was a pretty personal question to ask, and…"

"Yes! Yes, it was. So don't you think you should maybe have asked me?"

"I didn't like to," she replies, biting her lip.

"Why exactly?" he pushes.

"Not sure I really want to say."

"Kate?"

"This is embarrassing," she confesses, resting her elbows on the table and covering her face with her hands, shaking her head while she grins down at her plate.

"Embarrassing? How old are you?"

"Watch it. That's my line, buster."

"Why are you embarrassed by this stuff, Kate? I don't understand. You've seen me naked for god's sake."

"What's embarrassing about that?" she fires back, giving him an appraising once over that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Stripped bare, at my most vulnerable? Come on. We're supposed to share secrets, you and me. What about when we've been drunk? You could have asked me then."

"Maybe I was too drunk to remember…or care."

"After sex then, when I'm whispering sweet nothings in your ear and your guard is down? After I've confiscated your Glock from under your pillow that is," he teases.

"Pillow-talk?" laughs Kate.

"Exactly. Pillow-talk!"

"Oh, don't you start," she groans. "I already had Lanie in my face today, asking me what we talk about in bed."

"No way? Well I hope you traded for nothing less than Javier's deepest, darkest secrets."

"I traded nothing. In fact she laughed at me when I shared the fact that we sometimes talk about your writing or casework."

"Mmm, well, when you say it like that it does sound kind of dull. But when you say it and you're naked, K-Bex, you could recite the Yellow Pages, and…"

"Castle! You're doing it again," she says, putting down her silverware and folding up her napkin, pushing her empty plate away from her, a reproving look on her face.

"What?"

"Deflecting…with humor."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that. It's one of the things Meredith picked up on. Got me thinking. Not that I haven't noticed before, obviously. Your jokes are kind of hard to miss. But, you know, your ex-wife isn't as dumb as she looks."

"More's the pity. Her smarts have a habit of making her mischievous and vindictive. I just hope Alexis doesn't inherit that side of her personality."

"Alexis is too smart and too kind to play mind games."

"I hope you're right."

"Why don't we clear this lot up? Then we can talk some more," she suggests, standing up from the table.

"Sure," replies Castle, and she can see his jaw flexing with tension at the prospect.

But he said it: it's time to talk about these things. No putting the genie back in the bottle now.

"Couch or…?" asks Castle, tipping his head towards the bedroom once they've cleared dinner away.

He rubs his hand up and down her back while she empties the last of the Rioja into his glass and then puts the wine bottle in her recycling.

"Pillow-talk, Mr. Castle?" she smiles, handing him the wine goblet and kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"We could practice. Give you something to tell Lanie, next time you see her."

"Don't be mean."

"Hey, I owe the lovely Miss Parish a beer after today. Whatever you share with your girlfriend is fine by me, if it gets us talking."

"No. No, you were right. We need to get us talking, not Lanie or anyone else. Come on. Lets get comfortable," she says, turning out the lights and leading him to the bedroom.

Kate changes into a pair of cotton shorts and a black tank, while Castle strips down to his black undershirt and boxers. She lights a row of candles on her bureau, leaving just one small lamp lit in the corner of the room, while Castle heaps her pillows against the middle of the headboard and turns down the comforter.

The flames send dancing shadows across the exposed-brick wall, outlining the jutting corners and raised relief of each painted piece of masonry and hollow of mortar, like the blank spaces in a giant crossword puzzle.

They meet in the middle of the bed. Castle settles back against the mound of pillows, and then Kate crawls in from her side to nestle in between his legs, resting back against his chest.

"Comfy?" he asks, handing her her wine glass.

"Mmm. Perfect," she sighs, letting her head loll back against his shoulder for a few seconds.

She closes her eyes and then turns her head to kiss the underside of his jaw, so relieved that their day is ending this way, with them wrapped up in one another, when it could so easily have gone in a whole other direction.

"So, hit me with your best pillow talk, Writer Boy,' she teases, tugging his free arm around her until his hand is resting on her stomach.

"My…? Okay," he laughs nervously. "What are we…?"

"Deflecting with humor? Or reasons why your marriage failed," Kate prompts, smiling nervously herself.

