Due to obscene amounts of school work and a professor who scheduled an exam for the morning after the premier (so rude, I mean obviously her syllabus should be planned around my TV schedule…), this will be the last post this week. By next Wednesday, updates should be more regular again.

Kick the Ballistics (Part I)

Castle could've stayed there all afternoon, basking in the weight of his partner settled on top of him, her scent and beauty and love surrounding him. And she seemed perfectly relaxed as well, her head on his shoulder, legs slung across his, one hand fiddling absently with the buttons on his shirt. She loved when he wore plaid.

But the fingers of his right hand were playing with the corners of the pages of their journal, absently flipping them back and forth, and that eventually drew both of their focuses back to the notebook. He felt her nod against him, acceptance or agreement, perhaps, and twined their fingers together as they moved onto the next letter, the next set of memories. Good or bad, Castle couldn't remember, but he'd find out very quickly.

Dear Kate,

I think you're lying to me. About the shooting. About what you remember.

I sincerely hope you aren't, that you truly don't remember. If not, and you do know how I feel, that means that every day you're making the choice to hurt me, to keep hurting me, by keeping this from me, by pretending you don't know that my heart belongs to you.

I'd like to think you wouldn't do that, even though you are under a lot of stress. But maybe I don't know you as well as I like to think I do. Maybe I just pretend. Maybe I've just created a character for you in my head like I did with Damien Westlake last year. Maybe I'm blind to who you really are and instead, in my eyes, you've just become who I want you to be. Love does things like that; it twists your perceptions. You'd think I'd have learned that from my failed attempts in the past. But maybe I'm just that naive.

Whatever it is, though, I really wish you would just tell me. I know it's difficult for you to open up, but we've been partners for a long time now, Kate. Don't you trust me enough to be honest with me? Or are you still so determined to shut me out, regardless of my feelings. I'd like to think we're past that now, but again, maybe I'm completely wrong. Maybe it's all in my head. Sometimes I hate having a writer's imagination.

I'm just trying to hold onto our conversation on the swings last month, to the fact that you need time, need this case to be put to rest. I'm hoping that's your reason, that if you did in fact lie to me it's because you aren't ready, rather than because you simply don't share my feelings.

If it's the first one, I can work on forgiving you, so long as you're doing it for us, to give us a chance.

If it's the second, I'd honestly rather you just tell me now. It will hurt no matter when I find out, but the sooner I crash and burn, the sooner I begin start to move on and build myself up again.

I sincerely hope it's scenario one, Kate.

I believed you, no doubt in my mind, when you told me in the hospital. It hurt to hear that you didn't remember, but I believed you. I had no reason not to. I didn't see any signs that indicated dishonesty, although the fact that you were in pain and on drugs and exhausted may have covered some of that up. Plus, there was the fact that I was sitting there next to you when I never thought I would have that opportunity again, so maybe I just didn't notice.

Yesterday, though... yesterday I noticed. When I asked if you remembered, you looked away and walked away from me. It made me realize that even though you couldn't walk away from me in the hospital, you did the same thing with your eyes then too. You averted them. You've yet to actually look me in the eye and say you don't remember.

That's what is making me suspicious.

But you quite obviously don't want to talk about it, and if I've learned one thing about you these last three years it's that pushing will get me nowhere. So I'll sit back and give you time and the benefit of the doubt. What else can I do at this point, except for cross my fingers and hope my suspicions prove incorrect?

I have to believe you, Kate. I have to. There's no other choice, because helping you break down your wall so we can have our shot at happiness depends on it.

Our future depends on it.

So I will continue to believe. In you and in us.

Love,

Rick.

"Castle," she breathed, a shaky exhale against his collarbone.

He cupped her chin, guided her eyes up to his. "Hmmm?"

"I'm so sorry."

"Kate..."

"No..."

"Kate," he said more firmly, silencing her with a press of his finger to her lips. "Don't. Please. Don't beat yourself up about this."

"But..."

"No. No buts. It's not... re-living it isn't going to help us right now."

She wanted to protest, to point out that re-living everything else they'd been through had actually really helped them. It'd brought them closer in so many ways. Through this journal, they'd been provided an opportunity to talk about everything they'd never before bothered to discuss. They'd laughed and cried together. They'd learned each other's point of view, been able to apologize and accept and move on. Just like they needed to with this.

But as Kate looked up at her partner's blue eyes, troubled and pleading, she realized that maybe this time it was him who wasn't ready to talk about it. It was him who still felt the wound too deeply.

So she wouldn't push, because he'd waited four years for her to be ready to open up to him. The least she could do was give him a few more days or weeks or months. She trusted that when he was ready, he'd tell her.

Kate nodded, her chin bumping up and down against his palm, and he slid his hand around to cup the back of her head, fingers weaving into her damp hair.

"Okay," she whispered, allowing him to guide her in for a soft kiss. "Okay. We don't have to talk about it now."

Castle met her eyes sincerely, his filled with gratitude. "Thank you."

Thoughts?