Do it for the Fandom

Romance, coming of age, heavy on themes of family, loss and grief, etc.

I’m just after some general feedback, a few different opinions, etc.

⛑️ a scene so angsty it physically hurts

🩻 a scene that gives new insight

This scene is also from the WIP where Beckett goes on tour with Castle.

A little background: there's a whole team on tour with them, which obviously includes Gina and Paula. As the tour goes on, Beckett gets more comfortable around Castle's team and they start to actually hang out in between commitments.

This scene takes place while Castle is off doing something (he's like a special guest speaker at some college thing or something) so Paula convinces Beckett to skip the 'boring lecture' and come to the hotel bar for a few drinks.

The hotel bar was a softly lit little cave tucked beside the lobby—all low golden lamps and expensive cocktails no one ever really finished. She’d meant to just pop in for one drink—Paula’s idea—but Gina had shown up too, and somehow one turned into three. Beckett didn’t mind it as much as she’d expected. After weeks of tight schedules and endless press questions, sitting in a corner booth with the two of them—shoes kicked off under the table, drinks sweating in their hands—felt… normal. Almost nice. Gina leaned back against the tufted booth, swirling what was left of her martini. “So,” she said, eyes glittering as she fixed Beckett with that canny publisher stare. “You and Rick.” Beckett froze, the rim of her glass halfway to her lips. “What about me and Rick?” Paula made a soft ooh noise, like she’d been waiting for this. “You know what she means.” Beckett let out a sharp laugh, almost a bark. “There is nothing going on between me and Castle. Not like that.” Paula pouted dramatically. “Why not? You’re single, he’s single, you look at each other like you’re both about to spontaneously combust—” Gina cut in, deadpan. “She’s right. Why not?” Beckett shifted in her seat, suddenly too hot under the soft bar lights. “Okay, first of all, he’s Castle. And second, I can't have this conversation, it’d just… be weird. With you, Gina. I mean—your history.” Gina tipped her head back and laughed, real and full and too loud for the sleepy bar. “Oh, sweetheart. If I survived his fling with Paula, I think I can survive him falling for someone who isn’t my best friend.” It hit Beckett like an elbow to the ribs. She’d always suspected—the inside jokes, the old stories with blanks left unfilled—but hearing her say it out loud was something else entirely. Beckett's stomach dropped, all the way through the floor. She must’ve gone still, because Paula’s eyes went wide, her cheeks flushing pink. “Oh my god. You didn’t know.” Gina winced, holding up her hands like she’d dropped a glass instead of a casual bombshell. “Kate—” “It was nothing!” Paula said quickly, leaning across the table. “God, it was years ago. One time. Totally meaningless.” Gina rolled her eyes. “Painfully meaningless. I think the only thing I felt afterwards was a deep regret for cheap hotel sheets.” Paula giggled, but the sound barely landed. All Beckett could hear was the rush in her ears. She took another sip of her drink just to give her hands something to do. “Kate,” Paula pressed, her voice softer now, “I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to blindside you.” Beckett shook her head, forcing out a flat laugh that sounded all wrong. “It’s fine.” “It’s really not—” Gina tried, but Beckett cut her off. “I don’t care,” she said, too sharp. She didn’t look at either of them. Just watched the tiny bubbles fizzing in her gin and tonic like they might pop and take this whole conversation with them. “Seriously. It doesn’t matter.” But it did. God damn it, it did. It shouldn’t have—She knew that. She knew better than anyone how many versions of Rick Castle there were before she ever showed up in his life. But knowing didn’t stop the burn of it, low in her chest. She drained the rest of her drink and set the glass down a little too hard. “So,” she said, forcing her voice back to steady, “who’s buying the next round?” Gina gave her a look like she could see every crack Beckett was trying to hide—but she just smiled, signalled the bartender, and let it drop. For now.

⛑️ a scene so angsty it physically hurts

This scene is direct from the cutting-room floor of The Night We Met.

This scene comes from a WIP (with very little actual progress) where Beckett is 'forced' to go on one of Castle's press tours with him.

