i got my heart right here

She's curled on the couch ten minutes later, hand splayed over her mouth, index finger wiping at each tear that slides down her cheek.

She can't be too surprised by his reaction, or the fact that it didn't go well. At all. He has every right to be angry, to hate her for what she's done - hell, even she's less than pleased with herself at the moment - but she didn't think he'd walk out. At the very least she thought they'd talk it out, probably yell a bit, and then maybe she'd be able to explain why she did what she did. Why she lied. She wants to explain, she needs to explain, but now he's gone and all she can do is sit and think about the train wreck that just took place in her living room.

It could have been avoided if she had just told him the truth. She could have - and should have - told him in that hospital room that she heard him, heard what he said that day but she just wasn't ready. He would have understood because he's Castle and that's what he does. He understands, he waits for her, and it's stupid that she ever thought otherwise.

There's nothing she can do about it now though, because he's on his way to the Hamptons and after what just happened she doesn't think he's coming back. Not this time - not to the precinct, not to her.

She sniffles and purses her lips, curses herself for the way things went down, and for how horribly she handled the situation from the very beginning.

There's a small knock on her door minutes later as she's tucked into the cushions, and she stills. It's one quiet, hesitant knock, and she's sure that if her apartment wasn't dead silent she wouldn't have even heard it. Her brows knit together and she uncurls herself, letting one leg drop to the floor and then the other, her arms pushing herself up off the couch.

A hand raises to her face and wipes away the tears that still remain and then she's moving, slowly padding towards the door with no real urgency. It's just the take-out she ordered earlier, before Castle ever showed up. She'd completely forgotten about it until now, but she's not all that hungry anymore.

She grabs the bills off of the kitchen counter to pay the delivery guy and returns to the entryway, not much caring about the fact that her eyelashes are still wet and draped over puffy eyes.

But the man on the other side of the door is the last one she expected to see, definitely not right now. And yet there he is, bright blue eyes just as clouded as they were when he left, but now a hint of something else is hidden within. He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, just stands in her doorway, staring at her with - her food in his arms?

Her eyes trail lower towards the bag of take-out in his hands and he must notice because his do the same.

"I uh," he finally speaks, cradling the bag in one arm and motioning to it with the other. "I met the guy in the hallway as he was coming to your door."

He shrugs and extends his arm, gesturing for her to take it. Her fingers brush against his as she grabs the bag and her breath hitches at the shiver the brief contact sends down her spine. If his subtle jerk of the hand is any indication, she's pretty sure he felt it too.

She sniffs, tries to blink away any evidence of her crying. "What are you- Did you want to come in?" she asks quietly.

He nods but doesn't say anything, and waits this time for her to step aside before he walks in. She closes the door and moves past him, depositing the Chinese onto the kitchen counter before turning back around. She watches as he just hovers in her living room, absentmindedly glancing at old photos in frames, but she doubts he's actually paying attention. His arms are crossed in a posture that screams closed off, but she reminds herself that he's here. He's supposed to be in the Hamptons forgetting about her and probably drinking martinis with some blonde but he's not; he came back, and she wants so badly for that to mean that he hasn't given up on her yet, that she has a chance to fix things.

So she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and makes her way over to him. He senses her presence and spins, his eyes coming to hers in one icy gaze.

"I'm sorry, Castle," she rushes out before he has a chance to say that he's done, that he's just come back to say goodbye.

His eyes don't change and she can see his jaw clench. "You remember," he says, voice hard, harsher than he's ever used with her. "You've known this entire time and you didn't say anything."

It's not a question but she answers anyway. "Yes."

It's just a whisper because she doesn't want to admit it, angry with herself that she couldn't just do this sooner. He looks away from her, to one of the back walls where there's nothing of interest, and then he starts moving, walks a few paces away with his back turned.

And then he laughs, a low, bitter sound from the back of his throat. "Four months," he grits out. There's the anger she was expecting. "Four months, Beckett, and you didn't think you should find time to tell the truth."

"What do you want me to say, Castle?" she sighs. She lied - it's out in the open and there's nothing either of them can do about it now. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No, I get it," he cuts her off. His hands are waving around him, coming to a stop in his tousled hair. "You looked me right in the eyes and lied in that hospital room, told me you didn't remember." His voice is rising with each word and he finally turns back around. "I would have understood if you just told me you didn't feel the same way, Kate. Instead you let me follow you around for four months, stupidly thinking that maybe someday you'd remember and something else would come of it."

Her mouth drops open and she blinks, too stunned to even think about where to begin. The use of her first name catches her off guard, as does the rest of his outburst.

She must have stayed silent for too long because he's running a hand down his face, shaking his head as he moves to leave. His voice is ice cold when he finally says, "Y'know, I should go."

"Castle, wait," she says, catching him by the hand to make him turn to her. She lets out a low, teary laugh. "You're an idiot."

His face scrunches up, winces. "What-"

She sighs. "I lied-"

"Because you don't feel the same way. I get it, alright?"

"No, you don't get it," she says firmly, refuses to let him leave without knowing the truth. "Do you think I wanted to lie? Do you know how many times in the past four months I've wanted to tell you the truth? How many times I've wanted to say that I heard you?" He's silent, his eyes trained solely on her. He's still angry, she can see it, but he's listening and that's all she can ask for. "Every day, Castle. Every day I wanted to pull you aside and tell you, every day I wanted to call you and tell the truth."

He considers her. "Why?"

She knows what he's asking; not why she wanted to tell him, but why she did it in the first place.

