A/N: Yep, it's a post-Always fic. I know... There are plenty. But the episode is too good and I miss Caskett too much and, although September 24th is closer now, it's still NOT close enough. Gee... Hiatuses this long should be forbidden... *sigh*

This takes place during that night, before dawn.

It's rated T, but there's hot stuff in here. In my eyes, it doesn't qualify as M, maybe T+ at the most. I thought I should warn you; I'd hate to scar sensitive souls. :)

Disclaimer: Just borrowing for some almost-innocent fun. ;)

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Waiting For The Dawn

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It's still early in the night when she reopens her eyes. It's not dark. Not inside, not outside. There's the dim glow from the shimmering lights of the city filtering through the blinds and the wavering warm light of the fireplace, maybe a lamp that they didn't bother to switch off, coming from the living room, through his office.

She doesn't know how long she's been like that, eyes closed, mind blank and like floating, drifting away from this world but, at the same time, extraordinarily tethered to the ground. She had felt gloriously overwhelmed by the explosion of love she and Castle had just accomplished and she had needed more than just a moment to steady her breathing, considering that raw, uneven pants were all that she could manage; a moment to try to keep herself attached to her body, as all she could do was just lie, spent, after he had shown her the depth of his feelings, cherishing and worshiping painstakingly every millimeter of her. After she had met him kiss by kiss, touch by touch.

He is embracing her from behind, chin on her shoulder, nose touching her ear, the sheets of his enormous bed covering haphazardly their intertwined limbs. He seems to be mere moments away from falling asleep, she can tell, not only because of his steady breathing, but for the fact that the soft caresses he's been comforting her with have slowed, his hand now curling possessively on her thigh while the other one, the one belonging to the arm she's settled against, lies on her bare stomach.

She is still too wired to attempt to sleep, though. All her nerves are still on fire and the trembling yellowish brightness of the scant pale light that reaches the room contributes to create a surreal atmosphere around them. For an instant, she pictures his and her feelings scattered around along with their clothes and she has a hard time believing that they managed to do it, that she's finally here, nestled in the shelter her partners' arms provide just for her, having been loved by him until exhaustion, having given him all of her in return.

For the first time in too long, she feels at peace. Safe. Loved. So loved it should scare her. But, inexplicably, it doesn't.

She listens to what seem to be the last raindrops of the storm, hitting less and less forcefully and less and less rhythmically against the glass of the windows. There's no thunder, no lighting either. There is only that eerie calm that envelops the ambient after the tiring repairing storm. She feels like that inside. Exhausted but renewed. Serene.

The thought makes her smile, content, and she stirs a bit, almost imperceptibly, but he, of course, notices and his breathing changes. She holds the hand placed on her abdomen and strokes his fingers, his knuckles, his wrist, sliding up leisurely along his arm and he responds immediately. Humming low and appreciatively he holds her tighter, takes the wandering hand and entwines it with his; their arms mingle, folded over her abdomen, and he envelops her, gingerly - conscious of the bruise on her back and minding the big one beside the long scar on her side - but securely, until there's no space between them. He burrows his face on her neck and covers it with lazy open-mouthed kisses, avoiding the round marks already turning deep purple on her throat. She groans appreciatively.

"God, Kate." He sighs into his nape and it's a sweet puff of hot air that makes her body shiver. "What did they do to you?" He murmurs, brushing with his fingertips, so gently that it gives her goosebumps, the marred skin of her ribs.

She turns gently on his arms until their chests and hips are pressed together, their noses touching. Her eyes are closed, long lashes fluttering at the feeling of his skin on her skin; her hands clutch sluggishly to his shoulders and, while one of his stays protectively in the small of her back, the other one travels lazily to untangle her hair.

"I'm ok." She whispers as she skims her fingers down his back, tracing his spine. He shivers and urges her closer, if possible. But the sudden move makes her wince and he freezes. She senses his fear of hurting her and rubs one foot to his ankle reassuringly, to help him relax, and amends with sorrowful eyes and a tender smile her previous statement. "I'll be ok."

She's aware that, in a few hours, she won't be able to move, or at least, not able to move without pain. Every muscle in her body will hurt, from the running and fighting and chasing of the day and from the physical exertion of their lovemaking. She shouldn't have pushed her body so far; she should have simply let him take care of her bruises, cuddle on the couch with some wine, comfort food, soothing kisses... But she needed him so badly she felt like crawling into his skin. She needed to make him see that she was serious, that she had finally come to terms with her feelings. That he was the most important thing to her.

One could tell she is still standing just on sheer adrenaline and realization, and the will of doing things right for once. And as adrenaline and noradrenaline are still flooding her system by all the successive happenings of the day, she will go on. It's the least she can do for him. He's remained with her when she didn't know how to keep going; he told her off and stepped away when he had feared for her life so much he couldn't bear seeing her throwing herself to a losing fight, only to wait for her to see the light and wake up from her stupid life game.

This, to stand before him and love him and let him love her is the least she can do to start giving back. Start, because this is going to be only the beginning. And the effort will be worth every second of aching.

