A/N: Hey guys, I really need to apologize for this delay but life is really busy right now. I hope you all had an awesome Christmas and will have a happy and healthy new year. I hope I won't leave you wating for this long another time.

I want to thank you so much for your breathtaking reviews on the last chapter. You really warmed my heart and made me really happy. Thank you very much, you all rock.


Chapter Seven

They were getting better, he swears. After his almost breakdown and plea to let him take care of her. They were getting better.

She let him bring her food, groceries or take out, accompany her to a one of her physical therapy sessions – he sat in the waiting area but still, take her out for walks or coffee – her body seems to get used to it again, watch uncountable hours of Temptation Lane and – to his surprise – Nebula Nine, probably the worst Science Fiction series ever. Katherine Beckett, seriously?

They watched all twelve episodes in the last week– twice. But watching a less than mediocre TV show was just a small burden to bear when Kate leaned into him, letting him take some of her weight, legs pulled under her body, her tight brushing his, shoulders flush against each other. He wouldn't mind watching Nebula Nine for the rest of his life. They even kept up their nightly telephone calls, despite the fact that they saw each other every day of the past week.

Yes, were they getting so much better.

Until the ring of his phone wakes him one night. He's startled for a moment, unsure of what woke him. Rolling onto his back he puts his arms over his face as he groans. He was having a good dream – something about Kate in a white dress and babies. Definitively a good dream.

He only opens is eyes when he grabs the phone and holds it in front of his face, the light blinding him and his eyes need a second to adjust to see the screen. It's just after 2 AM and Kate's face is smiling at him. He sits up abruptly, something about her calling him in the middle of the night frightens him more than any other uncharacteristic thing she did in the last few weeks.

"Kate," he speaks in the phone, somehow breathless.

"Castle?" her voice is muffled and clouded and... teary.

Fuck- she's crying.

"Hey," he says trying to sound soothing and calm when instead he already starts to panic because she doesn't call him in the middle of the night, even less crying. Something must be unbelievably off. "What happened?" He's already out of bed, phone pressed between his shoulder and ear as he struggles his way into his jeans.

"I- Uhm," she sniffles and he knows she's trying hard to keep it together – to not break down right here with him on the telephone.

"Can you- Can you come?" She hiccups after a few moments and she sounds so small and vulnerable.

"I'm already on my way," he says as he pulls on his shoes by the door, his heart slams in his chest – or maybe out of his chest if he can't get to her as soon as possible. "Can you tell me what happened, Kate? Are you hurt?" He pronounces each word like he's talking to a child – which she clearly is not but he can't help it right now. Not when she's crying on the telephone.

"No," she mumbles, her voice strained. "But- Can you hurry up?" She loses her voice at the end and he can hear something impossibly close to a sob from her side. "Please?"

"I'll be there in fifteen," he can't remember any other time he left the house in such a hurry, racing down the stairs like the house is on fire. And for once he's lucky – it's in the middle of the night but he catches a taxi just when he leaves the house and storms out onto the side walk.

"I'll stay on the line," he says before he gives her address to the cabbie, telling him to go fast, praying for the traffic to be light. "What happened?" He tries again.

"I-," she stars. "I don't know. God- Just make it stop, please," he knows she's crying now, can hear it in her voice, in her muffled breaths.

Just make it stop.

He flashes back to that night not even three weeks ago when she told him those exact same words – catching him off guard, making him feel completely helpless.

Is she having a panic attack? Is that what she wants him to stop, and if yes – how does he do that? His mind tells him that she wouldn't do that – call him when she's breaking down. Not Kate Beckett – she'd try to handle everything herself, because that's just who she is. But she did it before, right? That night at his door, and they didn't even talk back then. And the fact that he's in a taxi in the middle of the night, racing to her place and the shaky sounds that ring through his telephone should be proof enough. Right?

He really, really needs to get to her – now.

They don't really talk, or more like she doesn't. He hums incoherent words into the device, just something to show her that he's still with her. She only speaks again when the car turns into her street.

"How far?" She mumbles, she cries quieter now but that doesn't lessen his concern – quite the opposite really. This almost resignation in her voice makes him gulp hard, his breath hollow, mind dizzy.

