So, I was supposed to write chapter 13 of To Shatter Illusions...but this happened. The idea's actually been rolling around in my head for months.

"When someone is crying, of course, the noble thing to do is comfort them. But if someone is trying to hide their tears, it may also be noble to pretend you don't notice them."

-Lemony Snicket

She screwed up again.

She did what she always does, let herself get sucked into that narrow tunnel, let it blind her and thrust her into overdrive. This is what? The fourth time? Fifth? It's getting to the point that she can't distinguish what came before and after his crash into her life and the thought makes her dizzy.

But she let it pull her in anyway, despite that tiny voice in the back of her head, screaming at her to listen to him for once, and she's really screwed up.

She got here determined to show him that she wants to change things – change everything – but her knocking fell flat, no answer, her fist resting useless, against his front door. Her head thumps against the door beside it, heavy and throbbing from fighting and crying, as she tries to find air enough to breathe. With shuddering breaths she turns and slides down to the floor next to the locked door, brings her knees into her chest, completely ignoring the tightness in her lungs and the protestation from every muscle in her body.

Her head is buried in her knees, her wet hair a curtain around her face, and she's not sure how much time has passed since she arrived and found him not home – or not answering the door – but she hears the ping of the elevator and the metallic rustle of jewelry.

Afraid to move, she forces herself to stop sniffling. It's hard to tell if it's from her earlier crying or if everything in her is just dripping, slowly leaking, out of her control. Her efforts are as useless as her knocking because she senses Martha's gasp and the halt of her steps.

She looks up, only slightly, feeling the heat rising in her neck and face. Embarrassment? Shame? Probably both. She's surprised though, to find his mother barefoot, carrying her heels, umbrella and bag, her outfit speckled from the storm outside.

Martha heaves a sigh. "Kate? What are you doing here?"

Kate realizes that the older woman probably knows exactly what's been going on…sort of, and is probably wondering, truly, what exactly she's doing here. At his door. Soaking wet and puffy, and probably starting to bruise.

She can't find words, "Hi. I just. He's not. You know what," she scrambles to stand, wincing at the bunches of little stabs and pulls, "I'm gonna-"

An arm reaches out and stops her before she can pass.

"Nonsense. It's practically a monsoon out there and you're already drenched. Come inside."

"But Castle-. I couldn't."

"Richard may pay most of the rent on this place, but I live here, too, and I say, come inside, Kate. Just for a moment. You look like you could use some warming up."

Her voice catches in her throat when she tries to argue again, but she can't continue. Partly because she just doesn't think anything she could say would get her out of this, and partly because it feels so nice to have someone's caring hand on her shoulder. There's a twist in her stomach because she knows that Martha's not her biggest fan right now, probably wants to tear into her for everything happening with Castle, yet the woman is still offering her some shelter from the storm.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Martha manages to get the door open and the two of them through it before she drops her load in the entryway. She moves to the kitchen, but stops when she notices that Kate isn't following her.

Instead, Kate is stuck where she stands, wringing her hands and staring at the floor. She's standing in his apartment, with his mother, and she has no idea where he is. Martha calls out that she should join her at the kitchen island – she's going to make coffee – and Kate struggles to make her legs work and propel her forward.

Her limbs are stiffer now because she was sitting in that tight little ball. Steps are shuffled, painful, and Martha notices.

"Would you like to take something with your coffee? We've got nearly a whole pharmacy here."

"No," she sighs, trying to be polite, "thanks, but…I'll be okay."

Kate is so thankful that Martha's not interrogating her. She's sure that she looks terrible. There must be bruises starting to darken on her neck, the skin on her hands is rough and red, and then of course, there's her near-limping gait. His mother is probably itching to ask what happened, but she's staying silent on the issue.

"Here," she slides Kate a filled mug, "Cream or sugar?"

"No, thank you. Black is fine."

Marta shrugs, a forced smile on her lips as she reaches for the bowl of sugar sitting on the countertop, eying Kate carefully.

Kate's sitting still on the barstool, trying not to squirm in her soggy clothes. She can feel the gaze on her, the curiosity about the case and what happened, one of a hundred things tonight reminding her that she's so tired of carrying this burden.

"Is Castle…out?"

"I suppose so," Martha lets out a breath, "I would think with this weather he should be back soon. You can wait if you like. I don't mind the company."

Kate shakes her head, tenses up. Wait with Martha when her whole plan was to confront Castle about…them? It's the definition of awkward and uncomfortable. "Oh, I don't-"

"Kate," Martha croons, "Just relax. I for one will feel better knowing that you're safe indoors rather than out in that mess. I'm sure Richard will understand."

She struggles not to argue, that Castle probably will not understand, and 'that mess' is a hell of a lot messier than Martha may know, but she's looking on her with genuine concern, and she's not making her talk or explain things. The two of them are conveniently, for the most part, ignoring her scattered state.

So she nods, succumbing to the care and warmth in the room. Of course, she doesn't have a clue about what will happen when Castle gets home and sees her slumped at his kitchen island, across from his mother, who actually welcomed her in.

Would he throw her out, or let her try and fix things? There was no way for her to know, or even attempt to guess.

But here she is, sitting with his mother, drinking coffee, grateful for the silence.

So, yeah. I don't know where Castle went. But like I said, this has been sitting in my brain for a while.

Let me know what you think!

Tappin
=)