Disclaimer: Don't own it. I trust in Marlowe...even when he stomps my heart into the dirt sometimes.

A/N: I randomly have Castle dreams - what? not my fault - and this is what happened last night. It's been stuck in my head since then so I thought I'd write it down, see where it goes. Jump on board if ya like. The beginning might seem sad but trust me - this story is going to end up being another fluff ball. Because I need it to deal with the hiatus. And I have enough angst in my other story And She Cries right now.

Minor Watershed spoilers. Nothing more than the promo shows. Goes AU from there.

She left. She really left him back in New York City and she's here in DC, acting like this is okay but it's not. Nothing is okay. She made a mistake. She's not happy here, she misses him, she misses Martha and Alexis, the boys, Lanie - she misses her family. Their family. What the hell is wrong with her? Why did she do this? Because it's a good opportunity? Yeah, well, so is he. He's worth everything and she hates herself for leaving. So he was angry and he said things, she should have stayed, worked through it instead of tucking tail and running because she said things too. She failed.

It angers her that she still does this. Doubts. Runs. Keeps secrets. Hides. She loves him and this isn't where she belongs. This apartment is cold, even with all of her things in it. It's just empty. He's not here. He doesn't visit. It's been a month. She text him a few times, he replied twice. She called, he let it go to voice mail and she doesn't blame him a bit. She ripped his heart out like it was nothing - chose a job over him and she knows how that feels.

And now this.

She draws her knees up to rest her feet on the lid of the toilet, wraps her arms around her legs and drops her head against them. Curling up, trying to think, to process. This is happening. She needs to go home. To him. To her family. This isn't what she wants. She's never wanted this. To be alone and miserable. She got scared. Afraid that he'd tire of her so she sprinted as soon as the opportunity presented itself. And she hates that about herself.

But there's no running from this. No hiding away and pretending. She has to face it, let it sink in - she needs to go home. She can't do this anymore. Her chest aches when she thinks of him. Every morning when she wakes she reaches across the bed, forgetting he's not on the other side and she just can't. Not anymore. There's no reason to do this - to be away from him.

She misses everything. The way he'd make her coffee. How he'd bring her breakfast in bed, wake her with slow warm kisses that trailed from her cheek, to her lips, down her neck. The burn of his stubble. The feel of his hands gripping her hips when they just couldn't quite make it to the bed before their clothes came off. And those times the clothes didn't even manage to come off, just tugged to the side, left pooling at the knees, frenzied passion that incinerated every cell in her body.

She misses his smile. The soft one, the one he gave her when she managed to amaze him. She misses the feel of his hair beneath her fingertips and the silk of his mouth against her own. She misses the warmth of his body when she sleeps, the weight of his hand when they spoon together. The press of him in the shower, the playful singing matches they had to see who remembers the words the best. Playing with his toys - giving him a hard time when he'd fly his helicopter around her head for the fun of it. She misses all of it.

Their fights. The arguments that would end in one of them leaving the room to cool down for a bit or going home and the apologies that came soon after in the form of coffee or whispered words. Sometimes frantic heated touch was all they needed.

She remembers their last time. Against her door, boxes packed around them. It was anger and hurt, frustration and tears, a 'don't go' and a whisper of 'I love you'. She should've led him to the bedroom, reassured him. Instead she did nothing. Panted into his shoulder, clawed at his back, gave him one last time. She wants to take it back. They shouldn't have a last. She wishes things were different. She's going to make them different. He deserves that. She's going home. His home.

She wipes at the tears on her cheeks, looks over at the sink. Still there. She needs him. She's never stopped needing him and it's eating away at her. Like acid in her soul. She'll become a shell of herself. Broken and empty without him. She's already there. It's already happened. She's not the same when he isn't around. His voice. She misses it.

