Disclaimer: The only part of Castle that I own is the TV on which I watch the show.

"I'm going to make some coffee," Castle says, getting to his feet. "Would you like some?" He has a hint of a smile as he asks.

She smiles back. "Your coffee? Yes, please. I didn't get to drink the mug you made this morning."

He does a double take. "Good. I'll be right back."

While he revs up his Ferrari-like office coffeemaker, she braces herself for the conversational road ahead. The worst part, she thinks, is behind them, because they've survived her outlining for him why she was so upset. Still, she's trembling a little at what's coming, the details, and wishes that she could sit on her hands to stop them shaking. When Castle returns with two mugs, she takes one and pats the cushion next to her. She doesn't want him at the other end of sofa, at the figurative other end of the world.

"You think it's weird to be steadying our nerves with this?" Kate asks after he sits down, looking at him over the top of her coffee.

"Not when you consider what usually gets drunk in here," he says.

Just as the words leave his mouth she notices the bottle of Scotch and the glass on his desk, and cocks her head in that direction. "Like that, Castle?" There's no judgment in her voice, just an underlay of concern.

He follows her gaze. "Exactly like that. But Kate? I threw almost all of it away. I haven't had more than a couple of ounces in three hours."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry." She stops talking again, for a moment. "I'm sorry that you've been here so long, waiting." She puts her mug down on the end table, laces her fingers together and looks steadily at him. "Do you remember what I said last week when you came to my place and told me that I had to stop investigating? When I ripped into you because you had sat on a lead in my mother's case for a year?"

"The only way I could forget that, Kate, forget anything you said then, is if I were brain dead."

"I know. It's, well. It's—. That's what made me so angry at first, but later, after you'd walked out, what crushed me was that you had known that I was safe and I hadn't. All I could think about was the paralyzing fear I'd been living with, you know?" She's unaware that she's pressing her hand between her breasts, at the spot where the sniper's bullet entered her chest. Castle, on the other hand, is very aware of the movement, and he winces.

"All that summer at my father's cabin, last year, after I got out of the hospital, that woodsy paradise was hell. When I came back to work I told the boys that I left because the chirping crickets were driving me nuts."

"I'm guessing that wasn't it?"

"Right, it wasn't. It was every snap of a twig, every rustle of a leaf, everything. I thought that every noise I heard was made by the man who was gunning for me, Castle. He was right outside, somewhere behind the trees, in the trees, waiting to take his shot. I could barely walk when I first got there. Even when I was a lot better, I still couldn't run. How in hell was I going to be able to escape from him? I came back to the city way earlier than anyone knew, eighteen days before I showed up at the precinct. Just locked myself in my apartment. The physical therapist came there. I called out for food. Took a car service to the shrink so I didn't have to stand in the street to hail a cab."

Castle looks stricken. "Why the hell didn't you call, Kate? Call someone, even if it couldn't be me."

"It's what I said, Castle. Crippling fear. The other things you know, from what we've talked about since then. But the fear. When I was going after Maddox last week, and you were off the team? In my mind I kept going over the cases that were the worst for me, the ones I could have coped with better if I'd known about the deal to keep me safe. At least, not been in a cold sweat or puking my guts out."

"But I told you right at the beginning, a couple of days after you came back, that you were in a free fall. I tried to stop you then, right then. Right after I spoke to Smith. I tried so hard to stop you. I told you we could work on your mother's case later, said we would do it together, but that it wasn't worth your life."

Her eyes blaze. "That's just it, Castle. That was the time you could have told me about Smith."

His eyes do the same. "And you would have gone right after—"

"No, please. We can't start screaming at each other. I want to just get this out and put it behind us. Forever. I don't want to shove it in a box and pry the lid off again later. So, let's just say maybe you're right, that right then I would have gone after them. Maybe I wouldn't have listened to you, or maybe I would have. I say I wouldn't have. But you had just found out about the deal for keeping me safe, so at least you wouldn't have been keeping it from me for months."

She stops. They're both waiting something out, and she suddenly turns and puts her arms around him. "This is so damn hard, Castle," she whispers. "I hate this. But I have to keep going, okay?"

It feels like forever, but he says, "Okay."

Kates let him go, reaches for her coffee and holds it against her chest. "What about another time? You could have sat with me another time and laid it out. You remember the Lee Travis case? You know, the sniper? That was one of the worst for me."

"Yeah, I know. You were a wreck."

"Damn right I was a wreck, Castle. Worse than a wreck. The night we were in that apartment? The one where he was when he shot Sarah Vasquez? The next day I had a huge bandage on my arm. You must have noticed; you notice everything. It was right before Thanksgiving, exactly six months since my shooting."

"Yeah, the bandage. The one you kept trying to hide with your sleeve."

"You never asked me about it, never said a word."

"You were so closed off, Kate, and so anxious. I was afraid that you'd throw me out."

"You'd said you loved me. Before. In the cemetery. But you didn't love me enough to try to do something for me on that case?"

