AN: -It would have been fun if I'd had any input at all in the show. Reality is, though, that I'm still just being appreciative that Marlowe and company allows us to play in their sandbox.

-The first half of this chapter is mostly from the episode. If you recognize it, it probably isn't mine. After that I play with my version of the rest of the story.

-The story is complete, four chapters, and the rest will be posted between now and next Sunday.

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Detonation and Disclosure

The Boylan Plaza bombing was another sad and random loss of multiple lives and the cause of a number of varying injuries. Castle and Beckett sadly acknowledged the sudden loss of the victims' lives, hopes, and dreams; and with the thought of that capricious and pointless loss of life in mind, she started a line of conversation that offered a hopeful sound to both of them.

"Makes you think of all those things in your own life that you don't want to put off anymore." She was looking at Castle softly as she said it.

Castle returned the same meaningful look; and at that point, Esposito interrupted to let them know the captain was gathering the troops. Then, with a longing glance, they left to give their best to find justice for the victims, taking on their share of the captain's all-hands-on-deck approach to interviewing everyone they could identify from the protest.

Later on, Lanie had information for them, and Beckett stayed at the morgue to speak to her further; but Castle had caught sight of his daughter, who looked drained and distressed, and excused himself with Beckett's blessings. Alexis had been assigned to cataloguing the personal effects of the victims and looked so emotionally worn down that Castle went immediately into Dad-knows-best mode and insisted on taking her home.

xxxxx

When he came in the next morning, Castle asked Beckett as he handed off her coffee, "Got a sec?"

"Yeah. What's up?" she asked.

"I've been thinking about the victims and all the opportunities they'll never have…and I don't want that to happen to me. I've been…"

Then it was Ryan's turn to interrupt. He let them know they had new information, and again a hopeful conversation was ended…with longing looks…and without a conclusion. They agreed to let it wait until after the case.

After a couple of false starts based on information from several sources, a young man was identified.

"Hey." Castle said, coming in a little late on the third day of their investigation with the standard coffees. As Esposito walked into the bullpen, Castle reported, "No luck with those witness statements the captain gave me to look over. Did you guys catch a break?"

"Better yet, we caught the suspect," Esposito responded, looking pleased.

"And I missed it? Where is he?

"In the box with Beckett."

Castle left Beckett's coffee on her desk and hustled off to the observation room to watch the proceedings. Bobby Lopez was denying everything, and Castle was enjoying Beckett's push to get answers as she countered everything Lopez said with other questions, not giving him an inch. Then Lopez claimed he couldn't remember anything. He said it must have been shock…traumatic amnesia, and Beckett angrily countered with, "It was not the trauma. You don't get to use that excuse."

When Lopez continued his denial, Beckett shouted, "The hell you don't remember! You want to know trauma? I was shot in the chest, and I remember every second! So do you."

That left Castle in shock, saying to himself in disbelief, "All that time. You remembered." His mind ran the gamut of emotions, settling into hurt and anger as he watched Beckett call a uniform to take Lopez back to holding. Then he met her as she left the room and glared at her as he said, "When were you going to tell me? When was it going to be as important for me to know the truth as it was for some random punk kid barely out of his teens?" He could see when the realization of her sin hit Beckett.

"Castle… Castle, I'm so sorry. I…"

"Save it, Beckett. We owe the victims and their families answers, so I'm still going to work the case with you. He took a deep breath to pull himself together before returning to find the rest of their team, then added, "But I honestly don't know what happens after that."

"Please, at least talk to me before…"

"I'm too angry right now to make any promises. Let's just do what we have to do." He turned and strode off toward the bullpen, very deliberately leaving her behind.

Beckett watched him walk away and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes and fighting back tears.

Esposito walked past a few moments later and asked, "Beckett? You okay? You don't look so good."

"Yeah. As long as you don't consider the part where I may have just destroyed the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't know how I'm going to fix it…and even if I did, this case won't allow me time to try."

She pulled in a deep breath and pushed away from the wall as Espo asked, "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it. We don't have time for me right now. Back to work."

"Oooo-kay." He waited a few seconds before asking, "The guy still not talking?"

"No. We'll let him sweat a little bit."

Evidence from a search of Bobby Lopez's apartment was enough to tell them he was a pickpocket, and he admitted to being at the protest because there was ample opportunity to ply his trade. He admitted to stealing the backpack when he found it; but he said he dropped it by the lamppost when the owner chased him, and he insisted he had no idea it held a bomb. Going over the sequence of events from the beginning and considering the new information they got from Lopez, they finally found evidence and the reporter who was on air at the protest when she detonated the bomb was arrested.

