This "first" was inspired by prompts from missy52061 and ayraDG. It's their first big fight and the first time they discuss the dark period of "The Limey" combined.
—
It's three in the afternoon and he can tell she needs a break.
The case they're working is not going their way, hasn't been from the start. Dead trails, leads that go nowhere, suspects with bomb-proof alibis. He can tell it's driving her crazy. She's turning her brain inside out to connect the loose ends, to make sense of the timeline and it's taking its toll.
They've been fighting on and off all week. She's so on edge that she's not sleeping and it's making her cranky. He can't do anything right. The coffee is too hot, he ordered the wrong type of lo mien, the bed's made incorrectly, his crazy theories are distracting her and she does not need anymore distractions right now.
He tries not to let it get to him. He knows she just needs an outlet for her frustration and since he's usually the one sitting next to her, that outlet often ends up being him. He's fine with it. He knows she's not doing it to be mean. Plus, the quickies in the supply closet that she claims help clear her mind totally make up for the little spats.
He watches as she scribbles something on the board, scowling deeply, pressing so hard that the marker is reduced down to a useless nub. She sighs and flings it in the general direction of the trashcan, missing by about a yard.
He stands to pick it up, then walks over to where she's standing. "How about a coffee break?" he suggests.
She shakes her head. "No, I don't have time."
"Make time," he says, his voice just firm enough that it catches her attention, pulls her gaze away from the murder board.
She looks up at him, frowning a little, but he can tell she actually wants to go. "Fine. But we need to be fast. No more than twenty minutes."
"Sounds good," he agrees, already reaching for her coat and helping her into it. "We can just walk down to the Starbucks at the corner. They're usually pretty fast."
He follows her onto the elevator, taking in the pinched look on her face, the shadows under her eyes. "You need to sleep," he blurts out without really thinking about it.
She rolls her eyes, sighing loudly. "Don't patronize me, Castle."
"Patronize?" he says. "I'm just worried because you look really tired."
"Yeah, well you didn't seem too concerned about my REM cycles last night when you went in for round four."
He presses his lips together, refraining from pointing out the fact that she was the one who initiated round four. As well as round one, two, and three.
The doors ding open on the lobby and he follows her off the lift. He has to jog to keep up as she speed walks across the lobby and out onto the sidewalk.
"Beckett," he calls. "Wait up."
"Try to keep up, Castle," she snaps.
He sighs. He cannot wait for this case from hell to be over so that he can get his girlfriend back. "So," he says after a beat, puffing a little as she keeps up their breakneck down the sidewalk. "I was thinking of making Italian tonight."
"I might not be able to make it to the loft for dinner."
"I could make it at your place," he offers.
She glances at him and he's relieved to see the ghost of a smile stirring in her eyes. "Um, sure," she says, softening a little. "That's really sweet."
He beams. "No problem."
They reach the Starbucks and have to pause to let a group of people exit. He takes a moment to look at her, take in the angles and planes of her face. Even running on practically zero sleep, she's still beautiful. Gorgeous, actually, in the soft autumn light.
She glances over, sees him watching and smiles. He smiles, too, so relieved to see a crack in her frazzled, no-nonsense exterior. He reaches for her hand and slips his fingers through hers. She squeezes back.
They're just about to head inside when someone calls out his name. He turns on the sidewalk just in time to see a woman bustle towards him and launch herself into his arms.
"Ricky!" she squeals, bouncing up to smack a kiss to his cheek.
He pulls back to see her face and practically chokes. "J-Jacinda," he says.
He glances over at Kate, cringing a little. She looks stunned. She pulls her hand from his grasp.
"Oh, my God!" Jacinda cries. "I can't believe I ran into you. Why didn't you answer my calls? I've been trying to reach you ever since I landed in JFK!"
"I, um…I was really busy."
He's vaguely aware of Kate's retreating form as she backs away from him and Jacinda. He wants to reach out for her, make her stay, but Jacinda has his bicep in a vice grip so he can only crane his neck and watch her go as she rounds the corner.
"Are you free for dinner? Oh, Ricky, please say yes!"
