Chapter Twenty-One

Kate ignored the stinging in her palm as she fought against her urge to turn back to him, make sure he was alright. With a confident set in her shoulders that she didn't feel, she ignored the thought and let her anger win, driving her forward and away from him. Her legs felt unsteady and she was barefoot as she slammed his door behind her. Once out in the hall, she leaned against the wall a moment to slip on her heels as she took a steadying breath.

Running a hand through her hair she began to wonder what she was thinking. The truth that smacked her across the face, much as she had just done to Castle, was that she hadn't been thinking in days. She wasn't able to form logical and coherent thoughts once his lips hit hers. Then from there everything happened so quickly that it was over before common sense was able to seep into her mind.

It had been as passionate as it was intense and left her legs shaking and heart racing. She had a moment earlier, while he was calling her a marble slab, which from anyone else would have sounded odd, but from him it was a compliment that made her stomach flutter. During that moment she thought about his injuries and how he followed her around crime scenes and had risked his life in all manner of situations, but she had almost lost him sliding down a hill on skis.

The thoughts of his mortality were still nagging when he came to her at the window as she looked over the city from his loft. When he kissed her, she couldn't hold back the wave of passion that mingled with her darker thoughts and the relief she didn't understand because she hadn't seen or heard about his injuries until she could see that he was alright.

She was rendered speechless by the way they came together, so different than the first time, but so good with the added bonus of leaving her too stunned and sated to even think about crying as she had that first time. Instead it was an affirmation of life and the desperate pace seemed to echo her equally turbulent thoughts. Still a mess; she was struck angry and speechless by his question about Josh.

She hadn't told him the truth, but she didn't lie either. Josh was gone, she didn't know how long he'd stay in Pakistan or if he'd take another posting when that one was up, but she did know it was supposed to be three weeks, when he had originally scheduled the trip.

She knew she was using Josh as an excuse to keep Castle close. It was odd, but he seemed willing to give her what she was missing from her relationship, which made her want to keep the information about transitions with Josh to herself. She didn't know if he'd still want her if he could actually have her, as he had proven the after their first night together.

She had confessed her feelings and he had practically run screaming from the room. She had asked him to distract her and he was willing. It was a mess of a situation. Wanting someone so bad and knowing she couldn't have him, she was ridiculously willing to take what little of him she could have. For now, it was worth the tradeoff. Being able to pretend that he was hers for that short time was worth the heartache when he inevitably left or pushed her away.

Then the words out of his mouth confirmed her thoughts on the subject. The wave of fury hit her like a physical blow and she felt her fist ball up at her sides. She didn't realize she had moved that clenched hand until she was already swinging. At the last moment she tried to pull the punch and opened her fist landing her open hand across his face loud enough for a resounding crack to radiate through the room and cause a sharp sting to the flesh of her palm.

Tired of thinking about their time together and anxious to head off for a distraction, she pushed herself away from the wall, tugging to button her jacket around the shirt that no longer closed fully. Just as she stepped away from his apartment, she heard a loud crash and something shatter inside. The anger, resentment and bitterness fled, replaced only with fear and guilt as she rushed back inside, glad that she hadn't had the presence of mind to lock the door when she stormed out.

The initial quick sweep of her eyes revealed nothing, but as she moved through the loft she found him near a toppled table in the living room. There was a lamp shattered across the hardwood floor near where he knelt with his head in his hands rocking subtly forward and back.

With a conflicted set of feelings for the situation she found herself in, knowing it was as much her fault as his, if not more, she moved to him. She wasn't inclined to speak, but asked where is pills were.

"Kitchen." He responded with a harsh raspy voice that didn't even sound like him.

"I'll be right back." She tried to reassure him as she left him where he was and went in search of his pills.

Beckett made quick work of grabbing him a bottle of water and his prescription from the counter. As she made her way back to him she spotted his shirt and stooped to grab it from the floor where it had been thrown. Laying out what she had gathered, she helped him sit up straight and slipped his shirt on, surprised by how docile he was in this state.

He kept his face turned away from her as she pulled the shirt over his head and helped guide his arms into the sleeves. It wasn't until she shifted around to help him to his feet that she noticed the tracks down his face from his silent tears. The guilt of her contribution to his pain, both from the escapades against his window and the hard slap to the face, made her stomach clench and her breath catch.

