A/N: Hope everyone's enjoying the holidays. Thank you once again for the enthusiasm you've shown for this story.

Chapter 4 – Floundering

Previously...

The journal, the box, the photographs, all the small and big things she kept hold of – they are parts of their story as seen through Kate's eyes, and she's chosen to finally share them with him.

His mind is reeling with words and possibilities when he hears a noise coming from the direction of Kate's bedroom. His head snaps round to look at the door again, and he watches with a dry mouth as the handle slowly begins to turn. She's on the other side of the door and it looks as if she's coming out.

Ready or not.

He stands, knocking the notebook off the table in the process, and a folded sheet of paper slides out from between the pages. He stoops down to pick them up and when he straightens up again, he's looking right into the beautiful, dark eyes of Kate Beckett.

"I'm sorry. I thought I could do this," says Kate, looking tense, the strain showing around her eyes. Her hands are stuffed into the pockets of her robe; fingers curled tight like fists if the bulge they make in the fabric is anything to go by.

Castle stands by the sofa in only his boxer shorts staring at her. For once in his life he is at a complete loss for words. She was opening up and now she's closing down again. Everything he thought he had seems to be crashing around his ears in the space of just eight short words.

"I—I didn't read all of it," he says reflexively, sounding guilty as hell; about as guilty as he did, aged ten, when his mother caught him reading her diary. He felt like bleaching his eyeballs after that particular experience. Will he never learn?

Her gaze slides back down to the black notebook he's now holding in his hand.

"I see you found the letter."

"Letter? What let—?"

"The eh…" Kate gestures towards the folded sheet that he's unaware he's also holding.

"Oh, this?" he asks, immediately offering the white piece of paper to her, holding it out fully expecting to have to relinquish it to her care.

But Kate holds up both hands and shakes her head. She rubs her arms and lets her gaze drop to the floor.

"Okay. Look, I can put these right back in here and we can just…"

Castle busies himself placing the notebook and letter into the box, and then he fishes the lid up off the floor, carefully settling it back on top.

"There," he says, tapping the lid with satisfaction he musters from somewhere deep inside. "All gone."

"Castle? What are you doing?" asks Kate, tugging her short robe tighter around her, feet moving, shifting her weight from side to side.

"Putting everything back. You said—"

"I meant I thought I could let you do this alone. But…I can't. It's not fair and some of it is out of context…unclear. I don't want you to…to misconstrue…or—"

Kate runs a hand down over her face. Her make-up is gone, her skin wiped clean, and she looks younger without it, vulnerable even. Castle has never seen her looking so exposed before – it's both painful and unbearably intimate at the same time.

"Right." 'I see', he wants to say, only things are turning even weirder and he really doesn't see at all.

"How much have you read?" Kate gnaws at her lip while she waits for him to reply. She has dark circles smudging the skin beneath each eye and her hair is drawn back into a ponytail that she has gathered low on one side of her neck. Ringlets tangle round one another and the whole braid of curls lie over one shoulder.

"A few pages. I—I skipped ahead," Castle confesses, eyes finally meeting hers to gauge her reaction.

Kate laughs quietly, her tone hollow and self-depreciating. "Not exactly a page turner, is it?"

"That's not it. Don't—no…no, I didn't mean…"

"It's okay, Castle. I'm not offended. I know it doesn't come anywhere close to any of your writing for compelling storytelling or skillful use of language," she jokes, thought they both know her attempt will fall flat. The content of the journal is too heartbreaking and raw to ever be the subject of a joke; even one made by its own author – by her.

"Don't, Kate. Please. I feel like an idiot as it is."

"Why?" Kate genuinely seems puzzled by this remark.

"Why? Because when you came to find me at that book signing…I walked away from you, shunned you. And I felt so goddamned justified at the time…so righteous in my own hurt feelings. And then I read this and…" He shivers. Shakes his head. "I had no idea."

"Look…it's late. You look cold." Still her concern is for him tonight. Even after she has made herself the vulnerable one. She has no concern about reclaiming her dignity or hiding that weak part of herself she's just revealed to him, it seems, content that he's still able to look at her and see her stripped down as she is now – no artifice, no hiding place. Just plain, honest truth.

