Author's Note: The first of two chapters revolving around 4x9 "Kill Shot," which I've written about before but I trust these next chapters manage to be different enough to be interesting. Fair warning, this is a somewhat heavy, emotional chapter. I only hope it's worth the long wait.

What Is Supposed To Be

Chapter 5

She sent him home.

She knew he hadn't wanted to leave her alone but she'd told him he should go check on Alexis and Martha, guiltily conscious that she was playing on his devotion to his family to avoid the questions, his concerns, that she didn't want to face, couldn't face.

She couldn't deal with it, couldn't handle his concern—his love—on top of everything else. She felt as if she were being held together by fraying threads and she simply couldn't handle anything else, anything more. She was barely holding it together, had nothing to give him right now.

It wasn't selfish—or at least not entirely so—she told herself. He hadn't signed up for this, hadn't known what he was getting into. He'd thought he was starting a relationship with the Beckett he knew, the indomitable detective with the sardonic ripostes and cool competence at work. The Beckett she was trying so hard to be again, to become. The person he said was extraordinary.

It wasn't fair to inflict her broken, damaged self on him now, now when she had to focus all she had just on getting through this case without falling apart. She had already snapped at him—unfairly, she knew.

But she couldn't do anything about it now. Later, when this case was over, when she was better, had papered over the cracks in her being, she would make it up to him. Make it up to him in all the ways she'd learned in just over 3 weeks of spending almost every night with him, being with him. She would make it up to him, she promised herself, not just physically, but with her smilies and her teasing and her closeness. She would. Later.

But not right now. Not when she felt nearly ready to crawl out of her own skin with nervousness, her heart jumping into her throat at every sound and at this point, she wasn't even sure if she was imagining some of them. Her hands were trembling slightly, she realized, and she clasped them together in a vain attempt to still them. She was fine, she told herself bravely. Her door was locked and bolted; she'd checked her entire apartment to be sure it was clear of anyone else.

The sound of a horn blasting outside made her start violently, falling into an automatic defensive crouch, making an immediate liar out of her. Oh god oh god. She felt too open, unsafe, crawled until she was out of the line of sight from any window. A window was no protection. She hadn't even turned on the lights because she didn't want people to see she was home.

Her hands were trembling, her breathing jagged and harsh in her own ears. She crawled over to her nightstand, retrieved her gun, almost fumbling with her shaky hands.

Wait. Get a grip, Beckett, she heard a warning voice in her head. Heard Montgomery's voice from years before during a training exercise at the shooting range: a gun doesn't give someone superpowers. It just increases the risk. It's a necessary tool for our work but don't let familiarity make you careless.

She put the gun down.

Another noise had her startling, panicked.

A drink, she thought. A drink would take the edge off. She made her shaky way out to her front room heading for the kitchen, for her liquor cabinet. But before she'd managed to do anything more than opening the cabinet door, a sharp crack had her stifling a shriek before she belatedly realized it had been a knock on the door. It came again and now, she recognized it for Castle's knock. And as if on cue, she heard his voice through the door. "Beckett, it's me. You there?"

She had told him to give her space, told him she was fine. Was he incapable of following directions ever?

The lingering adrenaline from her startle response abruptly switched focus, finding an outlet in anger. Anger strengthened, made her feel less broken, directed outward. She stalked to the door flinging it open.

"Castle!" she growled. "I thought I told you I needed some space tonight."

He didn't wait for an invitation—not that he really needed one anymore—just entered. "I came because I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know this case has—"

"Castle!" she cut him off. "I told you, go worry about Alexis and Martha. I'm fine. I'm dealing with it."

He narrowed his eyes, taking in her no doubt disheveled appearance. "Dealing with it how?"

She deliberately didn't look towards her liquor cabinet but he seemed to guess anyway. "You're not dealing with it at all, Beckett. What you're doing is avoiding the problem!"

"How would you know! You don't have the slightest idea what I'm going through right now!"

"I would if you'd just tell me!"

"Well, maybe I'm not ready to talk about it yet. Can't you give me some time to deal with things and not just barge in when I'm not ready and I don't want to talk!"

"The last time I tried giving you space until you were ready to talk, I didn't hear from you in three months."

She sucked in a breath, defensiveness fueling her anger now. "That's not fair. It's not the same thing at all. I almost died and I needed time to heal so I did and I came back. And just because I don't feel like talking everything out like you do doesn't mean I'm not dealing with it. I am and I just want some space so I can deal with things my own way! Just go home, go be with your family. They need you more."