And when her arms hurt, she won't think of the way she was hanging barely a few seconds away from losing everything. She'll think of the way he carefully put her against the bed and held her to prevent her from moving too fast, while his mouth took his time on getting to know every line of her face; her eyes closing, her lips trembling as he pampered her beaten body without haste. She'll think of the way she clutched his arms when his tongue wandered with intent and a clear destination down her abdomen.

When her back aches, she'll remember how his touch, his nips and kisses curved her spine in a perfect arch. When her breath catches, she'll do nothing but think of his strokes.

So yes, she'll be more than ok.

She opens her eyes, which shine like sunbeams in the faint light of the room, and he's once again left breathless by the sincerity and devotion he can see on them. He doesn't want to think back of the previous weeks, days, hours, or of the dark places where they've been. But those thoughts come uninvited and he can't help the shadow of grief and the worry and fear, not only for her safety, but also for his heart. There's a part of him terribly frightened that this is a mirage in the rain that would dissipate with the morning light.

She perceives his concern; it's written all over his face. She should tell him. She knows he wants to know what happened; he needs it. He always needs to find the whole story or otherwise, his overeager brain won't rest until it fills the gaps in any way it can.

And she doesn't want to start something, to take this step, having kept part of her story, their story, from him.

"We tracked him to a hotel downtown," she starts with raspy voice. She closes her eyes to gather strength. "Espo and I went there and he surprised us. He knocked Javi out and I chased after him... to the roof."

She opens her eyes again and he can see a lot of guilt on them. He is silent, just listening and trying very hard (she can perceive) not to cling to her, or make her stop and hug her tighter and never let go. He's even trying to keep her hands still, respecting symbolically her personal space. She's grateful for that, for him knowing her so well and for being so sure of their partnership that he doesn't retreat, simply holds them in place, waiting for her to go on.

"He beat me up. He… I was powerless." She swallows and looks intently into his eyes, filled now with regret and hurt. "I was hurt and furious and boiling with rage and resentment and I used all my strength… but I was no issue for him." She clamps her fingers to his flesh. Her voice breaks and he acts in response.

"You don't have to…"

"You're my partner. You have to know." She cuts him, unconsciously digging her fingers deeper into his body. He didn't need the sting of her nails to feel the distress she's in and he just wishes he had been there to face death together, once again.

"I should have been there, I should…" He shakes his head regretfully.

"No." Her tone is resolute, albeit soft. "It was my fault you weren't there. I pushed you aside; I wasn't able to see then… I would've wished you had fought by my side, but I can't find the strength to be sorry that you weren't. We might not be here…"

He nods and strokes her back. Too many emotions to avoid a comforting gesture any longer. Whether it is for her or for him. She breathes deeply and continues, her hands moving on their own tempo, mirroring his caresses.

"He kicked me badly; he put me to the ground like a ragged doll. He tried to choke me and he pushed me out of the roof."

"Oh, Kate…" She places a finger to her lips.

"She left me hanging there. He looked down and smirked."

He takes the hand that is still near his mouth and kisses every fingertip, the palm, the inside of her wrist. Then he holds it above his heart.

"He said I was insignificant and I knew I couldn't win. You were right. You were right, Castle. I'm not in control, they are. And I kept replaying our fight on my mind and I only remembered that I told you that the case was the most important thing in my life and that I didn't trust you and that you didn't have any right to…" A single tear escapes from her eyes when she blinks, the rest remaining stubbornly unshed, making the green of her irises look like afloat in a golden sunset. "And then my fingers were slipping and I was falling and I felt again like last year when I was dying and... and I just wanted you with me," she shuts her eyes forcefully and opens them again in an instant, brighter and more intense by the minute. "To die with you telling me you loved me."

They stay silent, no noises between them except for their erratic breathing, the rain having stopped completely by now.

"You wanted me to tell you I love you." He sighs and takes his free hand to his face, covering his eyes, pinching his nose. "You wanted to feel safe and forget the world for a night? If that's what you wanted, punctual comfort, please, Kate, let me know before I…" His tone started emotionless, but gets passionate and strained and he can't finish the thought, because who is he kidding? He is head over heels for her. He'll take whatever she decides to give him. Even if it's only a night and he has to nurse his broken heart again. At least he'd have tasted her love.

"No, Castle." She freeds the hand he was still keeping attached to his chest and, reversing their posture, swiftly catches his own hand again, intertwining their fingers and squeezing the entangled fists in the scant space between them. "I'm serious about… about this." She blushes and she can't be more cute and lovable and his heart jumps and squeezes and he feels so happy he could burst right there. She lays both her hands on her torso and smiles coyly through her lashes. "How could I not be?"

"I'm that charming, uh?" He hugs her and she lets herself go and simply enjoy their mutual warmth. Their shared heat.

They stay like that until she is afraid she may fall sleep and forget to tell him. "I'm also serious about my mom's case. And mine." She rearranges herself, throwing an arm over his abdomen, trapping his legs between hers, almost wrapping him with her body, and makes a husky sound that melts him and turns him on equally. "I'm done." She whispers.