Because she realizes that she really wants to hear an explanation from him now, even if she is a little concerned what he might read into this sudden interest in his failed marriages and what it might mean for them.

"So…we're starting out with the easy stuff, I see," he jokes.

"Hey, I thought it was time? You said so. Come on. I'm asking, so get sharing, Richard," she grins, pleased by her own courage, wine-fueled or not.

"Okay. Well, when I was a kid… I'm sure you already know most of this. So, stop me if I'm boring you."

"Never. Hurry up," she says, nudging his ribs with her elbow.

"Pushy tonight. But that's okay. I like pushy Kate."

"Rick," she warns, since he's already deflecting again, wandering off-point.

"Sorry. So, I went to lots of different schools, as you know, because we either moved around when Martha got a part in a touring production, or I got myself kicked out, or money was tight and mother couldn't afford to keep up the fees."

Kate finds herself imagining that lost, dark haired, little boy while she listens to him tell his tale, and her heart aches for the Richard of his formative years. She wants to protect him, to nurture him.

"Making friends is hard when you're always the new kid. But then I discovered that I could make people laugh, usually at my own expense, and I never looked back. It was pure self-protection to begin with. But as I got older, it won me friends, eventually publishing interest when I met with people face-to-face, and it didn't hurt with the ladies either. Present company excepted," he adds, stroking his fingers slowly across her abdomen.

"Oh, I was not as immune to your clowning and joking around as I might have pretended to be," confesses Kate. "You're a very funny, appealing, easy to be with guy."

"I am so buying a case of that rough Rioja tomorrow. It's way better than any truth serum."

"Shut up. I'm sharing. Falls under the same jurisdiction as pillow-talk. And what happens in bed, stays in bed, Castle," she warns.

"Unless it's with Lanie. Right. Got it," he laughs.

"So, anyway," he continues, after a pause, "the deflecting with humor thing is my avoidance tactic, as you've already figured out. But, I want you to call me out on it, Kate. Push past it. If I'm hiding from talking about something with you… Well, there's just no excuse for that anymore."

"So, then…how would you feel about talking about Meredith?"

"Nauseous?" he laughs, jostling her against his chest.

He sips some more wine, then puts the glass down on the nightstand, and takes a deep breath, after burrowing them deeper into the pillows.

"We married because she found out that she was pregnant, purely and simply. That, and I'm…a bit of a traditionalist," he sighs. "I know that might surprise you. But I felt compelled to do the honorable thing, and I wanted a proper family for Alexis, and…well, lets just say I had some family issues of my own I was trying to work through."

Kate knows exactly what he means by this – his unknown father – thanks to the recent reminder from Meredith, never mind his issues with his flaky, barely present mother. But she decides to bide her time on that one for now. Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey.

"And…?" Kate prompts, when he falls silent again.

"And we didn't know one another well enough to be living together, let alone getting married and becoming parents to this wonderful little girl. I loved Alexis from the second I laid eyes on her, Kate," he whispers, leaning down to kiss her tenderly on the top of her head.

He settles back again, wrapping both of his arms around her.

"Meredith was…disinterested, shall we say, beyond the brief period after Alexis' birth when she was the center of attention. Fairly quickly after that she got bored with the demands of a newborn, and I took over most of Alexis' care. It was hard at first, trying to figure out what every different cry meant, what she needed from me. We were both pretty clueless, and my mother wasn't around to help much then either. I wrote at night with Alexis asleep on my chest sometimes, while Meredith gradually drifted back to partying, and then started auditioning for bit parts in whatever sitcom or soap opera would have her."

"Sounds like a difficult time," says Kate, sympathetically. "Were you guys happy at all?"

"I thought we were, until the day I realized that we most definitely were not. Or at least, she definitely wasn't," he says, cryptically.

"What do you mean?" asks Kate, sitting up and turning around so that she can see his face.

Castle lets out a long sigh, and then rubs his hands down over his face, preparing himself. He drops a heavy hand to her knee and then picks up the story.