She couldn't find words as she helped him stand. Part of her wanted to reassure him, comfort him, but another part of her was almost glad to see that his pain mirrored her own. Granted his was a physical pain that would quickly fade and hers was a pain that threatened to be consuming for the foreseeable future, but non-the-less, it was nice not to be the only one hurting.

His weight was heavy against her as they made their way to the couch. She led him the long way so he wouldn't have to walk through the broken glass across the floor. Once she had him seated on the couch she administered his medication and then helped him lay down. He pulled her to him and for a moment she wanted to curl against him on the couch and enjoy the feeling of his arms wrapped around her, but she knew it would be fleeting, it was just his attempt to seek comfort through his pain and it would leave her feeling even more hallow. Every time she experienced another side to their non-relationship that could be, she found herself sucked in further to the delusion that it meant something. She was tired, she was sick and tired. She couldn't take anymore delusions or illusions or half-truths and so she pulled away when all she wanted was to sink into him.

She watched him grimace as she moved away, tears no longer falling, but still brimming in his eyes as he looked at her briefly before breaking her gaze and turning towards the back of the couch.

She had started to move away, intent on straightening up around the loft before Alexis and Martha came home, when he spoke. His voice was so low that she almost didn't hear him, "It hurts so much, Kate."

The way he said her name made the statement seem more personal than it was. There was something about her first name out of his mouth in such a serious tone that threatened to sweep it all away and disturb the resolve she had been trying to build back up. With a conscious effort to remember the cold way he had spoken to her earlier, she dismissed the way he said her name and focused on the rest of his statement. "The pills should start kicking in soon." It was a struggle, but somehow she managed to keep her voice level and emotionless, "You should get some sleep."

With that she started to pick up the largest pieces of the shattered lamp. She heard him mumble something into the back of the couch, but couldn't make it out. She figured it was some other drug induced silliness and she couldn't take another random jaunt into talking around the issues, so she didn't ask him to repeat himself.

By the time she had straightened up and gotten the glass all swept away, Castle was sleeping soundly on the couch. She called Martha, because while Alexis meant well, it was not a conversation to be had with a child. She suggested they come home as soon as possible because she had work to do tomorrow and would need to head home soon.

Twenty minutes later she was glad to see them walking through the door. She didn't need any more time sitting silently in Castle's living room watching him sleep. As creepy as she would have thought Castle watching her sleep would be, watching him had been both relaxing and frustrating. He was so calm in sleep. In the light of day he was so active and talkative, but in sleep he looked peaceful and almost innocent. Those thought could prove her undoing, so with her coat and purse in hand she bid them a quick farewell and was out the door almost before Martha could thank her for looking after her son.

Beckett didn't miss the questioning look from both women, but chose to ignore it along with her urge to turn and get a last longing look at Castle peacefully asleep on the couch as she fled the apartment. She felt like a coward for leaving things the way she had, but if he wanted to be a part of her life in any capacity he needed to make that decision when he was of a sound mind. They didn't need a drug hazed confession or conversation hanging over their friendship or partnership or whatever else kind of 'ship they had formed.

Just before the door to his loft opened for Martha and Alexis had been the last time she saw or heard from him in three days. Three days where she was admittedly miserable to be around.

Lanie was on her case trying to hound the reason for her sour mood out of her. Ryan and Esposito were walking on eggshells because she had snapped at them more often than was necessary, but no matter the context she always put her frustration down to this case they were working on.

Normally, that would make sense and be enough of a reason for her to be on edge, but without Castle as the go between for them, their working relationship was strained by the negative. She had to admit some of her frustration over those three days was because of the case.

It was a mess, right from the beginning. None of the evidence made sense. The killer obviously wore gloves and was meticulous about not leaving a blood trail exiting the thoroughly drenched crime scene. The man had been murdered with a chainsaw for crying out loud, it's not the type of death that usually lacks in blood evidence. It was as if the killer was wearing gumboots and a raincoat that they took off as soon as they were finished cutting off the man's head. The only thing they had left behind was a chainsaw, but that had turned out to be the victim's, so it was not likely the killer would take it anyway.

On top of the frustration with evidence at the scene, everyone who turned up with a possible motive for the murder seemed to have solid alibis. The ex-girlfriend, who claimed the breakup had been her idea, was on a business trip in the south of France. The brother who was the named beneficiary of the man's retirement plan and life insurance policy, totaling more than a quarter of a million dollars was heavily in debt, but he was on a three day camping trip with his son's cub scout troop. The business partner, the cousin, the employee that thought he was underpaid. They had widened the pool of suspects to a nearly ridiculous extent to encompass long past grievances and done everything in their poser to crack the alibis of those with the strongest motive.