I'm talking close proximity, long days, even longer nights... and one very stubborn detective, acting like she's not 100% falling in love.

It is from a chapter called WGAT 94.6: Live on air.

31. Journaling.

Set: post-series.

The Journal.

"It helps," she promised as she took a seat beside her husband.

Rick sat on their couch; the spiral-bound note book Kate had passed him almost an hour ago still opened on his knees, pages crisp and white and completely untouched by pen.

Her own note book had several pages filled already. Nothing that made any actual sense, just words spilling from the chaos of her mind onto the page with no actual thought or care. Just get it all out, that was her plan.

Rick had been a little more hesitant - which was unusual for him - but given the fact that he hadn't really been acting much like himself lately, she wasn't all that surprised.

"Burke made me start a journal after our very first session," she informed him, shaking her head at the memory. She had rolled her eyes so hard at the suggestion that she had given herself a headache. "I thought it was a ridiculous idea," she admitted.

"It is."

Her heart sunk with his gruff response and she sighed.

A writer who couldn't see the value in writing.

A relentless optimist who couldn't see the light at the end of this dark tunnel.

"It helps," she said again, her voice a pained whisper.

She looked down to the note book in her hands. From the outside it looked exactly the same as the two they had purchased just two days ago - same black wire binding, same moss green cover, same embossed brand logo in the bottom right corner - but this one had been tucked away safely in a box for years now. She placed it on the couch between them.

Curiosity got the better of him and - after just a few seconds - his focus shifted to the book. Her hand still rested on it; a sign that the pages under her palm held something she felt needed protecting.

His eyes flicked upward, locked to the waves of green and gold of hers that swirled behind a sheen of pooling tears.

"There was so much from that day that I just couldn't process," she told him. "I spent weeks at my dad's cabin just trying to quiet my mind. Nothing worked; not until I started writing it all down."

Rick delicately placed his hand over hers. "This is from-"

"Yes."

He knew why these pages needed protecting, why she would never want them to see the light of day. They held her unfiltered thoughts, painted a picture of her rawest emotions. This note book was a window into the most vulnerable time of her life; a time when she was scared and broken and alone, when everything she had thought she knew was crumbling down around her, when she didn't know what she could trust or how much she was at risk of losing.

"I've always-" She hesitated, cast her eyes down to what might have been their first physical connection in days. "I've always wanted to share this with you but, at the same time, I never really wanted to drag myself back there."

He understood. Now more than ever.

This place - a place where nothing felt real, nothing felt right - it wasn't a place he particularly enjoyed being.

He hated being inside the loft: there wasn't any part of this place that wasn't haunted by memories. But outside was worse. Strangers filled him with fear: how deep did this run? How many others were there? Every time they had thought they were out of the woods, a new big bad came hurtling toward them, throwing their life into chaos again.

He just wanted to feel safe again. He wanted her to be safe again.

"But, I figured if you could see how this works-"

"I know how a journal works, Beckett. It's a pretty simple concept."

There was that sharp tongue, again. His anger: misguided, aimed at the one person he needed most.

She didn't respond, knew better than that. She had learned, from the near-constant darkness that clouded his mind lately, that there was nothing she could do for him; nothing more than giving him time and space. With a heavy, exhausted sigh, she rose from the couch and walked back to their bedroom.

Her journal remained by his side.

--------

He spent days studying her words, the mess of thoughts that had spilled frantically from her broken mind to the pages.

At first, very little of it made sense. Each sentence felt confused - like her thoughts had melded together into one, chaotic blur - but even through that chaos he could sense her pain, her fear.

Each new page only seemed to shattered his heart more.

He had spent so much time being angry at her, hating her (or at least trying to) for pushing him away as if he meant nothing to her. He had since realised that that wasn't the case, of course. She had told him - at least a dozen times in the years since - that she spent a lot of time regretting the choices she made that Summer. But now he could see it; he could see her regret on the tear-stained pages of her journal.

I remember everything.

And it scared her: the memories; the feelings she had denied for so long, but could no longer keep at bay; the truth that the life she had been planning, a life with Josh, would have been nothing more than a convenient lie.

