I debated with myself a lot about whether to split this into two chapters, because it's long and just... a lot. But Kate went through this entire journey in one episode, so in the end I decided to leave it as one chapter. There is lots of angst. You have been warned.

Kill Shot

"Oh, I... Kate."

She looked up just as he caught her wrist, gently extracted the journal from her hands. She glanced at it as he pulled it away, briefly registered a small sheet of yellow lined paper wedged in between the pages.

"What is it?"

Castle extracted the paper, unfolded it, and Kate recognized it as being from one of her pads of paper from the precinct. She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he'd written it, though, because him stealing paper from her to urgently jot things down wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

"I remember this one."

"Okay," she prompted.

"It's from the sniper case."

"Which one?" Kate asked, and Castle almost laughed – almost – because the fact that there'd been more than one was just a testament to the ridiculously high number of psychotic killers they'd chased over the past six years.

"The one right after..." Castle swallowed hard and she felt his free hand come to rest between her breasts, fingers tracing the outline of her scar.

Oh. That one.

Kate took a shaky breath, released it slowly. "I'll be fine, Castle."

"I just don't want to bring it all back."

She lifted her chin, met his eyes squarely. "It's okay. Really."

He studied her for a moment but relented when he saw nothing but honesty in her eyes. They'd fought more than once about her reluctance to admit when something was bothering her, but she'd made a valid effort to improve that, to be completely honest with him, and after two years he trusted her completely.

After all, her eyes had never been able to lie even when her words did.

"If you're sure," Castle replied, allowed her to take the loose page from him, unfold it and begin reading.

Dear Kate,

I'm worried about you. I can tell this case is getting to you, and it's scaring me. The way you touched your scar at the crime scene yesterday, asked Lanie if Sarah felt the pain of the bullet. I could see you reliving it in your mind, realizing that it could have been you.

That's actually been weighing on my mind ever since Lanie answered your question. A centimeter in either direction and you would have been gone before you even had a chance to try to hang on.

Kate gripped his forearm, fingernails digging into his skin, and he flinched slightly at the pain but didn't speak, couldn't fathom asking her to loosen her grip. Not if it would help her through this.

I don't really know how badly last summer is still affecting you, and I've never asked because I can tell that you don't want to talk about it. But I think that maybe you need to. Talk about it, that is, because whatever it is that you're bottling up is starting to see the light of day. I can see you cracking, Kate, and not only is it breaking my heart, but I can tell it's breaking yours too. I'm sitting here watching you struggle to keep it together, and I know you hate it when you can't hold things in, but maybe it's time to let it out. Something like this can't stay boxed up forever.

If it's bad enough that you dove for cover when a siren went off today – not to mention the way you were panicking as you looked up at the sunlight glinting off all the high rises – then you need to do something. I know it's difficult to admit that you need help. Everyone struggles with that, myself included. But I've done enough research to recognize the signs of PTSD, Kate, and I know enough to know that it's only going to get worse if you don't do something about it.

I'm not in a position to tell you to get help, and I know you wouldn't listen to me anyway but please, please, go talk to someone about this. I'm begging you. It breaks my heart to see you in pain. It breaks my heart to know there's nothing I can do about it.

I just want to see you smiling again.

Love,

Rick

Kate shuddered as she recalled the way she'd pushed him away, the poor coping mechanisms she'd chosen during those first few days, before she'd gotten her head on straight enough to realize that she needed help, needed to stop making herself appear okay, because her attempts were failing. Miserably.

And she could still recollect all too clearly the way she panicked, alone in her apartment, the crushing feeling of the world falling in on her. The burn of the alcohol down her throat, the slice of the glass on her arm.

Not her proudest moment, not by a long shot.

She remembered the day she'd told Castle about that night, the way she'd been dreading the revelation and he simply sat on the couch facing her, resting one hand on her ankle as she relived the horrid memory.

"Kate, hun, what happened?"

"What?"

His thumb rose to trace the jagged marks on the underside of her right forearm and she instinctively jerked it from his grasp, dropped it out of view.

"Kate."

"Don't call me 'hun,'" she retorted, attempting to steer the conversation in another direction, but Castle was having none of it.

"What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing."

He cocked his head disapprovingly. "You and I both know that's not going to cut it."

She flinched and Castle eyed her reaction curiously, realized then that his word choice hadn't been very well thought out.

"You cut yourself?"

She nodded, still refused to meet his eyes.

"On what?"

This, she could handle. One word answers that required very little information to actually be divulged. "Glass."

"What happened?"

Back into dangerous territory.

"Isn't 'I cut myself' an answer to that question?"

"Kate," Castle pleaded, leaning towards her and taking her left hand in his. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

She finally lifted her eyes to meet his, saw the turmoil broiling in their depths. "I know I can," she responded. "But that doesn't mean I should."

She saw the hurt flash through his eyes, the brief stab of pain that she recognized as him feeling as though she didn't trust him with the information.

"It's not... I trust you," she placated immediately. "I just... you don't need to share my burdens."

"You're right," he agreed. "I don't need to. But I want to. That's part of a relationship."

Kate sighed and Castle continued. "Look, I can't force you to tell me anything. I won't do that. But I know your tells well enough to know that this is one of those things you probably really need to talk about, even if you don't want to."

She dropped her head, annoyed at herself for being stubborn and at him for being right. Again. Damn him and his ability to read her so well.

When she raised her head again, his eyes were still fixed on her, brimming with honest curiosity and interest.

