A/N: Overwhelmed by the response to this story. Thank you so much. Feeling as if Christmas just came early.


Chapter 2 – Floating

They're walking down the street. Castle feels slow, well, slower than normal, and Kate has adjusted her gait to keep pace with him. But they're walking down the street beside one another and he thought it was over. Why are they still here – just the two of them? What does it mean? He can't decide, can't fathom what is happening. But they're still a them for however long this thing she's dragging them through lasts. It's not over yet. They're still a them, and he finds himself taking small comfort from that.

They reach another corner and pause to wait for the crossing light to change to green. Both stare straight ahead. The warmth they've shared lately as they go about their thing, the closeness, both are gone for now. And that makes him sad, however much he is still mad at her for lying. Yeah, that still makes him sad.

He's feeling the cold. As much as it started to sober him up, he feels more drunk out here on the street surrounded by real, busy, non-liquored up people heading places with purpose than he did in a bar full of derelicts. He sways slightly just as the light changes and he hates himself for being such a mess. He vainly hopes he looks better than he feels, but he wouldn't bet his last Nikki Heat royalty check on it.

He sees Kate in his eye line, marginally pulling ahead as if she can't help it as they cross the street – legs too long, the speed of her stride too engrained to hold her to his doddering, sulky pace forever. But no sooner does he begin to admire her taut ass in those dark jeans beneath the short crop of her leather jacket, than she slows by inches again and falls back in step with him. And then he feels as if he's floating. With her by his side, he could be floating.

She doesn't complain that it's cold and it's dark and would he please just get a wriggle on. She keeps him company again, just as she did in the bar if he takes a more clear-headed moment to think about it. He's grateful and he's angry and he hates that these conflicting feelings exist within his chest when it comes to her. He wants to feel nothing but good things about Kate Beckett, always has. His pride in her as an example of a courageous, compassionate human being was something he took to a personal level in the way that a proud parent might, though he had little claim to do so. And this is why her lie has rocked him so deeply – because that's not part of who she is to him, it's not a facet he recognizes. She's strong, pursues the truth even when it costs her dearly. That she would lie to her partner, no matter what else they might have become – just does not compute.


When they reach her building, she ushers him inside ahead of her. They've walked for twenty minutes in utter silence. Kate's face has settled into an impassive mask that he can't see through. His partial sobriety has brought with it a layer of regret over some of the wounding words he threw at her. But his residual anger is enough to stoke a fire within him that sustains those feelings, because he knows that trading insults is just something they don't do and so that's the only reason he feels bad. He meant those things when he said them – they were the truth about how she hurt him. And maybe if they had been more upfront all along, fought it out instead of hiding behind some idea of social propriety or these lines she mentioned that they just don't cross, then perhaps they wouldn't be in this mess today. There is a lot to be said for plain speaking, he thinks, as the doors to her building's small elevator open onto her floor and he stands aside to let her step out first.

She gets out her keys, opening the locks, no rush, no big deal, and he watches her, beginning to feel the after effects of the alcohol again, now that he's back in the relative warmth of an even minimally heated hallway. His head is starting to ache and regret runs deep.

Kate pushes the door just slightly ajar and then she turns to look at him. It hits him more in that moment that they are alone in whatever this is together and it's all because of her. She could have figured out that he heard her and let him go – no apology, no explanation, no need to stand and fight – just run for the hills and hide her shame. Only she didn't. And they're here – alone – just the two of them. That has to count for something.

"Come on. You look frozen," she says quietly, pushing the door open wider and then stepping back out into the hall to give him room to pass. "Let's get you inside."

He can't remember the last time he was in her apartment. He'd started to get more comfortable in the last few visits – felt more like a friend than a work colleague or visitor. But tonight feels different again. It's the fighting, he knows, and her lie. Both these things fill him with a sense of uneasiness, as if this is his first time in her private space and he suddenly doesn't know where to look or what to do with himself.

"Make yourself at home," says Kate, unknowingly coming to his rescue. She breaks the brittle shell around him with her offer of hospitality, even as she walks away towards the kitchen to fill the glass carafe from her coffee machine and sets it up with a fresh filter and grounds to brew.

He watches her for a moment – still stuck out in the threshold – his coat buttoned up in a mismatch of holes and buttons that would make him curse and flush with shame if he were sharp enough to even notice it.

But Kate leaves him to it. Doesn't fuss or push anymore than she already has.

"I have to make a phone call. Remote is on the coffee table if you feel like watching something."