"Because I wasn't ready to face the truth," she admits, rakes a hand through her hair and steps back to sit on the couch. He waits a few seconds but eventually follows, taking a reluctant seat in the chair opposite her. "I had just been shot. I was in that hospital, in pain and dealing with everything that's happened and then I was faced with these new revelations and I couldn't do it. So I lied. To buy myself some more time, to think everything through before I did something I'd regret." She rolls her eyes, a sad laugh escaping her throat. "How well that worked out."

She's fiddling with the drawstring on her sweater when he speaks. "But why lie, Beckett?" Some of the ice in his voice has melted, replaced with a resignation, and she's pretty sure she liked it better when he was angry.

Does he really not get it?

"I wasn't ready to face my feelings."

He looks at her curiously. "Your feelings... for-"

"You," she breathes.

"For me," he repeats dumbly, his entire face just frozen in place. "Your feelings... for me."

She nods, chews on her bottom lip as she sighs. There it is - she's let it out, the truth that's been weighing down on her for four months. The truth she's kept hidden under a lock and key, left to stew inside her until it became too much, overflowed and ruined everything she's been trying so hard to protect.

No matter what he decides to do now, at least he knows.

She tucks her legs into her body and watches carefully as he takes it in; his face softens ever so slightly and the surprised look etched into his features hasn't yet faded. After a few minutes of silence she looks away, casts her eyes down to the floor and wrings her hands in her lap.

"What feelings might those be?" he asks quietly a while later, and when she looks up there's the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

She rolls her eyes, lets out a breathy laugh because he's still here, he hasn't stormed out again, and he's smiling - almost. "Feelings I'm still not sure what to do with. Feelings I'm terrified by."

He frowns. "You don't want..."

"No, no," she stops him. "I do. God, Castle. That's what terrifies me. I'm not where I wanted to be when I even thought out... this." She gestures between the two of them. "I want to be more than I am. For myself, and for you, to be able to work through these issues and make... whatever this could be, worthwhile." She sighs, puts her head in her hands. "I don't know."

He leans over and suddenly there's a large hand on her knee, the warmth burning through her leggings. "Hey, no. You don't have to be anything else for me. You're enough."

She offers him a small smile and tries to ignore the erratic pounding of her heart. "You deserve more than this, though." She motions to herself, glossing over her body and tear stained cheeks. "I'm a mess."

He shakes his head. "That's where you're wrong," he says with a sigh, reaches over to swipe at one lone tear under her eye. "I don't deserve you."

She scoffs. "Right."

"It's true. What do you think I hear at every poker night? That you're lucky to have me tagging along? No. They all laugh and tell me you're way out of my league."

She gazes up through her - now less tear soaked - eyelashes, a skeptical look painted on her face. That can't possibly be true, but she just lets it go.

"Why aren't you more angry?"

It's not that she's unhappy he's still sitting here, still listening to her and hasn't stormed out. Because she is. But a part of her wants him to just get it all out, all of the anger she knows he's garnered along with the knowledge of her lie.

He looks at her with conflicted features. "I'm upset that you lied, that you felt like you had to keep this from me for so long," he says, pauses at the small nod he gets from her. "But now I understand why you did it. It hurts, Beckett, I won't lie. And it'll take me a while to grasp it all, but I'm just glad you've decided to tell me now."

"I'm bad at this, Castle," she murmurs.

"So am I," he shrugs. "Got the track record to prove it." Her lips quirk upwards at his attempt for a joke. "We've both made mistakes. We're not perfect, but we are good together. As a team, as partners, as friends. Who's to say we wouldn't be good as something more?"

She pulls her bottom lip back between her teeth. "I'm still not ready," she sighs, gives him a ghost of a smile. "But... someday soon I hope to be."

He returns with a comforting grin. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises, any residual anger having dissipated almost completely. "I'm still getting used to whatever this is that's just happened, but whenever you're ready, we'll work through it together. You're not in this alone."

"Why did you come back," she asks suddenly, and curses herself for it immediately. But she's too curious. There's no reason he should have - she wouldn't have blamed him if he didn't.

He lets out a sigh and leans back. "I never left."

She lifts an eyebrow, confused. "But you-"

"I didn't even get out of the hallway," he admits. "I sat against the wall for a while, but I never left. I couldn't."

"Why?"

He laughs with a shake of his head. "I left with the intentions of getting you out of my head, out of my heart, but I realized before I even made it to the elevator that it'd never happen. If there's one thing I've learned in these past few months - these past few years even, it's that there's no getting over you, Katherine Beckett."

She's staring at him, wide eyed and at a loss for words. She doesn't even know what to feel first, pained that he wanted to get her out of of his head - and his heart, which makes her breath catch in her throat - or utterly surprised and, admittedly flattered, that he's just said there's no getting over her.

So she just bows her head as a blush rises to her cheeks, lets her hair cascade into her face and gives a shy smile.

"I need some time," she breathes quietly, notices how he perks up at the sound of her voice. "But I want this, Castle."

He smiles at her, the one she didn't think she'd ever see again that brings crinkles to his eyes. "As much time as you need," he says, his voice so genuine and such a contrast to the ice cold tone he showed earlier. "You're worth waiting for."

A few seconds later she pushes herself off the couch and moves behind him, watches his eyes follow her until she can no longer see him. She grabs the bag of forgotten Chinese and returns with it, plopping it on the small table between them.

"You hungry?"

He nods, smirking in her direction as she opens the bag and pulls out two cartons of food. She places one in front of him and keeps the other in front of her, before her hands travel back into the bag to grab the chopsticks. There's still a lot they need to talk about and work through, a lot to figure out, but that can wait one more day.

"Thank you... for coming back," she whispers around a bite of lo mein.

His grin softens, those perfectly blue irises warm and inviting when they meet hers. "Always."