"Alexis and my mother are fine," he retorted. "You are not. And if you think I'm just going to leave you to deal with this alone—"

"Who asked you!" she demanded, flaring up at him. "I told you I'm fine. Just because we're sleeping together doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do or what I need. I can—"

A siren pierced straight across her words, slashing at her nerves, and she gave a strangled shriek, dropping down. Sirens. Screaming. She couldn't, she couldn't. Oh god, it was happening again. They'd come for her. She couldn't breathe, clutched her chest, felt the burn of the bullet. Oh god oh god…

She was gasping, wheezing for breath. Couldn't hold herself up and felt herself toppling. And then she wasn't. She had tipped over into a person, felt gentle arms wrapping around her, gathering her in, holding her up. Heard a voice calling her name, telling her it was okay, she was safe, he had her. She knew these arms, that voice. Castle. The name broke through some of her haze of panic. Castle was here. He would help, stand with her. He always did. She knew little else at that moment, couldn't think to remember where she was or what had happened, but she did know that. He'd given her the single reason to want to smile when she was dying. And if he was there, she thought she might be okay, might make it through this.

And so she curled up against him, tucked into the safe haven of his body. Let the familiar tones of his voice soothe her, let the solid reassuring warmth of his body thaw the chill inside her. Breathed in his comforting scent along with oxygen.

She didn't know how long it was until reality, remembrance, began to creep back into her mind. Oh wait. She and Castle had been… fighting. (What had she said?)

She stiffened and managed to make herself sit up again. He shouldn't have to take care of her when he was angry. He was being kind, the sort of kindness that was too close a cousin to pity. She inwardly flinched. "I'm better now," she managed to say, stiffly, not able to bring herself to look at him. Too afraid of what she would see in his eyes. "You don't have to stay."

She heard him sigh. "Kate, don't do this again. I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't have to be so nice," she gritted out. "I know you're angry and probably want to yell at me and you'd be right. I was… I snapped at you. You don't have to—"

"You think I'm being nice? I'm doing this for myself. If anything, I'm being selfish."

Huh, what—how—the shock of the word, utter confusion, had her finally looking up at him. How could he—he was never selfish. Not when it came to her or anyone else he cared about.

"I'm staying because I want to. Because I can't even imagine trying to leave you right now. I'm staying so I can feel useful, so let me."

In some distant corner of her mind that was still functioning, she was aware that something was a little off about his reasoning but she was too fuzzy-headed, her mind not functioning properly, to work it out. And she was too shaken, felt too brittle, to fight anymore anyway. So she gave in, selfishly surrendering to her own exhaustion, her own need for him.

"Okay," she mumbled and let herself lean against him again.

He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her head down to nestle on his shoulder. "Okay," he agreed. "I'm right here, Kate."

She sagged into him. This was better, easier, she realized slowly. Not only because she felt safer, warmer, with him around, but because she could hear the steady thump of his heart against her ear. The reassuring rhythm of it gave her something to focus on, a distraction from the other noises. It made the world seem quieter. She could focus on the sound of his heartbeat, his breathing—and trust that he would warn her of any real threat. As he had in the cemetery.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she became aware of his gently nudging her. "Kate? Come on, Kate. Let's go to bed. It's getting late."

Her mind was sluggish but she recognized that he was right. They had a case. She needed to be better. She needed to sleep, if she could. She pushed herself creakily to her feet, as he got up with her, and made her way into her bedroom, conscious always of him walking beside her.

The routine actions of getting ready for bed somehow soothed her too and she felt almost normal again as she slid into her side of the bed, heard the quiet sounds of him stripping down to an undershirt and boxers before taking his side of her bed. She scooted closer and they settled into one of their usual positions, her head resting on his shoulder, snugly tucked into his side.

"Night, Castle," she sighed.

She felt him brush a light kiss to her forehead. "Good night, Kate."

And with his warmth around her, cosseting her, she slept.

Only to jerk awake some time later with a scream tangled in her throat, blood and crosshairs and snipers with rifles stalking the corridors of her mind, the sound of gunfire echoing in her ears.

"Kate?" he murmured, his voice a little rusty with disuse.

She didn't—couldn't—respond, couldn't find her voice in order to do so.

He seemed to understand, drawing her in closer against him so she was lying almost half on top of him, with his arms wrapped around her. "Kate, it's okay," he soothed, "I'm right here, you're safe. You're going to be okay."

She let out a shuddering breath, tucking her face against his throat. "Castle," she gasped. "Castle." It seemed like all she could bring herself to say.