For a brief, fleeting second he feels a surge of anger swell within him, rage rushing to his head, making it throb with pain. He wants to grab her arm and wheel her round and ask her, "What the fuck, Beckett?" She brought him here to show him something and now she's acting as if this is normal – him coming over for coffee late at night after they've been out drinking in a bar together.

He finds himself wishing more than anything that this was normal, and somewhere in the middle of that thought his anger fizzles, though his throbbing head remains, and he nods, even though she's already disappeared off towards her bedroom - he suspects it's her bedroom - leaving him to his own devices.


"Martha? It's Kate. Yeah, I'm sorry I couldn't call sooner. No, no, everything's fine. You were right. That's exactly where I found him. I brought him home with me. I didn't want you to worry unnecessarily. He's…fine. A little tired maybe. I'll make sure he gets home safely. Don't worry. And Martha? Again…I'm so sorry. I'm doing my best to put things right. Take care. Sleep well. Speak soon."

Kate ends the call with Castle's mother and then she turns off her phone, laying it on her nightstand along with her father's watch. She takes off her holster and gun and deposits them both in the box she keep specially for that purpose, dropping her badge in along with them. She is Kate the woman tonight and the man out in her living room is more than her partner. The NYPD may have brought them together, but tonight they do not need the help or hindrance of her job to muddy the waters between them any further.

She changes quickly out of her jeans and sweater into a long-sleeved t-shirt and leggings, wooly socks and slippers. They have spent far too long hiding their real selves from one another, and so now is the time to show Castle the flawed reality of the real Kate Beckett. If he doesn't like what he finds, then at least she will know that he saw all of her, knew what he would be getting if he can ever find it in himself to forgive her. She wants to stop him hankering after this mishmash of fantasy, fact and fiction she's sure he's been carrying around in his head. Tonight she is me, not muse. He'll just have to deal with that as best he can.

When she goes back out into the living room, Castle has managed to take his coat off at least. But he's just sitting in the middle of her sofa, staring straight ahead, hands clasped between his knees. She'd almost rather have found him poking around her things, frankly. His silence and stillness are unnerving. They make her worry about him more than the noisy, busy, irritating Castle she's more used to seeing.

"I called your mom," she tells him, noticing how he begins to watch her closely the second she's in his line of vision.

He looks surprised to see her dressed down as she is now, and the fact that he's unable to hide his reaction pleases her. She hopes he'll remain that honest, that transparent, instead of closing back down the way he was when she found him in the corner of the bar.

"I told her where you are. Didn't want her to worry."

"Thanks," he mutters, self-consciously running a hand through his hair.

"So…I'll get us some coffee. You look like you could use one," she tells him, turning away to head for the kitchen.

"Should have known," he says, mostly to himself. "So that's how you found me," he calls out, trying to get to his feet to follow her. But he sways back and then gives up, bumping down heavily to sit exactly where he was, since she can still hear him across her open plan apartment layout if he speaks loudly enough.

"Don't blame Martha," says Kate, returning with two steaming mugs of black coffee. "I forced her to tell me."

"No one forces my mother to do anything," argues Castle, accepting the mug and peering into its dark, swirling depths.

"Everyone had their weak spot. You just have to know the right buttons to press," confesses Kate, briefly meeting his eye.

"Devious," nods Castle, a slight grin tugging his lips for a brief instant. "Have to show me your trick sometime."

"No trick," refutes Kate, shaking her head. "People respond when the ones they love are hurt or in danger. You already know all about that, Castle. It's not a trick. It's just human nature."


Castle looks pensive for a second, and then stares down at his coffee again. "Run out of creamer?" he asks, raising the mug, and then quickly he grasps it in both hands when he sees how much the right one is shaking.

"No. I have creamer if you want. I just thought you could use it black tonight. I though we both could."

"Are we punishing ourselves here because—"

"No. We're sobering up. At least you are. We've punished each other enough to last a lifetime, Castle." She strokes her fingers over her knee and then she looks straight into his eyes. "I don't want to hide anything from you anymore. I'm tired of hiding who I am…from you at least."

He feels a hot flash of something alarming and disturbing shoot through him and his face gets red. He realizes that as much as he wants honesty from her, he isn't used to it yet, and the prospect of the unknown things she might tell him frightens him.

"Don't worry. I'm not some radically different person from the Kate you already know. I just mean…well, we all keep the ugly stuff hidden away, don't we?" she asks, still looking right at him. "The things we think will make people…like us less."

