Chapter Two

The place he's chosen is surprisingly spacey for a hip café. He might be a little older but he's picked up on the sudden increase of brunch café's that have opened up around the city and he's not complaining. They're a little more organic than the other places that have been around, and whether he likes to admit it or not, at his age the benefits of it being healthy aren't too bad either. The room is scattered with small knick-knacks and antiques, but it's illuminated with warm coloured lightbulbs that are hung at various lengths from the ceiling. As they take a seat and look down at the menu, he's not surprised at all that a majority of the list contains some sort of poached egg, seed or grain of the week, so he knows at least the food will be a safe bet.

Half an hour into their date and she's telling him about the ridiculous things she's had to witness people do on a plane and he's really trying to listen – he really is - nodding along with the occasional comment when necessary, but there's a large part of his mind that's still hovering over the subject he refuses to acknowledge. He won't let her in his head here, he's trying to move on and moving on from her definitely does not involve her.

He's got it all worked out in his head: to really make an effort with the lady sitting across from him and actually invest in a relationship he's certain to get something back with. Jacinda's actually a nice and intelligent person, and despite the way he'd made her look at the precinct a few days ago, she's not as flighty as she looks, pun intended. She's down to earth and actually a little funny, so yes he can do this. He can flip that switch and forget that he'd been strung along for four years because he was so stupidly in love. For once, he's going to be selfish and do something for himself, he's going to move on because he has to. He won't let himself fathom the darkness he'd be swallowed into if he didn't try to move on from her and he doesn't intend to with his plan.

He drops her off an hour and a half later with a quick kiss on her lips and a smile, telling her he'll call to arrange another date. He's proud of himself, the way he's handling it, confident that he's not using her at all, that he's actually succeeding in moving on. And so he strolls through the front door of his loft and whistling a tune with his smiling lips, mulling over the fact that he's making progress and he's getting somewhere.

"Richard darling, what's gotten into you?" Martha's standing in the kitchen, stirring a cup of what he hopes is coffee with an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing, at all – just had a good morning, that's all."

"Ah yes, with that flight attendant – Jacinda?"

"Yup." The p pops at the end of the word and she sighs, placing the spoon in the sink behind her and walks up to him. He knows what she's going to say and shakes his head, his hand in the air motioning for her to not go there.

"Mother, please."

"Richard, I just think you're going about this the wrong way. I mean, are you sure this Jacinda is what you really need right now? I mean, I know you're trying to get over Katherine, but don't you think-"

"Mother, I am getting over Beckett. I saw her this morning and managed to get through my date with Jacinda just fine." He smiles at her, proud at himself for doing so.

"You saw her this morning? Was there a murder?" They're both standing at next to his front door, so he walks to the couch and sits, arms spread out across the top of cushions.

"Uhh nope – she was just leaving her appointment actually. She's been in therapy for a whole year and failed to mention that too." He huffs the end of the sentence, the sting of the whole situation slowly coming back.

"Therapy? Oh wow, that's a big commitment coming from Katherine don't you think?" Martha takes a seat beside her son, her hands in her lap.

"I don't know, I guess so, but that doesn't really change anything."

"Doesn't it? You and I both know that Katherine is a strong woman who deals with things her own way. But I'm going to be honest with you Richard, therapy was not a place I saw her volunteering herself for, at least not for this long."

"Guess you have a point, but I'm not sure what you're getting at mother – I mean I'm happy that she chose to go to therapy for her PTSD, but I thought with everything we've been through, she could've at least told me. I thought I was her partner." He runs his a hand through his hair, loosening up the small amount of wax he'd combed through it this morning.

"Oh darling, therapy isn't something you just bring up half way through a murder case."

"No I get it, but she's had plenty of opportunities in between cases, so your point is mute there mother."

"Richard please, you've got to understand that for some, it's private. It's a battle you've got to fight for yourself and deal with your own demons, whether someone knows about it or not."* Martha's eyes remain on her son, but she reaches out and places her hand on his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Katherine was shot, and maybe she remembers it and lied about it – which by the way, is not something I'm happy about on your part – but from where I'm standing, at least she's trying."

"Trying to what?"

"Trying to fix everything the bullet in her heart broke."

She gets a call early the next morning and hesitates to call him out, not sure if he'll answer anyway, so she compromises; shoots him a short text to let him know that a body dropped and the address. When she gets to the scene, Castle is waiting by the sidewalk, two coffees in hand and a smile on his face. She gasps at the normalcy of it, the fact that he's here and had actually stopped to get her a cup of coffee.

"Hey Castle, didn't think you'd make it." She smiles as she takes the cup from him and starts to walk towards the crime scene.

"Where else would I be?" Given his behaviour the last few weeks, he knows she could give him an answer, but she doesn't. Huffs a small laugh and takes a sip of her coffee. He'd spent the weekend struggling; stuck between being stubborn and telling himself that for once, this was about him and what he wanted, and mulling over the conversation he'd had with his mother. Her words had hit him a little harder than he would've liked them to, a little deeper than he needed them to.

By the time he'd seen Beckett's text, he had adjusted his plan, changed it to at least give Beckett some sort of normalcy but not reverting back to the lost puppy he'd been before. Compromise he'd told himself – a middle ground to the emotional torment he'd been through and what he's still willing to give her. But in spite of all this, he'd still like to know – still wants to at least be her friend through whatever it is that she needs to deal with. And so he asks.

"Beckett, about Saturday and what you said-"

"Castle, we'll talk about it later okay? I promise – just, not now, but we'll talk." She'd been expecting it, knew that his inner-writer would ask and that Castle himself would want to know. "Just not at the crime scene."

