Kate slips out of the book party without a word to anyone, fortunately escapes without earning a single glance, breathing through her nose until she's striding down the sidewalk, the tears blurring her vision, building in her throat. She isn't far from her apartment, so she walks, her feet aching with every quick step in the too high heels she had chosen for tonight, shoes that had caused his eyes to gleam sapphire; he'd called her stunning, stared at her with awe that was so rare for Richard Castle, and cracked her brittle heart within the same hour.
But she'd brought it upon herself, hadn't she? From the very first day, she hadn't been able to just let him go, save them both some trouble and heartache, and this was her penance for her persistence.
Castle was a damaged man with a hardened heart and she was just… a broken thing, just as incapable of preserving a healthy relationship as he is. They never would have worked and she sees that now, sees her foolish hope for the blissful ignorance it was all along.
Even though she doesn't want to, even though it has her pressing her knuckles to her chest until they bruise just to keep the ragged sounds at bay.
Her skin has chilled in the cool night air, goosebumps rising along her flesh as raindrops begin to fall from the night sky, fat and splashing and foretelling of an incoming storm. Terribly cliché, but she welcomes it. All she can think about is going home, nursing the wounds they had inflicted upon each other in private while the rain beats against her windows and the lightning flashes through the darkened skies.
Kate approaches her building with relief rising up against the ache in her chest and she almost makes it into her apartment, almost makes it home, but the moment the elevator doors slide shut, the moment she's finally safe, finally alone, it all falls apart.
A sob tears through her chest cavity, breaking her open, ripping up through her to breach her lips in a terrible, gasping cry as she deflates against the side wall of the lift.
She loved him and it hurts, hurts to realize the tentative thing between them has been so easily broken, that it's over. Kate buries her face in her hands and pulls her knees into her chest, tries to crush her heart back into place; she loved him, she had told him, and he hadn't said a damn thing about it.
"Richard Castle."
His head snaps up and his lips part at the sight of his mother storming inside the private room, where he sits with his head in his hands on the lumpy couch, unsure where to go, what to do, what to think.
"Mother?"
"What on earth did you do?" Martha Rodgers demands, reprimand simmering harshly in her gaze, a fierce flashback to all the times he was in trouble as a child rippling through his mind. "All that poor girl did was try to help me and you send her out of here in tears-"
"What?" he rasps, clearing his throat as he stands from the sofa, but it's no good, his trachea is raw with it. "She was crying?"
His mother rolls her eyes, incredulous. "From what I saw. She ran out rather quickly-"
"She left?" he asks, prepared to move past his mother to scan the room himself, to go find her, because he has to. He has to find her-
But Martha stalls him with a hand to the middle of his chest and he stops short to stare down at her, to read the disappointment and sorrow swirling through the worn out blue of her gaze, the frown lines bracketing her downturned lips. It's been over ten years, but his mother looks so much older than he remembers, the vibrant youth to her features she had once maintained with such ease all gone.
He had broken her too, hadn't he? Hurt her just like he hurt Kate, like he hurts everyone who braves the battle of caring about him. Loving him.
Kate had said she'd fallen in love with him.
"Hate me all you like, but from what I've learned solely from speaking to Katherine, she's a rather divine young woman, and from what I've heard from others, she is the first thing to elicit any sort of happiness from you in years," his mother snaps, furious with him for the first time in… too long for him to even remember. "And regardless of what you think, what you've made yourself believe, you deserve that, Richard. Alexis would never-"
"Don't you dare bring her into this," Castle growls, too tired to fight anymore, but unwilling to take this.
Apparently, neither is his mother.
"Hush, you are not the only one who lost her and I am done allowing you to wallow in your misery. Alexis wanted nothing more than for her father to be happy, it's all I've wanted as well, but you continuously destroy every chance you are allowed at it," Martha argues, her eyes so dull with heartache, the lines of her face so deep with exhaustion, and guilt adds an extra hole to his heart, bleeding him dry. "That's all Katherine wants for you as well, you know – for you to be happy. Perhaps, we both went about it the wrong way, but in short time of knowing her, the goal we share of your happiness has become clear to me. And I love you too much to watch you throw it all away, so you go chase after that girl and you apologize."
Castle does his best to suck in a breath, to force the air past the burning lump in his throat, and shifts forward to wrap his arms around his mother, feeling something slot back into place within his chest that's been gone for too long when she returns his embrace with the fierce band of her arms, the soothing pat of her hand to his back.
"Mother," he whispers, squeezing her tightly, his eyes beginning to sting. He's missed her, he really missed his mom.
"Shh, Richard," Martha murmurs, that same tone she'd always used when he was a boy, humming in his ear during the rare moments she had been around to comfort him, when he'd let her see just how much he needed it. "It's all right, darling."
"No," he gets out. "It's not, I'm-"
"How about this, kiddo?" his mother hums, pulling back to lift a hand to his face, cupping his cheek in her palm. "You go fix the mess I helped make with Katherine, get the girl, have a night of magic," she whispers with a flare of her free hand that has him choking on a piece of laughter. "And then you call me. We can set a day, do some catching up."
