Updating a day early as I'm working this weekend. Next update will be Monday, which works out nicely for the Monday Fanfic extravaganza. I'm publishing very early today, time wise, due to some fugly drama I'm dealing with at work and frankly I'm not sure I'll have time to do it before 5 or 6pm otherwise. I'd say 'enjoy' but this isn't a fun chapter, so I guess...sorry?

I'd like to remind you of the trigger warning regarding suicidal thoughts/plans for this chapter.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Every mark of the next second came too fast. The time between, that was what she craved. Time spent apart from the rest of the world. Time spent separated from the pain.

She was so cold. Each movement threatened to fracture her into shards, as if she were the banana her chemistry professor in college had dipped in liquid nitrogen, and then had shattered by dropping it onto the tile floor. Once she splintered it would all be over. The prospect didn't terrify her. Instead, she wondered if by losing pieces of her then the hurt would disappear.

Perhaps, if she were able to be still long enough, the ice would completely solidify. In between the tick and the tock of the clock. But, despite being so still and quiet, she was still aware. The torment still burned within, enough of an ember to prevent her from fully freezing.

Looking up, she saw that he remained, waiting.

Watching her.

Taking cues from her body language. She'd said—shared—very little verbally, so far. Had only choked out the scene at the hotel, bad as it had been.

The rest—the worst—was yet to come. He had no idea. No clue that he was asking so much from her. Still, if telling him would release a little of the steam, it would be worth it. She could let go; find a way to be rid of this burden, this agony that tied her to him.

If Dr. Burke could teach her not to love, it would be worth all the money in the world.

"Was it an interesting case?" It was rare that she could outwait her psychologist, but it happened occasionally. And it had been an interesting case, or would have been if Castle hadn't congealed her by choosing to show up with that…that blonde…at the crime scene.

"Yeah, um, it was." Her voice was hoarse: croaky. She sounded like a Siberian frog. If there was such a thing. "It seemed like a straightforward robbery, at first glance, but the victim turned out to be a model." If only it had been a simple Jack killed Jill. But it hadn't been, and in the end it was complicated enough that it made everything that had happened much, much worse.

"I got to work with an agent from Scotland Yard. He knew the victim, and we soon discovered there was a lot more going on than was apparent."

"As your cases often do, Detective Beckett." He smiled warmly at her, but she couldn't return the gesture and his slowly faded. She'd hated this case, for so many different reasons.

Burke frowned, watching her. "But you found the killer? Solved it eventually?"

She nodded, unable to speak for the sudden lump in her throat. The first tear that fell gave more unwelcome evidence that she was still partially liquid inside. Burke leaned forward, handing her more Kleenex. She pressed a handful against her eyes, hoping that the pressure would staunch the flow as if it were a weeping wound.

"Kate, you told me that Mr. Castle came to the crime scene with a…date. And that you'd felt ready to finally talk to him, up until that moment. It would be difficult for anyone who wanted more from a relationship to be confronted with the person they want in their life dating someone else. You were feeling especially vulnerable at that moment, given your determination to talk to him. It must have been especially trying to work the case with him, under those circumstances."

Kate changed the now sodden tissue for more. She kept her eyes closed and curled tighter into her chair. If only dealing with Castle at the crime scene with his blonde flight attendant had been all.

"I—I asked him if everything was ok. He was so…distant. But I thought, ok, maybe if we just get through this case, then I can talk to him. Let his little…thing…with the blonde die out and then we'd have a chance to sort things out. But…" She looked up. Dr. Burke was looking at her with the same expression he always had: interested, compassionate, but no pity. No pity.

"But, I couldn't figure out how to connect it all together. We had a suspect, a high ranking member of the British Consulate. We thought he was having an affair with the victim, though it didn't make sense. And his fingerprints didn't match. It was so frustrating, and I felt like I was losing control. I just wanted to solve the case so I could talk to him, but I couldn't solve it."

"I saw the paper from a few days ago. A—um—Nick Windmark, or something, was arrested for illegal arms dealing? You must have put it all together at some point."

She laughed, a bitter broken sound that died the moment it escaped her lips. "I didn't solve it. D.I. Hunt didn't solve it. No one from the force solved it. No, the person who broke the case against Nigel Wyndham was none other than the blonde stewardess. I'm sorry, I meant flight attendant."