"Yeah, okay. Later." He takes it, understands that maybe this isn't the best place to have such a conversation, and so he lets her lead the way, under the tape and towards the body.

As straightforward as the case is, they've spent the whole day going through the meticulous elements of the case, Beckett filling in her paperwork and Castle sitting beside her desk organising everything they'd taken off the board. But between chasing leads, questioning suspects and theorising, their conversation has taken a backseat to the murder. It's a quarter to five and Beckett hasn't forgotten what she promised Castle, so she stands up and heads towards the break room for a cup of coffee, hoping he'll follow at least this once.

"Beckett, it's later."

He doesn't mean to sound so blunt – so forceful with the words, but the anticipation for this moment has left him anxious all day and he just needs to know, he deserves to know.

"I know, Castle."

Her voice is soft, hands trembling a little as she places a mug on the coffee machine and presses a button to get the espresso running. He waits her out, even though he'd promised himself to not wait for her anymore or at all, but just this once, knows that he can wait her out if she's willing to give him something. And she is, she's willing to give him everything he wants to know.

"At first the sessions were about the aftereffects of the shooting; the PTSD and the fact that I couldn't breathe when a door shut or a car honked or any loud noise for that matter. And I thought I had it under control after a while, but then the sniper case came up and I was back to square one. There are still glimpses of the PTSD here and there, but it's better now. Dr. Burke suggested a lot of things that helped with the panic attacks and the paranoia and I'm okay now, feel a little more like myself I guess."

"But you're still going to the sessions?" His voice is low, doesn't want to stop the train of thought that has her spilling so much to him, and for that at least, he's grateful – but she hasn't said anything about really remembering the day of her shooting, so his writer's mouth had naturally led him to ask the question.

"Yeah, I am. You remember that wall I was telling you about? I keep going because of that – because I just needed to take that wall down on my own, just try to really feel like myself again and to just be a better than who I was before and after I was shot."

"And do you remember? The day you were shot?" Of course he knows the answer, but she doesn't know this and so she's terrified. She turns to face him and really look him in the eyes, the coffee on the machine long forgotten because she's about to let her secret free and judging by the way he's been acting the last couple of weeks, she has no idea how he's going to react.

"Yeah, I've remembered ever since I woke up in the hospital." But he doesn't react – just nods his head and keeps his mouth shut for once and it knocks her off, surprises her that she's not really sure where this whole conversation is going but she continues. "Look Rick, I know I said I didn't remember but I do, and I'm sorry for not telling you, for lying to you about it. I promise I was going to tell you – when I felt like I didn't need to go to Dr. Burke's sessions so frequently anymore, but I guess it's taken a lot longer to get to that point than I'd thought."

The elevator dings in the background, neither really caring or taking note of it, so she continues, hoping to get everything she needs to say without breaking apart in the middle of the Precinct.

"But you deserve to know that I'm so sorry for lying to you about the shooting, even if that's not enough. I know I'm too late and that you're not waiting for me anymore and I don't fault you for that, the blame is really on me here, but I just, yeah - I really am sorry, Rick. I'm just glad that you're happy, even if it's with someone else." For the most part, it kills her inside that he's with someone else, because she actually does want every part of him and she's been selfish for expecting him to wait all these years and she knows it. So for that very reason, there is a tiny part of her that knows what she's saying isn't a complete lie – that he deserves the happiness he's found, even if that's not with her.

"Wait, Beckett – that's not what you - wait, what?"

Castle is, for lack of a better world, stunned. No, this was not what he was expecting when he'd imagined this conversation in his head. He'd wanted the truth from her yes, but he'd expected her to let him down gently, tell him that she didn't feel the same, to stop waiting because she didn't want to be with him. But that's not what she'd said at all. His mind isn't working fast enough, hasn't found the words to respond because he was so not prepared for what she'd said.

"Rick, are you ready to go?" The voice spills into the break room like ice water and he closes his eyes and curses every single higher power on earth for the fact that neither of them knows how to close a damn door, and that Jacinda had to turn up at the worst possible moment ever. He's turning back to look at Jacinda and is about to ask for a minute, but Beckett takes the other woman's appearance as her cue and starts to head towards the door behind her.

"Have a good night Castle, I'll let you know when the next body drops."

"I, uhh, yeah okay, when the next body drops, sure." It's the only thing he's able to register a response for, and even if he would rather them clear up this monstrosity of a disaster now, an arm has already curled around his waist and Beckett has already left the room.

As he rides down the elevator with Jacinda in tow, he's still reeling. Still processing everything she'd said and re-running every word to make sure he's heard her correctly. He wants to think about the fact that he's moving on – that he's promised himself to focus on the woman beside him and to not be hopelessly in love with Beckett and go running back to her even if she'd given him even a look or touch of interest.

But today she'd given him so much more than that and all he can think about is what she'd said. He's got no idea what to do anymore, but what he does know is that he really just needs to sit down and close his eyes and just pause everything going on in his life for about a week, because she'd admitted she was too late and that it was okay, that he was happy - even if it was with someone else.

Well shit.

A/N: First off – I'm so stunned with the response I've gotten and the fact that so many people have so many different takes to this arc and the way it should be handled and what they think Beckett or Castle would do. I would honestly love to go through each message and reply, but time's a little crazy on my end, so thank you to everyone that did!

I know some of you would really like for it to be Beckett actually fighting for Castle and being the one to run after him (or vice versa), and eventually she will in her own way, but I'm working a lot with the fact that they don't properly communicate at all and that Beckett's just trying to salvage what she thinks she has left with Castle – and you'll see this the next chapter so don't fear!

G.