He is over flooded with the need to protect her and to grant every one of her wishes. Including, despite the risk, despite the fear, her craving for justice for her mom. "You… You don't have to choose, you know…" He swallows, because he still wants to save her from any harm and he really, really, doesn't want her digging and poking around and putting herself in danger. But she was right when she'd said it was her life. "As long as you stay under their radar, we can… I don't know…"He closes his eyes praying that she says that she'll at least accept Mr. Smith help, that she'll be more cautious… that she'll try to be safe.

"I… I quit."

He looks down at her, and she looks back, averting her eyes only after a moment. He doesn't ask, not verbally, anyway. He just waits, his hand sliding up and down her spine.

"We went after Maddox behind Gates' back. I refused to inform her. That's why he got away. I was paranoid. I wanted nobody's help."

"Ryan?"

"Ryan didn't want us to go on our own so he stayed behind… He… informed Gates."

"Oh."

"He showed up with her and backup just in time."

"In time?"

"To catch me before I fell."

"God, Kate."

She repositions herself on the bed so that she's now on her back, looking at the ceiling, their sides still pressed together. Their feet tangle and sweetly caress each other, reluctant to lose their connection.

"I realized that my mom's case is not the most important thing in my life anymore. It is not what keeps me going anymore." She searches his hand and holds it between both of hers. "I thought it was you, Castle. I heard you. When I was hanging there, my fingers losing inch by inch my grip on the ledge, I called for you and you answered me. I thought it was you all the time."

"Kate, I…"

"No. If it hadn't been for that, I wouldn't have resisted. I would have fallen."

"But I should have been there."

"Then we'd probably be dead. Or worse. We wouldn't be here." She looks at him with big eyes and he's terrified. He almost lost her today. Yesterday. (It's difficult to accept it's only been a day when it really seems a long time has passed). For real. It isn't at all comforting that he can see the same terror on her eyes. "It scares me that if you had been there we wouldn't have this. That I wouldn't have realized that their winning or losing was not my first preoccupation."

He knows that he shouldn't ask, but he just can't keep his mouth shut and he needs to know if what he thinks she's saying is what she's really saying, because he doesn't trust his brain anymore. Or was it his heart the one that had been blinded with love, despair, rage and that rollercoaster of emotions that almost ended them for good?

But she knows him. And he loves her for that. So, she smiles at his tense stare and the too tight hold he has of her body and answers his silent question in the sweetest voice she has. All love and care and trust.

"All that mattered was that you and I had fought and all that we said and what we left unsaid." She lowers her chin and bites her lip, takes an encouraging breath and lifts her gaze again to confront him. "I couldn't stand thinking that I was going to die letting you think that I… I didn't care about you. That I didn't return your feelings."

"So you… "

"I do, Castle, of course I do. I'm sorry I made you thought I didn't." Her eyes are watery and shiny again. He would bet (and win) that his are too. "I do." She insists, proving it with a caress to his stomach. "I wouldn't be here otherwise."

She skims her lips along his clavicle and plants a wet kiss on the hollow of his neck. Her hands roam all over his ribcage until he is humming and melting on her hands. He puts a stronger hold on her to lift her body and sit her on his lap, and she goes without effort. He slides his hands up and down the whole length of her thighs as she presses them to his, the contact sending a clear message to her nerve endings. He continues promptly and methodically along her sides in long firm strokes that set her skin on fire, tracing then her spine and shoulder blades until she's arching into his touch. He holds her bending body securely with one hand and takes the other to her front, up her abdomen, between her breasts. Toward the round scar that is his undoing. She moans and his eyes darken, suspended with hers in a timeless place that only they know, that belongs to only them. They move toward each other, on sheer impulse, drawn by their mutual desire and so much more. Their foreheads touch and they close their eyes simultaneously.

"I don't want to live battling to lose, battling to only have to die, being without you."

Their lips touch in a chaste kiss, contrast to the fierce want consuming them, their love on the open, finally allowed to run free. A whimper escapes out of her chest and mingles with his groan when she adjusts herself, settling more tightly on to him, trapping him with her long legs.

She buries her face on his neck and peppers kisses from his pulse and up along his jaw. His hand rests above her heart some moments more before resuming his trip up; he skips her throat - because he just can't bear the thought of pressing his fingers where the marks of someone who tried to kill her are still fresh - , but brushes her nape, sweetly. The hand at her back joins the other one to frame her face, fingers at her neck for support, tangling in her hair; his thumbs caress her eyes, her cheeks, her jaw until they arrive at her lips and she captures one between her teeth, then swirls her tongue around it.

The heat under her skin is unbearable. His body is also crying out for hers to hear. She kisses him deeply, desperately, all tongue and teeth and he responds with equal force. She stops abruptly to catch air.

"I want to live or die, but with you. Always with you."

And, as he frantically lowers her to the bed, the intensity of their gaze burning the air, and she curls her legs in his thighs and her hands in his torso, her feet digging in his muscles, her nails leaving marks on his shoulders, every single inch of them ablaze, he repeats to her in a husky whisper.

"Always with you."

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Thanks for reading! If you feel like sharing your thoughs, I encourage you to do it... You know it's much appreciated. Really. Really. ;)