Castle nods slowly and sips at his coffee. He winces when the rich bitterness and the heat burn down his throat.

"Did I make it too strong?" asks Kate, quickly setting her own mug down on the coffee table, offering to take his to the kitchen and add a little hot water to dilute it.

"No. S'good," he tells her, holding his hand up to ward her off. "Needed this," he offers up by way of a thank you.

She's terrifying him and thrilling him in equal measure, and he can't quite get enough control over himself yet – his brain or his mouth - to match her honesty or eloquence. At this point in the night he's barely stringing words together. So he drinks his coffee and he keeps quiet while she curls up in the corner of her sofa just one cushion away from him.


"Are you hungry?" she asks, a couple of minutes later. "Because I'm starving and you barely ate any lunch today, so—"

She bites her lip, wondering if she fussing too much or overstepping since she just basically revealed that she was watching how much he ate at the precinct. But then she figures, what the hell. After tonight things can't really get much worse.

"I have mac 'n' cheese. It's from a deli down the street, not homemade, I'm sorry, but—"

"Sounds…just right," whispers Castle hoarsely, quickly clearly his throat, and Kate winces at the painful swirl of emotions she can see on his face. How her kindness is almost upsetting him.

"Let me warm the oven. I'll be right back," she promises, placing her mug down carefully on the table.

Castle sinks back on the sofa this time once she's gone. He even kicks off his shoes and opens the second top button of his shirt. He hazards a look around her home again – spies some familiar ornaments on her shelves and surfaces, and some he's never noticed before. He wishes he'd spent more time here in the past – when they were friends and on speaking terms - even if they were still hiding things. He's always liked the vibe in her place, how it's quirkier and more homespun than his apartment, though nonetheless stylish for being put together by her, slowly, over time. His place has more of his interior decorator's touch and influence than he'd really like. Kate has good taste, and here at home she's as real as he's ever likely to see her.

"Twenty minutes and we can eat," she tells him, hovering nervously by the boundary of her living room, a kitchen towel thrown over one shoulder.

"You eh…you said that you had something you wanted to show me," Castle reminds her, though the second the words are out of his mouth he wants to take them back. He sounds as if that's the only reason he came here – which technically it was at the time – but now it just makes him sound churlish and ungracious, desperate to leave even.

"Right. Yes. I—I was thinking maybe we should eat something first. But if you need to get back or—"

"I don't," he interjects hurriedly. "I'm sorry. That sounded rude and ungrateful. Let's…you're right. Let's just eat and then…I'll leave it up to you," he tells her, burying his face in the mug of coffee once more.


When he looks back up, Kate has disappeared again. He needs to use the bathroom, but he doesn't want to look as if he's off snooping. So he gets up slowly, takes a second or two to check his legs are still working with him rather than against him, and then he heads for the kitchen.

When he gets within full view of the kitchen, Kate isn't doing anything. Well, she is, but it isn't what he expects. She isn't busy fetching the mac 'n' cheese from the refrigerator or pouring glasses of water or washing dishes. She's just leaning over the sink; her body braced on her forearms, head bowed and eyes closed. She looks exhausted, fragile in her casual clothes, and she might even be crying, he realizes.

His first instinct is to quietly withdraw. Or flee. But she said she wanted him to see her as she really is. She said herself she didn't want to hide anything from him anymore.

"Kate?" he asks softly, blanching when her head shoots up and then she stands stiffly, turning towards him with her mask slipped back in place.

"Sorry, I was miles away. Do you need something?"

"I—just to use the bathroom. I didn't want to…"

"Castle, I said make yourself at home. You know where the bathroom is," she says, sounding slightly tetchy.

"Yes. Of course. I just didn't want to presume…anything."

"See this is what I mean," replies Kate, frustration leaking into her voice again, just like it had back in the bar.

"I'm sorry…I don't…" mumbles Castle, uncertainly.

"This!" she exclaims, slapping her own thigh. "We're far too careful with one another. We've known each other what…? Over four years, been in more scrapes and close calls than normal people face in a lifetime. We've pledged to have each other's back no matter what, and you've backed that promise up with action…more than once."

"So have—"

"Please, let me finish," she begs, holding up a hand to silence him.

Castle nods; briefly chastened.

"I don't want you coming into my home and acting like a stranger, Castle. Because you're not a stranger to me, and if I've made you feel like you are…"

This is guilt talking, Castle realizes.

Kate stops and blows out a breath to get her shaking voice under control. "You know where the bathroom is. Please, help yourself."


