Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Castle, but I would like to.

Point of View – Chapter 2

Castle

When the combustion faded and pulses slowed, my intention was to make sure Kate ate something – no telling when she slowed down enough to feed herself - and offer her a shower. But as the storm outside slowed, so did Kate's energy. She curls up on her side, facing me, a look of mild apprehension in her eyes even as they droop with fatigue.

I can't blame her. When my mind finally realized that she was offering when she came to the door – soaking wet, eyes begging me to understand – instinct and need took over. In my own defense, the marionette strings she's kept me on for months – even years – have grown tiresome. But I have my part in this game we play, and I still should have been more of a gentleman.

I can almost read the questions in her eyes – "What does this mean?" I could echo the same, but unable to withstand the doubt and mild fear in her eyes, I reach out, and with obvious relief, she turns and folds into me. As I wrap my arms around her, I try to think of what to say, but her breathing slows, and she surrenders to a different need than the one that brought her to my door.

Truth be told , I am glad. It gives me time to sort myself out. It's been a long time since I first realized I loved Kate Beckett, and the last year has been a jumble of anger, sadness, fear, and desire.

With at least the last of those dealt with to a degree – for now – I still have to face the others. My mind – and many other parts of my body – are still somewhat overwhelmed by the reality of Kate Beckett. With that thought, desire tries to work itself through me – Really? Already? - and I tamp them down. There are more pressing issues at hand.

I still love her. But where do we stand? This woman – and my feelings for her – are nothing if not complicated.

I need to know more about what happened today – yesterday now. Perhaps details will give me a watershed moment, the ones I've been told I write so eloquently in my books. One thing I know for sure … nothing in my books or the many dreams I prepared me for the reality of Kate Beckett, wanting me, needing me.

Loving me?

She chooses this moment to stir, stretching in her sleep. I lean back to give her space, and the sheet slides off her body as she turns onto her stomach. I notice a slight flinch in her movements, and my eyes narrow as I take in the pale swath of her back in the early morning half light.

The smoothness of her skin is marred black and blue, bearing silent witness to the brutality she endured. Stomach churning, I take inventory. The bruising clearly spreads to her stomach, and I notice her fingernails are broken, a couple of the tips raw. The curve of her neck reveals how close she came to …

"I almost died ..."

God, what happened?

"Kate …" I whisper, dread in my heart. My hand sweeps gently over her, as if to wipe away the pain.

"Rick." It's a sigh that escapes her, a gentle smile in sleep.

She feels safe. The truth of it lightens the burden I feel slightly. Something about the contentment, the comfort she seems to feel – it's the first time I have ever really seen her relaxed in over a year – tempers the warring thoughts in my mind. We still have to talk, find out where we are, but Kate Beckett and I are not done, not by a long shot.

With that thought, I surrender to my own exhaustion.

Okay, I will probably switch a little more in future chapters, but I wanted to fully explore their conflicting thoughts first. Thanks for the interest and PLEASE review. It makes me happy.