Hello again. You know the drill. I own nothing. Marlowe and Co. own all. I'm just borrowing them. Enjoy.

She'd told him. Her secret.

She'd told him and the bottom had fallen out.

He'd stalked from his living room towards the study. His eyes flashing with anger and hurt, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Lightning flashed in the night sky and rain whipped at the windows. A fitting atmosphere, she'd thought, ruing her need to have come over here in the first place.

She could have left it alone, gone on pretending she'd never heard a thing, didn't remember. She could have but she didn't want to anymore. Didn't want to spend another minute waiting in a holding pattern. Waiting for the stars to align or the walls to fall. For an ending to a story that may never come. Waiting to fly. She'd already fallen.

If she wanted her own happy ending, perhaps all she had to do was ask.

A chance encounter along a near deserted sidewalk on a wet Sunday afternoon had prompted this calamitous unfurling of events.

A sudden rainstorm, driving all but the most free-spirited or the most unmindful inside. Frowning to shield her eyes from the rain, shivering as the cool breeze passed through alleyways, Kate had tramped along, bags of groceries weighing down her arms. A night, a never-ending string of nights, spent rehashing a wasted summer. Weighing down her heart, weighing down her soul.

Two lovers, laughing and pulling at wet garments had brought her up short. Stopped her dead in her tracks, mesmerized her and left her unable to look away. Her hands slapping at his soppy chest, her head thrown back in laughter. His, brushing along the smooth curve of her breasts, the long line of her neck. A smirk, a knowing grin. Their lips, locking together and moving with abandon.

It had hit her with a sudden jolt, sent her fingers tingling and her stomach fluttering. This. This freedom, this moment of abandon could be hers. All she had to do was go to him. All she had to do was let him know.

The smirk could be his, the smile hers.

With a new-found determination and a burgeoning sense of hope she had turned around, put herself on a course towards his place. Towards, she hoped, her future.

It took longer than she would have liked. Long enough to make her doubt herself. She should have hailed a cab. Her sopping clothes and erratically beating heart as she stood looking up towards his loft were a testament to that. She'd allowed herself too long to mull over the possibilities and the ramifications of a decision made in haste. A decision made while battling the remnants of narcotics and the burn and sting at her side, between her breasts. The sight of his hopeful gaze and the guilt brought forth from belonging to someone else.

Not really though. She had belonged to him for years. She had just been too weak to admit it.

Too weak, when in that moment, it had taken all she had to simply breathe.

She hadn't planned to shut him out. When she said a couple days, she had meant it. She had needed time to deal with Josh, to assure her Dad that she wasn't going anywhere, to formulate an answer to him. She loved him. Desperately. That much was true. But with a sniper after her, thirteen years of mistrusting in the permanence of love and an almost blind panic that if they couldn't get to her, they would go after him, the fear had insidiously wrapped itself around her heart. Fortified her walls and sent her running to her father's cabin.

The longer she waited the harder it got. She had sent him away, his face etched with pain and words of love left unsaid. His chance to reaffirm his graveside confession gone, her chance to acknowledge it lost in a moment of panic. Days turned into weeks and as her body healed she lulled herself into a deep state of denial. Told herself that he didn't mean it, that the adrenaline and fear of the moment had made him confess to something that he, they, weren't ready for. As the days lingered on and he made no attempt at contact, it had only re-affirmed her choice. To pack it tightly away and pretend it didn't happen. She was adept at pretending. A master.

It wasn't until she had returned to the city, to everything she thought she knew, that she realized what a monumental mistake she had made.

The first flaw in her reasoning had appeared not five minutes after she stepped back into the precinct's walls. The applause had fallen flat without Castle there to nudge her in the hip or smirk in her direction. The lack of Roy's presence had been like a knife to the gut. Or a bullet to the chest, she had thought wryly, touching the pads of her fingers to the puckered scar on her chest. She'd been suspended in the past while the city continued to live. Frozen in a moment long since passed.

The boys had updated her on the case, told her of Castle's dogged attempts to work it, to keep a connection to her even as she pushed him away. She realized in that moment how cold her dismissal at her bedside had been. The man had tried to step in front of a bullet for her. Her heart had taken the shot but she'd placed a metaphorical one through his. She'd looked him in the eye and lied to his face. His features had shown a brief realization of that truth before he had shuttered his emotions and inclined to her wishes. Of course he hadn't called. Her mind recalled his last lingering look before he'd retreated. The scene replaying itself over and over. The curious tilt of his head, the bob of his adam's apple and the sheen of moisture in his eyes. The hurt.

