A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read and review :) and yup we're getting there, I'm saying 3/4 chaps and an epilogue :) thanks for sticking with me, hugs.
Castle ducks out of a side entrance to where he knows the car is waiting. Relief, like a tidal wave, crashes over him and it almost takes out his knees before he slides into the backseat.
He just wants to see her and explain.
He barks orders, offers cash and tickets and, hell, he almost offers up his own damn soul just get to her as fast as possible.
Jump lights, break speed limits, whatever it takes, and he's only half joking when he nods at the driver's sarcastic suggestion to mount the sidewalk and take out a few pedestrians.
Castle can't keep still in the backseat. The entire ride in the car he finds himself a blank slate for emotion, a canvas painted in exhilaration and fear.
He has to explain and surely she has to listen but so much of her is unknown - feels unknowable if he's honest - that even taking this step is scaring the hell out of him.
It's Beckett, which is weird enough. But it's also love and that aching churn in his abdomen, the longing in his chest and he kinda thought he wasn't going there again.
Sex, yes, dating, sure, but love?
He's still getting used to the idea of being the person she loves to hate or hates to hate or whatever it is that she's got going on and yes, she's hot as hell and they had sex, but love?
He's in love with Beckett.
For the first time this night, or ever, he lets the idea of it settle in his chest and though he's scrubbing his hands over his face and trying to calm down the racing beat of his heart, Castle finds himself smiling.
It feels ... good? Right, somehow, that her image meets the closing of his eyes and he can feel her touch over his skin.
He's in love with Beckett, she's gonna be pissed off when she finds out - he smiles again - but that flare of hope that rose up at the signing staggers back. It clutches at his gut and twists him up with the belief that they could have something.
His head thuds back against the seat and frustration wells. The drive is taking too long and a ridiculous thought enters his head. If ever there was a time to have super powers it would be now.
He could just fly straight to her.
They pull up slowly and Castle slides from the car, sends the driver back without a second thought and steps into the shadowed entrance of her building.
Doubt skitters up his spine, like cold water running the wrong way and he starts convincing himself that he's already too late - poised to buzz and most likely beg - when the sound of a car approaching behind him freezes him to the spot.
His heart thuds erratically all over again, attacking the walls of his chest as if freedom - and landing at her feet - will solve the problem.
His breath catches and from the shadows Castle finds himself unable to move, thoroughly lost in watching her emerge from the cab.
She's breathtaking and yes, seeing her again has confirmed everything for him.
He's in love with her.
She throws the door open, viciously, like it has offended her in some way and Castle winces - sensing it's not going to be easy, but it never is with them - and he straightens up.
He can do this.
The long lines of her bare legs appear first as she swings herself around in the seat, planting the heels of those sinful shoes on the ground and propelling herself into the night.
The sound of the door slamming shut thunders through the streets. It's late, but it's New York and not exactly quiet, but the force of her anger booms and shudders all around them.
Castle winces again, squeezes his fists together, holds onto her purse and his courage with an iron grip.
She's mad, fucked off, verging on violent and she owns it, owns the night and his heart in one fell swoop. He watches Beckett smooth down the skin tight, electric blue of her dress, straighten the man's coat at her shoulders and approach the driver.
Castle sees her step falter and the purse still gripped so tight in his hands suddenly feels like a life raft and a lead weight all at the same time.
This is it.
Courage and hope at battle with shame and regret, Castle clears his throat and calls from the shadow, "Beckett."
She jumps.
He watches the whisper of recognition race over her skin and she turns slowly, her body pivoting on the pointed tips of her heels so she can face him.
He steps into the light so she can see him, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest draws his eyes up from her legs. He seeks out her eyes as they stand in opposition and the street light casts her in a shadowed haze.
Her lips are dusted smudges set in a firm line and her cheeks pink with rage - soft as silk under the pads of his fingertips - but her eyes shine too bright in the muted light.
She's hurting and he hates it. It rises like bile, so very suddenly, that he has to swallow it down before he can take another step towards her.
Castle offers her the purse, trying to convey with his own gaze that he's offering more than that. They don't talk, they're not eloquent or adept in the art of conversing with one another.
They discuss cases and mundane things and he annoys her to get a reaction but every now and then they spark on something more, something real.
It's sub-textual and quiet and often hidden in among other intricacies, but it's there.
Castle finds his feet, closes the distance and offers her the purse again, his voice a low, deliberate whisper of hope, "Beckett, we need to talk."
She blinks and those eyes, the ones that drew him to her the very first time they met, the ones he teased her about in interrogation - the eyes that opened wide and fluttered closed when he kissed her - dart up to meet his.
Castle sees the hurt laced through with anger, green and brown and if I had my gun you utter jackass twisted up together so tightly - the very essence of her - that it makes him want to smile, to apologize, to pull her in close and beg forgiveness with the press of his mouth.
She takes the purse from his hands, and they don't touch. He doesn't like that they don't touch, fucking hates it in fact, and he stares at her hands as they retreat.
She's silent and blinking slowly, removing money and paying for the cab and Castle waits expecting something, but she walks past him without a second glance and no fucking way is that how this night ends.
"Kate?"
She falters - the last time he used her first name it was a silken caress surrounded by the pounding pleasure of release - but she doesn't stop.
He has to find a way to break the code of Beckett because without it they will never get beyond this. She says so much in silence and he's still figuring her out and he almost misses it when she steps through the door into her building, the door almost closing in his face.
At the last second Castle catches it, hissing at the near miss of his fingers between the heavy fall of wood and metal and he follows after her.
Her eyes cut to him for the briefest second as she hits the button to call the elevator, she judges the distance between them and for a moment he dares to hope that she's letting him catch up to her.
But the doors open immediately and he has no way of knowing.
Castle sighs loudly, still trailing behind her and as she steps in the elevator, nothing left to lose, he calls out. "You hurt me, Beckett."
It's the truth, as stupid as it may sound given everything, given how she feels and yes, yes he knows he hurt her too - they're both fucking idiots - but her eyes dart to his, wide open and shocked, her lips parting around a barked "What?"
It's the first word she's said to him directly since they escaped the bathroom and it's the opening he needs. Castle steps into the elevator with her, the heavy doors closing behind him before she can utter another word.