Through the process of working the case, Castle had made occasional side remarks about hurting someone or cowardice and aimed a look at Beckett, and he hadn't smiled at her even once. She had never seen him that way before, and it worried her. When he stood to leave before she had time to start the paperwork, she stood and caught his elbow. "Will you let me take you to dinner tonight so we can talk?" There was no response other than an overall stiffening as if her touch were unwelcome.

"I'm still angry right now, and we're both exhausted. It probably wouldn't be the best time for that. Gates gave the team tomorrow off to comp the overtime, and we all need some rest. Call me tomorrow afternoon and we'll see."

Again he turned and walked away without looking back. He didn't even glance her way when he waited for the elevator door to close. Then Beckett finished her paperwork, went home, and cried herself to sleep. She would call Dr. Burke in the morning and see if he had an opening early the next week…either to try to pull herself back together after ruining any future relationship with Castle or to introduce the good doctor to the most forgiving man she'd ever known. Then she would call Castle in the afternoon and pray that he would agree to talk to her.

xxxxx

After sleeping fitfully, Kate woke at six-thirty on her day off and immediately made herself coffee, as if she needed the caffeine. She was already full of nervous energy and was soon engaged in what her mother used to call stress cleaning. Johanna had done the same thing when something worried or frightened her, or sometimes when something made her extremely angry. By the time it was late enough to make the first of the phone calls she needed to make that morning, Kate's bed was made, her bedroom looked nearly like a magazine page, her bathroom practically glowed, and the rest of the apartment would very likely be whipped into the same condition by the time she could call Castle.

The first call was to Dr. Burke's office, and an appointment was made for the following Tuesday. Her next regularly scheduled appointment was two weeks away, and she was sure she would need the new one for one reason or another. The second call was to a restaurant; and since she had to wait a little longer before anyone would be there, she set to work on her kitchen, which soon took on a glow that rivaled the one in the bathroom. That call being accomplished, she turned her cleaning frenzy to her living room and office to fill the time until it was far enough past noon to call Castle.

xxxxx

Castle had slept as fitfully as Beckett, but he did feel more rested than when they had spoken briefly the night before. Martha, as usual, noticed something was wrong when she returned from teaching her morning classes; and while Alexis was still at school, she dragged the information out of her son.

"Why would she do that, Mother? The only reason I can think of is that she didn't want to tell me she doesn't feel the same way."

"Did you ask her?"

"We didn't have a lot of time this week to solve personal issues. We were too busy investigating a bombing with multiple deaths."

"Has Beckett tried to talk to you about it? Tried to explain?"

"She's mentioned it twice. She wanted to take me to dinner last night to talk, but I put it off."

"Why?"

"I'm still angry…and hurt; and after the lack of sleep and the pressure we were all under at the precinct for the last few days, it didn't seem like the right time for that discussion."

"Are you going to find a right time and listen to what she has to say? Or at least tell her how you feel about it?"

"I'm pretty sure she knows how I feel about it. I haven't hidden it well. I told her to call me this afternoon and we'd see."

"Richard." Martha said impatiently. She took a deep breath and shook her head. "The two of you have probably given me more gray hair than I'm remotely aware of under all this lovely color." Her hand swept toward her head at the color reference, and then the other one joined it in the air as she told her son in frustration, "I've never seen two such capable, competent, impressive people with such pathetic communication skills when it comes to each other. Maybe this conversation will open new possibilities. How will you ever know how she actually feels if you don't listen…or simply ask her? If you don't like her answers, you can always say goodbye and leave. Or would you rather just go on wondering and feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Well, somebody has to feel sorry for me," he pouted. "I can't dump it on Alexis, I'm not sharing this with anybody at the precinct, and my own mother certainly isn't offering much sympathy."

"I'm being realistic, my boy. This is going to require straightforward communication, which will mean an open, adult conversation. When the girl calls you, let her take you to dinner and make amends if that's her intention. Let her know what you want from this relationship; and if the two of you don't want the same thing, then it's time for you to move on."

"I hate to admit it, but you're right, Mother. If nothing else, I'll have the chance to get some things off my chest. If anything better comes of it, so be it; but I'm not going into this with great expectations." At that point, his cell phone rang, and he held it up after checking it. "Speak of the devil…"