When he comes back out, she's laying place settings on the coffee table – a couple of natural placemats made of water hyacinth, navy blue linen napkins with large white stars on them, just like Old Glory. She leaves a bundle of silverware in the center of the table and returns seconds later with two glasses and a pitcher of water with a few slices of lemon floating on top.

"Figured we'd had enough to drink tonight. But there's a bottle of wine open in the frig if you're interested. I'm not trying to be your keeper or your sponsor or anything," she adds, giving him a terse smile.

"No. Water's good. I've had my fill tonight," he agrees, sitting down nervously.

He rubs his hands down the front of his pants, smoothing his palms over the sharp crease. He's wracking his booze-addled brain for something to say when a kitchen timer pings and Kate's face lights up with pure relief.

"That'll be the food," she tells him, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

"Great," he nods, stomach rumbling on cue.

"Right. I'll just…" smiles Kate, spinning on her heel and disappearing again.


The food hits the spot perfectly, and they eat in silence, save for the click of their forks on the white porcelain bowls she serves dinner in and the background hum of smooth jazz filtering from her iPod dock in the corner.

"I know tonight is awkward," she says eventually, breaking the silence with words that make Castle's skin prickle, because awkward doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of what tonight is. "I hate fighting with you. I thought we'd moved past that. And I know tonight is my fault," she adds quickly, before he thinks she's blaming any of this on him. "I'm just…I'm trying to say that…that I like having you here, no matter the circumstance. So…there. I've said my piece," she tells him, looking back down at her bowl and then quickly glancing at his face to gauge his reaction.

"I appreciate your honesty," he says carefully, and God it's so stiff he feels like smacking himself around the head. "But I have to admit that it's freaking me out a little."

"Freaking you out?" asks Kate, wiping her mouth with her napkin.

"Eh…yeah. Just…we were fighting not two hours ago in a public bar about you lying to me, and then suddenly…" he gestures towards her and then the food spread out on the table. "Suddenly I'm in your apartment eating dinner and you're sitting there in your PJ's or whatever, and…"

Kate laughs. She laughs for the first time that day.

"What?" asks Castle, smiling at her sudden outburst because there's simply no way to stop himself from smiling when Kate Beckett laughs. It's like the urge to yawn when you see someone else yawn, even if they're just on a movie screen or on TV. It's infectious; her laughter is utterly infectious.

"You think these are my PJ's?" she asks, tugging on the hem of her t-shirt in amusement.

"I don't know, do I? They could be," he shrugs, defensively.

"One step at a time, eh?" she says, getting up to take his empty bowl from him. "If I offer you a hot chocolate before bed, will that freak you out too?" she teases, watching a frown appear on Castle's face.

"What…is this some kind of slumber party and no one told me?"

Kate holds up one finger and then she hurries off to the kitchen with the dishes.

When she returns she's wiping her hands on the same kitchen towel he saw her with earlier.


"Castle, it's late…"

He stands a little too suddenly at her comment and finds himself swaying again with the sudden loss of blood pressure to his head.

"Whoa! Okay, take it easy, partner," says Kate, hurrying over to steady him.

"I didn't realize how late," he says hurriedly, looking around for his shoes. "I'm sorry. I'll get out of your hair."

"No," she says, taking his elbow and shaking her head. She's standing so close that he can feel her body heat radiating out towards him. Her hand is warm through the fabric of his shirt where she holds onto his elbow, and he's feeling so pathetically vulnerable that even the lightness of her touch is electric. "No, I meant it's late and so you should stay. I don't think you should go home tonight. At least not until you're feeling a hundred percent. Think about Martha and Alexis."

"Kate," he says warily, backing away from her slightly. "This is…I'm kind of confused here. Earlier today I found out that you've been lying to me and now…" He shakes his head. "This is a mess. We are a mess. I really should go before one of us says or does something stupid that we'll both end up regretting later."

"Stay. Please?" he hears her beg, as he makes a wobbly attempt to wrangle on one shoe. "We need to fix this, Castle. Today. I'll make up a bed on the sofa. I wasn't suggesting…" She bites her lip and shakes her head. "But please, don't go until I get a chance to give you what I brought you here to show you."

He's about to say 'this better be good' when he hears himself and prevents the words from coming out just in the nick of time. Yet again he has the distinct feeling he should be beating some sense into himself – Kate Beckett, woman of his dreams, both waking and sleeping, muse, partner, love of his whole damn life is asking him to sleep over at her apartment. And maybe the circumstances aren't ideal, but then they've both been waiting for ideal and look where that's got them.

