Wow. Two story updates in one day. I'm on a roll. Anyway. Now that I'm done being proud of myself. I'm very sorry that this update has been such an incredibly long time coming. I got distracted by some other stuff I've been working on. Plus... this story is kind of sad, and I really haven't been in the mood to write it. I think what finally motivated me to finish this chapter was that I was a little bit mad at the Castle in my other story (if any of you are reading "Daylight" you'll understand this...) and I wanted to write him being super-sweet again. So if you've been waiting for this since the last chapter... I'm sorry! But this one's finally done, and I hope it was worth the wait. It's a pretty long one, so maybe that helps. Or maybe it's just annoying because it takes forever to read. I know not. But at long last, here it is. I won't keep you from it any longer than I already have. And I'll try not to make you wait quite as long for the next one.

He felt something inside of him release as he watched the line of her mouth start to curve. Her eyes were still red, her face still wet, but she was smiling. Even if his idea had been stupid, even if she had no interest in going along with it, for this moment, this instant, alone, he was glad he'd shared it with her.

It wasn't long before she let it fade with a small sigh. "I just don't know if I'd be able to do her justice. Some of the things I remember, I wouldn't even know how to describe."

He was grateful that she was talking now. The talking was so much better than the silence. He didn't feel nearly as helpless. And this most recent worry was easy enough to address. "I could help you with that. If you want."

"But why? If no one's ever going to read it, why take the time?"

He shrugged. "For you. Just writing everything down will help you remember, and you'll always have it to read. You could let your dad read it if you wanted to, but you wouldn't have to… and then maybe if you have kids one day… maybe they'd want to meet their grandmother."

She nodded slowly. "It's not a bad idea. I'll think about it."

"I think it would help."

"It wouldn't be easy."

"No, it wouldn't. I'm not going to pretend that it would. But I think it would help."

"Maybe."

"Well, if you do decide to do it and you want my help with anything, just let me know. Or give me a call. Any time."

"Thank you, Castle." She took a shaky breath and he held his, willing her to hold it together. He understood that it was her grieving day. He did. But he hated seeing her so upset. Hated it more than he could ever explain. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Sorry?" he asked, confused. "For what?"

"That you have to deal with this. You didn't ask for it, and you obviously don't like it."

"I hate that you're upset," he said, making direct eye contact with her to show his earnestness, even though looking into her still-teary eyes was difficult. "But I would hate even more to know that you were this upset and alone." He put his hand on her arm. "Thank you for letting me stay."

She nodded. "Thank you for staying," she whispered.

He considered telling her that she didn't have anything to thank him for, but recognized that they weren't going to get anywhere with this particular argument. Not to mention that he couldn't quite bring himself to fight with her while she was in this state. "So… what now?" he asked instead. He cursed his short attention span, but he wasn't comfortable with this complete lack of action. He was glad that she was no longer crying, but just sitting there in silence looking at her still sad, tearstained face and doing absolutely nothing was not going to work for him.

She sighed. "What time is it?"

Confused but not in the mindset to question her, whatever her request might've been, he looked at the clock on his cell phone. "Little before one. Why, what difference does it make? I know there's nowhere you have to be." He smiled feebly. He'd meant it as an almost-joke, and wasn't expecting her response.

"Actually, there is. But not until later."

He frowned, taken aback. "You're not working. Where in the world could you possibly have to go?"

"I love the insinuation." She made a noise that could almost have been a laugh if it weren't for the fact that she wasn't actually smiling.

Happy as he was that she was attempting to banter with him, however unsuccessfully, he would not allow his question to go unanswered. "Come on. You know what I mean. Where in the world could you possibly have to go today?"

But now she was backpedaling, for some reason. "Nowhere. It doesn't matter. You'll be gone by then anyway."

"I have no plans to leave you today," he said earnestly, "but if you want me to make them, you need to tell me why."

She swallowed. Her eyes were brimming again, and he wondered if the last thing he said couldn't have been a little gentler. Logically he knew that her tears had nothing to do with him, but each time they started again he couldn't help but think if he'd done something differently—said or not said something, maybe held her a little closer—they might not have. "Just—" she finally sputtered, "—I um, I go to the cemetery. You know. Leave flowers." She shrugged. "Standard." But the tears that were beginning to leave the confines of her eyes said otherwise.

He nodded. "Well, that's understandable. But I'll stay. I'll drive you."

She shook her head quickly, wiping her eyes with her hand, which was completely ineffective because a new batch of tears were waiting the replace the ones she wiped away. "No, Castle, it's okay. It's something I have to do myself."

"That's fine, then I'll wait in the car." He was decided on this. He would not leave. "You don't need to be driving." It didn't seem to him that she was fully able to control when something would spark a fresh wave of emotion, and he couldn't see how driving in New York with tears obstructing your vision could possibly be safe.

"It's fine, I do it every year."

He shook his head. "Not this year."

Apparently seeing how resolute he was, she tried another angle. "Like I said though, it won't be until later. Around sunset."

"Sunset," he repeated, nodding. "Poetic. I like it."

She shrugged. "It was her favorite time of day. But I'm sure you have to go home before then. Won't your family be wondering what you're doing?"

"My mom and Alexis? For all they know we're both at the precinct right now, and sometimes I get back later than others. And if they did know I was here, it wouldn't be a problem. They'd want me to make sure you were alright."

"Castle, I promise you I'm fine."

He raised his eyebrows. Why did she feel the need to keep telling him this? "No, you're not. And that's okay." He squeezed her shoulder gently. "But I'm not going anywhere."