"You're okay, Kate. You're going to be fine. Just breathe." He kept up with murmuring reassuring words and continued to hold her and slowly, she felt the panic recede, and eventually, drifted to sleep, lulled into it by the metronomic thump of his heart beneath her ear, his warmth cradling her.

The next time she woke up, it was still with a little start of disorientation but not panic, and even the initial confusion dissipated quickly once she opened her eyes. To see Castle. Oh.

He was sleeping on his back, his face turned towards her, as if even in his sleep, he was oriented to where she was. There was just enough pale gray light filtering in through her curtains for her to study his so-familiar face, his morning stubble, the faint lines around his eyes and his mouth that would probably become wrinkles years down the line, when she still wanted to be waking up beside him. (That was what was different too about this relationship with Castle; she'd never thought in terms of years when it came to any previous relationship, had only thought in terms of months, if that.)

The quality of the light told her it was still early. Also her alarm hadn't gone off yet. She guessed, although she didn't try to turn over to check the clock on her nightstand, that it was probably around 5. They had time.

She had managed to sleep, more soundly than she ever would have expected yesterday, and because of it, felt… better, her mind a little clearer. She didn't expect today would be an easy day and she wasn't exactly confident about her ability to get through it without incident but for now, at least, the nagging worry could rest a little.

But with a clearer head came memories of the night before, when she had… fallen apart.

She cringed at the memories. What had she said to him? How could she have done that? Shame licked at her. Not just at what she'd said but also at her own weakness. The weakness Castle had now witnessed firsthand when she had never wanted him to see her like that. He had seen her collapse into a panic attack, cringing from the mere sound of a siren outside. He had seen just how broken she was.

She remembered telling Dr. Burke weeks ago that she didn't expect Castle to think less of her if he knew—and for the most part, she didn't. And yet… In some corner of her mind, that wasn't quite true. She had only told Castle she was in therapy to help because she'd frozen at the sight of a gun, because of her wall. She had not told him everything, not about how she still sometimes woke up from nightmares sweating and shaking or the way she cringed and cowered at unexpected noises. She hadn't wanted him to see her like that, hadn't wanted him to know just how damaged she was.

Because, she realized belatedly, some corner of her mind did wonder, was afraid that he would think less of her because she thought less of herself. She hated her own weakness, hated her cringing, cowering self, hated the way she couldn't control her own mind or even her body anymore. He was as generous, as empathetic, as anyone in the world, she didn't doubt that, but how could he not think less of her to realize that the woman he always said was extraordinary, raised up on a pedestal as the kickass, unflinching cop, was really this cringing pitiful creature who couldn't even hear a siren without spooking?

She hadn't felt like she could deserve Castle until she wasn't so broken. But she had… ignored that, been selfish, in starting a relationship anyway because she hadn't wanted to risk missing their chance after the scare at the bank (she wasn't sure she'd be comfortable in a bank or letting Castle go to a bank again, or at least not for a while).

And now she'd lashed out at him simply because he'd been worried about her…

Why couldn't she stop doing things like that? Why oh why couldn't she stop hurting him?

And how could she ever deserve him if this was what she did?

As if her increasingly agitated thoughts had disturbed his sleep, Castle stirred restlessly and then after a moment his eyes opened, blinking a few times before his gaze focused on her. A small, sleepy smile curved his lips. "Kate," he mumbled, his voice scratchy with sleep—and she tried to ignore the sparks that shot through her at the huskiness of his voice. His sexy, sleepy voice. (Stop thinking about that!) Her resolve wasn't helped by the way he shifted towards her until he was snugly pressed against her from shoulders down, lazily nuzzling her ear. "Mm, hi," he murmured.

He was always like this in the mornings, she had learned, at least when he awoke naturally. Not that Castle was ever not affectionate, but when he was just waking up and still groggy, he was even more so, soft, cuddlesome. (There really was no other word for it.) She'd never been with anyone who liked to snuggle so much but what surprised her more was that she liked it. She usually wasn't the sort of person who liked to cuddle or linger in bed in the mornings but with Castle, sharing a bed with him, she was beginning to see that she might, after all, become more of that kind of person. Because it was nice to linger in the cocoon of their bed—his bed, usually, and oh god, how had she started to think of his bed as being theirs so soon?—surrounded by his scent and his warmth.

At least, it usually was. She wasn't relaxed enough to enjoy it now and after a couple seconds, he sensed it too, her tension transmitting itself to him. Or more prosaically, maybe it was simply that as he woke up more, he remembered the events of the night before.