As they told her about the new captain and how cold she was, she couldn't help but feel as though they were blind to her own frigidity.

And so she'd sought him out. Waited in line with her heart in her throat and his words in her hands.

Detective Kate Beckett has shown me the ropes of homicide investigation, not to mention how to make sense of songs…

It had taken her breath away as she stood in line and read the acknowledgments. She had read the book weeks earlier, of course. She'd sent her dad out to buy it the moment it hit the bookstores, needing to feel his presence in her life in some small way. Too upset to proceed after the heart wrenching ending, she'd placed the tome aside and avoided his personal notes. An unconscious part of her mind not willing to know whether she was mentioned or not. Not daring to hope she had. It was a clear sign that at least at some point this summer he had made an attempt to reach out. That he still cared.

A cryptic message left for her to understand, for the entire world to see.

She'd repeated the line to herself as she approached the front of the line, as he shrouded his surprise, his momentary joy, with a visage of sheer disdain. Held onto the words as he silently signed her book with not a second glance. Made them her mantra as she waited for him outside the store.

She had bared her soul, that day on the swings. As best she knew how, anyway, and they had reached a tentative equilibrium. Yet she hadn't the courage to tell him and so it snowballed. As the weeks wore on, a new normal was found. Gates had slowly warmed up to the unconventional partnership and as the summer became a more distant memory they lapsed again into their easy relationship. Inching ever so slowly towards more; held back by her hastily made decision on a warm, spring morning, her silence over a long, hot summer. By her cowardice on a crisp, fall afternoon.

She had hoped this unseasonably warm, winter evening would end on a more hopeful note.

She had arrived on his doorstep, sodden and shivery. Water pooling at her feet as she stood, hand raised, readying herself to knock on his door. As she mentally prepared herself for the confrontation to come, rehearsing the truth and apologies, practicing her own declarations of love, he had appeared.

The door had flown open, sudden and unexpectedly, his hands grasping a garbage bag, hers dropping the groceries. Shock, turned joy, turned lust, sparkled in his cerulean eyes. The bag he held dropped heavily alongside the groceries as he took in her appearance.

"Why Detective Beckett, how nice too see you here," he had leered, as his gaze washed over her soaked shirt, taking in the silhouette of her bra, lingering somewhere around the curve of her hips and the slacks that clung to her rear.

"Rick, can I.." she trailed off, gesturing inside his apartment. Plucking at the edges of her wet shirt with a grin.

He had ushered her inside with a light brush against her wrist, a deep exhale as she passed. She had smirked and considered not going through with it. Allowing them to happen circumstantially, spurred on by a see-through shirt and long awaited need. Her traitorous mind had reminded her that he was her 'one and done', that this thing between them needed to start with honesty; so as to not crash and burn.

"Can I get you a drink or .."

"We need to talk, Rick.." they started simultaneously as he had handed her over a fluffy towel. It smelled of fabric softener and him. His home. It sent liquid heat to her center and set her heart beating a frantic rhythm against her ribcage. Her home, if she allowed it. If he'd forgive her.

"That's twice you've called me Rick," he had said with an incline of his head and a small smile.

"So?"

"You only call me Rick when something heavy is going on. Should I sit down for this?"

"Probably," she had muttered, beginning to lose her nerve. Gripping the edges of the damp towel with white knuckles. Silently, she sent up a prayer for forgiveness.

A gentle hand on her elbow, his trusting, blue eyes. Calm, unsuspecting, practically shining with his love for her. The look he gives her when he says "Always", the look he gives her when he thinks she's unaware.

It had been enough to give her strength, sufficient to spur her on. How she wishes now that she'd never looked.

He'd stalked from the living room angry and hurt. She'd considered leaving him be. Letting him cool off before pleading for forgiveness. She'd never truly realized how much she had hurt him until that moment.

"I watched you die in that ambulance," he had repeated. His earlier confession from months ago, still choking a little on the words. Running his hand through his hair, pacing his office like a caged animal, she had waited. Known he wasn't finished. Known it wasn't her turn to speak.

"I watched the woman I love die. I watched you die." he had continued.

It had caused her heart to skip a beat. He loved her. He still loved her.

He watched her die.

Oh.