Needless to say, she had entirely too much time staring at the murder board with little to no thoughts on the actual case to keep her focused. It had been a long and tiring three days of introspection and self-examination. She was proud of the progress she had made in letting go of all the things she had been so foolish to let herself be snared by. It was long nights and early mornings all week, something she was grateful for because it meant she was too exhausted to think by the time she made it home to her bed, her bed that no longer smelled of him and, thanks to her exhaustion, she was finally able to get a full night of sleep in without waking to dreams of him there with her.

On Friday, she could have strangled the writer, when he walked into the precinct as if nothing had changed. She was still covering the mark on her neck with make-up and strategically selected outfits. The same make-up that masked his mark on her, masked the dark circles under her eyes that she knew was another mark of his on her. She was grateful for the three years she spent working days and investigating her mother's murder at night, because those years had taught her how to hide her lack of sleep behind coffee, make-up, and the avoidance of prolonged eye contact. Then he just walks in like it's any other day and he looks rested, relaxed and so damn happy that she wants to slap him all over again. She justifies the feeling by reminding herself that if he's well enough to work he's well enough for her to give him the type of slug his insinuations had required a few days before. She banished the thought before it could blossom to reality, though it would have been satisfying to wipe the smirk off his face.

What bothered her most about the breezy way he blew into the bullpen wasn't that he had brought her coffee as if it were any other day. It wasn't that he smiled at her just a little wider than normal, but still kept that professional distance. It wasn't his way of glancing at her briefly and simply asking, "Not sleeping well, Detective?" as if all the work she did to hide that fact were wasted on him. It wasn't even the way that he had brushed off Ryan and Esposito's concerns or made up a story about going up against three huge bikers in a bar brawl before finally coming clean that it had been a tree. It was none of those things.

It was when, after reading the case file, hearing a briefing and looking at the murder board for all of ten minutes, he turned to her and in a voice loud enough to carry so it included Ryan and Esposito he asked, "So, why are you guys investigating a suicide?"

There were three sets of voices telling him he was crazy and three equally idiotic feeling detectives when he was done explaining how exactly the man could have killed himself with the chainsaw.

The more she looked at the evidence, the more that theory made sense. The more she thought about him being right, the angrier she got about her wasted time, her team's wasted time. Once Lanie got and signed off on the information, they could call another case 'closed', though it didn't feel like an accomplishment. She was annoyed with the fact that she needed him. She needed the wacky theories and silly side bars and jokes. It made her feel a little on edge thinking what she would do if she had actually come to depend on him as her partner and their slips on the sexual side of their relationship pushed him away.

The paperwork completed, she excused herself a little earlier than normal, leaving Castle with the boys. As she made her way away from her desk, she heard Ryan whisper, none-to-subtly to Castle, "What did you do to put her in such a bad mood this week?"

"Me?" he had responded with such an innocent tone that she would have probably bought it from the man, "That's pretty cold considering I wasn't even here."

Beckett had to commend him for the ability to resist those two. By the time she heard Castle turn the tables on them, "You're the ones who have been here all week, what did you two do to piss her off?" she was too far away to hear either detective's answer to that question, though she was certain it probably started with some kind of stuttered exclamation of innocence.

She felt the comfort of routine and normalcy and she had the sudden freeing feeling that they really could do this, still be partners even if their friendship was suffering at the moment.

x.x.x

A/N: So… had to jump the timeline a little, because I had no interest in following whiny drugged Castle for three days. I hope it still flowed alright for everyone and before you ask, yes, that was a really suicide method, I just wanted to borrow it. And no, I didn't proof this as well as I should have, because it's time for bed. If it's awful, send me the typos, etc and I'll update them and repost the chapter.

Meanwhile, you guys are making me nervous now. I have 400 people waiting to get an alert for the next chapters of this story and I feel like I should be writing more than every other day because it's so inspiring.

Review that made my day: fmd-jade, who hoorayed with me for the accomplishment of 400,000 words (though I'm already looking forward to hitting half a million) and gave me a great quote from Beatrix Potter that makes me feel a little less like a crazy person.

Thanks to everyone for reading.