"Yeah," he says gruffly, shoulders slumping. "Tomorrow. Maybe we can talk more then?"

Kate looks over her shoulder towards her bedroom and then she turns back to face him, a strange kind of reluctance on her face that is more about her than about him; about what she's going to suggest and what he'll make of it.

"Actually, I…can't sleep. I was going to make tea. Chamomile, if you're interested. We could take it next door...to bed and talk some more if you want."

Castle stares at her, a surprised, uncomprehending look on his face that knits his forehead into a frown.

"I just…I mean it's warmer in there," she adds haltingly, thumbing over her shoulder in the direction of her bedroom. "But if you'd rather not…I understand. I—I'm not pushing. This is…" She breathes slowly and deeply, steadying her voice, which has started to waver. "I'm just tired, exhausted, I think. Feel free to ignore me," she tells him, coiling the curl of her ponytail around her finger and tugging on it.

Castle is awake and sober enough now to grab what she's offering him and accept it for what it is. "No. No. Sounds good. I can't sleep either, so..." he shrugs.

"Okay, good. Then why don't you go on in. Get settled and I'll bring the tea."

"Fine," he says, giving her a quick, grateful smile.

"Don't forget your pillows," she reminds him, gesturing to his unmade bed on the sofa. "You can take the journal with you if you want…or not—"

"Can I read the letter?" he asks, staring at the box lid as if he has the power of x-ray vision.

"It's really your letter, Castle. I'll leave you to decide."

Kate withdraws, quickly heading to the kitchen to make them tea, and Castle is left hovering over the decorative box with his palms itching. Eventually he just dumps the pillows on top, lifts up the whole thing and carries it off down the hall towards her bedroom.

Something about all of this…well, actually, lots of things about all of this feel wrong. He wishes he'd been wearing an undershirt beneath his dress shirt today for starters, since all he has on now is his underwear, and he feels hideously underdressed for whatever serious discussion is about to take place in Kate's bedroom.

He hears the hollow, echoing rush of water tumbling from the faucet into Kate's old, red kettle, drumming against the base, and then the metal clang as she deposits it on to the stovetop burner. The ignition clicks as she turns the burner knob to light the gas, and then she leaves the kettle to warm, fetching mugs and teabags from her cabinets to keep busy in the meantime.

Castle hovers by the bedroom door watching her work until she catches him, stops what she's doing, waves a hand at him in a shooing, dismissive manner, urging him to go on into the bedroom. He does as he's told since it seems inadvisable not to, but having her permission to enter her private space doesn't make it feel any less awkward or strange.

He's standing just inside the doorway looking around her feminine, stylish bedroom, which is lit by one single bedside lamp, still holding onto the box and pillows, when Kate appears behind him on silent, cat-like feet.

"Castle, when I said—"

"Jesus, Beckett!" he exclaims, dumping pillows to the floor and almost dropping the box in the process when he jumps at the sudden sound of her voice. "Way to give a man a heart attack."

"Sorry. I thought you'd hear me coming."

"Your feet are bare…" he says, mesmerized by her navy blue nail polish all over again as she stoops to pick up the pillows from the floor, "…and you have the stealth of a ninja, Detective."

Kate smiles, gazing up at him through her dark lashes a little bashfully, a little…flirtatiously even. Then she takes the box from him and puts it down at the bottom of the bed.

"I have a t-shirt that should fit you somewhere in here," she says, ignoring his histrionics. She goes over to a large black dresser and opens one of the drawers, rifling through neatly folded piles of clean laundry.

Castle stands stiffly in the center of the room, swiveling his eyes left and right to take everything in, while trying to make it look as if he's being casual, not studying her bedroom at all.

"You can look, you know," she tells him, with her back still turned. "I don't mind."

"How—how do you even…? Oh, look, don't bother telling me. It's gonna be some 'Castle, I'm a detective thing', isn't it'?"

Kate laughs. "Am I boring you? Getting a little predictable?" she teases, as she turns around holding out a dark grey t-shirt to him.

You? Boring, he thinks, but he only gets so far as to shake his head, deciding to keep his thoughts to himself for once.

