Set before Always. I don't quite know how having a hangover or being drunk feels like because I'm not old enough to drink, so please bear with me on those parts.
It started maybe a month or so after she gets shot. It was at that moment that he knew, with an undeniable certainty, that he loved her.
He had committed the scene to his memory. He can still feel the heat of the sun on his head, can still remember how green the grass was, and how solemn it was. He can still remember how her blood had stained the blades of grass red, how his hands were wet and sticky with her blood. He remembers her eyes, wide with shock, gazing into his as he told her he loved her.
He'd been scared, pacing back and forth in the waiting room of the hospital, even after the doctor had told them that she would be fine, that she was still alive. Different scenarios rushed through his mind, imagining all the different ways that speaking to her after he had admitted how he felt about her could go wrong.
But even he couldn't imagine that she wouldn't remember. And then she didn't speak to him. It stung, but he just assumed that she needed time.
He had itched to pick up the phone, to tell her, again and again that he loved her, that he would die for her, that he would gladly give up his life if it meant that she would be happy.
Then their partnership grew and healed again, but they could both tell that there was something more, something meaningful.
Gone was the playboy, the man who had picked up a girl each night to bring home and have sex with. He loved her, and only thought of her, and she meant much more than a one-night stand.
But she remembered. All this time, she had looked him in the eye, told him that she had lost her memory. He could take a hint— she didn't share his drifted away from her, tried to soothe the ebbing pain by Jacinda, by alcohol. It didn't take it away, it only dulled the agony. But it was better than the raw hurt.
And so, there he was, sitting on his couch, an almost empty beer bottle in hand as he downed another glass of alcohol, feeling it burn its way down his esophagus.
Alexis and his mother had gone to a spa for a week, and they'd be there for three more days, meaning he had the loft to himself.
He stood up from his spot, groaning as the world around him spun and a wave of nausea rushed over him as he stumbled his way to the table where the TV remote was.
He grabbed the remote, walking and tripping back to his seat. He sat down and lay back against the cushions, feeling as if he was floating.
Odd. His leg was buzzing. He knew he was drunk, but he had never imagined feeling things before. The buzzing persisted and he could see a faint white glow peeking out from the side of his leg, and he reached under and pulled out his phone, laughing at the ticklish feeling.
Without looking a the caller id, he swiped at the screen, mumbling a slurred, "Hey, who's this" into the phone.
He could hear her. Beckett? Why was she calling? Why did she care what had happened to him? he thought to himself.
Feeling stupid, he grinned into the mouthpiece, not caring about what he was going to say.
"Beckett? Ziss you? Y'callin to tell me you don't love me back? Huh? Cuzzzzz I already know," he said, laughing bitterly.
In a moment of lucidity, he could hear the painful silence before he continued on.
"Y'know, I always thought you t'least liked me. Or somethin. Guess not. Every night, I almost call ya, just to tell you that I'll always pick you. You know why? Cuz I love you. But you already knew that didn't you?"
He heard her gasp and he hung up, throwing the phone against the wall and watching it fall to the floor, its surface broken and glass everywhere.
Without bringing himself to care, he closed his eyes, the stress of what just happened taking a toll on him, and he fell asleep.
It's the light that wakes him. He can see the bright red-orange glow behind his eyelids even as they are closed, and he can feel his head throbbing.
He reluctantly opens his eyes and the light intensifies, nearly blinding him. He can smell the faint stench of scotch and he crinkles his nose at the smell as he rolls around to face the back of the couch, pulling the blanket higher up to his neck.
Wait. Blanket? When'd he get the blanket?
He reopen his eyes, squinting as he slowly sits up, trying his best not to move unless needed. His head pounds as his eyes scan the living room, noticing that it is clean and that his broken phone, which he clearly remembered was on the floor, was nowhere to be found.
And is that coffee he smells? He cautiously stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen island, picking up the mug of steaming coffee and peering at it suspiciously. Finding it unlikely that a murderer or a thief would drape a blanket over him and brew a mug of coffee, he takes a sip, the perfect, bitter taste easing his nausea. He hears footsteps and he spins around, looking at the very person he had been avoiding the entire week.
"Beckett," he says, a grim expression crossing over his face. "How'd you get here? Why are you even here?"
He groans as he finishes his sentence, the movement of his jaw making him dizzy.
Beckett wrings her hands, an unsure expression flitting across her face as she steps closer to him at the other side of he table, and Castle fights the urge to flee and run.
"I, well, I used that key that you gave me last year," she said unsteadily. "You said it was for emergencies, and I thought this counted as one."
Castle sighs and shifts from foot to foot, debating on what to say.