He's still angry with her, he reminds himself, in no way willing to let her off the hook. But if she wants him to stay, and if she really has something to show him…the curiosity is just too much. He says yes before he can think twice about it.


Kate leaves the room and reappears shortly with sheets, some blankets and a couple of spare pillows off her bed.

"Here, I can do that," Castle tells her, accepting the bulky bundle of bedding from her.

"I really appreciate you giving me a chance, Castle. I know I probably don't—"

"I didn't say anything about giving you a chance," he interrupts, dumping the bedding down onto an armchair. "But you're right. I don't want my mother or Alexis to see me like this and…even if we have no hope of fixing things, I'm willing to hear you out. I owe you that much after your honesty tonight."

Kate turns away from him immediately, and he thinks for a second that maybe she's angry with him or that he's upset her with this sudden burst of frankness. But then she walks to the corner of the room, and in that corner sits a fairly large, decorative box that he's never noticed before. It's about the size of the nondescript Banker's boxes they use at the Precinct for storing case files and associated evidence once they're through with a case and sending it off to be archived.

Kate brings the box over and deposits it on the coffee table. It doesn't look as if whatever's inside weighs very much, judging by the ease with which she carries it. The lid and sides are decorated with humming birds and some kind of tree that might be a cherry blossom. It's pretty, unusual and just so 'her'.

Castle watches while she stands over the box, staring down at it, her fingertips lightly resting on top of the lid as if she's communing with whatever's inside.

She takes a deep breath and removes her hand, crossing her arms over her chest instead.

"You, more than anyone, deserve to see what's in here. I don't have a time machine, Castle, but if I had one I would go back and change so many things about us…about our past."

He's struck by this particular statement; since she doesn't express any wish to change her own past – her mother's death included. Right now she only seems concerned about them, and that is new.

"But I thought that if I could let you in, let you see…" She shrugs and looks down at the box again, as if it holds all the answers. "This is the best I can do. I'm sorry. I know it's not much, but…" she shrugs again and gives him a faint smile. "I'm trying. I hope you can see that."

Castle swallows hard and he nods to acknowledge that he has understood what she just said.

"Right. Well, it's late. If you've got everything you need…I'll say goodnight."

He stares at her in panic, unexpectedly fearful now she's leaving him alone in her apartment with this…this Pandora's box.

"You—you're going to bed?"

His tone gets her attention.

"Did you need something? You don't feel sick or anything. I know dinner was quite rich this late at night. Can I get you some Maalox or—you should probably take a couple of Advil anyway. I'll get some and bring you a glass of water," she tells him, leaving him alone all of a sudden.


Castle sinks down onto the sofa with the large box sitting on the table in front of him. He runs both hands through his hair and then slowly begins to take off his shirt, fingers operating on autopilot.

He lays it out on the nearby armchair and then forces himself to make up a proper bed on Kate's sofa. His head is pounding by the time he finishes, and he has to sit again for a couple of minutes just to stop the room from spinning.

"Here, pop a couple of these and—"

Kate stops walking towards him when she sees him sitting there, and then she gathers her wits and approaches again slowly, holding out the bottle of Advil in her outstretched hand.

Castle is sitting naked from the waist up on her sofa, having completely forgotten that she was coming back with painkillers. Kate is now dressed in a white terrycloth robe that doesn't even make it past mid-thigh. Her chest, legs and feet are bare. Her toenails are painted a dark shade of navy that reminds Castle of her old Crown Vic for some bizarre reason. He's still staring at them, mesmerized by the apparent smallness of her feet for such a tall woman, when she speaks to him again.

"Right. Well, I hope you get some sleep. Help yourself to anything you need. There are bottles of water in the refrigerator and I left a spare toothbrush out in the bathroom...towels, the usual."

Only none of this is usual. Not for them at least.

"Kate?" he says quietly, just as she turns to walk away.

"Mmm?" she asks, a hopeful lilt to her voice.

"Thanks."

"What for?"

Castle shrugs and his eyes stray to the unopened box. "For tonight. For everything you've done tonight."

Kate smiles a tired smile and then she looks at the floor. "I just hope it's not a case of too little too late, that's all. Night, Castle."

"Night," he murmurs, distractedly, watching her walk away until she disappears into her bedroom and closes the door, leaving him alone in her living room with this box of whatevers that she seems to think has the power to save them.


TBC. Love to hear your thoughts.