He's more aware of his near nakedness than ever all of a sudden with the t-shirt Kate is holding out to him dangling there in the space between them.

"This Josh or…Demming's?" he asks, before he can think to get a grip on his jealous thoughts or maintain some control over his runaway mouth.

"No. Mine, actually. NYPD issue. Some Human Resources drone gave me the wrong size and I never got around to returning it. I use it to sleep in sometimes."

Her last remark does nothing to help him at all. Nothing. Zero. His brain is going places it shouldn't and his skin is getting warm and he's sure his face is flushed.

"Just put the shirt on, Castle," she tells him, pressing the soft cotton against his stomach on her way to the door when the whistling sound of the kettle suddenly pipes up, shattering the quiet in her apartment.

The cool of her fingertips touch his ribs at the points where she misses the shirt and makes contact with his bare skin instead, and he flinches, abdominals contracting at the light, not unpleasant sensation.

Thoroughly pleasant would actually be a more accurate description of her touch, but he's supposed to be mad at her. She lied to him and now he's in her bedroom as if they do this all the time, and why don't they do this all the time, he wonders, quickly pulling the t-shirt over his head. Her scent is on the shirt, just like the blanket, probably from her fabric softener – a delicate, floral mix of lavender and vanilla – and it makes his eyes water with tears. Not from the fragrance, but from the familiarity; how unique to her that smell seems to him, reminding him that he was walking away from her tonight until she showed up in that bar and dragged him back home with her. How tenuous their link would have become if he'd chosen to let go, broken it, left.

"Here you are," he suddenly hears, the door creaking open behind him. Kate comes in carrying two mugs of tea and a plate of cookies. "Shirt fits, I see," she says, placing her own mug and the cookies down on her side of the bed.

Her side?

Castle looks down at the t-shirt stretched just a little snugly over his chest. He tugs at the hem. The NYPD shield distorts a little when he pulls at it.

"Hey," she says, nudging him gently as she passes him a cup of tea, "I sleep in that. Don't stretch it."

"If you're so attached, I can always take it off again—"

Castle abruptly stops speaking and coughs guiltily. They both stare, neither of them able to believe what he just said. An awkward beat passes, then two.

"Sorry, I think I must still be drunk," he blathers on, accepting the mug of tea with a wince.

He's grateful when Kate lets his leering, suggestive remark slide by without comment.

"How's your head? Need more Advil?"

"How about strychnine? Got any of that?" he jokes, face deadpan.

Kate laughs. "Nope. Strongest I've got is Advil. Had enough meds to last me a lifetime after— Well, you know," she shrugs, watching Castle's face tense. "So, more Advil or tough it out?"

"Maybe later. Think I'll try the tea first. See if that helps."

Kate lifts the pair of pillows Castle brought through with him but got no further than dumping on the end of the bed and she carries them round to the other side. She props them up against the headboard, plumping them briefly in a heart-wrenching display of care and domesticity. Then she trails past him again, rounding the bottom of the bed to head for her own side without touching him at all.

When she sheds her robe, the air shoots out of Castle's lungs. She's wearing tight-fitting grey cotton shorts and a black tank top. Her legs and the rest of her are well defined in soft, cotton jersey that leaves little left for him to imagine, not that he hasn't already - thousands of times. For once the writer doesn't know where to look.

Kate gets into bed, settling under the covers with a quick shiver, while Castle stands rooted to the spot like a moron. She lifts her mug, blows on the surface of her tea and then takes a sip. Only after she's done these things does she look at him.

"Are you going to stand there all night or…"

"This is not where I expected to end up tonight," he explains, holding the mug in one hand, the other dangling limply by his side.

"Me neither," concedes Kate, smoothing the covers over her lap. "But maybe it's better than the alternative?"

"What's the alternative?"

"Leaving you in that bar or…or not even going there in the first place. Letting this go, I suppose."

"This?"

"You and me." Kate looks at him steadily with some newfound directness that Castle finds himself admiring and puzzled by in equal measure, because he doesn't know how or when she managed to come by it.

You and me - he doesn't know what to say to that. So he walks to the side of the bed he's refusing to think of as 'his' - though at home it would be his – and he sees this as just another painful sign from the universe that they are being endlessly nudged towards one another.