Fucking mess.

"I'm almost there," he says as he basically jumps out of the taxi the second it holds in front of her building. "I'm up in less than a minute," he says sternly.

"Hm."

"I need you to open the door when I'm there," he yells panting as he runs up the stairs, not even trying to wait for the elevator before he comes to a sharp halt in front of her door. "Kate I'm here, just in front of your door. Open up, please."

He takes a few moments before he hears movement from the other side of the door, knows she's standing right on the other side. The only thing that separates them is the wooden surface he so desperately needs to cross. He hears her fingers, imagines her pressing them flat against the door.

"Rick?" Her voice is so vulnerable and raspy and she uses his first name. He's gotten to the Kate stage, it's nothing unusual anymore but she doesn't call him Rick. Not unless something is seriously wrong. Not that it wonders him, she called him in the middle of the night. Of course, there is a lot that is wrong. But still – the Rick throws him out of line and he feels it burning hot behind his eyes, blurring his vision momentarily.

"It's me."

The door cracks open, just ajar, her face in line. Her eyes are wide and red and she looks scared, knuckles turning white, holding onto the wood tightly.

She just keeps staring at him and he stares at her, unable to move and suddenly the rush, the hurry in which he came here seems to subdue and he wishes he just had one moment more to collect – to think about what to actually do when he sees her. But he is here and she is here and they just keep on staring and she's falling apart from the inside and all he really wants to do is hold her – but that scared, terrified look she gives him tells him otherwise, tells him not to push or to pull, tells him to just go at her pace.

He pushes the door gently open – her hand falls off the door and she steps aside, just slightly – making it possible for him to enter. She's not moving and he closes the door, secures the safety locks before he turns to face her.

She's avoiding his gaze now, stares off somewhere into distance, past him. He takes a step closer until he stands directly in front of her. With her heelless feet she's a lot shorter than him, making it impossible for him to catch her eyes with her face hanging down.

Her lip quivers in just the tiniest movement – almost going unnoticed by him. She's trying so hard to keep it together, so hard to not break down in front of him. Oh, Kate. When will she finally realize that he doesn't mind – that he wants to be the person she can break down in front of? And they yet have to talk, still hovering by the door.

"What happened, Kate?" he speaks slowly and by the use of her name she looks up, sucks her bottom lips between her teeth, tears swimming in her eyes and he really wants to reach out, curl his fingers around hers, comfort her through his touch. Something they definitively don't do. Never. But really, he wants to.

She's struggling to find the words, any form of communication to tell him what it is that is wrong. To tell him what changed in those few hours since he made her dinner, since they've laughed together in front of the TV. Since she insisted on watching her favorite episode of Nebula Nine and he just kept on watching her. He can see it in the way her nails press into the palms of her hands, the arch between her eyebrows more prominent than ever.

"I- Uhm-," she stumbles over her words, confusion, pain, fear and desperation crossing her features – something that startles him, something he can't quite place and he slightly crunches down, lets his shoulders fall a little to catch her eyes, big and scared and beautiful.

Fuck- She has no clue how beautiful she is.

He can't fight this urge anymore, not when she's struggling and right in front of him. He reaches out his hand and catches her fingers between his, feels the tremble in her skin when his thumb brushes over her wrist, the steady thumb of her pulse under his finger. She's alive – thank God. She shuts her eyes and he never meant to make her shake harder, to make the tears fall from her eyes, to let them roll down her cheek, drop from her chin onto their closed hands but he knows brushing them away oversteps more boundaries than she's going to let him.

"Kate-," he starts again but this time she stops him with a small shake of her head before she talks.

"I can't- Do this anymore," she mumbles. "I- I can't," and he is so confused because he doesn't know what she's talking about and he just wants to help but she keeps on mumbling that she can't and then she hiccups as she cries openly in front of him. And that's something Kate Beckett just doesn't do and he's only holding her hand because he is lost. Her eyes are open now and she looks at him with such high expectations that it's breaking his heart.

She is the one to take another step in his direction, untangles her fingers from his – only to close her arms around his waist, her forehead leaning against his chest. He pulls her closer instantly, crosses his arms over her shoulders, his face sinking into her hair, breathing her in. I love you, floats through his mind and he almost speaks the words out loud.