"What about Gina?" she asked, catching him off guard. "Wouldn't she mind you being here? With me?"

He shook his head immediately, but his expression changed. Right, Beckett didn't know about that yet. It was a little embarrassing, but he decided he should tell her. She was his friend, and she deserved to know what was going on in his life. "I'm positive she wouldn't care a bit," he said softly.

She tilted her head and frowned, but didn't say anything.

"We're done," he eventually supplied. "Not together anymore."

She nodded, and this time it was she who took his hand. "When?"

"Sunday."

He was watching her face very carefully, and he could've sworn he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up very briefly, not that that made any sense. "Sunday," she repeated.

He couldn't figure out what the hell her expression was doing. It seemed to be registering about twelve emotions at once, only a few of them which he could place. The sadness that had been there since he'd arrived. Pity, which he felt stupid about. It was the anniversary of the day her mother was murdered, and now she was feeling sorry for him? Confusion. Hesitation. And something buried beneath everything else that looked suspiciously like amusement, which he couldn't even begin to understand. "I guess I should've told you?" he tried, wondering if this was what she wanted him to say. "I just… didn't really feel like talking about it."

"No, that's not—" she started, still wearing the same cryptic expression. She paused, took a long breath, and began again. "Josh and I broke up on Sunday."

He didn't bother to hide his astonishment. If that's not a sign, what the hell is? a voice in his head was yelling at him. "You did?" How had he not noticed that? Right, because he'd been hibernating in his own head, so pathetically absorbed by his personal problems.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"You okay?"

She shrugged. "You?"

He shrugged as well, but then, settling further into her couch, he thought about it a little more and nodded slowly. "I think it was for the best."

She leaned against him with a bit less hesitation than before, but then pulled back with a little half laugh, putting her hand on the dark spot on his sleeve. "You're wet."

He chuckled. "I know. Whose fault's that?"

"I'm sorry. Do you want… a towel?" What she was doing now could only be described as giggling, which was strange on a number of levels. Beckett was not usually a giggler.

He raised an eyebrow at her, but couldn't help smiling. "No, that's okay. It'll dry." The ludicrous image of her giggling through her still-tearstained face reminded him a little of Alexis when she was very young. She'd often come out of a particularly long crying fit by laughing hysterically over something small. "What's funny?" he asked.

"I don't know, you. You're here. And Gina… and your shirt…" She was still laughing, and making absolutely no sense, but he was glad she was amused… he thought.

"Okay," he said, with a hesitant little laugh of his own.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking a breath to calm herself. "I don't know why I'm laughing. I shouldn't be laughing. My mom was killed today, for God's sake."

As soon as she said it all traces of her smile vanished and he felt his heart break a little. "Hey," he said, laying his hand on her back. "Not today. Eleven years ago."

"Eleven years ago today." A single sob shook her body, and he pulled her closer. Her face managed to find a dry spot on his shirt as she rested her head on him again. Not that it would be dry for much longer.

"Kate…" He sighed heavily. "I hate this," he mumbled. "I hate this a lot."

She looked up at him. "I told you you could go."

He closed his eyes for a second. She was missing his point. "No… no, that would not help." She was still looking at him, so he forced a weary smile. "Your mom… I'm sure she would've wanted you to be happy. I'm sure she wouldn't be offended by you smiling, or laughing." He raised an eyebrow, his smile a little less forced. "Or enjoying the company of a brilliant novelist."

She made no admission that she'd even heard his last sentence. "I hate when people say things like that," she murmured. "You didn't even know her."

"No, you're right, I didn't. But I am a parent, and if, God forbid, anything would ever happen to me, I would still want Alexis to be happy."

"Okay, yeah, and usually I accept that theory. But just today, the day she died, one day out of three hundred sixty-five… I just feel like it's wrong."

He sighed. "But why? I understand spending the day remembering. I understand the whole gravesite, flowers thing. What I don't understand is the feeling that while you're honoring her memory you can't also be happy."

"Someone killed her, Castle," she reminded him, silent tears once again running onto his shirt. "On this day eleven years ago, someone, Dick Coonan," she added as an afterthought, this being the first year she knew this information, "killed her. Knowing that, how could I consciously be happy? It would be disrespectful."

"I respectfully disagree. If she wanted you to be happy, wouldn't doing that, being happy, be the best way to honor her?"

"No." But that was all she seemed to be able to say against his argument. She sighed. "Castle, just let me have my day."

"Okay," he conceded, rubbing her back a little. "Whatever you want. And you're sad, so I'm not even going to make you admit that I'm right."

"Good." She let her eyes slide closed. "Because you're not."

"You are a very stubborn woman, Kate Beckett," he said fondly. For a moment, neither said anything. They settled into a comfortable silence, and what finally broke it was not a voice, but her stomach growling.

"You're hungry," Castle said, not phrasing it as a question. "And you should be. It's lunchtime. I am too. I'll go get us something. What do you feel like?"

"Anything's fine. I'm not picky."

"It's not about what you'll eat, it's about what you want. I can get anything. What's your favorite?" As he asked the question, he realized he already knew the answer. Her favorite kind of takeout was Chinese, and he knew which specific dishes from which restaurants she liked best. But then another thought occurred to him. "Better yet, what was your mom's favorite?"

Despite the argument they'd just had, she smiled a little at the thought, sitting up to give him the freedom of movement. "Italian."

He nodded and stood, making his way toward the door. "Perfect. I will be right back."