A/N: I'm thrilled by the response to this story so far. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Keep 'em coming. :)

Chapter 3: Roller Coaster Ride

Previously…

"What if I don't want to wait?"

Her eyes are dark and open, though her cheeks are flushed pink as if from discomfort or embarrassment of some kind.

"What?" He doesn't understand. She was asking him to wait…or at least he thought she was.

"Castle, what if I don't want to wait anymore? Hmm? What if I tell you everything, show you…everything, and we try to muddle through somehow. A work in progress. Not perfect. Just…a work in progress."

Castle stalls, his heart in his mouth blocking the chance of any words coming out for several long seconds. Kate watches him struggle in silence, her eyes full with everything she knows she's still failing to say.

He blinks rapidly, swallows roughly and then shakes his head. "I—I'm sorry. Can we back up a little and just—"

He breaks off, turning in a tight circle, smoothing his hands down over the back of his head, tipping it forward and cupping his ears. He's restless and confused, agitated even, reeling from this roller coaster ride of a day. And it isn't over yet. He turns back to face Kate, catching the corner of the area rug with the heel of his shoe.

"I need to clarify a few points before we go any further because if I say the wrong thing here there is a big danger I'm going to make a complete fool of myself."

Kate licks her lips and Castle stares as her tongue flashes out - pink, soft and damp - and then retreats. He watches her throat bob as she swallows nervously. These are good signs, he hopes, if she's this nervous too. Unless…

"Ask me," she nods quietly, a flicker of a smile softening the lines around her mouth as she finally raises her eyes to meet his. "Ask me anything."

Castle's eyebrows shoot up at this unexpected invitation, this offer of openness and honesty. He's not used to propositions of this kind coming from her. Even today, as open as their conversation got, it was still veiled in subtext, disguised by Kate's overly careful use of language.

"I won't be able to have the kind of relationship I want…"

He pauses, frowning as if he's misunderstood. "Uh. You sure?"

Her smile widens, the strain on her face easing. "Castle, ask," she encourages, almost laughing now, though she has no idea where this sudden burst of confidence and levity has come from, only that this is what he usually does for her – lightens things up. So she's going to attempt to do the same for him, if only to see a smile grace that serious face once more.

"Come on. Questions, curiosity, a total inability to keep quiet and not poke around…" she giggles, dipping her head bashfully when he surprises her with a quick wounded pout, "…they're your thing."

"Yeah, but…you hate it when I ask you stuff. Personal stuff."

The guy has saved her life on more than one occasion, he's steadily fallen in love with her, and boy has she put him through the wringer. She's attempting to bear her soul tonight and he's worried about putting her on the spot?

"Castle, I know you," she assures him sincerely. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't already know what I was letting myself in for."

He feels an unexpected surge of excitement as he tries to unscramble his brain fast enough to formulate his first question while she's still declaring it open season. It's like being told that you can have absolutely anything you want for Christmas…when you're five. He just can't figure out what he wants.

"You're really sure?" he checks once more, a genuine smile finally making his face come alive.

Kate rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. Her next response floors him.

"32B" is how she answers, offering up a personal statistic she's pretty sure he's wondered about for a very long time, if his frequent, lingering adoration of her chest is anything to go by.

"I'm—excuse me?" he splutters, eyes immediately darting down to stare at her breasts.

Kate laughs for certain this time, the glint in her eyes definitely mischievous. "You heard. I'm not repeating myself," she replies flirtatiously, recrossing her arms beneath her breasts, quite deliberately forcing them upwards to make her point in that thin grey t-shirt with the low vee cut in front.

Evil woman.

"Right. Right. Got it," he swallows, trying and failing not to stare at 'the girls' again, given the show she's putting on for him. "Eh…right, so—" he mumbles, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Next question," she prompts, smirking as Castle attempts to drag his gaze back up to her face and focus.

He grins, eyes widening with the possibilities. "Next—?"

"Bobby Flynn, behind the science block. He was my neighbor. I was…almost thirteen. He was 15, star attacker on the lacrosse team."

Castle makes an unmanly choking sound and his eyes widen at the confessions tumbling out of his normally reserved partner's mouth.

"Just…first base," she adds, as a sort of reluctant afterthought, though he never even asked the question. "Gave me this weedy little bunch of flowers he picked from his mom's garden," she laughs, nodding at the memory. "First flowers and my first kiss all rolled into one fumbling, utterly forgettable afternoon."

"But…you still remember his name," Castle points out.