He didn't mean it, only said it because I was dying.

If only she had talked to him about this, if only she had asked him how he truly felt, he would have told her in a heartbeat that he had meant every word of that desperate plea for her to stay with him. I love you, Kate. I always have. He would have whispered it to her, shouted it from the rooftop, whatever it took for her to believe it.

He kept reading, needing to find what he had been searching for: the moment she knew; the moment she believed that, in the end, she would be okay. How long had he been back in her life, silently loving her, before she felt that first glimmer of hope?

Days? Weeks? Months?

But the ache in his chest didn't ease when he read an entry from just weeks after her return to work. The emptiness in his chest held still as he read her words and something within him sunk heavily, like a rock to the bottom of a deep, dark lake.

I am too broken, I will only cause him pain.

The idea of her ever believing such a thing gripped his heart like a fist, squeezing until he was sure his heart would never beat again.

It smothered him: her pain and her fear; the guilt of how he had treated her these past weeks. It smothered him until each breath was a battle - a desperate, gasping battle.

He flipped through pages, even more desperate than he was before, to find that glimmer of hope. Black ink on white pages, only snippets of information sinking in before he flipped again: hostage situation, ghosts, tiger, PTSD. He flipped and flipped until his eye caught something tucked into the pages.

A polaroid, from Ryan and Jenny's wedding, of the two of them on the dancefloor. He pulled it out and so delicately traced her face with his fingertips, studying her easy smile and the shimmer in her eyes. Then, he read the words on the page.

I saw it in his eyes and, for a moment, I let myself believe we had a chance. For that moment, I felt okay. I felt safe.

He remembered that night so clearly. She had seen it - his love for her - in his eyes because he was letting it shine so brightly for her. He had wanted her to see it. He had wanted to tell her; now he wished he had.

The entries that followed seemed to be more... assured. Her words flowed easier, her thoughts less confused, and her determination to get better was so evident. Better... for him. She wanted to be with him and she was determined to do what it took to get herself where she needed to be in order to do that.

He kept reading, each new page brought light into his heart as she recounted each small moment that had fuelled her quest to earn his heart. Each lingering look, each gentle touch, each shared smile: they had meant as much to her as they had to him.

And when he finally reached the last page, the darkness that had plagued him since the day he had almost lost everything - since the day Caleb Brown had almost almost won; since Kate had used the very last of her strength to find her way to him, to hold his hand as they both took what very well may have been their last breaths - didn't seem quite as endless.

He rose from where he sat on the couch and strode toward their bedroom, where Kate had retreated to all those hours ago. It was late, she should have been asleep but he knew she wouldn't be: she never slept until he was in bed, too. Even if they didn't speak - some nights he could barely muster the strength to return her hushed goodnight - she would wait for him before turning out the lights. 

She looked up from the book she had been reading, looked to where he remained frozen in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," he said. The two words barely made a sound in comparison to the sob that ripped through him. In an instant, Kate was making her way to him. She framed his face with a gentle palm on each cheek, her thumbs wiped tears from under his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was too late."

She shook her head. "No."

"If I had just figured it out sooner-"

"No," she repeated, her voice firm. "This isn't on you, Castle."

"Maybe if I hadn't had them make me forget-"

“Stop,” she whispered, then pressed her lips to his. Firm, and too short. “I love you, Rick. We’re gonna get through this.”

“I know,” he said. “I love you.”

Set sometime in season 4. I'm thinking after 47 seconds but let's pretend Castle was very chill about that whole situation and didn't spiral after hearing her accidental confession.

What a night.

Her head was spinning as she tried to figure out how exactly they had gotten themselves... well, here.

Alcohol had definitely been a factor. They'd all gone out for drinks; not an uncommon way for them to wind down after a case. Ryan and Jenny had disappeared fairly early on in the night, leaving Beckett and Castle to make the very poor decision of turning Lanie and Espo's bickering into a drinking game. By the time the four of them left, she and castle were giggling, staggering messes.

"Walk you home?" Castle had offered with a shy smile.

