"You know, for someone who makes his living as a wordsmith, you're really sucking it up right now."

Martha Rodgers looked across the table at her son, his head in his hand. "You've been dancing around this for years, Richard. Years."

"...and I told her, Mother, remember." Richard Castle reached for the glass on the table, draining the amber liquid in one swallow.

"She doesn't remember, dear, and waiting around for that might never happen. You're going to have to either tell her again, or realize that it's just not going to happen." Martha placed her hand on her son's shoulder. "Richard, you're a smart man – a good man – and I just don't want to see you hurt like this."

As he watched his Mother disappear behind the door of their shared flat, he rubbed his temples.

She was right. He'd never in a million years admit that to his mother, but there were instances where he could see where Alexis got her rationality and insight. Pouring yet another scotch, he picked up the glass and decanter and retreated to his office. Perhaps he could write it out – that's what he usually did when he was at a loss for words. Numerous times the free association of just sitting down and writing exactly what he was thinking could garner some very good results. Hell, it's how he'd come up with some of his best characters.

But Kate Beckett wasn't a fictional character. Sure, she was the inspiration for Nikki Heat, but she was so much more than that. She was smart. Street-savvy. Her smile could make even his worst day better. She'd admitted to him that she liked his metaphorical pigtail-pulling, and she could give it back as much as she could take it. She was his ideal woman. It just always seemed that they had their timing wrong – when she was available, he was out living up to his old reputation – sleeping with his ex-wife or some starlet who wanted to embody Nikki on the big screen. When he was available, she was with some cop, or doctor, or – he didn't even want to think about them. They were stable, not like him – constantly rushing here and there for a book signing or media junket. They could offer her a normal life.

Downing this glass as quickly as he had the first one, he opened a new word document on his laptop and began typing:

Kate Beckett, you have changed me and made me a better man. I am indebted to you for showing me the value and pride of putting in a hard day's work, and I need you to know just how much I appreciate and treasure you and everything you are. I would do anything to make you happy – to put that smile on your face - the one that makes your eyes dance and brightens any situation. I love you Kate, pure and simple and I swear that if you'd have me I'd be the best man I could be. I haven't given you much incentive in that, but God, Kate – you are my life. It's not about Nikki Heat anymore. It's about trying to find a way to make you mine. Trying to find a way to show you just how special you are – and about how to convince you that even though I'm a dirty rotten scoundrel, that I want to be someone who deserves you – wholly and completely. And yes, it wouldn't be me if I didn't talk about how totally smoking hot you are with your legs that go on for days and...there I go again, turning into a pig. God, no wonder you can't get her man – you can't stop thinking with the wrong part of your body. You don't deserve her – she's far better than you in every way. This is never going to work. You should just be thankful that you are still even allowed in the precinct after all the shit you've pulled – digging into her past when she didn't want you to, hiding secrets from her about that whole investigation – but that is for her own good, right? You are there to protect her. If you truly love her, you'll be there to protect her from any and every thing that happens, right? This isn't working, loser – you're just frustrating yourself even more, and for no reason. Just drink yourself silly, then go to bed. But, don't forget the water and aspirin - put them out on the nightstand before you pass out.

Slamming his laptop shut, he rubbed his eyes. He needed her to know – the only thing holding him back was the thought of never seeing her again. He knew he couldn't live with that.

Another drink, then another.

He couldn't keep doing this. He needed to heed his mother's advice and just man up. Be straightforward with her. Hell, if it didn't work out, he'd had a good run with her, right? He should be happy with that.

Another drink. He could feel the liquid encouragement now coursing through his veins. He grabbed his phone and let his finger hover over her name on speed dial for what felt like ages. He couldn't call her – not now. Not this drunk. He would for sure stumble over his words – quite possibly say something way more pig-headed and chauvinistic than he had ever said before.

He placed the phone back on his desk and turned on the radio behind him. As the local New York forecast filled the air around him, he lay his head back on his chair and closed his eyes. If he told her and she said no, he'd lose her. If he told her and she said yes, they might be happy for a while but then what? If it ended badly he'd lose her forever.

He was just about to reach for the scotch decanter again when the familiar song filled the air. That was it. If he couldn't say it, then maybe he should let someone else do the talking for him. He couldn't screw up the words that way, and then if something bad happened – well, he'd deal with that tomorrow.

It was the best he could come up with, and as he dashed upstairs to his Mother's room to raid her CD collection, he smiled. Maybe this would work.

Across town, Kate Beckett sat in the window of her apartment, looking out over the lights of the city, a cup of tea steaming in her hands. It was turning out to be a dreary night as she could see the lightning in the distance. Gates had insisted that she take a few days off since she was maxed on overtime for the month, and although Kate fought it, she realized a day into it that it might be just what she needed. The pressures of her job weighed heavily on her shoulders every day, and taking a breather was doing lots to rejuvenate her senses.

But, she missed him. Not seeing him every day was – well, she hated to admit it, but it was terrible. Richard Castle had become such a staple in her life now. Sure, he'd been annoying at first but she'd grown to see the man he was – a good father, loyal son, and indeed an asset to several of their investigations.

Oh yeah, and he loves you. Don't forget that.

Kate did her best not to think of that day when she was shot – it was horrifying and terrible, but his voice, his soothing voice laced with tears begging her to stay with him, professing his love for her – it haunted her dreams. She yearned to hear it again, only without the duress and hurt. She wanted to hear him say it again, softly in her ear, and this time not filled with fright, but with passion.