"Shhh, Kate. It's going to be okay," is what he mumbles instead, muffled by her hair but he knows she hears him, her arms tighten around his body as she sobs into his shirt.

Never. He's never seen her like that and he flashes back to the night at his loft just those few weeks ago. He didn't know what to do back then, afraid of doing something wrong – opting for doing nothing instead. But they're here now and she's letting him comfort her so easily. She wants him to comfort her. Again. And so he hold her – in the middle of the night, in the entrance of her apartment, lulling words of comfort into her skin.

/

"You died tonight," she says after a long while, tears dry on her cheeks, voice hoarse and raw and just so extremely vulnerable that he has to close his eyes to fight the tears burning in his eyes.

"Kate-," he feels like her name is all he's able to say anymore.

"I just- needed to make sure you're okay," she mumbles, face still pressed against his neck, warm breath tickling his skin. They are still wrapped around each other three feet away from her door. He doesn't know how much time has passed since he knocked on her door. "I- usually I can handle them alone. The nightmares. It was just so real and I- Hearing your voice wasn't enough," he can hear the tears in her voice again, the hitch in her breath as she fists his shirt between her fingers before letting go, taking a step back, eyes fixed on the floor.

"I'm sorry if I bothered-," she starts but it's his turn to shake his head, to silence her with his hand on her cheek – just a short brush of his thumb over the dried tracks the tears left. Tracks that dare to be flooded again.

"It's okay," he whispers loud enough for her to hear. "You can always call and I'll be there," he says the words but all he can hear is her voice in his head.

Usually.

She can usually handle her nightmares alone. It doesn't soothe him, doesn't make his heart lighter. It only hurts. Because she has nightmares. Nightmares that leave her crying and shaking and she can handle them alone – but he doesn't want her to. He doesn't want her to have nightmares and he certainly doesn't want her to go through them alone, without anyone. Without him by her side. Damn, Kate.

"Can I do anything, get you anything? Your meds. The ones for-," he stops before he says anxiety attacks because he knows he's crossing boundaries right now. But she seems to be too exhausted to care or to get mad because she only shakes her head, no.

"I don't want any pills, Castle."

"Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" he says then and he didn't plan to ask her that but right now it's the only thing that comes to his mind and honestly, it's the only thing he wants to do. Something in her face changes. She almost looks relieved. Just for the tiniest moment until dark shadows cross her face again.

"I can't ask you to-,"

"You're not. I'm offering. I want to, Kate."

He never thought she'd accept. But she does. She simply nods and turns around, walks towards the destination of her bedroom. He still hovers by the door – unable to move, not sure about what to actually do now. She said yes but what now? Does he simply let her get back to sleep, stay on the couch until she wakes up the next morning or does he go and stay with her until she's asleep, tuck her in?

But she turns around then, halfway through her living room, eyes fixed on his.

"Come with me?" It comes out as a question, just a whisper in the almost dark room and he nods, follows her until they reach her bedroom. He watches as she crawls under the ruffled blanket, not really paying attention to him,while she adjusts on the mattress, finding a comfortable position before looking back at him.

"Would you mind staying here?" She asks quietly and he swears she's never seemed so young before. In that huge bed without makeup, red eyes and messy hair.

He carefully walks closer to the bed as not to startle her, she still seems to be shaken up.

Usually she can handle her nightmares alone. How many nights has she been awake, afraid of the monsters and ghosts that haunt her?

He removes his shoes, socks, jeans and sweater laving him only in a maroon shirt and boxers as he crawls in next to her, careful of leaving enough space between them. But she moves closer, drags her arm over his stomach and releases a ragged breath as she presses her face into his chest, her ear right to his heart. He moves his arm to curls it around her waist.

He stays awake for long after her breathing started to even out, her arm becoming slack over his body and he swears she's finally fallen asleep. He's tired but just now he allows himself to close his eyes, let sleep lull over him. He's almost gone when he hears her faint whisper – and really, he's not even sure she said anything at all. Maybe it's just his imagination, but he could swear-

"I wanted you to stay with me that night at your loft."


A/N: And again - I'd really like to know what you think. A short review would make me unbelievably happy.