Once again, I'm a sucker for you guys!

I had so many people send me nice messages asking for a part two and I just happened to get another prompt on Tumblr that I figured could work well for a continuation of my last chapter so, here we go!

Prompt:

Castle shows up during Kate and Lanie's girl time (4x20) to talk and Lanie makes herself scarce.

"Until tomorrow, Detective Beckett."

"Can't you just say 'night'?"

"I'm a writer. 'Night' is boring. 'Until tomorrow' is more... hopeful."

She stared at the empty chair beside her desk, biting down on the nail of her thumb.

Tomorrow.

He had promised - with that sad smile that shattered her heart - that she would see him today. It was fast approaching 10am, though, and he was yet to make an appearance.

She sighed and forced her eyes away from the reminder of his absence. There was work to be done, and she should at least pretend to be doing it.

She was fifteen minutes into reading the precinct's monthly bulletin - a task that usually required no more than five minutes of her time - when she heard his voice.

She looked away from her computer screen and watched as Castle stepped off the elevator, chatting animatedly with LT.

He was all smiles and laughter as he approached and for a second - a stupidly optimistic second - she thought that maybe things were looking up for them again. He seemed happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in too long.

But when his eyes drifted up, meeting hers for only the briefest of moments before darting to the floor, she knew that it was nothing more than a charade.

Keeping up appearances: he did it so well.

He made a beeline for the boys, lingering by their desks instead of taking his usual seat by hers.

"Morning," he greeted everyone within earshot; the most polite and discrete way to snub her.

But she wouldn't bother with polite. Ignoring his greeting, she returned to her bulletin, feigning an interest in the paragraph she had already tried to read several times over.

"Did we find Murphey?" Castle asked, loud enough for it to seem like Beckett was a part of this conversation, but she knew better.

"Lock up," Esposito answered.

"We arrested him?" Castle asked incredulously. "I thought we needed more evidence."

"We didn't arrest him," Ryan added as his eyes drifted toward Beckett.

She could feel their eyes on her as she stared blankly at the screen. Risking a peek over the top of the monitor, her eyes locked with Castle's.

"You arrested Murphey?"

She stood, rounded her desk to close some of the distance, save herself from having to practically yell.

But even just those few steps felt too close. She leant back, resting against the edge of her desk, and folded her arms across her torso.

"I stayed on him last night," she admitted, knowing he wouldn't be impressed.

She had already been lectured by Ryan and Esposito about the dangers of tailing a suspect alone. She didn't need, or want, Castle's input.

But when had that ever stopped him?

"Wait... you stayed on him?" The concern in his voice was heavy. "Alone? Beckett, what the hell were you thinking?"

"Around 4am he was kicked out of a bar and started a fight in the street," she pushed on, trying to ignore the spark in her chest that his concern had ignited. At least he still cared, even if he tried not to. "There were a couple of uniforms there. All I did was ask that he be brought to the Twelfth."

Castle stepped closer to her. "What if he had spotted you?"

"He didn't," she defended.

"But he could have. In my experience, paranoid drug addicts usually don't take too kindly to being followed."

"This is my job, Castle, I know what I'm doing."

And she was sick of the lectures.

"Staying was reckless," he scowled. "Anything could have happened to you."

She pushed herself from her desk, storming toward him.

"If you were so concerned about my safety you wouldn't have left me in that alleyway," she snapped, an angry whisper.

Her words came out harsher than she intended and instantly she wanted to backpedal, to apologise, to steer them away from the anger and yet another fight.

But the wheels were already in motion.

"We lost him," he snarled. "You said you were going home."

"No, you told me to go home." She doubled down, despite the voice in her head begging her to stand down. "I don't take my orders from some writer who gets his kicks from playing cop."

He stepped closer. "I-"

He faltered when he realised that, somehow, they were just inches from each other.

In the middle of the bullpen.

Tensions high.

All eyes on them.

This wasn't them. Not the them that he wanted to be, anyway.

Slowly, he stepped backward. One, two, three steps. And his anger simmered.

Beckett sighed, the heartbreak in his eyes was too much for her.

"Castle, wait-"

"I have chapters due," he muttered quietly as he turned away from her.

She took a deep breath and turned to face her desk: she couldn't watch him walk away, not right now.

She scrubbed her hands over her face, desperate to remain composed as regret churned in her stomach.

"You okay?" Esposito's hushed voice took her by surprise, she hadn't noticed him approach.