He peels the covers back and climbs in.

Sitting in bed beside Kate Beckett, leaning back against the headboard with a cup of chamomile tea in hand – he suddenly feels as if they've fast-forwarded years to some future world where they are comfortable with this level of intimacy, at ease and in tune with one another. It's as if they've morphed into late middle age at warp speed down some cosmic black hole.

"Tea's good," Castle comments inanely, unable to stand the silence after a while.

Kate blows on her mug again, hands cupped around the porcelain. He can't see the wicked smile that forms on her face right before she says: "I had no idea how steep a nosedive the quality of your small talk would take when you got drunk." But he can hear the smile in her voice.

Castle grimaces. "Technically, I'd say I'm probably hungover by now. But thanks for the ego boost, Beckett."

"Oh, I don't think you need any help in that department from me," she assures him, with a playful nudge.

"Tonight…I'm not so sure."

The tone in his voice – exhaustion and dejection – makes her turn to look at him.

"Sorry. Sorry, I'm being flippant."

"No. No, you're just trying to be normal. I get it. Don't apologize. I'm the one who's being a killjoy."

"Mmm, and why is that?" teases Kate, still trying to move them forwards, away from the pain and the misery and the lying.

"Honest truth? I'm still trying to get my head around some of the things I read in your journal. You sounded so lonely, Kate."

"Yes," she nods, matter-of-factly. "Some days I was, particularly after my dad left. But even when he was there…he…he wasn't who I was used to having around. It wasn't his fault, Castle. He just wasn't what I needed…" she finishes, hazarding a meaningful glance in Castle's direction.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asks bluntly, the question he has wanted an answer to all summer, the question he still doesn't feel he ever got a full explanation to.

"I told you…I was scared."

"Kate, I read your journal. You wanted me there. You wrote these heartbreaking entries wondering why I wasn't beating a path to your door as usual or at least calling or writing to you. So why didn't you just text me or pick up the phone? I would have come immediately, dropped everything. I could have been there the very same day. You must have known that I would do anything for you, after all this time...after—"

"After you told me you loved me?" asks Kate, swiveling in bed so that she can look at him.

Castle just nods, his facial muscles tense and tight, his eyes dark and hooded in the dim bedroom light.

"I know…I know you would have," she acknowledges quietly, her voice soft and soothing.

"So? Why do nothing, hmm? Why let me go on thinking that you didn't want me in your life anymore? You must have suspected that I thought you were happy with Josh, that he was there with you, looking after you…wherever…"

"I'm sorry."

"Not good enough. I need more than sorry. I need to understand."

Kate nods and then carefully sets her mug aside. She tugs the covers higher around her chest to keep warm before she looks at him.

"I hated being so incapacitated. In the beginning it was all I could do to hold the damn pen. I didn't want you to see me like that."

"So you were willing to let me go on thinking that you'd moved on with your life rather than…what? Show a little weakness?" He sounds hurt and angry.

"I know it sounds stupid now."

"Oh, no, it doesn't just sound stupid. It sounds selfish and prideful, which is far worse. You forced us both to suffer alone, Kate. You think I wasn't lonely in the city? You think I wasn't missing you like hell? I watched you die in that ambulance, then I got to see you once in hospital and then you were gone. You might as well have been dead, God forgive me."

Castle scrubs both hands down over his face, hating himself for getting so angry with her again, but needing to get all of this out in the open once and for all so that she understand exactly what she did to them.

"I know why you're angry. And if I could take it back, make different choices…"

"Only you can't. None of us can change the past, you know that."

Kate nods slowly again, acknowledging the truth of his statement. "Then read the letter. Maybe it will help. I don't know. But at this point I'm willing to try anything."

Kate sets her tea aside and crawls to the bottom of the bed to fetch the letter from inside the box. Castle tries to avert his eyes from her as she bends over the box - her pert rear, the backs of her tan thighs and the alluring call of her narrow hips and the long, elegant slope of her back all taunting him.

"Here," she says, handing him the folded sheet of paper, and he sees the instant she catches the flash of desire in his eyes, since there's nothing he can do to hide it. "I should have sent this to you when I wrote it, but I was too much of a coward back then. Too fragile and messed up. I didn't know how to ask anyone for anything, least of all you."