He watched her die and she had sent him packing. For a moment she imagined herself as if the roles had been reversed. The hurt she would have felt, the need she would have felt to be at his side during his recovery. The rejection at not being the one. He'd thought she was with Josh the entire summer. He'd thought she had chosen Josh.

Oh. Oh, Castle. I'm so sorry.

He had looked relieved for a moment, just a small moment after he admitted he loved her. And she had thought they had a chance. Waiting a beat until that confession had sunk in, his voice changed from hurt to anger. "You knew I loved you and yet you let me live every day last summer not knowing. You left me, you left me alone."

"Castle, I didn't mean to...I..." she stuttered over the words she wanted to say so very badly. She stumbled and God help her, that was the moment where it all went to hell.

A crack of thunder, the sharp, white flash of lightning. Almost as if it had been staged.

"Don't." he had said as the thunder rumbled off into the distance, as the rain splattered onto the windows, the drops cascading down the pane in time with the tears falling from her cheeks. Hot rivers of anguish, a contrast to his stoic countenance.

Cold. Hard. Resolute. His voice cut at her like a knife. Ripped into the parts of herself she kept so very well guarded, tore at her flesh and dug into her soul. She had to get through to him, to make him see. She waited a moment, until another roll of thunder has ceased, until it was quiet and she knew there would be no misunderstandings.

"Castle, I love you."

Her voice was strong, confident. The words had come easy but much too late. Months too late.

"You couldn't. If you did.." he trailed off, the words dying in his throat. He had turned away, stared out towards the gray of the city. Soft, orange, light filtered through the windows. Highlighted the scars she had left. Drooping shoulders and ragged breaths. Deep lines in his forehead and dark, clouded eyes.

She knew what he had meant. If she did, love him, how could she have left him to suffer like that? How could she have been so selfish? She didn't know. Doesn't know. All she knows is that she is losing him. Losing him on the day she had finally chosen to let go of her mother's case and start living for today.

And so she had done the only thing she could think of to make him see. To make him understand what she felt. She stalked toward him like an animal after prey, grabbed him by the bicep and roughly spun him toward her.

"Castle, look at me." He made no attempt to acquiesce. "Please."

He had turned, slow and hesitant. Eyes searching for any sign that she was telling the truth. She focused on him and his generous heart, his strength of character and inexhaustible loyalty. Four years he had been waiting for her, holding her steady. Lifting her up and setting her free. She let her emotions pour out through her gaze, waited as long as he needed. Until he saw it. Felt it.

She had noticed, the moment he believed it. His eyes softened, crinkles forming at the edges. A small nod. Acceptance. Reaching up to cup his face, to trace the strong line of his jaw, to smooth the lines at his brow. Short stubble grazed the pads of her fingertips, she wanted it to brand her face. Her neck. The scar on her chest. She wanted him to leave his mark on her.

"I love you," she had whispered.

"I love you," he'd husked back.

And in a crash of arms and legs and wet fabric, they had sealed it with a kiss.

Hot and searing. She imagined steam rising from between their tightly entwined bodies. He had backed her up against the desk, his heavy weight crushing her and sending delicious waves of arousal to her core. This was not a kiss of exploration or of first dates and promises. It was a kiss of possession. Savage and unending, it was four years of pent up frustration, anger and betrayal. Grasping at hair and clawing at tense muscles. Four years of lusting and desire. Squeezing and grabbing at flesh. Four years of build up. Finally. Ascension to love. Caressing and soothing, soft. Gentle. As the fires cooled and acceptance built it had transformed to a slow and deliciously sensual burn.

It had been perfect.

It had been perfect until that damn remote had crashed to the floor. Until she had swept across his desk with an outstretched arm, looking to make herself more comfortable. Looking to get herself claimed right then, right there. Right where he had first dreamed of Kate and Rick by way of Nikki and Rook. She'd been looking to let him know that she was finally, finally on the same page as him. Instead she had glanced behind him as she came up for air and saw the smart board.

Saw her face staring eerily back towards her.

A/N: So, whatcha think? You know what I like. Hit up the review box and make me happy.

Also, for those reading Percolate, I haven't given up on it. I have a couple of chapters in a state of being semi-written. I'm just not happy with them and have lost a little bit of mojo on that story. But it will be finished. It's just that's it's a story I like to write while I re-watch the series and I haven't had any time to do a whole lot of that lately. I apologize.