A/N: Prologue to Chapter 1.

OOOOO

He shows up empty handed. It feels wrong. He should have something to offer; wine, Chinese food, a pretense, something. But that would take too long. He hadn't the patience to stop and buy something. Little is open anyway. He needs to see her now. It's ridiculous. He just left her three hours ago. She's fine; got a text 45 minutes ago replying to his proving that she's fine. Apparently that's not going to be enough. Maybe someone had her phone. Text isn't the same as a call. He hadn't heard her voice. That wouldn't be enough either. Someone could force her to talk, gun to her head. He shouldn't picture that. Picturing that is what brings him to her door so late. That image, a branding iron searing him, the only thing giving his hand the strength to raise his fist and knock.

She'll be mad at him. It's midnight. Or close enough to midnight. Suddenly after the reverberations quiet in the hallway - so loud knocking on her metal door – he feels immensely foolish. Of course she's alright. She might even be asleep. This was a bad idea. But he's here. He knocks again.

Kate opens the door with slumped shoulders and gun in hand.

"Castle?"

She opens the door just wide enough for him to slip through. This is his invitation to enter. He doesn't have to ask anymore; she doesn't have to offer.

"What are you doing here?"

Yeah, he should have stopped to buy something, anything. He yearns for that pretense now. Damn. He could have grabbed a bottle of wine from his own kitchen. Why is he just now thinking of that?

"I was in the neighborhood."

Kate's eyes narrow to points. Okay, not funny. The truth then.

"Couldn't sleep. I figured you would still be up. I just want…wanted to check."

So not ALL the truth. He couldn't seriously say "I'm terrified that you're not okay. Terrified that something bad is going to happen to you. I needed to see your face so that I can take the first deep breath since I left you. Need to 'accidently' brush my hand against yours so I know that your skin is still warm and your heat is still beating." Couldn't say that could he? Even in his own head the weight of how unattractively needy that sounded bogged him down. So not all the truth.

"To check…"

Kate knows exactly what he means by that. She's waiting, gallantly, or maybe a little hopefully, for him to change his story a second time. Nope. Not going to happen. That's what he means, no fabricating here.

"I'm checking on you, Beckett. You scared the crap out of me today." She tilts her head and presses her lips together. "I'm prepared for your mocking now. Come on. Let it out."

"I'm fine. I don't know why you're worried about me. The shooter wasn't *aiming* at me. I just got in his way."

"He was aiming at you. He almost shot you. Just two inches…"

"Castle, it's over. Let it go. Go home. Get some rest."

He steps further into her apartment. He has no clue what he's doing, why he's pushing this. It's not what he came for but he can't let it go.

"It's not over, Kate. He's still out there. Why doesn't that bother you?"

Kate slams the door with force enough to rattle the dishes in her cupboard and his teeth. He mentally asks forgiveness from her neighbors for the door slamming and the yelling. Yelling hasn't started yet but it's about to, he can feel it; that Geiger counter that alerts him to an oncoming argument that will send tremors into the ground. That little counter stayed on high alert almost the entirety of his first two marriages. Little good it does. Where is that scratchy line reading of impending doom *before* he's an ass and picks a fight he doesn't even want to defend?

"What's your problem?"

Yep. There it is.

"You're my problem. Why are you so cool about this?"

"It's my job. Am I supposed to tie myself in knots and cry myself to sleep every time some asshat shoots at me?"

"Don't do that. Do make this sound like some run of the mill day at the office. You know why it's different. You could have died today. If you hadn't turned at the last…" His throat is not closing up. It's just hot in her apartment. In November.

"It was random. No one's trying to kill me. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

No. Walking down the street and a man raises a gun, fires, misses her head only by two inches because she turned to say something, bullet imbedded in the metal of the ATM level with her face? Not random.

"No one's trying to kill you? You *WERE SHOT* six months ago! You *literally* died. Do you not remember that because I sure as hell do."

"Get out."

No. No, no, no, no. This is not what he came for. He wants to touch her hand. He's making this worse. He's scared and he's taking it out on her. What an idiot.

"Kate."

He reaches for her, makes it all the way so that he makes contact with the tips of two fingers before she jerks away. His fingers buzz with her. Surely she felt the sting too.

"Why are you doing this?"

Hmm, how much of the truth to tell this time? Screw it. He's already in too deep as it is.

"I'm sorry. I didn't come here for this. I…" He doesn't even know what he's going to say. I'm scared? I love you? I need to touch you to make sure you're not slipping away? I need to feel your heart beating so that I know you're really still here; that you didn't die six months ago and again today?

"Castle, I'm tired. I can't talk about this right now. I'm sure you mean well but right now you need to leave."

Kate strides back to the front door, opens it, turns, brushes past him without a look, and closes her bedroom door behind her.

He wants to follow her and push the door open. Push her open. He thought coming here and seeing her would be enough but it's so not enough. It's like a tiny bit of heroine satisfying an addict – once you've tasted it a little is never enough. His fingers itch. What would she do if he walked into her bedroom right now? If he put a palm on her chest and a mouth to her pulse for proof of life? Would she allow him? Or break his arm; shoot him? He wants to, god he wants to. But even that little taste of heroine is better than having to go cold turkey at gunpoint.

Castle walks to the door. Nope. Can't do that either. He may not have the balls to walk in there and take what he wants but he sure as hell isn't tucking his tail between his legs and leaving. She says she can't talk about this now because she's tired? Well then he'll be here in the morning when she's not.