A/N: So, I really planned to leave it as a one shot, but since so many of you asked me to continue it and I'm always willing to meet my readers interests, I decided on a little sequel, that actually isn't finished yet, but I wanted to give you something, so just let me know if you want me to continue.
Thanks for your positive reviews and for reading and liking and stuff. So, have fun :)
Because maybe it's better this way
When Kate Beckett arrived at the crime scene the next morning, everyone could see that something was wrong with her. Big sunglasses were covering the dark shadows under her eyes. She told the boys she had a headache, but when she asked them to call Castle to the scene they were able to narrow the root of her strange appearance and behaviour down to him. (She never let someone else call him.) None of them said so anyway, of course. They were working with Beckett long enough to keep their mouths shut, when it came to personal stuff that included Castle. And she was secretly grateful for that.
Walking away over to Lanie she could hear Esposito say to Ryan: "Yo, bro, don't look so miserable, just because mom and dad had a fight doesn't mean they don't love us anymore." She couldn't even smile at that. A fight. They had no idea.
Castle appeared at the scene just when they were about to head back to the precinct. He asked the boys to give him a ride. (Not her.)
Coming in, the first thing she saw was the coffee waiting on her table, her eyes immediately scanned the room for Castle, finding him filling the murder board with information on their victim. She smiled at that.
The next few days flew by with the two of them basically dancing around each other, desperately trying to avoid any eye contact or physical interaction. She knew that sometimes when he pretended to play one of his childish games on his phone, he read her text instead. His eyes would get darker and she could make out all the feelings ranging from deep hurt to pure lust and love. (The latter were carefully hidden behind the pain.)
It were these moments, when she was glad, that she had insisted on the darkness filling her apartment. Although she would have liked to see his face, to see the reactions she caused. Kate knew it was better this way. Because there were no pictures to appear in her head. She was glad she had decided on the no talking rule. Because so everything that remained were their moans echoing in her ears, that could have belonged to anyone (They couldn't. And didn't), not her sighed name falling from his lips or even worse beautiful compliments and heart warming love confessions. It made it easier to convince herself, that it didn't happen. She also hoped it made things less difficult to handle for Castle as well. The last ting she wanted was hurting him and yet she was bitterly aware the pain she'd caused must've been unbearable, that he was completely messed up about this, maybe even more than she.
She silently begged him to go on waiting for her anyway, because the bare thought of him moving on and leaving her behind caused her heart to ache more than the gunshot that ripped it apart. She tried her best convincing herself that the situation wasn't destroying him. Her. Them. Maybe too much to ever be fixed again. And it worked. Kind of.
They never talked about it. Weeks passed and slowly things seemed to return to some awkward normality. Maybe there was the possibility to just go on that way. To keep things casual and on a friendship basis. Maybe they didn't need the full package, maybe it was enough like this, maybe they were enough. (She knew that maybe wasn't an option.)
Kate had always had a thing for his hands, big and strong, spreading the impression of safety and comfort, and yet oddly clumsy. Those hands that wrote her through her hardest times, with their beautiful words that inspired her, encouraged her to carry on, that kept her thinking that doing what she did was right.
But then one night some weeks later, their meaning for her changed. And with them their relationship. Again.
The team was in the middle of a particularly tough case (especially for her) that just didn't reveal anything but dead ends. The woman had been a mother leaving behind a 19-year old daughter, and a wife leaving behind a grieving husband.
Sitting there in front of the murder board with Castle, she finally buried her face in one of her palms, the other hand resting on the table behind her. It had been a long day.
And then she felt it, a soft brush of his fingertips over the back of her hand, drawing slow circles that sent a shiver through her body. Their fingers interlaced like it was the most natural thing in the world between two people who had probably the most indefinable partnership ever. He squeezed her hand, the little gesture saying everything she needed to hear. ("I know. I'm here. Always.") A familiar warmth settled in her stomach, and then suddenly she took the hand of her face and reached for a piece of paper. "How did I miss this? It was here in front of us the whole time. I know who the killer is!" (She didn't realize the ambiguity of her first words.)
Beckett looked up at him and saw a small smile framing the corners of his mouth, but at the same time felt his hand withdrawing from hers. So she tightened her grip and kept him in place while telling him what she'd figured out. (That touch was the least she could give him.) It wasn't until Ryan walked towards them that they parted, just soon enough to go unnoticed.
Starting from that day, it kind of became a thing between them. Sitting in the back of a cab they shared on the way home (to their separate places) or standing next to each other in the otherwise empty elevator or reaching over the table when having lunch, their hands somehow always ended up joined together. Of course so that nobody would ever catch them.
And they never talked about it. It was like an unspoken rule they both knew was needed to keep it as it was, simple and uncomplicated and yet the anchor they needed to not lose themselves in the floods of selfdenials and unresolved problems. Maybe, she thought, maybe it can stay that way. She loved that little sign, that they were still there, that nothing had changed between them although everything had. She enjoyed the feeling of his hand delicately caressing her own. It reassured her on days she just seemed to lose control, kept her grounded. They never talked about it. Two things to go.
Actually, it was some kind of accident, that first kiss after their something. They were staying late at the precinct, no one else around anymore. Castle had ordered Chinese takeout (Her favourite. What else?) and they were talking about the case, nothing unusual despite the fact that their victim was a well known judge, a case that needed closure as fast as possible because Gates needed something she could tell the major, highest priority. Beckett had sent the boys home to get some sleep after working three days, promising them to call if anything popped.
Before she knew it, his thumb was brushing her lower lip, taking some sauce that was left there with it. "Oh... ahm... thank you", she had whispered against the soft touch. It was a complete accident. Her body had betrayed her. If he just wouldn't have smelled that good and looked that nice in his dark blue T-shirt and the little smile on his face lighting up his eyes the way she liked it. So what if she kissed him. It was nothing, really. Just a short collision of their mouths, her tongue only briefly running over his bottom lip, barely long enough to taste the sweet and sour sauce, let alone to mean anything. (She knew it did.) She drew away as fast as she came, hearing a little noise by the cleaner that pulled her back to reality.