"Why me? I tried to be there for you, Kate, always…" he says, with abject frustration.

"Just read the letter, Castle. Read it," she says, covering his hand with her own and giving it a quick squeeze of encouragement. "I'll take the cups to the kitchen, give you a minute."

As soon as Kate leaves the room, he unfolds the sheet of lined writing paper and begins to read.

Castle,

By now you have probably realized that I'm not going to call as I promised I would, and I'm so sorry about that. I am. Truly. You deserve better, from me of all people.

This is my third attempt at composing this letter. I've been writing it in my sleep, trying hard to find the right words to give to a wordsmith in lieu of anything real, substantive, when I know you need so much more than just words from me. You don't make it easy. I know I'm failing you already, Castle.

I want to tell you to forget me, to move on with your life, to find someone special, someone normal, so you can be happy. Because you of all people deserve to be happy. But I can't. I can't because I am selfish and a part of me - a wicked, weak part - hopes that you will wait for me. I've put you through so much over the years, placed you in so much danger, held you at a distance. I've taken you away from your family, and I'm sure I've set you at odds with your mother and daughter at times too, and still I can't bring myself to let you go.

What kind of love is that? What kind of selfish, twisted person does that make me? I'm almost glad you're not here to answer that, because I know that if we were being this honest with each other, there is no way you would let me off the hook anymore. You see through me in a way that no one else ever has. As muddy as you think the picture is, you see me clearer than anyone, Castle.

Anyway, this letter wasn't suppose to be so full of self-pity, wasn't supposed to highlight my failings and weaknesses – you already know so much more about those than you probably recognize. What I have realized, being out here by myself, is how much I miss you, how much I'd come to count on you being in my life – just being there day-in-day-out, bringing me coffee with a smile and a perspective on life and my work that's so much lighter and so much healthier than I've been able to bring to my own life for a very long time.

You see I wasn't always this dark, this closed-off and guarded. I don't know what you would have made of me before my mother was murdered, but I believe we would have hit it off back then. Only it wouldn't have been a slow burn like the last four years of our time together. No careful dance or words left unsaid, feelings mired in subtext. It would have been explosive, instant, a shower of pyrotechnics quickly used up, I suspect. And for that reason alone – the prospect that we might have soared and then crashed and burned so quickly – I am glad that I met you when I did. I'm glad we're taking the long road to one another, even if it is intolerably difficult and painful at times. I only hope you can agree.

The silence here is deafening some days, alone with my thoughts, slowly going crazy, and I need you with me now like never before. Only I can't bring myself to ask because I know you'd drop everything to be here and I have so little to offer you in return. I can't bear to have you see me in this weak, pitiful state, to see my pain reflected back in your beautiful blue eyes. I wish just once I'd told you how attractive you are to me, Castle, how handsome your face, in case I never get another chance.

If things get too dark, I promise I will mail this letter, asking you to come. But for now I'm going to fight on by myself, even though I know it's not what you would want. I'm going to go on getting stronger, getting better, trying to make myself whole again so that when we finally meet it will be as equals, and you will see from the light in my eyes how I feel about you, instead of this darkness and fear I'm carrying around inside of me today.

Someday soon I want to be able to say to you: "I heard you, Castle, and I want you too, if you still want me." That's really all I'm hoping for; the goal that drives me day-to-day through loneliness, these damned physio exercises and sidesplitting pain.

Until that day comes, know that you are never far from my thoughts.

Always,

Kate x

By the time Castle puts the letter down on top of the bed his eyes are swimming with tears. He sniffs, wipes his nose on the back of his hand and then looks around Kate's bedroom for a box of tissues.

"Here," says Kate, suddenly snatching a couple of Kleenex from a box on the dresser by the door, startling him.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough."

He sniffs again, blows his nose and scrunches the tissues up into a tiny ball. Kate holds up a wicker wastepaper basket and Castle shoots the tissues right in.

"Is there anything you're not good at?" she asks, referring to the basket he just scored, trying to distract him from the emotion of the letter, to give him time to recover.