"I came home early after a meeting one day. Meredith was supposed to be looking after Alexis. Instead, I found her in our bed with the director of this low budget movie she was supposed to be starring in. And let's just say they weren't running lines."

"Oh Castle," groans Kate, taking hold of his hand. "I…I'm…oh god, I am so sorry. I had no idea. Why would she do that?" asks Kate angrily, genuinely shocked that an airhead like Meredith would wreck the good life she had with Richard Castle and her own daughter for a meaningless fling.

"I never really got an explanation at the time. I think she just got bored. She has a short attention span and she is needy and insecure. She said she was sorry, of course. Wanted to put it behind us. But by then things were already broken. I couldn't trust her anymore. She moved to Malibu and sent me divorce papers a few months later."

Kate is reeling from this news. Her old image of Richard Castle the playboy, serial womanizer, blown apart by this revelation. Now he's the cuckolded husband and abandoned single dad.

"To be honest, once she was gone and I got over the disappointment of failing to give Alexis a stable home life, it was a massive relief. You've seen her in action. She's high-octane fun for about five minutes, and then you want to strangle her and go lie down in a darkened room."

"But you have given Alexis a stable family life, all by yourself. You should be proud of that," she tells him, kissing his cheek and nuzzling into his neck.

"Thanks. I wouldn't have things any other way now. But it didn't do my ego any good at the time, and it certainly put me off women for a while."

"Well, she obviously didn't put you off marriage forever. There was Gina too," pushes Kate, further than she ever dared before.

"Yeah, glutton for punishment," laughs Castle, bitterly. "We made great sense on paper. We worked in the same field, and you know how it is when you work closely with someone, and then…" he nudges her, "think you've fallen in love with them."

Kate coughs, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"So, you only thought you were in love with her?" she asks hoarsely, bracing for his reply, the image of the two of them walking away together a few summer's ago still fresh enough to cause her a stab of pain to the heart at what might have been.

"Yes. I know now for sure," he tells her pointedly, tugging her earlobe into his mouth and then sucking lightly on it until she moans and pushes him away.

"Focus," she squeals, when he tries to have another go at her ear.

"I was lonely. And I got fed up doing endless rounds of dinners and publishing events alone, fending off a bunch of seriously pushy women. Beckett, where were you when I needed you?" he whines, kissing her on the neck, and then blowing a loud raspberry against her collarbone at the same time he wraps his arms tightly around her, holding her firmly against his chest.

Kate squirms in his arms, laughing.

"Probably finishing high school," she jokes breathlessly.

"Hey, I'm not that much older than you," he protest, while Kate giggles. "Bet I could still cut it with the other moms in the park. Me and a high-tech stroller. Or…or one of those baby sling thingys."

Kate clears her throat, awkwardly.

"I'm beginning to see how you might have rushed yourself into two marriages."

"Touché."

"So, were two divorces enough to put you off?" she asks, her voice sounding strained and tense even to her ears, as she pushes him for clues.

"What was it you said to me at Ryan and Jenny's wedding? Third time's a charm?"

"You don't miss much," she remarks, blushing.

"No. No, I don't. Not where you're concerned," he says, tapping the end of her nose affectionately. "And I'm gonna hold you to that, Kate," he says quietly, stroking her arms from shoulder to elbow, making her shiver.

"Castle…" she starts to protest, not meaning for things to get this serious so soon.

"We're nowhere near ready, I know. Don't worry. I'm not about to get down on one knee. But…maybe someday?"

"Maybe," agrees Kate, squeezing his knee.

"Tired yet?" he asks, checking the time.

"I…uh…can I ask you about something else?" she asks nervously, turning again to look up at him.

"Anything. That's the deal from now on."

"You've never talked about your biological father. How you feel about not knowing him. Did you ever try to track him down?"

"Wow! Where did that come from?"

"Meredith again, I'm afraid. She reminded me today. Look, I'm sorry to dredge this up if you don't want to talk about it. She…she used it as an example of how she felt she knew so little about you. And it got me thinking about all the times I've talked to you about my mom, or my past issues with my dad. And I feel so selfish for never asking you…well, how you feel about the whole thing."