Castle turns back to the blonde woman that he used shamelessly to get back at Kate, flaunting her at crime scenes and the precinct to soothe his broken heart. He almost feels sorry, except he's pretty sure Jacinda doesn't really mind being used. She implied as much on the handful of dates they went on.
"Look, Jacinda, I really can't."
Her face falls for a brief moment before perking up again. "Maybe next time," she says and he nods even though he knows that's never going to happen.
She releases her grip on his arm and he immediately turns away, heading in the direction he saw Kate disappear to.
He finds her leaning up against the side of the Starbucks, her back pressed to the brick wall, her eyes closed. He approaches her slowly, not really knowing what to expect.
"Kate?" he says hesitantly.
Her eyes open slowly and focus on him. "What?" she says flatly.
"Are you…okay?"
"You didn't tell me she called."
"It doesn't matter. I wasn't going to have dinner with her."
"Really?"
He recoils a little at the question. She doesn't really think that he would—
"No, Kate," he says. "Of course not."
She lets out a long breath and looks away from him, focusing on a point in the distance. "Do you know what it was like for me last spring, having to watch you with that woman?"
"I know, Kate, I'm—"
"No, Castle, you don't." She turns to face him, her eyes hard. "I was so confused. I didn't know what I'd done wrong. One minute you were there, with me, waiting for me, and then you were gone. Going on lunch dates. Handing over the keys to your Ferrari to a woman you met on a flight to Vegas."
"I was hurt," he says simply, going for the truth. He can tell she's not in the mood for bullshit and neither is he. They've never really talked about this before and he can see now that it's necessary. They need to muddle through the hurt, dwell on it a little, before they can ever truly get past it.
"Why didn't you just talk to me?" she asks and there's so much pain in her eyes that it makes his chest ache. He realizes, suddenly, how close he came to losing her, to breaking both their hearts beyond repair.
"I thought you didn't love me. I was mad. I acted selfishly."
"Damn right you did," she says, stepping towards him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Don't you think I deserved the chance to explain myself? After all those years didn't I at least deserve that?"
"Yes," he breathes, desperate now, desperate for her to understand, to make it better. "Yes, you did. But…you lied to me. You remembered what I told you that day in the cemetery and you didn't say anything."
"I wasn't ready to deal with yet, but that doesn't mean I didn't feel the same way. It never meant that. I got shot, Castle. And just because I stopped bleeding doesn't mean I was healed."
"I know, I know," he murmurs, feeling so ashamed he can hardly stand to be in his own skin.
"I loved you so much," she breathes, closing her eyes against the tears. "I loved you so much and you left, you left me—"
"No, never," he promises.
He moves towards her and she lifts her hands as if to fend him off, but he pushes past them, crowds her against the wall, trapping her between the brick and the hard line of his body. "I'm sorry," he breathes, kissing her closed eyes, tasting the tears. "I'm so sorry."
She nods, arches into him, her hands pressed to his chest. He kisses her cheek again and she turns her head to the side to catch his mouth in a shallow kiss.
He groans softly, sinking into it, parting his lips wide, sliding his tongue against hers. She lifts into it, clutches at him. He can feel the wild beat of her heart against his sternum, her stuttering breath, and he realizes, suddenly, that she's still crying, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.
He breaks away to brush his lips along her jaw, tasting the salt of her tears. She drags in a gasping breath, wraps her arms around his neck, presses her cheek to his cheek. "Don't leave me," she breathes into his ear, her voice cracked, completely undone.
"I won't," he says. "I promise I won't."
She nods and sinks into his body, all of her exhaustion and frustration suddenly catching up to her. She presses her face into his neck, inhales the deeply comforting scent of his cologne. "I want to go home," she murmurs.
"Okay," he says immediately.
"You'll call Gates?"
"I'll say you're sick."
She nods, lets out a shuddering, relieved breath. "Okay. Good."
He holds her for a minute longer, reveling in her steady breathes, the way she relaxes into him, lets him hold her up.
She trusts him. Loves him. Even after everything. "I love you, Kate," he tells her, hugging her tightly.
"I love you, too," she says. "Always."