A cab would have been a much safer option - the concern in Lanie's expression all but confirmed that - but they were only a few blocks away from her apartment and there was a small but very loud part of her that didn't want to say goodnight to him yet.

So, with a smile and the nod of her head, she looped her arm through Castle's and they began to walk in the direction of her building.

"You let me know when you get home!" she heard Lanie call out to her.

Honestly, she's not even certain that she replied to her friend's request but she does know, without a doubt, that she sent that text the moment they entered her building an hour later.

They may have gotten a little lost.

"Not lost," Castle had declared as he grabbed her hand and dragged her down an alleyway. "We're on a side mission. To get donuts!"

One look at the food van that was parked down that alley and she knew they were selling more than just donuts. She made a mental note to follow up on that when she wasn't drunk.

Castle ordered two glazed donuts and, despite insisting she wouldn't eat anything purchased from someone so shady, Beckett had practically inhaled hers. Drug cover or not, it had been the best damn donut she'd ever had.

Eventually, Castle had gotten her home safe and sound but not before it began to pour down rain. They rushed into the lobby of her building, soaked and shivering.

"Come upstairs," she said to him, her teeth chittering as her rain soaked clothing cooled her body.

She hadn't thought twice about the offer: her friend was soaked, shivering and, at the very least, needed to dry off out of the chill of the night air. It wasn't until Castle's hesitation registered that she even considered the connotations of inviting him up after a night of drinking and laughing.

I love you, Kate.

The memory of his confession washed over her, sobered her up in an instant. Sometimes she would forget that he didn't know, that - while she knew these moments together were meaningful - he was left second-guessing everything. Surely he could feel it; could feel the love between them. But, unlike her, he didn't know that she felt the same way he did.

She had wanted to tell him for months now but, God, she was so scared. Every time she tried, the words just wouldn't come.

Right. That was it - the look in his eyes - that was how they got here.

It had made her want to kiss the uncertainty away, made her want to show him how she felt because words obviously weren't going to work for her.

She reached out her hand. "Come upstairs," she said again.

He took her hand and she led him to the elevator, nerves suddenly taking over her entire body. Her heart pounded furiously against her ribs as her stomach flipped over and over; it was all she could do to just focus on her breathing.

She was so caught up in her own head that she hadn't even realised she led him directly into her bedroom. Panic paralysed her; what would castle think? She had been moving on autopilot, headed for her closet to get herself dry clothes. She didn't want Castle in her bedroom - well, that wasn't entirely true - but she just hadn't let go of his hand and he, apparently, was happy to follow her lead.

"Kate?" he questioned but, triggered by the use of her name, her mind replayed his confession.

I love you, Kate.

"I know," she whispered.

"What?"

She shook her head and looked at Castle. "Um. I, uh- I need to get changed." She looked over to her bed where, thankfully, she had tossed her clean laundry earlier in the day. She plucked a towel from the small pile and thrust it toward Castle. "You should dry off."

She walked over to her closet, shifted one of her dining chairs out of the way - she had dragged it in last night to pull down one of the boxes that sat on the top of her wardrobe and hadn't gotten around to taking it back to the dining room yet - and pulled out a fresh change of clothes.

Then, she rushed to the bathroom.

She peeled off her damp clothes and pulled on a simple cotton bodycon dress - soft, worn in, the kind of thing she only ever wore at home. It clung to her in places she didn’t usually think about, but comfort outweighed modesty tonight. Her wet hair, still dripping down her spine, was twisted up into a loose bun to keep it from soaking the fabric. The tie she used was flimsy - she knew it wouldn’t hold - but that was fine. She planned to towel-dry it properly in a minute anyway.

When she made it back to her bedroom, Castle had taken a seat on the dining chair.

"Hope you don't mind," he said, sounding a little dazed. He smiled at her. "Room was starting to spin a little and I figured sitting on your bed in wet clothes wasn't the best idea."

Then, his eyes raked over her. The dress was too short, too tight. But her apartment was always warm and she found the light material to be most comfortable for days where she stayed in.

"Don't think I've ever seen you in a dress like that."