Kate shrugs. "It would be impolite not to. However, I'm pretty sure he's forgotten mine by now."

"What makes you say that?"

"He started dating my best friend a week later. They're married now. Two kids, dog, big house in Nyack." She raises her eyebrows in a kind of 'what can you do' expression.

Castle can't quite believe the information pouring out of her, the stories, in such contrast to their stilted meeting earlier today. He vaguely wonders about the water supply at her father's cabin, whether it contains some magical properties, like a truth serum for example. Maybe lead poisoning? Or perhaps she fell and bumped her head.

"You're…you're on a roll," he remarks, as she scans his face for a reaction, her hazel green eyes darting back and forth while she studies him. "Were there stop-offs at any bars on this walk of yours?"

Beckett coughs. "Excuse me? Are you accusing me of drinking…alone?" she laughs, her eyes shining with so much joy at being able to find a way to do this with him now. Finally.

She is amused by his question and his clear surprise at the information she's just thrown at him. He looks adorable, knocked off his stride by the last couple of minutes' worth of banter, and though she badly wants to tell him so, to tease him even more, she knows that it's too soon for that. Not the right time. She has something else she wants to say to him, so many things in fact, before the moment gets away from her or she loses her nerve.

"Actually…would you sit for a second?" she asks, toning things back down, now that they've reestablished their unique connection and something of their usual rapport.

She needed him to see that she's still in here, haunted and gaunt though she may look to him now. She needed him to get just a little taste of the old Kate, older than he's ever seen or known. Kate from the time before her mother's death, Kate who last existed in a college dorm in California. She needed him to see that Kate before he completely lost hope. But now she needs to pull focus again, to get back to the serious matter at hand.

"I…look, we really do have to talk. If you have time, that is?"

Castle frowns. "Time?" Since when has he not had time or made time for her?

"No plans, I mean. I know I just kind of landed on you…well, twice in one day in fact, if you count showing up at your signing out of the blue, and then just turning up at your door tonight," she rambles nervously, as she watches Castle eye her warily.

"Mother and Alexis are out. So, yes, we can talk. And you know you're always welcome here, Beckett," Castle assures her, never not polite and accommodating, despite how she might have treated him before today.

A stab of guilt shoots through her and she reacts instantly.

"Castle, can we just cut the polite crap? Please?"

The writer looks slightly taken aback by this brusque, no nonsense request. He feels as if he's on a seesaw tonight, the mood and the temperature in the room changing constantly, throwing him off-balance.

"I'm sorry. But this is important and if I don't say it now I might loose my nerve, so would you please just sit down?"

The serious look on Kate's face is unnerving him. He doesn't even know how things might go wrong at this point. He's confused, oscillating between too hopeful and the darkest anticipation of impending disaster.

"Actually, I think I'd rather stand, if it's all the same to you."

He needs to retain some kind of control. Falling back under Kate Beckett's spell would be just too damned easy. She tossed her jacket on the arm of the sofa right before she told him her bra size. Her shirt is paper-thin cotton the color of turtledoves, hair is tumbling down around her shoulders, framing the stark elegance of her neck and collarbones with soft, dark curls, and he yearns to reach out and touch it; to wrap a single plump, glossy curl around his finger and tug until it bounces back like a spring. He misses her in a way that should be impossible, considering he never actually had her in the first place. So he's fighting for a little shred of control, listening to the sensible part of his brain telling him to be smart, not to let this beautiful creature lure him onto the rocks again.

Kate chews on her lip for a second and then she stands too. "Fine. Then I'll join you. At least that way I won't get a crick in my neck."

To say that he is scared right now would be the understatement of the year. But scared and maybe a little exhilarated would be a more accurate way of putting it, because if he's reading the situation right, looking at all of the evidence before him as his partner has drummed into him over their years together, then they might just be on the verge of something good, something better.

But if he's learned anything from Kate Beckett it's to expect the unexpected. She looked him right in the eye as she delivered the eulogy at Roy Montgomery's funeral and she told him and every other witness present that day that she had found the one person she wanted to stand with her in the battles of life. He knows he didn't misunderstand that look or misinterpret those words. But then she left, and he was forced to battle on alone.

So tonight, based on years of bittersweet experience of this extraordinary woman, he knows that things could still go either way.

"What is this about, Kate? I…I mean…well, I don't mean to sound—" He pauses, swallowing hesitantly before taking a breath. "If I'm being impatient or cold or unwelcoming it's because you've kind of—"

He digs his nails into his palms, any hope of suave confidence dissolving in the face of the anxious, tense look Kate is giving him back.

