Disclaimer: English is not my first language. I'm sorry for the mistakes you'll possibly find.
Castle entered the loft and closed the door behind him. Visibly exhausted, he walked to the couch while taking off his suit. He slouched and snorted, drawing his mother's attention from the kitchen. "Richard," he was taken from his thoughts with Martha's voice joining the loft. "Good night, my darling! There's lasagna in the oven."
He looked at her and smiled weakly. "Yeah… no, thanks, mother. I'm not hungry." He answered.
Martha noticed his fragile tone. She observed him for a few seconds before saying something.
"Is everything okay, kiddo?" She walked to the sofa to sit next to him.
He shrugged, without neither answering nor looking at her, – because he was back to his confused thoughts. And Martha could hear his mind. Loud and clear. So, she went straight to the point.
"How are things between you two?"
He frowned.
"Me and… who, exactly?"
She rolled her eyes quickly.
"Oh, don't play the silly now. You know who I'm talking about," She made a face waiting for the answer to her question. "So?"
He looked down at his feet.
"She's fine," he felt his mother's hands caress his hair. "I'm fine. We're fine."
They were. Physically speaking. Emotionally speaking, though… not so much. It was getting harder and harder for him to talk to her everyday like a normal person, act like just a friend, a partner that she only calls to talk about work and murders and new leads. He was sick of pretending. And the worst part is, she wasn't faking. She didn't love him like he loves her. She remembers everything about the shooting. Everything. His chest burned. Why couldn't she just be honest with him?
But he wouldn't start a fight with her about it. If she was afraid of having this conversation, what would he do? What he has done for the past 4 years, - hide what he feels for her. Hide what he is feeling right now. Agony. His chest seemed to be locked. It was so heavy.
"You know, Richard," Martha waited for him to look at her. "I don't know what is going on between you two, but you need to get your things right. This dance of yours is going on for too long now. You're both adults. What are you waiting for? Death?" She paused when he glared at her. "It's been four years and you are still entangled in some sort of invisible problems."
He inhaled. "It is different with Kate, mother. She's… complicated. She's going through some complicated stuff," he shook his head. "It was easy with Meredith, with Gina. But Kate… she just doesn't let anyone in that easily, and-"
"Are you sure you are anyone for her?" Martha cut him. "Trust me, kiddo, I've noticed the change in her, in you, since you two met. You're not just anyone for her."
"But what if she doesn't feel the same way?" He seemed lost. His eyes were dark, his features exhausted from all these anguish and uncertain feelings.
"Well, then at least you tried," She answered just like that. "But if you just stay like you are now, every day coming home this mess, knowing that you have things to do but you're letting it all behind like it didn't matter, you have to know you are wasting another day and the blame is all on you."
Martha's words punched his brain unbearably. He didn't answer, but by his face she knows that he got the message. She got up and walked to the kitchen to put their dinner on the table. Castle stood there, in silence. He hated that his mother was so right and hated the fact that he was afraid to face reality.
"Tomorrow is a mystery, darling," He heard Martha saying loud from the kitchen. "Don't wait any longer."
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