A/N: Hold on tight lovely readers, we're diving head first into the angst. This will remain in Kate's POV for a few more chapters, then I'll be switching to Castle's so we can see both sides. Thank you so much to all who have favorited, followed and reviewed!

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle or any of its characters. I claim no ownership over the episode which fueled the idea for this story.

My Hero

"There is everything you know,

And there is everything that happens.

When the two do not line up,

You make a choice."

-Mitch Albom

The pen she's holding hovers over the paper in front of her. It's a lot more difficult to put her words on paper than she thought. She intended for this to be easier than going to talk to him in person, but how exactly do you put your heart into words for someone who spends his days writing?

Maybe she doesn't have to do it all at once. Maybe she can write him one letter for each day that she has left in the city. If there's one thing she's learned about it him, it's that he loves to read almost as much as he loves to write. Words from her might not be at the top of his list right now, but what does she have to lose? He's already shutting her out, the worst he can do is not read the letters.

She stares at the paper, wishing that the pen would just start moving on its own, words flowing out of it without so much effort from her. But as she starts thinking about her life, about how far she's come since she was nineteen, something releases in her and the pen starts moving. The words take shape, covering the once white paper in an elegant black script that pours from the depths of her heart.

Castle,

I'm not sure how to start this. I'm not even sure you'll want to read it—or if you actually will. If it ends up in my mailbox with a 'return to sender' stamp I'll understand. The way things happened between us – the fight we had – it wasn't how I meant for things to go.

If you're still reading this, then hopefully you'll continue until the end. Words are your expertise, they've never been mine. In this case, writing them down seemed to be my best bet for not only opening up to you, but for getting you to listen as well.

I'm a closed-off, mess of a person, but you already know that. I've worked hard to become better, to stop shutting out the important people in my life, but sometimes it's still hard. There's really no excuse for choosing to shut you out on something like this after everything we've been through, but I owe you some type of explanation.

I've had to let go of too much in my life, so many people that I wasn't ready to give up. And because of that, everything that I've ever let go of seems to have claw marks on it. In the process of learning to let go, I could never get my hands to cooperate. I've had to pry them loose, and every time I could almost see the physical marks, the proof of how hard I held on to the things I love, even when I had no choice but to let go. The first example I can think of is, well—you know the first person I was ever forced to let go of. My mom.

My mom was everything to me, Castle. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. It was the ultimate dream to me, to follow in her footsteps. She was so strong and so confident; it seeped out of her in every aspect of her life. Not only was she the perfect role model as a woman, she was the perfect mother as well. Her life was crazy, filled with constant hectic schedules, and yet, she always had time for me.

I'm sure there were many times that I disappointed her, but she was still so proud of me. She kept my picture on her desk at work and whenever anyone asked about me she would tell them that I was her mini-me, a lawyer in progress, and I fully intended to be just that.

When she was murdered, my entire life titled on its axis. Everything that I ever wanted became nothing. It wasn't just a freak accident, a random occurrence that no one could have stopped; they took her from me. She was stabbed to death, alone in an alley, for something that she never should have been involved in. I know you already know this, probably better than anyone else ever has outside of my immediate family. There's a reason for that, you know, and it's not just because you decided to be nosy in the beginning.

There was never a choice with my mom. Only one option was given to me, to let go. For weeks I was a mess, trying to get myself together, trying to remember how to function. I kept asking myself, how do you let go of someone who's been your hero for your entire life? How do you let go of your mother? The truth is I had no idea how to do it. Letting go isn't something that has ever been easy for me. It wasn't easy then and it's not easy now.

But in the end, I had to accept it. I had to put one foot in front of the other and learn to live my life without her. It took weeks before I could walk through our front door and not expect to see her there. It took months before I could walk past the building where she worked and not want to run up to her office and tell her about my day. It took years before I could go by the cemetery and talk to her in a way that said I had accepted that she was gone.

In life she was my hero, and in death she's even more of one to me. It's one of the only silver linings I could find, and it's something that I hold on to.

I had to let go of my mother, I didn't get a choice. But I have a choice now and I don't want to let go of you. Please don't make me let go.

-Always, Kate.

She folds the letter and slides it into the envelope, sealing it and placing a stamp in the corner. She's about to finish packing the drawer she started on earlier when the sound of her stomach growling fills the room. Now seems like a good time to stop and go get lunch anyway.

She slips on her sneakers and a gray NYPD hoodie before grabbing her keys and phone. She's craving a burger and fries, although eating at Remy's isn't something she feels like doing right now. It reminds her too much of Castle. She calls in her order so that it'll be ready when she gets there. She'll just take it back to her apartment and eat; she needs to work on packing more anyway. Six more days seems like a lot of time, but it'll be gone before she knows it.

She stops by the mail boxes in the lobby of her apartment building, staring at the letter that's in her hand. If she doesn't mail it, she may never get the chance to tell him the things she wrote. If he never gets a chance to read her words, he may never hear them at all.

She drops the letter in the outgoing mail slot and turns to walk out of her building. Her words will be in his hands tomorrow morning. Whether or not he'll read them is completely up to him.

Thank you to Bri, for the beta and for having ridiculously long conversations about this story with me. Xoxo

Would love to hear your thoughts! Xo