"Castle, after the last three months of…of silence on my part, I'm lucky you'll even give me the time of day. Don't think I don't know that."

"So…why are you here? Tonight?" he asks, glancing at the time on digital display above the stove. The little green colon dances on and off between the numbers that make up twenty-two and forty-seven, taunting him. The day is fast disappearing, and he's feeling a little like Cinderella as midnight approaches.

"As I said, after I left you today I did a lot of thinking. When I got back to my apartment…" she shrugs. "I couldn't settle. So I went out and I walked and I thought a lot about what you said and—"

"I seem to recall you doing most of the talking," he interjects, breaking her flow.

"Yeah," laughs Kate, quietly, glancing at her feet. "Makes a change," she adds, though not unkindly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Castle clenches his fists even tighter.

Then they look at one another – Castle unsure, his heart racing but lips tightly pressed together, Kate still slightly flushed with the effort she's having to make to share whatever's on her mind. To say you could cut the atmosphere with a knife is beyond true.

"I didn't tell you everything back there and I know how angry you are with me…"

She holds her hand up and dips her head again when he opens his mouth to interrupt, smoothing her palms down her jean-clad thighs. "Rightly so," she adds, to let him know that she understands what she's done, how wrong she was.

"You're right to be mad at me," she repeats for emphasis. "Just leaving town and shutting you out with no explanation and no…nothing for weeks. But, Castle, I—what I said to you today…you deserve so much more than…than that half-formed, vague, lame excuse for a…a promise."

"I do?" he asks, not really asking as he looks down at the floor, toeing the rug back in place with the tip of his shoe.

"Of course you do. You're my partner and I abandoned you."

"I don't know what I deserve anymore," he mumbles, more to himself than anything, and the feeling of low self-worth he's exuding makes Kate's insides clench, makes her feel queasy and annoyed with herself.

He is worth so much more and she did this to him: knocked him back until she convinced him of his lack of value, his lack of importance to her.

"More. You deserve more from me than…than…whatever that was."

She can tell from his posture that he's trying not to show how interested he is in what she's trying, very poorly, to say, by the way he turns towards her and then swings his shoulders away again, eyes lowered like he can't even bear to look at her.

"I didn't even tell you that I missed you…today, for example," she explains, her voice suddenly quieter, but fully laden with the tenderness of her feelings. "And I should have. I really should have. Because I did, everyday."

"That's…nice," he whispers, hoarsely, his own voice pulled taut, his vocal cords suddenly not his own to use.

"Nice?" screams his inner voice. That's the best you can do? She's trying to open up here. Beckett, who almost never opens up.

Kate ignores his remark anyway. "Seeing you today was…well, it was a lot of things. Terrifying to begin with," she admits, the blush on her cheeks deepening, melting the last chips of ice inside his heart.

"Never thought I'd be able to scare Kate Beckett," Castle throws out for something to say, something humorous, because that's what he does, that's who he is.

"Scare—? Castle, you terrify me sometimes," she admits with startling candor.

His head snaps up and he stares at her, eyes wide and mystified. "I terrify you? Why?"

"You really don't know?" she asks, watching his face, trying to read every flicker and twitch of muscle, that intelligent, compassionate light behind his eyes, which is so much dimmer than she remembers.

He shakes his head in response. "Know what?" he asks, deadly serious.

Kate swallows audibly, sucking her lower lip into her mouth to damp her parched skin. She certainly has his full attention now. "Castle, you terrify me because…because I'm in love with you, and if anything I've done, any of the stupid things I've done were to push you away for good…"

When she looks at him this time there are tears shining in her eyes. "If I lost you—" she croaks hoarsely, her voice cracking at the very thought.

She shakes her head and lets the thought hang in the air between them until she's composed enough to speak again.

"When you walked away from me today—"

He guesses she means outside the signing session at the bookstore, when he walked right past without acknowledging her presence, trying with all he had to ignore her, to escape the pain of seeing her again, the delicious ache the very sight of her set throbbing inside of him.

Kate clears her throat and pulls it together again. "I guess I naively thought it would be easier. That maybe you'd be pleased to see me. I was excited to see you. I know I have no right to expect you to just overlook my—"

She takes a breath, almost like a hiccup, and he watches as she presses her hand flat to the center of her chest. It's not a gesture he's ever seen her make before and it draws his attention.

