I don't have much

But these dreams that lead to nowhere

You don't say much

But I can see your disappointment

You don't know what I'm saying

Don't know how long I've waited

- "Walk Away"

Peter Bradley Adams

Her recovery had been remarkable, it really had. She was back to work in record time and that meant that so was he, and for that he was glad. Because sitting around in the loft with too much time and too many thoughts was unbearable. The precinct was a welcome respite although everything about the place felt off, like the whole building was tilted precariously on an axis, ready to tip at the slightest of movements. Or perhaps that was just his new normal, unsteadily perched on some unknown cliff, waiting, waiting for a push or a pull. In what direction, he did not know.

What he did know was this: he was on probation, pending good behavior by the new Captain who was less than enthused by his presence. He was determined to stay on her good side and so he made himself useful and made sure to keep out of her way. Anything to keep him off her radar. And in this, Castle was excelling. His theories were useful- they had solved a tough case, he hadn't done anything wrong nor had he put any of the other detectives in harm's way. In every respect, he had been the model shadow.

At least this was one aspect of his life he could maintain the status quo.

Because for weeks now, Beckett had been absolutely inscrutable. Since her release from the hospital all those months ago, she had been steadily closing every single door he had painstakingly opened. She wouldn't let him near her as she recovered, wouldn't let him help her after painful physical therapy, wouldn't let him coddle her while she healed. In fact, she hadn't let anyone near her. She firmly refused each offer of help, insisting instead that she was fully capable of handling her own problems. They had tried of course, Lanie especially, but each time was met with obstinacy until finally, finally, they had let her be to fight it out alone.

That didn't mean it didn't kill him to do it though.

Stupidly, he had hoped, not merely dreamed but believed, that this thing would be the making of them. That she would wake and realize what they meant to each other and she would remember the words that bled from his soul as she lay dying in the too green grass. He had let himself believe that they were done with their complicated tango, that glimpsing death would, in fact, reaffirm life. He had believed. What a stupid, romantic thing that was. Because Beckett wasn't talking, she wasn't even smiling. Hell, she was barely eating. It was everything he could do to get food into her system and every time he was met with blank indifference.

Castle would gladly take the old, angry Beckett over this new, remote version. Angry Beckett he could deal with, he had learned early on how to disarm her. This Beckett, the one who looked brittle, like a sapling against the winter wind, was an entirely different creature. He didn't know how to get inside her cocoon of silence, didn't know how to break the ice of her coldness. She only talked to him now when it strictly involved a case. She didn't laugh or joke with him any longer. She ignored his half-hearted innuendos, which had shocked him into silence the first time it had happened. In all regards, it seemed to Castle that Beckett tried her hardest to ignore everything regarding him. When she had yelled at him to get out of her life, he didn't think she had meant it. They certainly hadn't talked about that night, nor the night after that, when his heart had split in two as her body broke under his from the betrayal of a trusted friend. They hadn't talked as they prepared for the funeral and then they hadn't talked because she was fighting for her life. It would have been spectacularly selfish of him to bring it up, especially because it would only compound her anguish.

So he had stayed silent, tried to be whatever it was she needed, even if it meant he had to be just the guy to fetch the nurse. But nothing had been solved. It hung like a pall in the air above them, heavy and weighted while they slowly drowned against the burden of things unsaid.

Needless to say, these last months had been hard for him. Beckett was healed, physically, but emotionally? He wasn't sure. In fact, he wasn't sure about anything anymore. He knew she was seeing a therapist but if she talked, he had no way of knowing. All he knew was that she had withdrawn into herself and it didn't look like she was coming back any time soon. And that, that was killing him.

Castle understood that she wasn't a sharer. He knew that from the start. He knew how deeply this had hurt her, how much it cost her to forgive Montgomery. He also knew that she was still reeling from her breakup with Josh. He knew all of this. But it didn't make it any easier to deal with. He needed to talk, the words were burning within him, scorching his very soul, twisting deep in his veins so that he was sure if he were to cut himself, ink would spill instead of blood. He needed, desperately, to tell her that he too was in pain, that he understood and that he was sure that they could heal themselves so much better together rather than apart. Because apart? Apart was a slow torture. Apart would surely be their undoing.

Their latest case is rough. The death of a young mother and her child at the hands of a possessive husband. He watched her through the whole thing, fighting tooth and nail to control the impulse to comfort her. The night they wrapped it, the boys had insisted on getting a drink. They deserved it, Ryan said and he fully agreed. She declined the offer, as they all knew she would and it was with a heavy heart that he let her leave the precinct to deal with whatever emotions she allowed herself alone. But he was so tired of this, the new dance they found themselves entangled in, the one that now involved sharp bits of glass that they tried desperately to ignore. And so, ditching the boys, he heads to her apartment because he can't be alone and he's not sure that she can either.

His knock is confident unlike the flutter of his pulse against his throat.

She opens the door and stares at him like she can't see him at all. He thinks maybe she can't.

"Hey." His voice betrays nothing of the nervousness he is suddenly feeling with the appearance of this hollow shell of his Kate Beckett.

"Castle. What are you doing here?" Her voice too holds nothing, a sieve against the onslaught of emotions.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright. Can I come in?" He doesn't wait for an answer and brushes past her. He doesn't catch the shiver that runs through her at the slight contact.

"I'm fine. Stop trying to nurse me."

"Well I'm not. Why can't you let me be concerned for you?" He struggles against the rules that she has written out, the ones where they don't talk or acknowledge any actual feelings for the other.

"Because there is nothing to be concerned about." She is much better at pretending. He suddenly wishes he were a better actor. Ironic, yes, and he gets temporarily sidetracked by this feeling. He came here to stop this. Focus.

"Liar." Wow, he hadn't meant it to be tinged with such venom.

She eyes him wearily, like a caged animal wondering what to make of a new object. "What do you want from me?"

"The truth." And he felt everything that he had been suppressing these long months come bubbling to the surface. All the words he wants to give her, all the words she needs to hear are about to spill out and make a mess of their lives. He knows it. She knows it too; he can see it in her eyes. It makes him want to speak all the more. He opens his mouth but she beats him to it.

"The truth? The truth is that I don't care. About any of it." And he knows it's not the case she is referring to. He can't do anything without making a complete fool of himself and he is tired, so tired. He just doesn't have the capacity to do this anymore, to decode her emotional codex so he does the only thing that he can.

"Fine. I'm done." His voice is even, low and strong. Maybe he is a better actor than he thought.

Her face shows nothing, not a flicker of feeling mars her features. He leaves, his body crushing with the enormity of his actions and he doesn't see impact his words have upon her as the door closes and her body crumbles to the floor.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters