For Beckstle and Laura Picken, who asked me to write a part 2 for this ep.

Kick The Ballistics (Part II)

Silence fell again as they held each other's gazes, eyes deep and transparent, speaking volumes. Words may have been Castle's specialty but, at times, his eyes said more than his mouth ever could. Especially when it came to Kate.

For once, he was the one to look away first, eyes casting downward to re-trace the words they'd just read. Kate could see from an angle the way his eyes flitted back and forth across the page, watched the crease in his forehead deepen as he re-read the entry, and she could tell that even though he begged her not to talk about it, his mind was still there, remembering. She could feel the tension rising in his muscles, could feel the pain seeping through him.

"Rick," she called softly, but there was no response. "Castle," she tried again, reaching out to cover the page with her hand, and that seemed to finally startle him back into the present. "Not right now, remember?"

He nodded halfway, ran a hand over his face. "Right, sorry."

"Come on," she murmured, nudged his jaw with her temple, turning it just enough that his eyes fell to the next page instead. Anything to steer his mind away from the current downward spiral of his thoughts. "Let's keep reading."

Dear Kate,

Sometimes I just feel so helpless. And I hate it.

The last couple of days certainly fall under that category. It's been nearly a year since Tyson tied me to a chair and held a gun to my head. Nearly a year since he tried to psychoanalyze me and then left me there to live with the fact that he was right there and I had to watch him walk away. Ever since that moment, I've just been waiting. Waiting for him to resurface, waiting for that other shoe to drop. I thought maybe when it did, there would be something I could do. Something to make up for last time.

Turns out I was wrong, because in cases like this there's absolutely nothing I can do. I couldn't comfort Ryan because he wouldn't take it. I couldn't be of much help to the three of you because I'm not a cop and I just don't have the same skill set or resources. I was forced to sit there unable to contribute much of anything towards catching the killer of a young girl who was murdered by a weapon given to someone by a serial killer who slipped through my fingertips. I know you'd say it's not my fault, but I can't help but feel responsible for what happened.

Kate squeezed his arm as she read those words, her heart breaking for the burdens that Castle now carried as a result of his relationship with her and the NYPD. At times, she loved that there was someone to shoulder part of it, someone to lift pieces of the weight off of her shoulders. But at the same time, she disliked that she was partially responsible for Castle losing some of the innocence he'd possessed when they first met.

It was still there, of course. The way his eyes lit up and his smile grew and he got so excited over the small things in life; that was still there and it was one of the things she loved the most about him. He'd even managed to bring some of that out in her, which was a part of herself she hadn't seen in years. But on the other end of the spectrum, the inherent pessimism of her chosen profession had dampened some of his spirited enthusiasm for life.

"You're not, Castle," she murmured, brain still wrapped up in her thoughts and yet the words slipped out almost without her permission.

He shook his head, sighed, and Kate realized with a shock that she'd actually spoken the words aloud. "I know."

But even he knew his voice sounded unconvincing.

Kate allowed the subject to drop, though, because the whole point of continuing to read was to lift his spirits, not pull them down even further. Perhaps this wasn't the best letter for that purpose but now that they'd started, they might as well finish it.

I know you said something earlier today about me thinking like a real cop. It was comforting to hear you say that because, truth be told, I was doubting myself. But just because I think like a real cop doesn't make me a real cop. Aside from spinning theories and having your back (without a gun, which isn't really very good back up), I can't do much else.

Besides, you were the best detective in New York City before I came along.

Even so, I will always consider myself your partner, Kate. And I hope that you can do the same.

Love,

Rick

"Castle," Kate reached up, cupped his jaw. She waited until his eyes flicked down to meet hers, solemn and clear, because she needed to erase every last speck of disbelief from his mind. "You're the best partner I could've asked for. Please don't ever doubt that."

He bent to press their mouths together, his lips working insistently over hers and she gave as good as she received, tracing his bottom lip with her tongue until he allowed her entrance.

She could still feel the tension in his jaw from the last letter and from this one, but as she gently nibbled on his lower lip he released some sort of half-chuckle and just like that the kiss switched from bruising to playful.

Reluctantly, though, it was Kate who pulled back first, realizing that aside from a kiss – and it'd been one hell of a kiss – she hadn't actually received a response.

"Castle," she prodded, reaching out to cover the hand that held the journal with her own. "I meant what I just said."

"I know," he replied quickly. "I know you did."

He looked as though he wanted to say more so Kate simply remained silent, waiting for him to find the words to voice whatever was on his mind.

"I'm sorry," he spoke finally, but it wasn't at all the words she was expecting.

"Sorry for what?"

"For... doubting you," he offered hesitantly.

Kate smiled tenderly, the hand on his jaw sliding back into his hair to cradle his skull, guide his lips back to hers. "You're forgiven, Castle."

Thoughts?