Hidden Wounds: Chapter 3

Kate smelled coffee. And bacon. She groped toward consciousness, confused.

She blinked her eyes against the morning light and realized she was not in her apartment. It looked like…Castle's loft…

Oh.

The previous day's and evening's events came crashing down on her, shocking her to full wakefulness. She sat up on the couch and looked over to see Castle busily working on breakfast.

Stretching, she slowly walked over to the counter, watching him warily.

"Well, good morning sleepy head. Breakfast is almost ready." Castle smiled warmly at her, but she now could tell something she hadn't been able to tell before. She could see the pain and fear in his eyes when he looked at her. It was carefully masked by his normal good humor, but it was there, and it was raw.

Castle placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of her and turned back to the breakfast.

She watched him work, and made herself really pay attention to her partner. He seemed to be his normal self, but he wasn't. Kate wondered how she had not managed to notice it before, this act he was putting on for her sake.

"Breakfast is served." He put a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her with a triumphant flair, and sat down with his own plate in the spot adjacent to her. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, both lost in their own thoughts. Kate watched him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed focused on his plate, obviously avoiding her gaze.

Kate poked at her eggs. She tried to think of a way to begin a conversation.

"This is very good, but you didn't have to make breakfast, Castle, I could have just grabbed something." She could have smacked herself. That sounded so…ungrateful.

"Nonsense," Castle replied, waving his fork in the air for emphasis, "I always make breakfast for beautiful detectives I find on my couch. It's a cardinal Castle rule. When waking an armed detective, always be prepared with food. See? Rule." Even when she said something stupid he found a way to put everything at ease.

He grinned at her and gave her a wink. He was trying to keep it light, trying to take their relationship back to the normal banter and play and away from the serious topics yesterday's events had raised.

"Castle, you certainly don't have to feel obligated to feed me. Especially when I just crashed at your place. I mean, I wasn't even…" invited… Kate realized what she had been about to say and bit her lower lip, looking at Castle from underneath her eyelashes and wondering if that might have gone too far.

Castle looked at her for a long moment.

"Kate, even when you aren't officially invited, you are always welcome in my home." At his serious tone her eyes flew to his. Kate blinked at the honesty of his words.

She opened her mouth but before she could respond, Castle went on: "Besides, now I can have a field day teasing the guys about you spending the night!"

Kate clamped her mouth shut and glared at him. He raised his hands, chuckling. "Kidding."

She always knew he often used humor to allow her a way out of situations that were becoming tense, but now she realized he also used it to give himself some space. She had been so grateful to him for the humor, for giving her cover for her quick retreats. But now Kate wondered how many other times Castle had used his famous charm and charismatic quips as cover for his own retreat. She had been so busy running herself that she had never noticed.

Castle began to clear away the dishes. Kate shifted in her seat. The whole morning seemed surreal. She wasn't sure what she had expected to happen this morning after last night's events, but being served breakfast over light-hearted banter was certainly not it.

It was quickly becoming apparent that Castle was just going to gloss over the whole incident.

And isn't that exactly what you constantly demand of him? A niggling voice sneered in the back of her mind. She needed to do something... something to get him to talk to her.

Kate cocked her head to the side and studied him as she would a crime scene, looking for a way into the problem.

Castle washed the dishes slowly, taking longer than he normally would to give himself a chance to regroup.

The little sleep he had gotten had given him a chance to regain some of his distance, but he still felt that he was walking on a steep precipice, and that one wrong step could send him tumbling back down.

Breakfast had gone relatively well, considering the circumstances. He had even been able to crack a few jokes.

Her comment about how he didn't have to feel obligated to her had cut harshly. He needed her to know it wasn't obligation. He would always, always, do what he could to care for her. Because he wanted to.

Because you love her. He pushed that thought down as it arose, unbidden, to his mind. They'd become very adept at reading subtext, and when her startled eyes had flown to his after his declaration he was certain she could hear the emotion beneath the words.

Fear had gripped him as her mouth opened and he realized he had once again overstepped his "writer monkey" role. So he quickly cracked a joke, diffusing the situation, before she had a chance to push him away again.

And now you're hiding in soapy dishwater. Smooth. Really smooth. Castle gave his head a small shake and grabbed a dry towel. If he could just play this role a little longer, just keep up the act, maybe he could make it until she headed out. Castle dried his hands on the towel as he turned to face his partner.

"So, Beckett, what are the plans for…" he trailed off as he finally looked at her. She hadn't moved, but was sitting where he had left her staring at him intensely, her head canted slightly to the side. He recognized that look. It was the piercing, concentrated gaze she used in full detective mode. Even with messy hair and rumpled clothes from her night on the couch she managed to exude calm authority.

She really was exquisite.

He wondered if she saw him as a crime scene. He almost snorted at himself for that. He was a crime scene.

Once again he felt she was waiting for him to speak. Once again she had given him nothing and expected him to fill in the blanks. Once again he was left to deal with her silence.

His skin felt tight as the raw emotions he had been keeping in check began to boil up again. His hands clenched involuntarily as he fought to keep his agitation under control.

And still she remained sitting on the kitchen tool, calmly watching him with that penetrating gaze. How did she manage to do this to him? Over and over, the scene ended with her coolly walking away, getting in the last word, while he crumbled inside, falling apart and tripping over himself to do the right thing, to say the right words, to play the right game.

No. No more. He decided. It was time to turn the tables.