Surely, he had. It wasn't like she never wore dresses. But as she tried to recall even just one instance, nothing came to mind.

"Should wear them more often," he commented.

"I will," she responded without thought. The pleasantly surprised look on Castle's face brought a smile to her own and she took a few steps closer to him, took the towel from his hands. "Here, let me help. You look like you're struggling," she added with a chuckle.

"Little bit," he mumbled as she wiped the towel over his face. She stood in front of him, rubbed the towel back and forth over his hair. "Can I tell you something?" he asked quietly.

He looked up at her, water still dripping from the ends of his hair, and she paused mid-movement, towel in hand. His gaze was steadier than it should’ve been given the alcohol in his system, but maybe that was just Castle - disarming and focused, especially when it came to her.

“I know that you know,” he said softly.

She frowned. “What?”

“I know that you heard me. That you remember everything.”

Her heart stopped.

“I heard you when you were interrogating Bobby,” he continued, his voice quiet but sure. “I wasn’t supposed to, I know, but I did. You said you remembered. You said it out loud.”

Beckett's breath caught in her throat. Guilt prickled across her skin, cold and sharp. He knew. He'd known this whole time - and still, he stayed.

“I thought maybe you didn’t say anything because you didn’t feel the same way,” he went on, looking up at her with eyes that didn’t accuse, just ached. “But I... I think you do. I think you're scared. And I wish you weren't, but maybe there’s nothing I can do to change that.” He gave a tiny, lopsided smile. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to be scared of me.”

Her heart twisted. “I’m not scared of you, Castle.”

“But you are scared of something.”

She was. Terrified, actually. Of loving him and losing him. Of being happy and watching it slip away. Of saying it out loud and not being able to take it back. But before she could even begin to explain any of that - thank God - he smiled again, that familiar, crooked grin, and set his hands gently on her waist.

She inhaled sharply. His touch startled her - not because it was bold, but because it was comforting. Steady. Like he meant it. Like he was there, grounding her.

“It’s okay,” he said again, quieter this time.

She looked down at him, heart thudding. Then - because it was easier than words - she went back to towel-drying his hair. He let her, head bowed slightly between her hands.

And then, of course, he couldn’t help himself.

One of his hands slipped from her waist, trailed down her thigh, and pinched - definitely her ass. She yelped, jumped, and smacked his shoulder with a laugh.

“Castle!”

“What?” he said, all wide-eyed innocence, even as he grinned. “Just checking if you were still paying attention.”

“You’re such a child.”

“You love it.”

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue.

They both laughed, a little breathless, and then fell into that familiar, charged silence that wasn’t awkward so much as loaded. She didn’t know what had just passed between them exactly, but whatever it was, she felt calmer now. Like something that had been wound too tight inside her chest was finally starting to loosen.

She resumed toweling his hair, and this time, when his arms came around her waist again, she didn’t stop him.

Then his hands slid lower. Not just to rest, but to pull - gently, insistently - until she stumbled forward with a soft squeak and found herself straddling his lap.

She parted her legs just in time, managing to drop onto him with something resembling grace. Her thighs bracketed his hips, her dress riding up, but neither of them acknowledged it. Not out loud, anyway.

She kept drying his hair, pretending she didn’t notice how his hands pressed into her lower back, how his fingers gripped her like he wasn’t ready to let go. He leaned into her, burying his face in the curve of her neck, breath warm against her skin despite the dampness of his clothes.

Her hair slipped loose, the tie falling somewhere between them unnoticed. It draped down one side of her shoulder as she dragged her fingers through his damp hair, tilted his head back.

Their eyes met.

Then her lips met his.

Soft. Intentional. No hesitation.

One of his hands slid up her back, curled around the nape of her neck. The other stayed low, anchoring her to him as he kissed her like she wasn’t something he was reaching for anymore, but someone he’d finally found.

“You can tell me to stop,” he whispered into her mouth, voice ragged, breath hot.

She pulled back just enough to breathe.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

Castle/Beckett

Set: post-series (2025-ish), AU. An "I Go Crazy" follow-up.