"Look, I'm sorry. I was selfish. I was scared. But until you've been shot—"

Kate abruptly stops talking. Her last statement sounds far too self-serving. What, she should wish him shot so that he can fully understand her pain? Castle and empathy have gone hand-in-hand for as long as she's known him. He doesn't need to experience something to be able to relate. Her mother was murdered and yet he is the one who's done more than anyone else to help bring those killers to justice. He gets it without asking or explaining. He just does. She needs to start treating him in a way that recognizes the beautiful, generous, innate drive for fairness that seems woven into his DNA. Life can be brutal. Richard Castle in your corner makes it sting a whole lot less.

"I'm sorry that was wrong of me," she apologizes, waiting until Castle offers the slightest nod of acceptance before she continues. "I just had no idea how getting shot would affect me. You train to be a cop you think someday it will be your turn. You expect it and you think you already know how you'll deal with it. Turns out I had no goddamn idea," she explains, angrily tucking her hair behind her ears.

"We've been over all of this, Kate," Castle says quietly, deflating her fervor with his gentle nonchalance, as if they exchange truths like this everyday.

Kate stands up straighter, her spine stiffening. The ache in her chest is back to haunt her again. "Did you hear me? I'm saying that I love you and that scares the hell out of me, Castle. Not the loving, with you that's easy…now…somehow," she shrugs, one-shouldered.

Castle stands as still as a statue, heart pumping dangerously within the walls of his chest. "Then what?"

She cradles her hand below her heart again, her fingers curled inward protectively. "The losing. The losing is what scares me, and so help me—"

"Then don't!"

Castle's words stop her flow dead. Like a slap, they wind her.

Kate shakes her head, as if she doesn't understand. "Don't? Don't what? Try?" she asks, looking panicked and horrified.

"No. Don't lose me…this…whatever," he says, waving a hand between them. "Don't make me wait until you're your own vision of perfect, Kate. Newsflash – no one is perfect, least of all me, okay. So, you need to get that idea out of your head or I will let you down time and again."

"That's the problem. You've never let me down. Not when I needed you. Never. And I—"

"You are who you are, Kate. We all are. There's no such thing as perfect. Not perfect timing, not perfect people."

"Look, I think we're saying the same thing here," she says, hoping he remembers how this all began with her desire not to wait anymore.

"Are we? I mean, do we ever say the same thing?" he challenges, a vein in his neck beginning to throb, high color flooding his cheeks at his own audacity in pushing things this far; farther than ever before.

She drops her head into her hands momentarily. "This is such a mess. Today. In my head it went…so differently."

She hears Castle sigh, a sigh of exhaustion or maybe defeat.

"How different?" he asks, his temper back under control, his voice measured, though still tainted with tiredness.

"You were pleased to see me for starters," she admits, with a release of breath that sounds like a bitter laugh designed to show how deluded she now recognizes she'd been with that unrealistic expectation.

"I was pleased to see you," Castle insists, and he honestly was, once he knew that Josh was gone and she'd actually come to find him, that she still wanted him around.

Kate snorts and half-turns away from him.

"Okay, not right away. But after…once the shock wore off," he admits, because if she can be honest, then so can he.

"Can we sit down now? I don't feel so good."

Castle reaches out to cup her elbow, noticing the pallor in her cheeks all of a sudden, the bright flush from earlier now diluted to a bloodless white. "Sure. Let me get you something to drink."

The feel of his fingers on her arm lingers like an afterimage – warm, light pressure, both soothing and cathartic. She realizes that this is the first time he has touched her in months, and even then their most intimate physical moments have only ever occurred at times of extreme stress or peril. The most frantic, arousing kiss of her life was a ruse to save two of her team. The night he wrapped his arms around her and physically carried her, his cheek pressed against hers as he struggled to hold her back while Montgomery was executed. The warm, bright day he laid his hands on her body as he fought to save her life by staunching the flow of blood pumping out of her chest, whispering words of love to keep her with him. These moments form a sad litany of desire and regret, a twisted demonstration of what she means to him and he to her, achieved only when then chips were down and they thought they were about to breathe their last.

She watches him now, broad backed and solid, from the safety of his sofa as he lifts glasses down from a cabinet in the kitchen and then pours ice water from the refrigerator into a jug, before loading the whole lot onto a tray and heading back in her direction.

This needs to stop. She might not be any good at it, but these misfires, these horribly damaging mistakes need to stop.

TBC...