"We'll get there. We'll find our way home."
The words clatter round and round in her head, the conviction in his tone, the faith that he seems to be holding onto. She wishes she had that same hope, the same untouched belief that they'll come back from this. Back to where they were, building a life, a future. Marriage. A growing family. Little boys and girls with mischievous eyes and crooked grins. They were going to have it all.
Tears continue to trail down her face, her heart raw and aching at how so much has changed, and then his arm tightens around her shoulders, drawing her closer as his lips skim her forehead.
And she breaks.
He's here, solid and warm underneath her cheek, holding her just as she's been craving since the moment she saw his car burning in the ditch, and, burying her face in his chest, she tries to hide the desperate sob that wants out.
But, of course, he hears it.
She's clutching him, her nails digging into the skin around his waist, his shirt crushed in her fists.
"Kate."
His hand appears against her jaw, the pressure of his fingers trying to get her to look at him, but she can't. She can't see his sunburned face, and wonder if he's telling her the truth, if he really can't remember what happened, or if he did walk away, faking his disappearance because he couldn't face the idea of spending the rest of his life with her.
Shaking her head to dislodge his hand, she grips him tighter. Maybe if she can get close enough, can fuse them as one it won't hurt so much, the doubts won't scream so loudly every time she looks into the clear blue of his eyes.
Does she know the real him? Does he still want her? Did he ever?
"Kate, please. Look at me."
"I can't."
His hand is back, combing through the short strands of her hair, tucking it behind her ear as he cups her cheek. The searing heat of his palm, missing for so long, is too much, and she tears herself away from him. Her legs barely hold her up as she breaks from his arms, racing across the room until she's back in the bathroom doorway. She's incapable of taking a deep enough breath, her lungs aching with the lack of oxygen, and she collapses against the wall, sliding to the floor as her legs give out.
Wrapping her arms around her stomach, the panic sets in, black beginning to edge into her eyesight, and she folds her body, begging for the pain to stop, for the gaping chasm in her chest to heal before there is nothing left of her.
Too many people gone from her life, too many betrayals. She can't take losing him too, will never survive it if he walks away from her again.
Barely registering the sound of his footsteps, she jumps when his palm lands on her back, his broken voice reaching her ears. "Kate, please."
And when she finally does look at him, his cheeks are wet too, his beautiful smile gone, replaced with the downturn of his lips that just rips her to shreds.
"Two months, Castle." And that's the problem. Two months that she's been begging for him, fighting for him, sacrificing sleep and sanity if only it meant that he would come back to her. "Where have you been?"
The light in his eyes dims, and he drops his head, shaking it from side to side before he looks back up at her.
"Please believe me. If I could tell you everything, I would. I want to know what happened, where I've been, who destroyed our wedding day. I so badly want to have the answers, Kate."
She bows over, curling up as every word that he says slices her heart into more pieces until it shatters all over the floor. She shudders when the weight of his forehead appears at the base of her neck, the heat of his palm on her spine, and when his lips ghost over her shoulder she can't fight it anymore.
"I'm so sorry, Kate. I'm so sorry."
His words remind her of a time long ago, a time when she had broken them, pushed him away, left him without any hope of coming back, and something inside her snaps.
In this moment, he's here.
He may not have all the answers but if the last six years have shown her anything, it's that they'll find them. He's never given up on her for long, never walked away forever.
Always.
It's a promise, a vow, that she feels in the very depths of her soul, from him and from her. He's never given up, and she can't either. Not now. Not ever.
"Castle."
She's crawling into his lap before she even thinks about it, straddling his thighs as she kisses him. It's raw and messy; she can taste the salt from her tears, but under that it's just him, the flavor she's been without for too long, the touch that she's woken in the middle of the night craving, when her own fingers were no replacement and she'd thought she'd never have him like this again.
His palms cradle her cheeks, fingers tangled in her hair and thumbs brushing under each eye as he wipes her tears away, his mouth never leaving hers. She can't get enough of him, can't get close enough.
He finally does pull away, holding her steady so she can't dive in for more, and she immediately mourns the loss of contact. She's aching for him in a way that she'll never escape, never walk away from no matter how much the evidence stacks against him. She'll always love him, always need him.
"Castle, please. Don't stop."
"I never stopped trying to get to you. To come home to you. I never stopped looking for a way out."
His words are not the balm that she wants them to be, and the ache in her heart grows stronger as another tear drips down her cheek.
"You don't remember."
Gripping her tighter, his eyes blaze, the blue dark and stormy, and a shiver races down her spine.
"It doesn't matter if I remember. I will never stop fighting for you, Kate. I will never stop."
Her heart is racing when his lips collide with hers again, his teeth scraping at her sensitive skin, his fingers twisting her hair into a knot so he can angle her head the way he used to, the way he would when he wanted to be in control.
The movement is so familiar, so perfectly right that she sobs a ragged, guttural sound into his mouth, her tongue dipping into the warm cavern. She draws his bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling on the plump flesh, still scraped raw from exposure, and arches her back, pushing her breasts against the solid form of his chest.