He tensed a little and after a moment, scooted back, just far enough so he could see her face. "How are you feeling?"

Oh, she hated this, hated being the sort of weakling that brought this sort of worry to his—to anyone's but especially to his—voice. She tried to infuse her voice with calm. "Better. Steadier, I guess."

He nodded a little. "Good."

He seemed to be at something of a loss for anything else to say and she forestalled him by blurting out, "I'm sorry."

He blinked, a faint frown creasing his brow. "For what?"

"For… everything." She tried, and failed, to produce a rueful smile. "For the way I lashed out at you last night, what I said. For falling apart like that. I… didn't want you to have to see me like that, deal with my… issues."

He sighed and pushed himself to sit up. "You don't need to apologize, Beckett, but if we're going to have this talk, I think we both need coffee first."

Oh god. She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. She wondered when the prospect of a real, serious talk with Castle would stop being so terrifying but it hadn't happened yet. She was just… so scared of losing him, scared that he would decide she was too much trouble, scared that he would realize he could do better than her with all her issues and her darkness and her neediness.

She tried not to show it, hiding her face in her closet in a pretense of picking out her clothes for the day.

She heard Castle complete his morning routine and get dressed and then he was putting his hand on her shoulder, gently turning her around. She kept her gaze focused on his throat, nervous of what she would see in his expression, if he would be looking at her differently, treating her differently, after last night. But he touched his knuckles to the underside of her chin, nudging her face up so he could brush his lips lightly against hers. "Stop frowning, Beckett. I'm just going to get the coffee started."

A faint smile curved her lips almost in spite of herself. (Oh damn, it was really unfair how even the lightest kiss could make her mind go momentarily blank.)

The beginning of a smirk tipped up the corners of his lips and she knew he at least guessed at his effect on her but he didn't (for once) gloat over it, only left her room to start making the coffee while she tried to let the familiar actions of her morning ablutions calm her.

It wasn't entirely successful but when she emerged, having decided to wear a leather jacket that usually made her feel powerful, as additional armor, his reaction of slightly widened eyes helped.

"Hi. Hey. You look great." His somewhat fumbling response made her smile, for real, a little bit of the tension inside her loosening. His reaction, the way she still apparently could make him, the writer, the charming (former) playboy, lose all trace of suavity was reassuring.

"Thanks."

She accepted her coffee from him and after a moment, they each settled on her couch as opposed to her dining table. They didn't speak until they each finished their coffees, which wasn't that unusual for them but today, the silence wasn't a comfortable one. The very air felt thick with all that they needed to talk about. And usually they were touching in some way while they drank their coffees at home, sometimes with his arm around her or his hand resting on her thigh or with her leaning against him. Today, they weren't touching, sat on the couch side by side with a decorous distance between them.

She finished her coffee first, putting her empty mug down on the coffee table, followed shortly after by his finishing his own coffee.

He still didn't say anything and for once, she was the one who felt the need to break the silence. And maybe, after all, part of it was the thought that if her breakdown last night was going to change things, ruin things (oh god), it would be better to know, wouldn't it?

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, again. "For what I said, the way I… lashed out at you."

"You already apologized for that."

"I know but… you didn't get to be angry because of the way I… fell apart."

"I didn't want to be angry at you, Beckett, and it's really okay. It was just a fight." He shrugged a little although his expression wasn't quite as casual as the gesture. "It wasn't our first fight and I doubt it'll be our last."

She managed a faint smile at that. That at least was true.

"I didn't…" she blurted out, hesitated, and then finally repeated, for lack of any better way to explain herself, "I didn't want you to see me like that, last night."

"Beckett…" he sighed, shifting on the couch to face her more fully. "You keep saying that, that you didn't want me to see you like that, and I… Look, Kate, just answer me this, honestly—I'm a big boy, Kate, I can take it—did it help, yesterday, having me here? Did you want me to stay or were you just humoring me?"

She gaped at him for a moment. Had it helped, having him around? Could he really not know? "Yes, I—Castle, of course it helped. You always help. How can you not know that?"

He sat back and for the first time, it occurred to her that he looked tired, more, he looked a little dispirited. How much sleep had he gotten? Or had he spent most of the night awake? Awake and worrying about her. She tried not to flinch.

"How could I know it?" he countered her own question. "Beckett—Kate—I want to help you, be what you need, but I can't read your mind and it seems like every time you're hurting in any way, you hide, retreat like some burrowing animal."