She walked home-through quiet streets, with the night's breeze whipping her hair across her face and the smell of Castle's cologne still clinging to the collar of her shirt. Her hands trembled as she fisted the front of her coat, pulling it tighter around her body.

What had she done?

She had known that going to The Bookstore was a bad idea. Had circled the block for almost an hour, whispering reasons to herself-excuses to just leave him be. She'd almost succeeded, too. Almost gone home. Almost saved herself from this inevitable heartache.

But then she saw him-through the glass pane of the store's front door-and her feet took her home. To him.

From that moment on, she hadn't been in control. Not really.

Then again, had she ever been in control when it came to Richard Castle?

She barely made it through her front door before she was tearing off her coat-ripping it from her body like it burned her, like the weight of it might drag her straight to the floor. It landed in a heap on the entryway tiles, forgotten. She didn't stop moving.

She headed straight to the bathroom. She needed to shower, to scrub the guilt from her skin, drown it under hot water and chase away the memory of him with steam and soap and the white noise of droplets of water pelting against her skin.

She unbuttoned her blouse with shaking fingers, but paused halfway through when another trace of him drifted up from the fabric-warm, familiar, intoxicating. She smelt undeniably like him. And she wasn't ready for that to go away again. Not yet.

She froze, staring at her reflection. Her lips were still red, kissed raw. Her eyes hollow but wild.

Good God.

She hadn't just stumbled into that moment-she'd gone looking for it. Like a junkie, chasing one last high. One more taste. One more night.

And the worst part? She didn't regret it. Not really. Everything else, yes-but not this.

The day it all came crumbling down came coming back to her in shards, half-formed and too sharp to touch, to push away.

"Kate. We need to talk."

She should have known that he had found out her secret. He led her into the interrogation room, shut the door, then the blinds. Each sound-each click, each slide, each snap-felt final. Like the end.

"You know... when I hung up my shingle as a PI, I figured I'd have to follow some wives. I just never thought it's be my own."

She flinched.

"Castle-why couldn't you just trust me?"

Even now, the words sounded hollow in her memory.

Trust her? What reason had she given him to trust her?

"I thought you were in trouble. Instead, I find out you've been lying to me."

She hadn't meant to. Not really. She just... needed to protect him.

"LokSat thinks the cover-up worked," she said. "That's why he let us live. And if he finds out that I'm still pursuing this..."

Her voice caught. She hadn't realised just how close she was to breaking.

"He'll kill me. And anyone that I'm close to. That's why I had to push you away."

"The fact that you even think that breaks my heart," Castle told her-that broken heart so evident in his tear-filled eyes. "I'd walk into a tornado for you, Kate."

She knew that. Of course she knew that. But why didn't he understand-

"And I would die if I lost you."

"You want to know what hurts the most?" he asked. His voice had been quiet, so quiet. But the weight of it-God, it still echoed in each broken fragment of her heart. "You could have come to me with everything. You could've broken us up, just like you did. We could've made it look real. A cover. And together, in secret, we could've taken him down."

She remember how her breath caught with his next words, how the venom in them had been the moment she'd known-truly known-that she'd pushed him past the point of no return.

"But that never even occurred to you. Because deep down, you like being broken. You need this obsession. And no matter how much I love you, no matter what I do, I can't change that."

That was it-the moment he gave up. Even if Esposito hadn't interrupted them, even if she hadn't let him walk away in that moment, he was done.

There was nothing left for him to say.

He'd already made the decision.

And in her fear, she didn't fight it.

He walked out of the room, out of her life.

A week later, she'd been served with divorce papers.

"I can't change that. Only you can, Kate."

Her lungs wouldn't cooperate. The memory bled into her skin like ink-thick and black and suffocating. She gripped the edge of the bathroom sink, knuckles bone-white, blouse still half-unbuttoned. She couldn't seem to catch her breath.

"I can't change that. Only you can, Kate."

The words echoed, ricocheted, broke something loose in her chest.

Her knees gave out, panic climbed her spine like fire, her body shook.

Her chest was too tight.

Her throat refused to open.

She gasped once. Twice. Couldn't get air.