The heat of his breath against her ear, the gruff tone he slipped into early in the morning or late at night. She wants that back. She never should've done this. What the fuck was she thinking? She wasn't. That's the only explanation. She thought she was but she wasn't. She didn't realize it would hurt this bad. A month. She's been in hell, misery, for a month. For what? A damn job?

She's a screw up. That's what she feels like. She can't do anything right. He was there for her and she hid things, kept this from him. She just walked away with a promise to visit. Some naive part of her wanted to think they could do this, make a relationship work with her in a different city. But she isn't stupid. Well, not anymore.

With a growl she drops her feet to the floor and grabs the items from the counter. She's doing this. She's going back to him because clearly she isn't as strong as she thinks. She does need him. He makes her better. He helps her. He's her partner. And she needs him.

A month of waiting for some sort of sign from the universe - yes, he's rubbed off on her that much - and if this isn't one, she doesn't know what is. It's a slap in the face. That one word that blinks back at her from four different sources. Pregnant.

She's pregnant. It hits her all at once. The force of it sinking in until she's stumbling through the bedroom and grabbing a suitcase from the closet. She's going home. She never should've left in the first place. She wanted commitment, a reason to stay and just because he didn't see it, she got on that plane. She's done pretending. Done with the tears and the constant constriction in her chest. She wants more but she didn't fight for it. That's what a real relationship is. It's fighting, struggling, making it better, forgiveness, and being happy with the other person. She's happy with Castle and she didn't fight for it. He did. He tried.

She doesn't blame him for giving up. Maybe she does just a little. He didn't really fight either - oh they fought, but not for the right reason. He just watched her leave. But this is it. This is her chance to prove that he's what she wants. She bought a ticket a week ago when he didn't answer his phone and she's cashing it in now. She'd been thinking of this - going home - for weeks and now there's nothing, absolutely no reason to stay but there's a big reason to go. She loves him. And she wants a family with him. That's really all she's been wanting. A promise of a future and that their relationship is serious but it's something he couldn't give.

She's going back to fight for it.

He misses her. Everything about her. The smell of cherries that lingers on his pillows only makes it stronger. He can't bring himself to wash the sheets because then she'll be gone. But she already is. The pang in his chest always reminds him. She left. She chose and he wasn't it. As much as it burns, stings, oozes, he's not just angry at her but at himself too.

Maybe there was something he could have said or done. Maybe if they hadn't turned on one another and declared a shouting war every time the subject came up. Maybe.

It doesn't matter anymore because he's done with feeling like this. There is something more he can do. He can go after her, make her see that he's not giving up just because of one thing. One fight. Epic in proportions as it was, he's going to fight her for the right reasons. He loves her and she loves him. In his mind, that's what matters.

His suitcase is already half packed, lying open on the mattress. He shoves a shirt in it - the one she likes to wear. It's been lying in the floor for all this time, where it landed the night he peeled it off of her after she just put it on. He misses the feel of her skin. Soft and smooth until it puckers from the scars she's been burdened with. The way she would read in bed until he was begging her to just turn off the lamp and go to sleep. She gets so invested in the fictional world the words paint that she loses all track of reality, time, everything and he misses it.

He dreams about her. Before they got together he'd have a fantasy, maybe something sexual would haunt his nights but it changed over time. His brain started thinking of her as more and it became things he hoped would happen. Dates, movie nights, an occasional nightmare of losing her. It's worse now. He wants to wake up, reach over and pull her body against his instead of using her pillow as a substitute cuddling partner. She's warmer and softer than any pillow he could buy.

A month and he's done playing. He can't do it anymore. He thought maybe he'd get over it, move on, but no. She's not the kind you forget over time. She's the kind you marry. And he knows now that he should have made that more clear to her. He shouldn't have pushed so hard against her. He could've supported her. She's tried to keep in contact - like she promised - but he's been so blinded, hurt, unable to respond. He answered her messages a few times but his heart wasn't in it.

