First and foremost, thank you all for your review-based support, in general but for this story especially. I love writing Castle stuff, it keeps me entertained between the new episodes, but you guys are really what keeps me going.

And before I get too much further, happy Castle Day! I intend to celebrate by getting as much writing as possible done before ten. And eating chocolate.

I realize this chapter does very little to advance the plot, but there is some background here that you need. And it let me play with some more pretty language, which is always a plus in my world.

Unfortunately, this is the last chapter of this story that I had pre-written, which means that I'm going to have to actually write another chapter before the next update, not just edit and post like I've been doing. Which means it might take a little longer. Which is probably frustrating because I know I haven't been ridiculously quick with the updates anyway (if you're waiting on "It Happens," it's coming, I swear!), but try to be a little bit patient with me. I'm working on it.

Annd without further ado, the actual chapter update. Hope you like it!

He felt so many things as he sat there beside her in the living room of her tiny, dim sublet, his hand on her shoulder. Compassion. Sorrow. Helplessness. Contentment. Love.

Yes, love. There was no doubt in his mind that however his relationship with Katherine Beckett might be defined, whatever they were or weren't to each other, he did love her.

They were more connected now than they'd ever been before, both literally and figuratively. His hand rose and fell along with her shoulders, and he felt her every breath, her every movement, her every sob. He still felt a little like her obvious agony was slowly draining the life from him, but just the simple contact helped a lot, grounded him. He felt as though by holding onto her, he was holding his world together.

Part of him wished she knew what he was keeping from her, but this was not the time to tell her.

And there was another part of him that was glad she didn't know, because it would make this moment seem a little less innocent.

The truth was, it hadn't been an easy week for him. It had started on Sunday, as weeks will do. Actually, he'd enjoyed most of Sunday very much. He and Gina went on a double lunch date with Alexis and Ashley, and then they'd spent the rest of the day together in Manhattan, each choosing a favorite place to take the others while dodging raindrops. The problems didn't start until later, when they went back to his apartment to play Rock Band.

Castle was always the drummer when he and Alexis played. He could hold his own with the guitar as well, but the drums were his favorite. The first few songs went great. Castle played the drums, Gina the guitar, Ashley the bass, and Alexis sung the vocals. Castle realized it was a video game, but he couldn't help noting that they didn't sound too bad.

But then Gina decided that she wanted to try the drums. And that was when all hell broke loose. The end result was Castle and Gina locked in Castle's office yelling at each other. Or rather, Gina yelling. Castle rarely ever yelled, but he did recognize his volume rising as he tried to defend himself. The whole discussion, if it could've been called that, culminated in Gina yelling "Now I remember why we got divorced!" and storming out.

Alexis was at his side within a minute, Ashley apparently having slipped out when he and Gina began their encounter. She tried to cheer him up and it helped a little, but all week long he'd been hearing Gina's voice echoing in his head.

As much as he would've liked to deny it, Castle had never been much good at long-term relationships. He'd only really had two in the last twenty or so years, and both had ended in marriage… and later divorce. One night stands he could handle. Even a date or two. He was good at dating. But after that it got tricky. He'd thought that he was starting to get better, that his relationship with Gina (again) was proof-positive that he was capable of being part of a successful relationship. He didn't like to admit that he was wrong.

He'd been almost relieved that Beckett had been assigned so many complex cases lately, because he was able to focus solely on them, drowning himself in the details. When he was at the precinct, he avoided his life by focusing on someone else's… or rather, someone else's lack of one. When he was at home he was doing a lot of writing, allowing his characters to consume him.

But now that he was here, with her, his arm around her, so intimate and yet so innocent, he felt as though his life was catching up with him, and he couldn't seem to get away fast enough.

It wasn't fair, and he knew it wasn't, that as he sat here, desperately trying to offer some kind of comfort to the woman who had become one of his best friends (Besides Alexis, who was the first person he told all of his news? Who did he go to when he needed advice? Whose apartment had he run to, simply because he'd felt that something was off?), he was still so caught up in his own pathetic existence. She was still there, of course, boring into the edges of his subconscious, still increasing the pain he felt because, although it was better now that they were touching, it still wasn't enough.

Part of him (if he was being honest, damn near all of him) wanted to make another move, to do something to comfort her further, but he was having difficulty keeping score. The first move had been hers, he thought, when she'd moved toward him. Or had it been his when he'd asked, begged, really, her to let him do something? Did that count? Did her slight lean in his direction count as anything, or had the first real move been his, when he'd draped his arm across her shoulders? He felt lost and confused, with no idea whether it would be okay for him to make some other small move or he should wait for her encouragement. But the longer they sat there, in silence except for his steady, even breathing and her occasional ragged sobs, the more he began to feel that the presence of his hand was no longer enough. He was afraid, though, to go too far, gently reminding himself that while he was now single, she was not. Yes, let the record show that Richard Castle was actually afraid to make a move. When it came to Kate Beckett, all the rules changed.

She shifted a little and a lock of her hair brushed his hand. Almost without realizing what he was doing, he slowly began twirling her hair through his fingers.

Rather than pulling away, as he might've expected her to do if he'd been thinking at all, she moved toward him again. But this time, instead of a miniscule, almost undetectable amount, she truly moved, sliding her entire body closer to his. He'd expected that to be all, and it would've been enough, but she was still moving toward him, increasing his heart rate with every inch. The ends of her long, loose curls brushed his arm, and still she moved closer. He felt the warmth radiating from her skin. Still closer. Felt the easy pressure of her head resting carefully on his shoulder.

His heart was now beating so violently that he was sure she must've been able to hear it, but there was very little he could do about that. He slowly exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and softly moved his hand up and down her arm. He loved feeling her so close to him more than he could ever explain, even utilizing his impressive narrative skills, but he couldn't, nor did he ever want to, get used to the way her body was shaking against his as she cried. Never had he seen her so broken. Never had he imagined she had the capacity to fall apart quite this much. It gave him a whole new appreciation for what she did every day, how much she kept hidden beneath the surface. He would have never thought she'd have allowed him to see her this way. Why had she? Since he'd come in, she hadn't once told him to leave. Why not?

He didn't know these answers, but there was one thing he did know for sure. This was not going in his next book.