"I broke a glass," she said softly, felt the couch dip as Castle shifted, positioning himself farther from her. Giving her space even as she shared this part of herself with him. "It was... during the sniper case. I was drunk and I knocked it over and sliced my arm on the shards as I reached for my gun."

"Was someone trying to break in?" he asked, hand tightening on hers in fear.

She shook her head, ashamed of her reaction. "No. I was having flashbacks, I guess. I freaked out."

Castle nodded in understanding, neither judgmental nor pitying her, for which she was grateful.

"I didn't realize."

She released a self-deprecating chuckle. "I didn't want you to. I didn't want anyone to know what that case did to me."

He wanted to keep pressing, to ask her what it was that Esposito said to her, because the difference after the other cop talked to her had been remarkable. But he also knew that Kate had a special relationship with the detective and he wasn't going to intrude on that private moment. It deserved to stay between them.

"I'm sorry," he offered, not for her, but for the fact that he hadn't tried to do something to help. She wouldn't have taken it, he knew quite well. But he still felt bad that the woman he loved was going through so much and there was nothing he could do but idly sit back and hope she'd be okay.

Kate squeezed his hand, easily accepted his embrace as he offered out his other arm. "Thanks, Castle."

Kate still wasn't sure if it was better or worse that he knew, but he'd taken it in stride and it never seemed to change the way he viewed her. And she had felt lighter after letting it out, so maybe he'd been right after all. He usually was when it came to her.

Castle's arm sliding from beneath her grip, his fingers twining with hers, pulled her from the memory. He shot a questioning glance in her direction and she offered a weak smile in response.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

She nodded, reassuring for both herself and for him. Dark memories such as this one would always be a part of her past. But they were just that; in the past. She was in a much better place now, and she had someone that not only knew about her past but accepted it as a part of her. Perhaps it was that more than anything else that had helped her come to grips with everything she'd been through.

She could handle this. She could. Because, thanks to the man who was gazing at her, eyes full of love, she was stronger now.

"Yeah, Castle. I'm good."

After two or three minutes of silence, both of them lost in their thoughts, Castle cleared his throat softly, spoke tentatively.

"There's, uh, one more from that case if you'd rather just... get it over with."

Kate reached out for the journal and sure enough, there was another letter dated just two days later, this one intact. She nodded, more to herself than to him, knowing that she needed to do this now.

"Yeah."

He nodded in agreement, seemed to understand.

Dear Kate,

I know you're going through some pretty heavy stuff right now, and though I can't truthfully say I understand exactly how you feel, I still understand on some level. What I went through last May was very different from what you did, but I think the after-effects are more similar than you realize.

No, my symptoms are not as severe, but I've also had days where the sun is too bright, there are too many reflections, every noise is too loud. I've had nightmares. I've had panic attacks when I woke from the dreams, feeling the ghost of your blood on my hands, thinking you were gone from this world. It was traumatizing, Kate, watching you die, feeling you go limp in my arms. Everything about that day is forever imprinted in my mind, and though I imagine it will fade with time, it will never disappear.

I know you wanted space this week, and I know you didn't really want to talk about it, but sometimes I think it might help if you did, if we did this together. We could lean on each other, help each other through the rough patches. One of us can be the sail that holds the other above water.

But this isn't supposed to be about me, about what I think would be best. This is about you. I'm sure you probably know what will help you better than I do. If space is what you want, I will step aside. It did seem to work, because I can tell you're doing better today than you were at the beginning of the case.

But before I can leave this be and accept that you don't need anything from me right now, there is something I want you to know: you will never be anything less than extraordinary in my eyes. Struggling with everything that happened to you doesn't make you weak or broken. It makes you human. No matter what happens, no matter how long the struggle lasts, and even if you keep pushing me away, there's one thing that will never change. I love you, Kate.

Always.

Rick

"I hated that case," she muttered.

She felt Castle's hand close over hers, envelop her fingers gently. "Me too."

"It scared me."

It was the most difficult case she'd ever worked, bar none. Sure, there'd been others that had hit close to home, reminded her of her mom's case. But no other case had ever affected her so deeply, shaken her down to the core and spread her emotions raw. And no other case had ever made her fear for her own well-being in the way that one did.

"How so?"

She took a deep breath, prepared herself. She'd never admitted this to anyone, and she probably never would again. "I've never really identified with a killer before, never understood why they chose that way to deal with something. But with him I did. And that scared me."

"You're not him, Kate. You never will be." Castle's voice washed over her soothingly and she felt herself relax, but the fear from the past was still there, seeping through her veins even as she tried to force it out.

"But I could have been. And that's when I truly realized what my mom's case did to me."

"Kate..."

"I know," she interrupted, voice soft but firm.

"No, no." He shook his head frantically. "You never could have been like him. You wouldn't do that. I know you."

"But I could have."

"No..."

"I'm not saying I would have," she clarified. "I'm just saying that it made me realize I needed a better coping mechanism so I wasn't driven to something harmful."

"I'm so proud of you for seeing that," he confessed. Not patronizing, just honest.

Kate smiled softly, leaned her head against his shoulder. She'd long since grown immune to his sappy compliments but sentiments like this still caught her off-guard every time, because his faith in her never faltered. She'd never met anyone before who was so un-waveringly loyal.

"Thanks, Castle," she murmured.

He smiled against her, squeezed her hand in reaffirmation. "Always."

Thoughts?