Rick nods, covers her hand on his cheek and squeezes.
"Now, go before it's too late. Katherine has my number."
He starts towards the door at the gentle shove of her hands and the encouraging wink she offers him, but pauses before he can leave, glancing back over his shoulder to the woman he had shunned for too many years, who probably could have eased the vicious ache he's lived with for so long. All because he hadn't wanted to hurt again, to lose another he loved and live with the agony of it.
But life alone had brought him an agony of its own and only now can he truly see that.
"Mother." Martha arches her brow in question. "I never hated you. I hated the man who killed Alexis, and then eventually, myself too."
"Richard-"
"But never you and I – I'm so sorry if I gave you that impression."
"Darling," she sighs, a smile cracking across her lips. "All is forgiven. I'll talk to you in the morning."
"I promise," he murmurs, quirking his lips before he finally slips from the room, intent on mending his relationship with his mother in the morning, and fixing what he had broken with Kate tonight.
Her phone buzzes from the nightstand while she towel dries her hair, soaked from the rain, and Kate sighs, expecting Jonathan's name to appear on her screen, a lecture awaiting her on the other line, but no, it's worse.
The photo she'd snagged of Castle when he wasn't looking on a night they had all gone out for drinks after a difficult case, laughing at something either Ryan or Esposito had said in the low light of the bar, is smiling back at her, and she drapes the towel over her shoulder to reach for the device.
Kate silences the call, debates turning it off altogether so she can wallow in peace, ride out the storm and tend to her stupid, mangled heart in solitude. She'll give herself a few days to mourn whatever it was they'd had, whatever hopes she had put into the potential for more; she'll pull herself together, inform Montgomery that she has all she needs for Derrick Storm, and resign from the illegitimate position of acting as Richard Castle's shadow.
And then she'll move on.
It won't be easy, but she's been through worse, knows how to pick up the pieces, and the sooner she starts healing, the better. For both of them.
Kate hangs the towel in the en suite, goes about changing into a pair of worn leggings and a large t-shirt that hangs from one shoulder, loose and comfortable. Her dress is drying in the laundry room, in need of a trip to the cleaners, but she's not sure if it's worth it. Not like she ever plans to wear it again.
Her phone dances on the nightstand once more, buzzing insistently, and she grits her teeth, debates flinging the thing across the room before she snatches it from the hardwood, silences the call and proceeds to power the device down.
Kate turns back for the bathroom with a deep breath, content with the quiet rage of the storm as her sole company for the night, but she's granted only a mere moment alone with it before a thundering series of knocks at her door has her cursing under her breath, turning on her heel.
He knocks too hard on her door, practically pounding on the wood, and doesn't have to wait long for it to swing open, Kate dressed down in leggings and a t-shirt on the other side, her hair damp and curling from the storm that must have caught her too. She looks so young like this, softer, and he yearns to touch, to cradle her body against his until she no longer possesses that wounded expression carved into her face.
Surprises skitters through the darkened ambers of her eyes, but it's quickly repressed by the steely wall of defense that rises before him, immediately shuts him out.
"What do you want, Castle?"
He had admitted to her once, on a set of swings in the bitter cold of winter after she had been following him for just over a month, that he had constructed a wall within his chest, barriers that protected him and kept others out, but so did she. Writing may have helped mend Kate's broken heart after her mother's murder, but it did not heal her completely. She's still damaged, they both are, and maybe that's how she managed to squeeze her way past his defenses so quickly.
For thirteen years, he hasn't allowed himself to love again. Not truly nor wholeheartedly, but for Kate Beckett... he could change that, he already has. She'd stolen his heart quite a long time ago, he thinks, took it whenever she first breached the wall, claimed it as hers before he could consider sharing it, and he doesn't want it back.
Only wants her.
"Did you come all this way just to insult me some more?" she demands when he fails to speak, standing in her doorway soaking wet, creating an impressive puddle on the wooden floor of her entryway.
"No," he murmurs, his throat dry, voice husking over the word. "I just wanted… I came for you. Just you."
Her eyebrows knit in confusion, but he doesn't give her time to think or turn him away. He does as he had said, he comes for her.
Kate manages an unsteady step back, but his hands cup her face, palms cushioning the sharp lines of her jaw, and holds her steady as he kisses her, catching the tiny gasp that rushes from her mouth, swallows it down as her lips automatically part to kiss him back. But her reciprocation lasts for only a moment before she's grabbing his wrists and jerking away.
"What are you doing?" she whispers, their hands suspended between them, her eyes wide and searching his face like she just can't understand, and he hates himself a little more for that, for causing her so much uncertainty from the very first day they'd met, since the first night he spent in her bed and left her to wake alone.
"I'm sorry, for everything I said. I was - I care about you, Kate, and it terrifies me," he confesses, watching with a hammering heart as her hands abandon his wrists, fall to her sides while he fights with the urge to reclaim them. "But you... you're the best thing that's happened to me in so long."