With trembling fingers, she reached for her phone. She barely saw the screen through the blur of tears as she typed furiously-thumbs working faster than her mind could catch up.

I messed up. I went to the bookstore. I made everything worse.

Sent.

Immediate regret bloomed in her stomach.

Lanie had told her not to go, had warned her that nothing good could come of it, that she wasn't ready.

She wasn't.

Her phone buzzed almost instantly.

Incoming call. Lanie.

Beckett stared at the screen, heart still hammering, breath still shallow. She couldn't answer, couldn't speak. She couldn't admit out loud what she had done.

So she let it ring out. She dropped the phone to the floor beside her, curled into herself-still wearing his scent, his sweat, his ghost.

She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in the crook of her arm.

And that was where she stayed.

---------------------------------------------------------------

She woke up feeling more hungover than if she'd actually gone on a bender last night.

Her head throbbed. Her limbs ached. Her mouth was dry and the cotton of her blouse reeked of guilt and faded cologne.

She hated herself a little. Maybe more than a little.

Eventually, she forced herself to move. She pulled herself from the floor, stripped away last night's clothes and finally stepped into that shower she so desperately needed. She scrubbed and scrubbed, rid her body of the last traces of him but the memories lingered like a bruise. She stood under the water for too long, letting it scald her, as if heat could purify what she'd done.

She was towel-drying her hair when the banging started.

"Kate! Open up!"

She blinked. Another knock-louder.

"Girl, I swear to God-if you make me break down this door with a baby on my hip-"

Kate opened the door to a very tired looking Lanie, a squirming bundle of blankets nestled against her side.

"Between late-night cluster feeding and worrying about you, I barely got a wink of sleep last night," she complained.

But there was no anger in her eyes. Just pure exhaustion and concern.

And then-without waiting for permission-Lanie pushed past her, thrusting baby Rafael into Kate's arms as she passed.

Kate didn't argue. She clutched little Raf close, breathing in the scent of powder and warmth and something pure. He snuggled into her chest with a sleepy little sigh.

"He's getting so big," she whispered.

"Babies do that," Lanie muttered, already rooting around Kate's kitchen like she lived there.

Kate smiled to herself. "Still crazy to think you and Espo actually created life."

"Yeah, now we just need to raise him without screwing him up too much," Lanie joked.

Kate smiled. It was genuine, if not a little bittersweet.

It had been seeing them-Lanie and Espo with their accidental, perfect family-that had started her spiral. It made her wonder: what could have been?

"Coffee?" Lanie asked, already pressing buttons on the machine.

"I should be making you coffee."

"God, no. You're on baby duty," Lanie insisted. "I love him but I need to just... not be holding him for a bit, you know?"

"You know I'll never turn down Raffy cuddles."

They sat at the table just a few minutes later-Lanie with her mug, Kate still holding the baby, who had fallen back asleep against her chest. The apartment was quiet. Still.

"Alright," Lanie said, leaning forward. "Tell me everything."

Kate hesitated.

"Don't make me drag it out of you."

So, she told her. Slowly. Reluctantly. Every last detail.

Lanie didn't interrupt, didn't react. She just sat there, silent, brow furrowed in that way she'd perfected over the years. And when Kate finished, Lanie let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"One day you'll learn to just listen to me."

Kate let out a strangled sound-half laugh, half sob.

"I still love him," she said, her voice trembling. "I never stopped."

"I get that," Lanie said gently. "But he's moved on."

Kate rolled her eyes. "A string of bimbette conquests isn't moving on-it's regressing."

"Maybe." Lanie shrugged. "But whatever it is, it isn't your business anymore."

The words hit like a punch to Kate's chest.

They sat in silence after that, the only sound was the occasional baby sigh against Kate's chest.

Kate kept her eyes on the child in her arms-his tiny fingers curled, the gentle rhythm of his breathing. She found it soothing in a way she wouldn't have expected.

"It felt good," she said suddenly, her voice quiet, as if testing the words before fully committing to them. "Last night. Being with him again. It felt like..."

She looked up at her friend.

"I might be delusional, Lanie, but it felt like he loves me, too."