"Caring for you, apparently," he says, in a tone so flat that it feels as if he just slapped her across the face.

"Castle, you've never failed me. Never. Not once when I needed you were you not there, willing to sacrifice everything to help me."

He holds up the letter and waves it in the air. "This says differently."

Kate looks stunned. "H—how do you figure that?"

"You needed me then, Kate. All those weeks...and I never came."

"You didn't know. That's not your fault. I never called. That was my choice."

"I was supposed to know. I was supposed to know instinctively. That's what I do, Kate. That's how it's always worked for us. I barge my way in even when you say you don't want my help. Only this time, when you really needed me, I was off being a self-absorbed, pathetic pain in the ass back at home, while you struggled on in abject loneliness by yourself. I read this letter and I hate me. God only knows why you came looking for me at all that day. Some friend I turned out to be."

"Please just stop and think about this for a second," Kate implores him. This is not the reaction to her letter she was hoping for or expecting.

"What's to think about? Hmm? All this time I've been blaming you for abandoning me, for cutting me out of your life, when I was the one who let you down."

"No. No, Castle, stop. This isn't helping. Blaming yourself…? I made the choice, right or wrong, to go and hide myself away while I recovered. None of that is on you."

"But letting you indulge in such craziness is."

For once Kate can't find it in herself to be offended by his inference that he knows better.

"I'm not a child," she replies calmly.

"Maybe not, but you needed help and I should have figured that out."

"You thought I was with another man."

"Never stopped me before," he throws back at her.

"This is getting ridiculous. I won't have you blame yourself for my decisions."

"Then we'll just have to agree to disagree," he says, stubbornly.

"Look, it's 4am. We're both exhausted. How about we get some sleep? Things will look better in the morning. I promise we can talk more then."

"You really think you can sleep?" asks Castle, still steamed up from arguing, from reading her letter and facing the factual adjustments he's having to make to the truth as he knew it: those three months apart now turned completely on their head.

"I can if you can." Kate's words are like a challenge thrown down.

They stare at each other, then Castle throws the covers back and goes to get back out of bed.

"I can sleep on the sofa. Give you space."

Kate reaches out and lays her hand on his arm before he can completely escape.

"Castle, don't you get it? I don't want space. I've had all the space from you I can stomach. Please? Let's just lie down and get some sleep. I promise you can ask me anything you want in the morning."

He sits on the edge of the bed, his back turned to her, his ribcage expanding rapidly, in and out, breathing still labored from the anger seething inside of him at himself, and a little at her, at how stubborn and stupid they've both been, going through needless weeks and weeks of pain alone.

"Come on. Lie down," Kate says softly, smoothing her hand down his back. "Things will look different in the morning. Better. But first we both need to sleep."

Castle's shoulders finally slump as he gives in. He lies down in bed beside Kate, his back turned to her, the covers pulled up to his chin. His eyes are closed when she turns off the light, plunging him into even more absolute darkness.

"It'll be okay," he hears her say, before he feels her hand on his side, coming to rest at the dip of his waist, a light weight and warmth. "We've faced the worst of it, I promise," she whispers.

For now, Castle can't imagine what could be worse. All these months he's blamed Kate for shutting him out of her life, only to find out that she actually wanted him there, needed him with her all along, and was too proud to ask for his help. It's cutting him to the quick to think that if he'd only pushed, gone after her, things could have been so different for them today.

But then a momentary calm comes over him when he realizes that they are still here; as dark as today has gotten, as far back as they have dragged themselves, as deep as the lies have cut, neither of them are running. They're sharing the same bed, they're still talking, Kate has opened up to him more than ever before – these facts have to count for something, if only he will let them.

The last thing he remembers is the creak of mattress springs, the hushed rustle of a warm body moving closer beneath soft sheets, and then the light pressure of Kate's cheek coming to rest against his spine as she wraps her arm more snugly around his middle.

Seconds later he succumbs to asleep.

TBC... Same rules apply as at Christmastime I'm afraid. Not sure how quickly I'll be able to update, but rest assured I'll keep working on it when I can. Love to hear your thoughts, as always. Happy New Year, if I'm not back with a new update before then. xx