"Hey, I invaded your privacy, remember? The fact that we never talked about my father is…it's not your fault, Kate. I haven't talked about it with anyone."

"And now?"

"Now…?" he pauses to consider. "How can I refuse my beautiful, brilliant, lady detective?"

Kate gives him a long look, while he ghosts his fingers up and down her sides underneath the blankets.

"Deflecting again?" he asks with a frown, while Kate nods slowly, letting his off the hook with a sympathetic smile.

"That's okay. Take your time," she says, squeezing his hand.

"Okay," he clears his throat. "So I was five when I first remember asking my mother why I didn't have a dad. All the other kids at school had one. And I mean every single one. Not like today, when half the kids in Alexis' class came from broken homes."

"What did she say?"

"She told me that I was special. That I didn't need a father. We were a team and that was enough. Even at five I could tell the subject was taboo. That I wasn't supposed to go there."

"That must have been rough? The not knowing, I mean. And not being able to talk about it with anyone."

"Kids can get used to pretty much anything, given long enough. But I won't pretend it didn't sting. It's confusing not knowing where you come from. Especially with my mother as the only known contributor to what made me me. And at that age I hated being different. I just wanted to blend in."

Kate wants to say something, something to take the hurt away, but the words won't come. So she stays silent and lets him continue to share his story.

"I was pretty useless at sports in school, and I wasn't going to get any better with no father to even toss a ball around with me in the park. So, I turned to books instead."

"Played the long game?" says Kate, smiling, tears glistening in her eyes. "Paid off too. You're one helluva writer, Castle."

"Can I get that in writing?"

"If you continue your story," Kate replies indulgently.

"Okay, so my mother always insisted that she doesn't know who my father is, which clearly does not reflect well on her."

"When did you last ask her about it?"

"I stopped asking when I was about twelve. She got cross and uncomfortable, and you know how it is at that age anyway, you're breaking away from your parents. I thought I didn't need to know."

"And how about now?"

"After Alexis was born, I questioned a lot of things about my life, including my heritage, genetics, nature versus nurture, family ailments, all of that. Just like every other new parent, I suppose."

"Did it make you do anything?"

"For a while I tried to figure out what Martha was working on around the time I was conceived, who might have been in her life. There wasn't much to go on. A trunk full of old playbills, scripts and contracts that weren't much help. There were no love letters, no revealing diaries or photographs to go on. And she got suspicious every time I tried to question her about it. So eventually I gave up."

"So, you mean you went to all of that trouble to investigate my mom's case, and you've never really tried to look into your own?"

"When you say it like that it doesn't make any sense, I know. Other than…there was you. I don't know what it was about you, Kate, but right from the very start I felt compelled to know your story. And not because I'm a writer."

Kate is profoundly touched by this statement.

"You've loved me for a long time, haven't you?" she asks quietly, turning round fully to look at him again, letting her thighs bracket his hips when she settles in his lap, the flames from the candles warming his skin with a wavering golden light. "In so many different ways."

He nods wordlessly.

"I'm just glad I finally get to tell you how much. That secret's been burning a hole in my pocket for a pretty long time," he chuckles, brushing his nose against hers, and then kissing her deeply.

Kate wraps her arms up around his neck, settling into his lap, breathing with him and feeling the enormity of everything they've shared begin to swell in her chest.

"Thank you," she whispers, when they break apart, resting her forehead against his. "For being so honest with me. I will never cheat on you."

"I never doubted it for a second."

"Good," she says firmly, stroking her fingers through his hair.

"And, Kate, you know that I would never…" he begins earnestly.

"Shh," she says gently, touching her finger to his lips. "I trust you with my life."

"Let's hope we never have to go there again," he says, holding her close as she rests her head on his shoulder, humming quietly.

Castle slides down the mattress, taking Kate with him until she's lying on his chest.

They stay silent for a few minutes, enjoying the peace of the night, letting their minds wander over the last few hours' shared confessions, while shadowy shapes dance across her bedroom ceiling like ephemeral beings.

Kate finally arches her back so that she can see his face, interlacing her fingers on his chest and resting her chin there to watch him. His eyes are closed, and he looks so serene that she hesitates to disturb him.