She'd surprised him. Not that it was obvious. But there had been a tiny wince, a slight shift of his body that betrayed him. If she hadn't been looking, she would have missed it. What did it mean when the recitation of events was bad enough to make your therapist blanch on your behalf?

"I don't understand. How was she part of this?"

"Castle, of course. " Her voice was a bitter, dry sound that she didn't even recognize anymore.

"How?"

How, indeed. A question she'd wrestled with for hour after sleepless hour. When had he started turning to flight attendants for advice? Turned away from her. When had she become superfluous? Not good enough for him? Taking a deep breath, she tried to explain the inexplicable.

"Well, it seems that Castle had taken a picture of a series of numbers and letters the victim had written down. We knew they were important, but no one could figure out how they fit in, or what they meant. Castle, being Castle, was sure they were a key—even when the rest of us had kinda given up on them. He'd gone to meet his…blonde…for lunch and showed them to her. Not the first time he's done that kind of thing—taken pics of the evidence, that is. As it turned out, she actually recognized them. They were a reference to diplomatic pouches, which are managed by the airlines. It broke the whole thing open, and led to the arrests you read about."

Another silence slithered out, though this one was short. She let him process the surprise of a stewardess solving the case. And not just any stewardess. Castle's stewardess.

"Well, that was quite helpful to know, I'm sure, but you would have solved it eventually."

The specter of a smile twisted her lips. "I'm not so sure. They were very careful, and none of us had any idea where to go once the fingerprints were a bust. We might have figured it out, but it would've taken a lot longer."

"But it's ended now. In the paper and all, like I saw. So, where does that leave you with Mr. Castle? Have you had a chance to talk?"

Kate hugged herself tighter, rocking forward and back. "I wanted to." Her voice cracked and she could feel the tears welling up again as she replayed his words in her head again. The very words that hadn't left her brain for the three days since he'd uttered them. "I asked him, right after D.I. Hunt left the precinct and we were alone, finally. I asked, and do you know what he said?"

She rocked harder, trying to escape the harsh words reverberating in her brain. Nothing, not even sleep, had helped her forget them.

"He walked past me, told me that he didn't have time. That Jacinda had the Ferrari double parked. I shouldn't have said anything more, but I was so hurt—I couldn't stop myself. I said something about how many dates they'd had. And he—he—he stopped and turned to me and asked, 'Why?' And I didn't know what to say. He'd made it clear through the last few weeks that we were nothing more than partners. That I wasn't good enough for him. I finally just said something about her not seeming to be his type. If you could've seen his face right then….it was like he got even colder, even more distant."

A sob escaped her throat, though how it got past the hard bulge constricting her windpipe was a mystery.

"And that's when he—when he said that she was fun and uncomplicated. That that's what he needed in his life. And I knew, right then…I knew. I'm anything but fun. And, God knows, I'm complicated." She paused, trying to convey what it had meant to Dr. Burke. She felt it, festering deep in her heart. She'd been too late. Far too late.

"He's done with me. It was his way of telling me. He's moved on, away from me, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to stop feeling this way."

"What is it that you feel?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm a mess."

Burke was looking at her, when she glanced up to see why he hadn't said anything. She hated this feeling—as though her very soul had been scrubbed raw. She glanced at her arms, half convinced she'd see blood dripping out of her pores. But no, that barrier still held. For now.

"I can guess, Kate. But it'd just be a guess. I'd like it if you'd tell me."

Her head was killing her, pounding in pain. Little to no sleep, nights spent crying and lying awake, listening to him reject her over and over. She just wanted to be left alone. Was that too much to hope for?

"Have you been eating? You look thinner than before."

She started, not having expected this kind of question. But, this was much easier to answer than how she felt.

"Yes. Some. A little, anyway. I've not felt like eating, to be honest. I feel sick, nauseous, most of the time and what little I manage often comes back up."

"What about sleeping?"

She just shook her head. He looked at her with a question that went unspoken and she found she couldn't stay silent. "I keep hearing what he said. Fun. Uncomplicated. It plays over and over and over in my brain. When I try to sleep, it just takes over. I feel like I'm drowning, that it's overwhelming me, and I can't resist. Can't pull myself up."

