Disclaimer: All things "Castle" belong to ABC and Andrew Marlowe & Co.

Author's Note: A short little fic inspired by reading an article in today's New York Times about Boston unveiling a statue of Edgar Allen Poe over the weekend. Yes, I'm relating everything back to "Castle" these days. That's not weird, is it?

Getting Back to Normal

"Castle."

"Hmm?"

"Why, exactly, are there two train tickets for the Acela Express train up to Boston on the dresser?"

"Because, Beckett, we are going to Boston!"

"Oh, no, we are not," she promptly shot back. "I've been up to Massachusetts twice in the last couple weeks and after the way I felt during both those trips, I think I might never want to set foot in the state again."

"It's a commonwealth, not a state."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Really, Castle?"

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Sorry, force of habit. You know I fixate on details when I'm nervous." He sobered and came over to put his hands on her shoulders. "Look, Kate, I know going up to Gloucester and finding the tent site was hard for you."

She thought about that first trip up, the impact of hearing the fake Henry Jenkins say that Castle had been living in a tent, to all appearances as happy as the proverbial clam, while she had been breaking her heart worrying over him. The impact of seeing the tent itself, of finding what had seemed like indisputable proof that Castle really had just left her, deserted her on the day of their wedding, let her think he was dead for two months. "Hard?!" she choked and to her own horror, felt tears starting in her eyes. "Hard! Castle, it broke my heart!"

He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her. "Ssh, Kate, Kate, I'm sorry. It was a poor choice of words. I didn't mean to—I would never make light of what you went through these past couple months."

She buried her face in his shoulder, shutting her eyes against the tears. God, she hated how often and how easily she cried lately but these past two months of agony had shredded her emotional control and hurt her too deeply for her to easily recover her equanimity. If the past two months had taught her anything, it was just how deeply she had come to love and trust Castle so his seeming betrayal had devastated her, decimated her, in a way nothing, not even the loss of her mother, ever had. Her mother's death hadn't involved betrayal; it had been a clean loss. This had been so much worse. This would have broken her.

She breathed in the familiar scent of him, felt the strength of his arms around her, and slowly, felt his presence heal her fractured composure. "It's okay, Castle. I'll be okay. I know that's not what you meant."

She drew back and gave him a somewhat watery smile. "Why do you want to go up to Boston?"

He still looked somber and concerned but answered, "Because the city's about to unveil a new statue in honor of Edgar Allen Poe."

She managed a small laugh. "So of course you want to go for the unveiling, Richard Edgar Castle."

"You know how I feel about Poe."

"Yeah, I know."

"Besides," he added more seriously, "I thought it might be a good excuse to go back up to Massachusetts, exorcise the demons from the last time we went up there."

"Exorcise our demons?"

"Well, at least, not make a place become scarier than it needs to be because of past trauma there," he clarified. "We don't need to go back to Gloucester itself but Boston should be close enough. And it might be good for us to take a day or so, just the two of us."

He paused and cupped her cheek with one hand. "I won't go without you. I won't leave you."

Something about the gentleness in his touch and in his tone, the lingering concern in his eyes, made her stop. This wasn't her. She wasn't this weak creature who fell apart at the very idea of returning to a state. She was stronger than this. And she wouldn't—she absolutely refused to let whoever had done this to Castle, done this to them, win in any way by changing her, making her something less than herself.

She met Castle's eyes. Yes, she was stronger than this. And she had Castle. They were together again. And she could face anything as long as they were together.

She nodded decisively. "You're right, Castle. It would be good to get away."

He smiled. "So you'll come with me?"

"Yes." She managed a teasing smile. "And after we've paid homage to Poe, I seem to remember that certain pivotal scenes from a recent novel by one of Poe's biggest fans happened in Boston too."

She was rewarded when his face lit with a grin. "Why, Beckett! You want to follow in the footsteps of Nikki and Rook in 'Frozen Heat'?"

She laughed and shrugged. "Maybe. If we have time," she teased.

"You are such a fan, Beckett," he grinned.

"Only of you. Remember I'm a one writer girl," she quipped, just to see the familiar curve of his lips, the smug lift of his eyebrows. Because she had missed it, missed him so much, and she hated—hated—the shadows in his eyes, the hollow note in his voice, whenever he started to worry about what had happened to him these past two months.

His smile turned into something approaching a leer. "Your writer is very grateful for that," he said, his voice lowering, becoming husky in a way that sent tingles through her.

And when his lips found hers, she was smiling.

~The End~

Author's Note 2: Happy Castle Monday!