He placed his hand on her shoulder in attempt to comfort her, but the rare intimacy only confirmed to her that this was as bad as it seemed.

She shook her head slightly: no, she wasn't okay.

But this wasn't their problem, she wasn't about to drag them even further into this mess.

"I'm fine," she murmured.

She stepped away from Esposito, shrugged away from his touch.

She grabbed the empty coffee mug from her desk and stormed into the break room, desperate to hide herself away from the prying eyes of the bullpen.

She poured another glass of wine, because... why not?

Lanie eyed her cautiously. "So, you had a fight? Aren't you guys always bickering about one thing or another?"

She shook her head. This wasn't bickering. This wasn't their usual arguing.

"I'm telling you, something happened, something changed."

She was still trying to figure out exactly when things had changed between them. The distance between them had felt so sudden, but what if she just hadn't noticed it before? What if they had been on this course for weeks, months, and she had been oblivious? What if she could have stopped it, but was too late?

"It's been weird between us lately," she added before taking a sip from her full glass.

"Lately?" Lanie's eyebrows raised impossibly high on her forehead. "Kate, it's been weird for four years."

"No, this is different," she argued. "He's different. It's like he's pulling away."

She was losing him. She wasn't ready for that.

"Well, can you blame him?" Lanie questioned as she looked into the deep crimson droplets that pooled in the bottom of her second glass.

She was obviously starting to feel the effects of the alcohol now that she had reached her self-imposed two drink limit, and it seemed she didn't have the patience for Kate's denial right now.

"He's probably tired of waiting," she added with more snark than necessary.

Kate scoffed. "Waiting for what?"

"What do you think? The guy is crazy about you. And despite your little act, you're crazy about him."

Mouth agape, Kate narrowed her eyes at her friend: her best attempt to feign both confusion and absolute repudiation.

Crazy about Castle?

"Oh, what, was that supposed to be some big secret?" Lanie teased with a smirk.

Kate dropped the act. What was the point? Lanie sure as hell wasn't buying it.

"Yes," she answered with a shrug.

Lanie narrowed her eyes.

"No," Kate self-corrected. "Do you think he knows?"

Her stomach was doing somersaults.

What if he knew?

What if that's what changed between them?

What if he was trying to push her away, purposely, because - despite what Lanie might think - he wasn't crazy about her? Not anymore, anyway.

She placed two fingers on the base of her wine glass and slid it along the kitchen counter, away from her. The thought of drinking it now, with her stomach having apparently run off with the circus, made her want to heave.

Lanie opened her mouth to answer Kate's question, but was cut off by a loud, aggressive hammering on the front door.

Lanie frowned at the interruption. "Who the hell is that?"

Kate shrugged and looked toward the door, as if she could see through it.

"Beckett?" They heard called from the other side.

The two women looked at each other, recognising the voice instantly. Lanie smirked, but Beckett was struck with a sudden fear.

He sounded angry, again. And she really didn't want to deal with that right now, she didn't want to fight... again.

But the banging persisted. Three solid pounds against the hard wood door.

"Beckett!" he called again.

It was evident he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"You want me to leave?" Lanie asked quietly.

"No."

Beckett moved from behind the counter, slowly inching toward her apartment's entrance.

She inhaled deeply before opening the door, her hand's firm grip keeping it from opening too wide.

She didn't want him to mistake her answering for an invitation inside, but he didn't plan on waiting for an invite.

He stepped across the threshold, eyes fixed on hers. Before she even registered what was happening, his hands had cupped her face and his lips were on hers.

Her hand slipped from its hold on her door to palm the back of his head, holding him close as she deepened the kiss without a trace of hesitancy.

Caught in the moment, she found herself taking several small steps backward, leading him further into her apartment. Her free hand slipped up between them, fisting at the material of his shirt to ensure that he moved with her. She needed him to know that she wasn't pulling away, that she didn't want this to end as abruptly as it had last night.

He released his hold on her face, his touch moving down her body, gripping at her waist with the same urgency and desperation she felt in the alleyway and she could tell he was still angry, still hurting.

The door clicked shut, just loud enough to pull them from their trance. Castle turned and looked toward the source of the sound while Kate looked toward the kitchen, noting that her friend was nowhere to be seen.

She smiled, reminded herself to thank Lanie. Later, of course.

Gently, she tickled her nails through Castle's hair and down the back of his neck, bringing his attention back to her. His hands still rested on her waist and the heat of his body seemed to burn right through the material of her shirt.