"You're overwhelmed?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Overwhelmed. I feel like I can barely function. All I hear is his voice. His rejection."

"Are you going in to work?"

"No." She looked him in the eyes once more, made sure he understood. "There's no current case, so Gates told me to stay home for a few days."

"Why would she do that?"

"I told her I was sick. Which, I am. At least when I eat. It's not a lie, exactly."

"That's fine, Kate. It's not a lie. I think you need to stay away from work, at least for now. You need to process this in order to start to heal, and burying it all in work is the wrong thing to do. It didn't help you when your mother died. This time it will be worse. We have to find you tools to deal with this."

"Deal with this?" She let out a dark chuckle. "Deal with the fact that even the man who said he loved me wants nothing to do with me? I'm toxic. No one with any degree of sanity would want me to be in their life."

"That's not true, Kate. You have a lot to offer, a lot to give—."

She interrupted before he could keep going. "My mother is dead. My father turned to alcohol rather than to me. My mentor is dead, my captain—a man like a second father to me—is dead. I only have one close friend, and I don't really let her in on what's going on in my head. And the man I—the man I love? He's dating a woman he met on a flight. At least he was honest when he told me what he wanted. Something that I can't give him, no matter what I do. Because, whatever you say, fun and uncomplicated have never, ever been used to describe me."

"Tell me what you feel," he prompted again. She sighed, deciding he wouldn't leave this alone until she complied.

"I feel sad. Sad that I've lost something that I never had. Seems stupid, but it's the truth." She looked off into the distance, looking out the window but not seeing anything. "I'm angry. Angry with him for telling me he loved me, then taking it back. But mostly angry at myself. For waiting too long. For not letting him know. Maybe it would have changed things. I don't know."

"You said you were overwhelmed, earlier."

"Yes. I just want to hide away and not come back. I can't imagine being able to face him, day in and out. Yet, the idea of not seeing him again is even more painful. I just want to stop loving him. Can't you teach me how to do that? How to turn it off?"

Burke shook his head. "I'm afraid there is no magical switch, Kate. But, I promise you that it will get better. With time. It takes time, and a willingness to talk about it."

Kate slumped at his words. It'd been a longshot.

"I need to ask you something, and I don't want you to misunderstand." He paused; waited for her to return her attention to him. "This is a question I often ask people who've been through as much as you have. Stress brings out a lot of negative emotions in people, as well as physical manifestations like you've noticed with the nausea and vomiting. Everything you're feeling is there for a reason, do you understand?"

She nodded, mildly curious as to where he was headed.

"People feeling overwhelmed cope in different ways. But I have to ask you, Kate: do you plan on hurting yourself?"

"Do you mean like killing myself? Suicide?"

"Yes."

Kate didn't answer right away. The hesitation seemed to answer, at least as far as Burke was concerned.

"Kate, what are you planning to do?"

"If I told you I had a plan, you'd just involuntarily commit me, wouldn't you?"

He regarded her steadily. "I'd do whatever I needed to in order to keep you safe. I have your best interests at heart—no one else's. Never forget that."

She dropped his gaze, unable and unwilling to let him see past her barriers at the moment. "I'll be honest," she started, speaking slowly. "I've thought about it. No more pain. It's an attractive thought. But, I don't have a plan. I know it's just a coward's way out. I've seen what has happened to some of the families of other cops who've eaten their piece. And even though I don't have much of a family, it's not something I'd put them through."

She looked up at him, hoping to see belief in his face. He just nodded at her, and relief clawed through her. At least this little piece of her life, her relationship with her therapist, was still working.

"If you ever feel that it's something that you might try, please call me. Or call this number," he wrote down a toll free number on the back of his business card and handed it to her. "This is a suicide hotline, and is staffed by people who will listen to you any time of the day or night. But, let's talk some more about finding some of the tools you're going to use to get better, ok?"

She took the card, running her thumb along the edge. If felt heavier than it should, but a good heavy. It grounded her; gave her a connection to the world that she hadn't had before.

She could do this. It would take Dr. Burke helping her. Would require hard work on her part. But it was possible.

Thank you for all the responses.