She inwardly winced. It wasn't the most flattering comparison but she couldn't deny its truth. This last summer and even now, in spite of everything, she'd tried to hide. But what really stabbed at her was the hurt—no, more than the hurt, the defeat—on his expression. It was just so… wrong, so un-Castle-like. And she had done this to him, made him question whether she'd even wanted him to stay. God, why couldn't she get this right?

Tell me you need me. She suddenly remembered what he'd said to her that day at the bank, before everything had gone to hell. At the time, he'd meant it lightly enough, even if it had thrown her a little, and then with everything that had happened, they hadn't returned to it but she heard his voice in her mind again and this time, it occurred to her that he really needed the reassurance. She… forgot… or hadn't realized that Castle might have his own insecurities, just as much as she did.

She reached out and grasped his hand, holding it in both of hers. "Castle, no, you do help. You always help. I—I do need you, you know. You make things better."

Now a faint smile brightened his expression and parodoxically, she felt her heart break a little as she realized he really hadn't known. But then—his own question returned to her—how could he know? She didn't tell him. She had, she realized, developed a bad habit of believing that Castle understood her, knew her, well enough that she didn't need to tell him things directly, could stick to subtext. It was what she had done months ago, in their conversation at the swings about her wall, but she'd realized that subtext wasn't enough, not on its own. But she was still doing that, wasn't she, avoiding real honesty and the vulnerability that came with it. Because it was easier that way, as hard as it was for her to talk about personal things. She didn't admit to needing people—no, she didn't really let herself need people at all. Had fought against needing Castle, let alone admitting it, for a long time.

And maybe in a lot of ways, Castle did know her well, he did understand her, but he wasn't a mind reader. And no matter his usually cocky attitude, he had insecurities too. Oh. Oh wait. It occurred to her belatedly that in this, they weren't that different; he didn't reveal his insecurities or his weaknesses much more freely than she did.

"I need you too, Kate."

He needed her? She didn't know how or why he would but she wanted it to be true.

He tightened his grip on her hand, hesitated, but then finally went on, "But if you need me, if it helps having me around, why didn't you want me to see you last night?"

Oh god, they really were having a serious talk about all this, weren't they? She couldn't hold his gaze anymore, dropped her eyes. "I didn't… want you to see… how weak I am," she finally muttered, addressing her lap rather than him.

"Kate, you're the strongest person I've ever met," he refuted her immediately.

She choked on something like a watery, disbelieving laugh. "I don't know how you can still say that. You saw… everything, how I just… lost it. And I… didn't want you to see that, didn't want you to… think less of me."

He sucked in his breath. "Kate, I'm in love with you, don't you understand that?"

Oh. Oh god. For a moment, she swore her heart stopped and then started to bounce around in her chest as she jerked her eyes up to him. He'd said it again. He hadn't said the words before, not again, even in these last weeks. There had been a few times, moments, when she'd thought he might, thought she could see it in his expression, but he hadn't said the words. Until now. Even after he'd found out how damaged she was.

"I love you, Kate, just as you are, scars and all. And it seems like every day, you give me reasons to love you more."

She managed a watery, if somewhat incredulous, smile. "Really?"

He lifted his hand to cup her cheek gently. "Really. And you might still be healing from all that happened to you but it doesn't mean you're not strong. All it means is that you're human." His lips quirked into a faint, tender smile. "Stop blaming yourself for not being a superhero, Kate."

Dr. Burke had told her much the same thing, hadn't he? That her needing help to get over her shooting and her mom's death wasn't a reflection of her worth.

She had listened, maybe even accepted as much with her head, but it hadn't been so easy to convince her heart. Now, with Castle, seeing the love in his eyes, she started to believe it. Because he knew, had seen her at her weakest and her worst, and he wasn't looking at her any differently. He still looked at her as if she was extraordinary.

And somehow, that made it easier for her to go on, admit the other, bigger reason she hadn't wanted him to see her like that.

"It's not only that, Castle. I didn't want you to—you shouldn't have to deal with my issues. You shouldn't have to… be woken up in the middle of the night because of my nightmares. You shouldn't have to—"

"Stop it, Kate, I want to be there for you. I want to be woken up when you have nightmares."