She sent a picture of something she saw - said it reminded her of him. He doesn't even remember what it was but it's saved in his phone. He's going after her. He doesn't really have much of a plan once he gets there. He doesn't want to fight with her about it anymore. He's all fought out. He just wants to make her see that their relationship is worth more than this. Make her understand how badly it hurts.

It's late when he zips up the suitcase. His flight leaves early in the morning and he really should get some sleep but instead he's grabbing his phone from the nightstand, settling back against his headboard and scrolling through pictures.

She's different when she's with him. She's this fun, flirty, naughty, extraordinary woman. He has pictures to prove it. One of her playing a video game, sunk down into the chair with her tongue poking out between her teeth, face furrowed in concentration as her fingers worked over the control. Another of her kneeling above him, sexy eyes, playful lips, a hand in her hair. He swears he could get off just by watching her sweep her locks back multiple times. It's like hair porn.

He really likes it - likes that she's wearing the red lingerie but what he really loves about the photo is the smile on her face. Bright and vibrant, just full of this unbridled happiness. He wants it back. Maybe he shouldn't. He doesn't even know. Maybe he should be done, just give up because she walked away but he can't. And he didn't stop her. It takes two people to screw up in this circumstance and she certainly wasn't alone.

He could call her, just to hear her voice. He misses it too. He taps the button, returns to the home screen on his phone. She's called him before but he didn't answer. What if she does the same? It doesn't matter. He needs to talk to her. Apologize for a few things he said. Most of it he stands by but there were some low blows thrown before she left and he regrets those.

A relationship is work. It's give and take. It's forgiveness and admitting mistakes. He's willing to get through this if she'll meet him half way. They've been through tough times before. He presses call when he gets to her name, raises the phone to his ear. Listens as it rings. With each one, he convinces himself she won't answer but just before a third, he hears her voice.

"Castle," It's a breathy whisper and it tears him to shreds. He blanks, doesn't know what to say now that he's got her on the line. He swallows roughly, runs a hand over his face. She answered. She actually...okay. "Castle?"

"Hi."

"Hey." Silence stretches between them, he doesn't know what to do with it. Isn't sure why she won't say anything. It's awkward, feels forced and he hates it. They really screwed up this time around.

"I don't want to argue. I'm coming to see you, my flight leaves in the morning. Think you could pick me up from the airport?" He hears her breath stutter, listens as she hums into the phone.

"Actually I can't. And I don't think you should go to DC." His heart stops, freezes in his chest. If this is the 'official' breakup, he's not sure he can handle it. He doesn't want it to be over, even though it's technically been over since she left. Nothing comes after that. The phone is silent, she's silent. Then a click and he's hearing nothing.

She ended the call. She hung up. He's about to call her back, demand some type of answers but there's a soft tapping sound coming from the living room. He leaves the phone on the bed, gets up to investigate. He hears it again, louder this time and it's a knock. Someone is knocking on the door. He walks faster, hears metal scraping against metal when he makes it to the couch. A key in a lock.

He gets ready to greet his mother or Alexis but when the door opens, his heart jump starts. Pounds against his ribs, shredding his soul into pieces. The hair is the first thing he notices. Not red but soft waves of caramel. He knows just how soft. He's had those strands wrapped around his fingers so many times, he knows exactly how silky they are.

Her eyes, shining and red with tears are what convince him this isn't a dream. He didn't fall asleep. His mind isn't torturing him. She's here. She's standing in front of him wearing one of his shirts and a pair of jeans - showing him this goes both ways. She stole his shirt. She's scared. He knows by the way she pushes her hair behind her ear, glances down at her feet. She's uncomfortable.

"I - I knocked but uh - I just..."

"Kate." It's nothing more than a whisper but it gets her attention. Brings those eyes back up to meet his. And he remembers to breathe.

a/n: So people are hating on Beckett because of all this Watershed stuff...STOP IT! Seriously. She's my favorite and things are going to be fine. Relationships have bumps, this is one, and they'll get over it. Until then, there's fanfiction. :D