But then he opens his eyes and smiles down at her, and she's stuck by the fact that she wants to know who put the startling blue in his eyes, gave him that wonderfully thick hair, his broad shoulders, his comforting height, his magical hands, and who made him so moral, intelligent, generous and kind, and she wonders if he wants to know these things for himself?

"Castle?" she says, biting her lip. "Will…will you let me help you look for your father? We could do it together. Only if you want to, of course. And I don't want to upset Martha, obviously. But she doesn't have to know unless we find something."

"You would do that?" he says slowly, sounding so amazed that his reaction momentarily confuses Kate. "For me?"

"Of course. Nothing illegal, obviously. But I'm a detective, and we have resources at our fingertips. Shame not to use them. What do you think?"

"Best partner ever?" he says, without hesitation, and she can hear him smile.

"Yeah, still got some work to do on that deflecting thing," she laughs, poking his side and then dropping her forehead onto his stomach to hide her own grin.

"But you love me anyway?" he immediately throws back, meaning nothing more than a lighthearted tease.

He already knows how she feels about him. He can see it in her face when her guard is down and she's tired and prepared to lean on him, to let him decide things for them, to take her home, to make her life easier.

Or when they make love, and she arches into his touch, clinging to him as if he is her lifeline, crying out his name as if there has never been any other. It's all there for anyone to see, in her gentle touches, her soft looks, her increased consideration for his views and opinions at the Precinct even. And so he doesn't need to hear the words, anymore than he expects her to say them.

But why? Does she not love him? Of course she does.

She remembers Lanies' parting advice.

'Stop looking for reasons for this to end, and start finding ways for it never to stop'.

And if he has been deflecting, she is equally guilty of avoiding, of hiding, of denying in her own way. It's time to stop.

"Yes," she whispers, turning her head to the side so that she can see his eyes glinting in the darkened room, flecked with sparks of golden flame, like the silky luster of tiger-eye gemstones.

"Mmm?" he murmurs, blinking, teetering on the edge of sleep as he softly kisses her temple.

"I love you. In spite of everything and because of everything, I love you, Castle," she tells him, holding on tight in case she simply floats away, along with her heart.

She feels him tense beneath her, his arms wrapping more tightly around her. He waits a beat, and then lets it go.

"Always qualifying, Katherine Beckett," he chuckles, though if he thinks he's making light of this moment, pretending for her sake that it doesn't matter, that it isn't momentous, then he's forgetting that her ear is resting over his heart when it soars to join hers in hopeful communion.

He lets his hand come to rest on her back, smoothing it down her spine as far as he can reach and then circling back up towards her head. He cups her elbow with his other hand, stroking his thumb over the smooth, polished skin surrounding the joint, again and again, comforting them both with the repetition.

"You are your mother's daughter," he whispers into her hair. "You'd have made one hell of a lawyer, Kate."

"I wish you could have known her."

"Me too. Me too. So…how about we try to get to know my dad together?"

"Really? I would love that."

"Thank you," he says, kissing her forehead. "No one has ever asked me that before. And there's no one I would rather do this with, Kate."

"Are we planning, Mr. Castle?" she teases, feeling silly and free.

"I do believe we are, Miss Beckett."

And they start to laugh, and the sound bounces off the apartment walls, rising to a delightful, sighing crescendo.

"We're going to be okay," she says, nestling into his body once more, as the laughter subsides, leaving smiles and damp eyes in its wake.

"We're going to be amazing. No doubt about it," he promises, with trademark confidence.

And there I still work to be done, but great progress has been made.

"Third time's a charm," she murmurs, letting her body go slack, as the undertow of sleep sweeps her out to sea, buoyed up by this new certainty that they know more about one another than anyone else, and yet still there is more to learn. Always, there will be more to discover.

Together.

A/N: And so we come to the end of this long post-ep story. Who knew that one loaded look (Kate Beckett I'm pointing at you), could lead to so many words!

Happy Castle Monday when it comes, folks. Thank you, as ever, for your amazing company on this journey and for all of your wonderful reviews.

'What If' will be updated shortly, I promise, for those following that story. Liv