She sniffed, giving a wobbly attempt at a smile. "You're always so good to me, Castle, but you shouldn't have to take care of me just because I'm such a wreck. It's not fair to—"

"I don't need protection from you, Kate," he interrupted her. "You keep saying that I shouldn't have to do anything to help you as if you're forcing me or taking advantage of me. Believe me when I say that I've been taken advantage of in a relationship and that is not what you're doing. You're not some sort of parasite and this isn't a competition where what's good for you, what helps you, automatically hurts me. You seem to think that just because you want me around, if you allow yourself to rely on me even a little, it's unfair to me in some way. But that's not true." His tone softened. "Do you have any idea what it does to me to know that you're hurting and that I can't do anything to help?"

That was what he'd said last night too. She hadn't really taken it in, had rather thought he was trying to turn the situation on its head, to make himself out to be the needy one in order to forestall an argument from her (which wasn't wrong). But now that she was clearer-headed, she really stopped to think about it. More, she remembered what it had felt like when he was held hostage in the bank, in those times of enforced inaction when everything in her had wanted to simply force her way into the bank and get him and Martha out, but she hadn't been able to.

And she heard his voice in her head from a couple months ago. I watched you die in that ambulance… do you have any idea what that feels like…

She knew what it felt like to have nightmares about him dying. Nightmares where she could not do anything to save him.

Oh god. She hadn't thought about it like that, hadn't really put herself in Castle's shoes. And part of that, to her shame, was because Castle hadn't hid his emotions from her in the same way she had. He had stayed; he hadn't left her to wonder and worry.

"Look, Kate, in all the time that we've known each other, the thing that has hurt the most has been knowing that you were hurt or sad and that I couldn't do anything to make you feel better." Shadows flickered across his expression, no doubt of memories of this past summer when she had shut him out and hurt him. And, she suddenly thought, there must have been other times even before this last summer, times in the last year when he'd wanted to help her, do more for her, and he hadn't let himself, she hadn't allowed it.

She couldn't hide anymore, could she? And what purpose did it serve, to try to deny that she needed him around, try to get through things without him, when all it did was hurt him and make things harder for her? What it did to her hardly mattered but she couldn't knowingly hurt him. She needed to do better.

"You said that you wanted to be with me, so be with me. Let me in, Kate," he added quietly, a note of entreaty in his voice.

Something like a sob erupted from her—she wasn't even sure why—and she threw herself forward to land against his chest.

"I do want to be with you, Castle, but I told you I'm bad at this. I messed up, I'm sorry, but I do need you. I do," she found herself almost babbling into his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her, tugging her in until she was almost sitting on his lap. "It's okay, Kate. We're okay. We're going to be great. We already are great together."

She managed a shaky little laugh. "Great, huh, Castle?"

He drew back just enough to look at her, pasting on an expression of mock surprise. "You don't think we're already great? Amazing, then? Marvelous, incredible, phenomenal, mind-blowingly awesome?" he suggested, making her giggle in spite of herself at the flood of adjectives. (Damn, the man really could make her giggle.)

His lips curved into a small smile. "There, that's better."

"What's better?"

"You're smiling," he noted. "I like it when you smile," he added, suiting action to the words by kissing her smiling mouth.

He drew back slowly, dropping a teasing kiss on the tip of her nose as he did so. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Easy for him to say. She felt as if she'd been through an emotional wringer.

He caught her skeptical look and clarified, "We're still here, still together, and stronger than ever."

Well, that was true too. Especially given all her nebulous fears at the start of this conversation. And it was important, she knew, that they could have this sort of conversation.

"Fair point," she conceded, managing a faint smile.

"I'm going to go home, check on Alexis and my mother, and then I'll see you at the precinct in a little while, okay?"

He pushed himself to his feet and she followed beside him to her door, stepping into him to wrap her arms around his waist. "Thank you, Castle."

"Always, Kate."

He kissed her again, briefly, and then he was gone, leaving her to close her door after him, and then turning to lean back against it for a moment.

Her eyes wandered, only to freeze on the clock in the kitchen, stunned to realize that it was still early, barely after 7. She hadn't thought about it but if asked, she would have said that they'd been awake for many hours. It seemed incredible that this cataclysm of a conversation could have taken place over not more than an hour or so and yet, it had.

And she needed to leave for work. She pushed herself away from her door, moving to pick up their mugs and take them to the kitchen.

They were still in the middle of the case, had a sniper to catch. She expected it was going to be another long, difficult day—but she realized, as she got ready to leave, that she felt… better, a little stronger. She didn't kid herself that she was fixed or even close to being her best but she did feel more put together, the fraying threads around her composure reinforced by Castle's words, his love. And for the first time, she thought she might actually be able to get through this case.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Thank you all for reading and reviewing.