Sorry for the wait on this one. Trying to get my bearings in Los Angeles.


Now

He hasn't touched the papers. Can't even bring himself to pick up a pen or take them out of the delivery envelope they came in, for Christ's sake.

To be honest, they make him sick to his stomach. Which is why he shoved the envelope in his bottom desk drawer, underneath a stack of his old outlining notebooks, a place he rarely touches. Forgotten.

It's been a week since he saw her last, the longest they've been apart since the summer she was shot. He's picked up the phone a dozen times to call her to talk, but his thumb always falters over send. It's not like talking got them anywhere before, except one step closer to their breaking point.

He doesn't know what the hell to do anymore; his head is still spinning after his conversation with Jim. He's desperate to have faith—to cling to something—but his experience with her tells him otherwise.

He decides to call the boys because he could really use another ear, another opinion.

That and he hasn't returned a single one of their calls.

He cradles the phone at his shoulder as he flips a pancake on the stovetop, ignoring the deep growl of his stomach. It's the middle of the afternoon and he's only just gotten around to making breakfast. He's eaten like shit the last seven days and it's finally starting to catch up with him.

"Ryan," the distracted voice answers. Castle can almost see him sitting across from Esposito, gesturing wildly about whatever ridiculous (Yeah, he's jealous) discussion they're deep into.

"Hey," Castle musters a light tone, his grip on the skillet handle tight as he waits for the detective to respond. He hears a surprised breath on the other end. And now Ryan's probably mouthing to Esposito, who's scooting in his chair to lean into the phone so he can hear, too.

Yeah, he misses them, too.

"We've left you at least a hundred messages," Ryan says.

Castle sighs. "I know." He tosses the pancake onto his plate with his fork. "I've been in seclusion, I guess you could say." He lets out a dark chuckle.

"We just called to tell you that we're sorry about you and Beckett."

He lets the guilt wash over him, deserves it. He thought—

He was sure they called to berate him, angry for hurting her.

But well—

He's their friend, too, isn't he? He should've expected more.

He swallows hard. "Thanks," he manages. He takes a breath, reaching for the pancake mix again. "How's she doing?" he asks quietly.

Silence.

Castle stills, his hand hovering over the stove. "Ryan?"

"We haven't seen her, bro," Esposito chimes in, confirming Castle's earlier theory about the nosy Hispanic detective.

"What do you mean you haven't seen her?" he asks, setting the batter aside once again.

"Lanie told us what happened, but that's the only reason we know about it. Beckett's been on leave for the last week," Ryan says quietly.

Jesus Christ.

"We thought about calling her. We've gotten a few solid leads on Maddox's whereabouts—"

"What?" Castle asks sharply.

"We're closing in on him, Castle," Ryan says quietly.

Castle sighs. It never ends. "And she doesn't have any idea?"

"We wanted to tell her, bro, but Gates—" Esposito breaks off, clears his throat. "Gates wanted to give her the time off. Didn't want her investigating without her head screwed on straight."

Castle nods slowly, dazed, as he cards a hand through his hair. He feels himself being sucked in, wants to know about all the facets of the case they've been investigating without him for months. Surely they can't have spent all this time chasing Maddox with nothing to show for it thus far.

He knows her to be a better detective than that.

Knows them to be better detectives than that.

But he closes his mouth, forces the questions back inside. The knowledge isn't going to do him any good.

"Castle, you there?" He hears the Irish detective ask.

He shakes his head, clearing his head. "Yeah, I—" He cuts himself off, pursing his lips in frustration. Because what the hell does he do now?

He thought that calling the boys would help him get a grip on everything, but he's more confused about everything than ever.

We haven't seen her in a week.

He didn't expect—

She must've put the case on hold-

Must be taking it worse than he thought.

He's saved from the appropriate reply—questions, promises, he isn't sure—when there's a knock at his door. He groans.

"I gotta call you back," he says quickly, doesn't wait for a response before he ends the call.

He considers ignoring his visitor; he's already seen Jim and anybody he cares to see right now would let themselves in.

But he hesitates in his thoughts too long, anyway, and the door rattles with the slow click of the lock.

But Alexis has class today and he can't remember the last time his mother has knocked before barging in.

Which means—

Kate.

And then she's stepping through the doorway, loft keys dangling from her fingers like they belong there.

Like they've never left her hand.

He sucks in a breath, stills his body against the kitchen island. She still hasn't realized that she's not alone.

His heart sinks into his chest as his eyes slowly peruse her shuffling form. His grey fleece hoodie (he's been looking for that forever) hangs off her, swallowing her whole. Her cheekbones are as prominent as ever, sharp against her gorgeous features.

Jesus. She must've lost at least ten pounds.

"Oh," she lets out on a surprised breath and he snaps out of his thoughts to meet her startled gaze. She halts in her path and his eyes are drawn to her wringing hands. "There was no answer, so—" She sighs and her chin drops to her chest for a moment, exhausted.

When she lifts her head, he's taken aback by the despair he finds behind her eyes."I left some of my things here," she finishes quietly.

He nods slowly, words failing him for the second time today. He waits for her to move again, but she doesn't, seems to be stuck in her spot. He curls his fingers around the edge of the table, quelling the urge to reach for her.

"You hungry?" he blurts out.

Smooth, Rick.

She shakes her head. "I had some cereal for breakfast."

His eyes flick to the clock on the microwave (3:00 p.m.) and back to her, his eyebrows raised.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't start with me."

He clenches his jaw. "You need to eat, Kate."

"You don't get to worry about me anymore, Rick," she snaps.

And then he's shrinking away from her, silent as he busies himself at the stove, her words loud and painful in his ear.

She's right. He doesn't have a right to anymore.

"I'm—sorry," she rasps. "I didn't mean—"

He swallows the hard lump in his throat, shaking his head. "It's fine," he whispers hoarsely, more for his own benefit. It's fine.

It is.

"No, it's not," she says, soft, insistent. "It's not fine."

And suddenly they're talking about so much more. Subtext has always been their specialty, hasn't it?

The spatula falls from his hand, clatters onto the stovetop. "Kate—"

"Pick up the spatula, Castle," she prods. He turns around to find her only a few feet from him now, hidden behind the island. Her small smile is strained and her body is curved slightly into itself, as if she's protecting herself.

But she's there with him in his kitchen.

And he's missed her. God, so much.

"I don't eat burned pancakes."

Oh. She's going to—

Well.

Okay.

He can't very well turn her away now, can he? It'd be rude to, especially if she's going to take him up on his offer.

So he tosses the pancake into the trash and starts anew.

And yeah, he still doesn't have a fucking clue what he's doing, and maybe this will wreck him even worse later, but he knows one thing.

They haven't had a meal together in the last six months.


Probably about 3 more chapters, I think.

Thoughts?

Liv