A/N: This is very short. I'm in a mood and musey said "Hey, let's give Beckett your mood." I may write a second part that explains more. Maybe. Happy Easter? Here's some angst.
He hates nights like these. The ones where she is so quiet and withdrawn. The nights where she sits in front of the TV with him, staring but not seeing.
It's the nights where the exhaustion mixes with old memories, phantom touches and snippets of long-forgotten conversations. The ones where old demons come crawling out of the depths of her mind.
Castle is never sure what to do on these nights.
He can always see the faraway look in her eyes, the pain that lingers just beneath the surface. In any other circumstance, he'd be right there, coaxing smiles and eye rolls from her until the ache in her chest goes away.
But on these nights…
These nights she hides inside herself, ducking behind the last pillars of her wall.
He's been staring at her (which is nothing new), trying to figure out what he should do. Castle can't figure out what the protocol is for this. He throws caution to the wind and reaches a hand out to her, lacing their fingers together.
It takes a moment for her to squeeze back, her glassy eyes finally finding his.
He wants to ask, the words standing on the tip of his tongue, 'What's wrong, Sweetheart?'' but he's not sure if she knows what it is.
Instead he tugs her close, allows her to hide her face in his neck as his hand tangles in the curls at the base of her skull, the gentle caress communicating silent words between them. 'I know you're hurting, but I'm here. You're not alone.'
Her breath dances across his skin as she tightens her grip on him. 'I know, thank you. I love you, too.'
He holds her all night, hoping that this lessens the pain she feels.