"I'm sorry that I left you," he said before she had the chance to say anything. "I was angry and I wasn't thinking and I am so sorry that I left you."

It was written all over his face; his sorrow, his shame, his regret.

"I'm okay, Castle."

"I know," he said, but he didn't seem convinced. "I know," he repeated quietly.

His eyes dropped to her lips, lingering, and she knew he wanted to kiss her again.

Shamelessly, she wished he would.

"If anything had happened to you-"

He didn't finish the thought; didn't have to. They both knew what he was thinking.

He would never forgive himself.

"Forgive me?" he whispered the question, his voice so thick with desperation, as if her forgiveness was some magic fix.

But it wasn't. Forgiveness didn't mean forgetting everything that had taken place. This shift between them, it couldn't be ignored.

"Tell me what I did to make you so angry," she whispered, fighting to keep the tatters of her heart from disintegrating completely. But her pain was evident in the slight cracking of her voice. "Please, tell me how I can fix this."

"You can't."

Her stomach dropped and she could have sworn her heart stopped beating completely.

Her hands dropped from his chest as her strength seemed to drain from her body.

She shook her head, pleading. "Don't say that."

She couldn't breath, there was no air left in the room.

"I'm sorry."

"No." The word was barely a breath, her voice lost to emotion.

"I thought I could just turn it off, that everything would be fine, but then I'm getting all these signals that I'm obviously misreading- I mean, why do you keep letting me kiss you like this?"

"Hold on." She held her hand up to stop his anxious rambling.

She didn't understand. Her mind just couldn't keep up. "Turn what off?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Kate."

She looked at him, searching his eyes for clarification, but all she found was the same sad eyes she stared into all those months ago as she tiptoed the line between life and death.

I love you, Kate.

And finally, she pieced it all together.

His confession. Her lie. Their conversation on the swings.

The wall that refused to crumble.

The bomb. Her slip of the tongue during an emotional interrogation.

The coffee cup on her desk that marked the beginning of the end.

"Castle, I can exp-"

"It's fine, Kate. I get it," he assured her. "I just wish you would have just told me that you didn't feel the same way."

She shook her head and covered her face with both hands. "No," she mumbled into her palms.

"I could have handled the truth," he continued. "But I've been waiting for something that was never going to happen. I thought there was reason to hold onto hope, but there wasn't."

She dropped her hands again as she mustered the confidence to come clean to him.

"Castle, I'm sorry that I lied to you and I am sorry that you found out like that but I promise you it wasn't because I didn't feel the same way," she blurted the string of words before she could change her mind.

She shifted onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his, soft and tender. Not under the guise of being undercover, not rushed or desperate or tinged with underlying sadness.

Just the love that she had definitely felt, but kept to herself, since that day.

Since before that day.

"I promise you," she whispered the assurance once more as she pulled away, hoping the gravity of the words would really sink in.

He stared at her for a moment and she waited, watching his face, watching him process until the realisation settled in and he smiled.

She loved him, too.

They loved each other.

"So, I've been a total jackass over a misunderstanding?"

She smiled and shook her head. "No. You've been a total jackass because I hid instead of talking to you."

He nodded slowly. "Maybe next time we could talk about things. You know, try to actually sort it out before resorting to jackassery?"

"I'd like that."

The trill chirrup of her phone's ringtone broke through her otherwise silent apartment.

"Are you kidding me?" she grumbled as she moved back toward the kitchen to retrieve her phone from the bench.

She pressed the phone to her ear. "Beckett. Uh-huh. Okay, thanks."

She sighed, stuffing her phone into her pocket.

"Body?" Castle asked, despite knowing the glaringly obvious answer.

"Yep. Give you a lift?"

"I'm in the Ferrari," he explained, almost apologetically, until an idea sparked and he perked up. "I could give you a lift."

"Yeah, I don't think I should be rolling up to a crime scene in a Ferrari," she said with a smile, trying to ease the rejection. "Thanks anyway."

"Touché."

She grabbed her jacket from where it had been draped over the back of her couch, then walked toward him.

"See you there?"

"Of course," he assured her with a sweet smile.

His eyes flicked down to her lips, then back to her eyes.

"Just, uh, before we go-"

He licked his lips as he brought his face to hers ever so slowly. It was almost painful to wait as his lips hovered just millimetres from hers.

"I really am sorry," he whispered before finally touching his lips to hers in a soft, sweet and delicate graze.

For the first time in weeks, she knew without a doubt that they were going to make it through this.