Her eyes have gradually began to soften, flecks of gold rising from beneath the pools of hazel, but she still holds herself away from him, assesses him with a healthy dose of distrust.
"You're more than a partner," he adds, risking a step closer, draping a hand to the side of her throat, his thumb stretching outwards to stroke along the taut skin just below her jaw, caressing the throb of her pulse when she doesn't shrug him off. "And I'm - so tired of trying to deny that, trying to go slow."
Her gaze flickers to his mouth, back again, and then one of her hands is lifting, coasting along his jaw, fingers curling at the hinge of bone and drawing him in until their noses are nearly brushing, his forehead a breath away from grazing hers.
"I love you, Kate," he breathes, the words falling from his lips like a weight being lifted from his chest, the truth finally allowed free. "All I want is you."
Her other hand rises, tentative but joining in cradling his face, tracing the contours of his rain dampened cheeks before skating down to his neck and tugging him closer, eradicating the final vestiges of space left between them. Kate tilts her chin, the heat of her breath searing his chilled flesh, but he doesn't break the hold of her eyes, waits patiently, as she always has for him.
"Prove it," she murmurs against his lips.
It's all he needs.
Castle bends to take her mouth, nothing about it gentle or tender, not this time, and she lets him, lets him taste her bottom lip with his tongue, graze the soft flesh with his teeth, and bury his fingers in the waves of her hair when she arches on her toes for more.
Within seconds, he ends up pinned against the door with her body in his arms, his back slamming it shut in time with the crackle of thunder and the brilliant flash of light through her loft. But he hardly feels the rush of motion, doesn't hear the click of the lock or the call of the storm, only able to focus on the twine of Kate's arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, and the fit of her hips between his.
She gasps when he spins them, her spine instantly snapping forward at the press of his body into hers, crowding her against the hard surface of the door at her back, abandoning her mouth to nip along her jaw, stray to her throat, feel the rhythm of her pulse beneath his tongue.
"Rick," she breathes, her fingers fisting in the collar of his jacket, shoving it from his arms, and he reluctantly releases his grip on her waist to shake the material from his frame, allowing Kate to continue in tugging the shirt from his pants, stealing her hands beneath the fabric.
His hips surge at the cool touch of her fingers to the naked skin of his back, the pierce of her nails that he'd missed, and bows his head to seek her lips like a prayer once more, slipping his tongue inside the sanctuary of her mouth and tasting the forgiveness on her tongue as it strokes against his, the arduous need.
Her hands tangle in the front of his shirt, fingers fighting with buttons until the fabric parts for her, while his trail down her sides, curl at her outer thighs, and Kate nods, holds to his shoulders as he lifts her.
"God, I missed this," she whispers with her legs around his waist, her hands cradling his face again and her nose nudging his cheek. Her hips rock into the waiting embrace of his, sparks of friction simmering, and Castle tries to breathe, refuses to have her against the door. Not the first time.
He kisses the corner of her mouth and skims his hands up her spine, beneath her t-shirt and along the rungs of her ribs. Her body is curled around him, secure enough that he doesn't worry about losing his grip on her as he steps back from the door and takes the path he never forgot to her bedroom, carrying her down the short hallway and through the entryway, her room alight with only the glow from the lamp on the nightstand and the flashes of lightning outside her window.
He reaches the edge of the bed with his knees as the thunder rumbles, eases Kate onto the mattress before following her descent, holding himself above her until she urges him to follow. There's a faint sense of déjà vu in the moment, memories of his last time in her bed, tangled in her body and her sheets, but this is different. She isn't just his favorite author and the woman he'd sparked an immediate connection with, she's… she's more now, so much more. She's everything.
Kate hooks her fingers in his belt and he lets her work the leather free, smirks when her fingers falter at the button of his dress pants as he dusts his lips down to her chin, along the column of her throat.
"I missed this too," he breathes into her skin, dipping his tongue into the hollow convergence of bone between her clavicles, nudging her shirt out of his way. "I'm sorry I-"
"There's nothing left to apologize for," she murmurs, combing her fingers through his hair, staring up at him with eyes that shimmer with lust when he lifts his head, but sparkle with golden traces of affection too, reflections of the words he'd spoken to her at the door. "Not tonight, Castle."
His shirt still hangs undone at his sides, all of her clothes still on, but her toes are curling in the fabric of his pants, shoving the now loose waistband past his hips, and he chuckles, paints his laughter along the grin of her mouth.
"Tonight's going to be different," he promises, hopes she knows what he means, what he's saying. "Better."
Kate hums, stroking her fingers through the hair at his nape, her lashes fluttering against his cheek, calming and maddening all at once, but then she's securing a well-toned leg at his thigh in a move he recognizes all too late. Though, he doesn't think he would have fought her on this even if he'd seen it coming, appreciating the straddle of her body over his, the amusement in her gaze as she smirks down at him.
"Show me."
A/N: Chapter fifteen will be rated M, but the T rating will be back for chapter sixteen.