Tugging on the fistful of her hair, their mouths separate with a quiet pop, and he latches onto her neck, sucking and nipping and soothing, the changing sensations overwhelming her already frayed nerves until she can hardly focus past the rush of blood in her ears.
He's whispering words into her skin, over and over again as he travels from the hollow of her throat, up to and along the sharp line of her chin, and stopping at her pulse point. He laves the spot, whispering all the while, and she finally hears it, understands what he's been saying.
"I love you, Kate. I love you, Kate."
Over and over and she matches him, the words falling off her tongue without hesitation. She loves him back, every second of every day, every fiber of her being oriented toward him, living for him.
Grasping the sides of his robe, she rips the two halves apart, pulling his t-shirt up as he lifts his arms, and when it comes loose, she tosses it to the side. Her fingers trail over the skin of his chest, finding scrapes and scratches that hold secrets of where he's been, the healing bullet wound that will forever mar his flesh, a permanent reminder of this time.
But he doesn't let her linger. Wrapping his arms around her lower back, he stands, keeping her close as he moves toward the bed. He sets her down on the dark comforter, kneeling on the floor as he divests her of each article of clothing, piece by piece until she's bare before him, exposed in a way she's only ever been with him.
Cupping her cheeks again, he looks into her eyes, the love and passion he feels for her clear as day on his face, and she feels the weight lift just a fraction more.
"I will marry you one day soon, Kate Beckett. But for now, just let me love you."
"Yes, yes. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He stands before her, pushing his pajama pants down his legs, and she can't help her slow perusal of his naked form. Just as she remembers, the soft and hard planes of his torso, the powerful thighs that he hides behind perfectly tailored dress pants, and the bulk size of his arms that she loves having wrapped around her, keeping her safe and protected.
When her eyes trip back up to his, she sees the patience, the restraint that's keeping him fixed, but she doesn't want him still. She wants him moving above her, around her, within her because it's been too long.
And now he's here.
She reaches out, letting her fingernail graze the line of his hipbone, and he bucks forward, the action involuntary and primal, pushing him to move the way she'd intended.
It's a flurry of activity after that; she scoots up the bed and he climbs after her, pushing her legs apart so he can taste her, and she groans at the heat of his mouth, the pulsing of his tongue over her most sensitive parts. The touch that she's missed for so long.
He doesn't stay, must sense how badly she needs him, because he crawls up her body, pressing his lips to hers, and she can taste herself, taste how her body still begs for him as he pushes into her, filling her the way she never thought she'd feel again.
It's too much and not enough, her emotions already unstable, and she sobs into his neck, coiling her arms and legs around him in an effort to keep him touching as much of her as possible. He pistons in and out, a punishing rhythm that has her spiraling uncommonly fast until her vision whites out, her body clenching and shaking with the force of her orgasm, his groans echoing in her ear as he reaches his own climax.
Sighing when he collapses on top of her, she breathes her first full breath in hours, in months, the heavy weight of him so right and welcome after the emptiness that had become her constant companion. She feathers her lips across whatever skin she can reach, tasting the warmth of him, the thin sheen of sweat, and he falls to the side, dragging her limp body with him so they never lose contact.
She opens her eyes to find him watching her, and it takes her breath away. He's here, holding her tight, looking at her the way he always has…
"You cut your hair."
Startled by the statement, she replies with an inelegant, "Huh?" rolling her eyes at herself as he laughs and tugs on a brown curl.
"Your hair. It's shorter."
"Oh. Yeah. I was…messing with it a lot, I guess. Always had it tied back, brushing it out of my face. It was driving me crazy really. And Lanie noticed. About a month ago she called and said I needed to take a break, get away from the murderboard, do something for me, and she took me out for lunch and a haircut."
He's still playing with the strands, twirling them around his fingers, and gently combing through the tangles as she tells the story of that day. The day she came home and stayed up all night working the case, regret settling like a brick in her stomach at all the time lost just for a stupid haircut.
"I think it looks beautiful. Remind me to thank Lanie for taking care of you when I couldn't."
"Castle-"
"No, I'm serious. I loved your hair long but this reminds me of the beginning, the sassy, spunky detective that didn't take any of my crap. You're still that detective," he winks as he says that, and she doesn't fight the small chuckle that bubbles up, "but, in the sea of heartbreaking changes I've woken up to, this one is like a little ray of sunshine. I love it, Kate."
"I'm so sorry, Castle."
His gaze cuts to hers, his hand falling to rest on the side of her neck, and he rubs his thumb in a circle on her skin.
"Don't be sorry, Kate. You didn't do this."
"But I couldn't stop them. I couldn't even find you. The Coast Guard saved you because I couldn't."
"And I'm grateful to them, but Kate, this is what I need. You. I just need you."
She kisses him for that, letting him taste the apologies he doesn't want to hear. He's home. The niggling doubts are silenced by the press of his body, the sound of his voice, and, finally, she's free.
Thank you, Kylie, for the super fast beta. Ya da best babe. xo