Lanie looked at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

"Then tell him," she said at last. "Tell him you love him. Tell him you're sorry."

Kate frowned. "I thought you said that was selfish."

"You already did the selfish thing," Lanie said, blunt as ever. "You reopened the wound. You showed up, took what you needed."

That hurt, but Kate couldn't deny the truth.

"May as well clear the air now," Lanie continued. "If you're right... if he does still love you, and there's even a slight chance of some sort of happily ever after, then tell him."

"And if there's not?"

Lanie gave a tired smile. "Then at least you'll know. At least you'll have some sort of closure. I think you both deserve that."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

The bookstore looked different in daylight.

Warmer. Softer. Less like the scene of some colossal mistake, and more... hopeful.

Kate stood across the street, hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat, watching the slow rhythm of his movements inside. He was shelving books-alone.

He looked tired. Not broken-but not whole, either.

Her feet moved before she could stop them and, when the bell above the door jingled softly, he looked up.

Their eyes met and, for just a second, neither of them breathed.

"Hey," she said, voice quiet.

He blinked, nodded once. "Hey."

She stepped further inside, toward the counter. Every part of her body screamed at her to turn around, but Lanie's voice echoed in her mind. "You reopened the wound, may as well clear the air."

"I'm not here to make excuses," she said. "And I'm not expecting anything. I just- I owed you the truth."

He didn't speak, just looked at her warily.

But she knew what he was thinking.

She did owe him the truth-but it was coming about ten years too late.

"I thought walking away was the only way to keep you safe," she said.

"We already had this conversation-"

"No," she said firmly. "We started this conversation. We never finished it."

He waited.

"I thought walking away was the only way to keep you safe," she repeated. "Maybe that was true. Or maybe that was just what I had convinced myself. I don't know anymore. I only know that I made the wrong choice-again and again-and it cost me, cost us, everything."

"Kate-"

"Please." She held up a hand. "Let me finish."

He nodded.

"Last night wasn't fair to you. I didn't come here to-" She paused, took a breath. "I actually don't know why I came here, but that wasn't it. I don't regret it, though. Being with you... it felt like coming home. You see me, Castle. You always have-even the parts of me that I spent my whole life trying to hide."

She exhaled, slow and shaky.

"You were everything I ever needed and... I messed up. I know I did. And I'm so sorry for everything I put you through. I love you, Rick. I always have. I always will. I just-I'm so, so sorry."

The silence that followed stretched painfully long.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, as he looked at her-really looked at her.

"You broke my heart," he said finally.

She nodded, eyes stinging. "I know."

She broke her own, too. A million times over.

"I don't trust you," he added quietly.

Her chest ached. "I know that, too."

The silence between them felt like standing on a ledge-she counted the seconds by the sound of her heartbeat.

Until finally...

"I love you, too."

Her breath hitched, hope swelling in her chest.

"I've tried not to," he continued. "Believe me, I've tried."

She'd seen the fallout in headlines and sidebars—his drinking, his flings, the nights he spent trying to forget her with bodies that weren't hers.

"You don't just stop loving someone like that." He looked down for a moment, then back up at her. "We can't... be what we were, Kate. Too much has happened, we can't go back."

She closed her eyes and swallowed the lump in her throat, slowly nodding.

"But, maybe-"

Her eyes opened again, locked to his.

"Maybe, one day, we could be something new." He gave a small, tired smile. "We can start with friends, maybe."

She nodded, emphatically.

It might not have been exactly what she wanted, but she would take anything he was willing to give her.

Every tiny scrap, every little shred of hope. She'd take it. She'd cherish it.

"No secrets," he added. "No lies. And if you push me away again-"

"I won't," she said quickly. Definitively. "I won't."

There was a long, quiet pause. But the silence wasn't quite so heavy.

"Can I, uh, get you a coffee?" she asked tentatively.

Rick's eyes drifted to the café across the road, then back to her. The corners of his mouth curving into a slight smile.

"You only owe me a couple hundred of them."

Could this actually be real life? Might this motivation last long enough for me to actually finish this?