Yes, she loved him, too. She guessed she had for quite some time, but she didn't really know how to express it to him. She couldn't just blurt it out of nowhere. That would most likely scare him off for good. I mean, after all, she'd given him no inclination of how she felt. Most times, she'd just scoff at him when he'd made some remark that was meaningful, but she filed them all away in her mind. She'd remember every one of them as she lay in her bed willing sleep to come.

She'd remembered the very moment she'd realized it for herself, too. She was lying beneath Josh as he thrust in and out of her, and as she looked up at him, she saw his face – she saw Castle's face. She heard his voice. She closed her eyes and fought back the tears as Josh finished his task, then rolled off of her and fell asleep. She was shot a week later.

You should just tell him, Kate. Just get it out – you'll feel a lot better and who knows? Maybe he still feels the same. Maybe he -

Kate came back to her senses. That would never work. She'd scare him off and he'd go on with his amazing life – his amazing family, and she'd still be Kate Beckett – alone and brooding. She'd start reconstructing the wall he'd slowly been demolishing, and things would go back to the way they were before they met.

That couldn't happen.

Putting her tea down, she pulled her shoes on and grabbed her keys and purse from the counter. It changed tonight.

No sooner than she had hailed the cab and given him Castle's address, her phone buzzed. It was him.

"Beckett." She said it in her usual, steely tone.

Instead of his voice, she heard the soft piano music, followed by the familiar voice.

Hello again, hello.

Just called to say Hello.

I couldn't sleep at all tonight,

and I know it's late,

but I couldn't wait.

Hello, my friend, Hello.

Just called to let you know.

I think about you every night,

When I'm here alone,

And you're there at home.

Hello.

Tears filled her eyes as she listened to the song. Was he telling her what she thought?

Hello, my friend, hello.

It's good to need you so.

It's good to love you like I do,

And to feel this way

When I hear you say

Hello.

As the song finished, he tentatively put the phone to his ear to listen. Nothing. He wondered if she'd hung up, but he could see the call was still active. There were muffled sounds on her end of the line. She'd most likely laid the phone down after hearing what was on the other end and was just waiting for him to hang up.

He'd blown it. He'd put it all out there on the line and for what? To totally embarrass himself and be the joke fodder of the Twelfth Precinct for the next week or so. Oddly though, he felt a sense of relief. She at least knew, and it wasn't while she was on death's door. He'd done what he'd wanted to do for years – well, maybe not the way he'd always imagined it, an elaborate dinner on the rooftop with dancing, candles, and roses, but – now she knew.

Finally the line went dead, and he knew she'd disconnected from the call.

It was over. The best thing he'd had in his life short of Alexis, and she was gone. Standing up, he opened the small door to his balcony and felt the electricity in the air from the coming storm. Maybe he should just pack a bag and head up to the Hamptons for a few weeks to lick his emotional wounds and get away from this city that reminded him of her so much. No, there was no use in running from anything. He'd acted in a fit of irrationality, and rather than trying to escape he needed to face it head on. He'd call her tomorrow; apologize for his indiscretion and hope she would understand.

As the raindrops started to fall on his head, Richard Castle breathed a prayer that he hadn't screwed up for the last time when it came to Kate Beckett.

Now thoroughly soaked, he stepped back into his office, determined to drown this sorrow from his heart. Pulling the saturated shirt from his torso, he threw it into the floor and headed toward the kitchen, toward a bottle of something – anything – to help him forget.

Maybe he should call her back right now – maybe she'd understand. He was tipsy, after all – maybe they could laugh it off. There's no way – this is Katherine Fucking Beckett. Straightforward, by the book Beckett.

The hasty rapping at his front door snapped him from his internal pity party. It was late – Alexis was sleeping at a friend's house – they had an AP exam in the morning. Perhaps his Mother had forgotten her key.

Opening the door, he was surprised to see her standing there, his smile on her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, a faint hint of mascara smudged below her left eye. Her hair was damp from the inclement weather outside. He felt a smile creep across his face as she bit her lip.

Before he could say anything, she pressed her chest to his, kissing him softly at first as her hand found its way up his back to the nape of his neck.

As their lips separated, Kate rested her head on his bare shoulder.

"Hello again," she whispered into his ear. "Hello."

Author's Note:

This has been running through my head for WEEKS now, but every time I tried to sit down and type it out, it never came out right. That was, until 4 AM this morning when I woke up with it bursting out of my head. I hope it's not too OOC or hokey, but I would give anything to see this happen.

As with all of my stories, comments are appreciated, but you will NEVER find me begging for reviews. I am not one to hold stories hostage until X number of reviews are posted. I write to satisfy MY silly little self, and if anyone else gets any enjoyment out of it, well – that's a bonus.

Thanks for reading. Until next time, ~j~

Now for the DISCLAIMERS: Castle belongs to ABC/Andrew Marlowe, et al, and it's all his (except for the three seasons on DVD that I bought – those are mine free and clear.) Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so – please be flattered and not in the mood to sue, Mr. Marlowe – I love your mind.

The song "Hello Again" is property of Neil Diamond, and has always been a favorite of mine, even when I fussed at my Mother for playing it ad nauseum when I was a kid. Mr. Diamond, please don't sue me.