"I did try something. I did. I was so worried about you. I talked to Esposito about what helped him when he came back from the war and then he talked with you."

She covers his hand with hers, pushes his fingers apart with her own. "I know. I found out later that you had, and I'm grateful to both of you. I really am. But how much I could have used you, Castle, you. You saw my meltdown when I interviewed Ford, the guy from the shooting range. You knew I was falling apart." She pulls her hand away and touches her fingers to the inside of her forearm. "Do you know why I was wearing that bandage? I went home from the apartment where Travis shot Sarah and drank so much I don't know how I lived through it. I dropped a glass and it shattered in a million pieces. I kept hearing sirens and guns in my head, so I crawled over the floor to get my own gun and sliced up my arm on the glass that was all over the floor." She pauses again, stares at the bottle of Scotch across the room, and shakes her head. "I had just enough working brain cells to wrap it up in a towel to stop the bleeding. As soon as it got light out I went to the ER and had some stitches. Gave them a fake ID. Didn't want it on the record."

He recoils. "You did that?"

"Yes, I did."

He circles her wrist with his hand, and draws it up. "When I asked you about that scar the other night in bed, you told me it was where you'd accidentally cut yourself on a broken glass."

"And that's the truth."

"You could have told me the whole story."

"And what would you have said, Castle?"

He doesn't answer.

"When you saw me fall on the sidewalk during that case, you knew, you had to know, that I was about a millimeter away from completely losing it. You knew I was fearful of a sniper, but you still kept it from me."

Castle clears his throat. "I remember that. But you know what else I remember? It was when the case was over, after Espo took out the sniper who was about to kill you—about to kill you, shoot you at point-blank range, Kate. You thanked me. You thanked me for giving you space and not pushing you."

"I did. But I didn't know then what I do now, and that's the difference. Castle, do you understand what I'm saying, what I'm trying to say? I was terrified. I was hunted and haunted and terrified. I'm not afraid now. It's over. Not really, but I'll get there. But—but if you can put yourself in my shoes. Do you see?"

"Yeah, I do. I think I do."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"If we could go back to last September, to right after you talked to Smith. If we went back but you knew everything I've said here, what would you do? Would you tell me?"

She feels as if everything is in the balance. Everything is teetering. If he says no, what would she do? Get up and walk out, throw away the best thing that has ever happened to her, just as it's beginning? What if he says he doesn't know? Can't decide? That's no better. Not really. She feels as if she's suffocating, but she's cold. She feels as cold as she had when they were in that freezer, and she almost told him that she loved him. Should have told him. Would have if she hadn't passed out in the middle of it, as if it were a dying declaration. Which is what she thought, that they were dying.

He's still quiet when she suddenly sags against him, and rolls her head against his chest. "I love you," she mumbles, her mouth pressed to the placket of his shirt.

"Yes," he says.

She pulls back and looks up at him in confusion. "What?"

"Yes. Yes I would tell you."

She moves into his lap and hangs on to him as if she were drowning, except that she suddenly feels light. She doesn't say anything for a long time, and neither does he. "Castle?" she asks, against his collarbone.

"Mmmm."

"Are you still mad? At me?"

"No." He looks down at her and pushes her hair back from her forehead. "Are you still mad at me?"

"No. It's all out. It's gone. But I'm so tired."

"How about we go home?"

"To your place?"

"Sure."

"Would you mind if we went to mine?"

"Of course not. You must need to be at home after all this. This, uh, day."

She's picking at the third button on his shirt. "That's not why."

It's his turn to be confused. "It's not?"

"No. I want to go to my place because that's where everything went to pieces this morning and I want us to go back and know that we're mended. So it's a good place to be, not a bad one."

"Sounds good to me. You ready to go?"

"Yes. Very ready."

And they leave his office, lock the door behind them, and go up the stairs to the street. He had called for a car, and it's there at the curb. Because it's late, and traffic on a weeknight is light, they get to her building quickly. As soon as they're inside her apartment, she goes to the refrigerator and takes out a bowl of strawberries.

"Open wide," she says, holding a small, perfect berry just an inch from his mouth.

He does as he's told, chews and swallows. She leans forward and licks a drop of juice from his chin. "You know what?" she says into his lips.

"What?"

"Turns out I'm not completely tired, after all."

A/N Many, many thanks to everyone who took the time to read this, especially those who also took the time to review, by screen name or anonymously. Except, that is, for one or two anonymous trolls. I let your comments appear because I don't approve of censorship except in the extreme, but also so that other readers can see the bile you spew. You trolls are rampaging through the Castle fanfic at the moment, bashing writers whose take on the show isn't identical to yours, and being contemptuous of and/or hostile to other reviewers. Virtually all of you are anonymous. The perverse twist is that when you comment anonymously, you're "Guests," when in fact you're cowards. Too bad "Coward" isn't a category. We're sick of you. You've driven away a couple of writers, but no more. From now on, I'm not giving you nameless trolls any airtime. I'll simply delete your so-called reviews and no one will be able to read them. I'm happy to publish any anonymous review that isn't venom, but not yours.