Author's note: A brief chapter, but no shorter than it needs to be. They've been dancing around this and hurting each other for long enough. I think it's time they started to heal.
Beckett pushed herself away from the kitchen counter when she heard the knock at the door, quickly crossing the floor to the entranceway.
There was a mirror on the side wall and she glanced into it, rearranging a strand of hair, then she took a breath and opened the door.
Castle stood on the other side, with a cup holder containing two coffees in one hand, and a bag in the other.
"Bear claws," he said, lifting the bag slightly.
She gave him a small smile, and stepped aside to allow him to enter.
He walked over to her couch and put the cup holder and bag down on the coffee table, then shrugged off his jacket.
You can do this, Kate, she thought, walking slowly across the large open area to join him. He had already sat down at one end of the couch, and she chose a nearby armchair. He handed her one of the coffees.
"Thanks," she said, looking at him apprehensively as she took a sip of the hot liquid.
"As promised," he replied, blowing on his own coffee before setting it down on the table.
"How was lunch?" she said, hoping that the dread she was feeling wasn't apparent in her voice.
He looked across at her, reading the emotions on her face easily. A lot less guarded than usual, he thought. It was as unsettling as it was welcome.
"Fine," he replied. "We talked about some stuff."
Beckett nodded, looking down at the coffee cup she had clasped in her hands.
"Are you going to see her again?"
He raised an eyebrow, and she saw it when she risked a quick look up at him again. She flushed, and dropped her gaze.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I've got no right to ask."
"No, you don't," he said quietly, still watching her, and he saw the tension all through her body. He paused for a few seconds before he spoke again. "But you could."
Her eyes snapped up to look at him again, and he could see that she wasn't sure what he meant. He sighed.
"You asked me here to talk, Kate," he said, and she nodded slowly.
He could see how much she was struggling, and how far outside her comfort zone she was, but she was putting words together in her mind nonetheless.
Please don't kiss her, his mind said, recalling her words on the phone that morning, and he felt a burst of mixed hope and pity.
"Children," he said suddenly, and she blinked. Her mouth opened to ask a question, but she didn't manage to speak before he did.
"Kyra and Greg are thinking about starting a family. He's having cold feet. She just wanted to talk to somebody she could trust, and I'm a father too. That's what it was about."
She swallowed, her mind racing as it processed the information.
"I told her I was coming to see you afterwards. I said we were going through a rough patch too."
"Oh," Beckett replied, feeling her cheeks flush. "What did she say?"
"She said I should listen to what you have to say, and that maybe you'd need some help saying it."
She felt ashamed. Ashamed of the conclusions she'd jumped to about Kyra, ashamed that the other woman had tried to help, and ashamed that she was still having trouble opening up to him.
"I was wrong about her," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She looked up at him, he tilted his head to one side in agreement. His eyes were fixed on the coffee cup in front of him.
"Maybe it would help if you start at the end," he said, and she frowned. As if sensing her confusion, he added "The last thing you said to me on the phone this morning."
She closed her eyes, feeling her pulse hammering in her chest.
"I'm sorry," she said. He looked up sharply.
"Sorry for saying it?"
"I didn't have any right to–"
"Damn it, Kate, stop saying that. We're a long way past what we've got a right to do or not. You did say it, and I'm giving you a chance to tell me why."
And if you're not going to do that, then I made the right choice two weeks ago, and we're done.
She heard the subtext along with the words, and a tear slipped from the corner of her eye. Set set her cup down and wiped at her cheek. After a moment, she looked across at him, and he looked straight back at her.
His expression was stormy, but not all of it was anger. There was pain there too, and such frustration, like he was watching a loved one destroy themselves and was powerless to intervene.
And isn't that exactly what this is? she thought. He's pulling away not just because it hurts him too much when I keep him waiting, but also because he can't watch me do it to myself anymore.
Her eyes widened. The wall inside her; always the wall. She searched inside herself for its familiar coldness and solidity, the barrier that stood between her and anything that could truly hurt her. She easily found the place where it had stood for so many years, but as she looked across at him, his blue eyes burning into her, she felt something shift.
She looked down at the coffee again, seeing the room reflected in its surface. Another room, just like this one. Another her, and another him.
She blinked.
She heard a sigh, and she looked up to see Castle reach for his cup and then change his mind, withdrawing his hand.
He looked at her sadly, then shook his head. "I really thought… it seemed like you might finally be–"
He stood up, and looking all around her apartment before finally letting his eyes come to rest on her.
"I guess it just wasn't meant to be. I really wish I'd known that a year ago. Or more."
He picked up his jacket, folding it over his arm. There was silence for several long moments. When he spoke, he wasn't looking at her.
"I can't do this anymore," he said quietly. "I'm done, Kate. I'm out. Tell the guys… tell them whatever makes it easiest. And for what it's worth, I really hope you find a way to be happy."
He turned and walked slowly to the entranceway, lifting his hand to the door handle, then he paused.
"I love you, you know," he said sadly, without looking back. "I always would have."
The clock on the wall ticked five times before he turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped out. The door clicked softly shut behind him, and his footsteps receded and then were gone.
She blinked.
She heard a sigh, and she looked up to see Castle reach for his cup and then change his mind, withdrawing his hand.
No, she thought.
She stood up abruptly, and he looked over at her with a question on his face. She walked the few steps from the armchair to the couch and sat down next to him, turning to face him.
She reached out and took his hand, pulling it into her lap and looking down at it. She felt another tear trace down her cheek, but she made no effort to stop it.
"Kate?" he asked, and the gentle, concerned tone of his voice simultaneously broke and healed her heart.
"You asked about what I said when I called you this morning," she said. Her voice wavered around the edges but she didn't let it crack. She clasped his hand tighter, and after a moment she felt his fingers shift slightly, exerting the barest pressure on hers too.
It's so simple, she thought. So stupidly simple.
"You asked me not to kiss her," he said quietly. He could see the tears on her cheeks, and he barely dared to move.
She nodded twice quickly, and sniffed, still not meeting his eyes.
He could feel her pulse through her grip on his hand. Another long moment passed.
"Kate," he said quietly, "why?"
The clock on the wall ticked five times before she looked up at him, and his own breath caught in his throat.
Her smile was heartbreaking. It wasn't the widest smile she'd ever given him, and it certainly wasn't the happiest, but it was her. Open and true; hurt and hopeful; broken and mending – and without a barrier.
She opened her mouth to speak, and she didn't have to search for the words. They'd been there all along, waiting, behind a wall that turned out to be paper-thin and had crumbled at the first touch of her fingers.
She looked into his eyes, and willed him to understand.
"Because I'm in love with you."