"Look, Beckett," he says, making sure not to use her first name. "If this is some sort of pity thing, then you could just leave me alone. It's gonna be a lot less awkward if we just… If we just avoided each other." He finishes the last part of the sentence on a choke, his throat clogging up, because he just can't, cannot imagine his life without her.
"What do you mean, 'pity thing'?" Kate asks, confused.
"Castle," she says, taking a step closer to him. He leans back, avoiding eye contact with her.
"Look, Rick—I, I just came to see if you were alright," Kate says, and he chuckles bitterly.
"Yeah, Beckett, I'm perfectly fine." He says sarcastically.
"And yeah, you're obviously not," she continues. "I come in here, and there are empty bottles everywhere, there are dirty clothes all over the flow, and you're passed out on the couch stinking of scotch."
Castle ducks his head, ashamed, even as he's angered.
"It's scary, Rick. You looked so much like my father after mom died. I came home one night, and he was passed out on the floor by the front door, and he'd drink himself unconscious."
He sighs, seeing where she's getting at.
"It's only a one time thing," he responds. "It's not gonna happen again."
"See, that's the thing. That's what my dad said too. Then he went and drowned all his sorrows with alcohol. I had to come home every night, and I had to be a parent to my own father when I was 20. I don't want Alexis to see that."
It tears at his heart and he can't imagine how she had found the courage to keep going, even when nothing had seemed right then.
"And you said something about me not, not having feelings for you," she continues hesitantly, looking at him with something that looks maybe like lo— No, he chides himself. Don't create false hope.
"Ca—Rick, what makes you think that I don't love you?"
Castle feels his heart stutter and he swears it skips a beat, and even if he tries not to think about it, he can't help but hope that she does love him back.
"You remembered." It's a statement, not a question, and the sentence seems to lower the already grim atmosphere in the room.
And she knows. Kate hopes he doesn't mean what she thinks he could mean, but she knows that he knows.
"You were watching," she says, her voice small and quiet. "That's the only time I've ever said it out loud, at least other than my psychiatrist. When I was interviewing Bobby?"
He nods, his anger surfacing again.
"How could you lie to me? To look me in the eye and tell me that you didn't remember?"
She can feel tears well up in her eyes, but she closes her eyelids, forcing the drops of water not to fall, and she opens them again, looking in front of her.
He was her partner, the one who had been there for her, the man who had helped her pick the pieces back up. He had kept her closely guarded secrets safe, not telling anyone about them. And he loved her.
"I…. I was trying to be better," she whispers, letting the tears fall. "I know that you had….. feelings for me, and I wanted to be the best I could be, so that you could get what you would deserve."
Despite the logical part of his brain telling him to keep his thoughts to himself, he voices them anyway.
"Had feelings? Kate, I can't just stop loving you. You— you're worth more than that to me."
Castle watches as her tears trickle down Kate's cheeks, her shoulders shaking.
"Do.. Do you still love me?" she asks hesitantly, her bottom lip quivering.
He takes a deep breath, and even if he had already said those three words before, he's even more nervous now, having this conversation with her in person and not dying.
"I love you.. So yes, I do." He meets her tearful eyes and a moment of silence descends upon them.
He's unsure of what to do, his thoughts jumbled up as they stand a few mere feet away from each other, each person processing the words that he had said.
And then her lips clash into his, and it's not perfect, he's shocked, her lips are chapped, and there are tears and snot mixed in with the kiss, but he thinks that it's absolutely the most beautiful thing he's ever experienced.
Kate draws back and looks up at him, her mascara smeared on her cheeks, her lips swollen and mouth open slightly, as if she were in shock of what had just happened.
He wants to kiss her again, to take her to his bed, but he pushes down his desires and focuses on the conversation they were having before…. before the kiss.
"We both know what I want to do. But Kate, you have to explain this to me."
"I'm sorry. I lied because.. Well, partly because I was unsure of what had actually happened. And also because I'm not the person I want to be yet, Rick. I wanted to be more for you. I wanted to be able to openly talk to you about mom, about my thoughts."
He takes her in, and this time, it's him who closes in and kisses her. His lips soothe the broken skin of her lips and she moves against him, their mouths moving in tandem with each other.
A few minutes of bliss later, they pull away from each other, gasping, and he takes her face in his hands.
"I love you," he whispers, gazing into her eyes. "Everyone has flaws, Kate.. But you still go through life, helping catch murderers and doing good things. You're extraordinary."
He pulls her tightly against his chest, but she draws back and looks back at him.
"I'm not ready. At least, not yet," she says.
Castle feels a flicker of disappointment, but he nods anyways, willing to give her what she needs.
"But I'm almost there." She finishes.
A few months later, whilst watching a movie and half asleep, he can feel her pull herself closer to him, and he puts his arms around her, keeping them both warm. He can barely hear her say them, but she repeats it, looking into his shocked eyes.
"I love you too."