This popped into my head mid last week and I've been trying to flesh it out since then. I really have no plans for this, but I'll just see where it takes me. Because sometimes, that's the best way to start something.

It's inspired by something that should not in any way be inspiring...I heard about it just very recently...the suicide death of a young girl who felt that she couldn't face life anymore. Such a waste, and it truly saddens me. But it makes you think about appreciating life-in any form. I hugged my kids that night that I heard about it, and I let them know that even though they might make me mad sometimes, I still will always love them, and there's just no way to undo something like that. I hope I can continue to make them believe that, no matter what life may throw at them.

Disclaimer: I do not own any parts of Castle, nor the characters.

They packed up the murder board without any semblance of their normal sense of relief, or of pride or satisfaction normally found at the end of a case. Because this was one of those cases where there were just losers all around...the victims, the families, the hopes and dreams. It was the type of case that had made Castle want to look the other way, and if she admitted it, it made Beckett want to look the other way too.

Two young people were dead, and other lives were affected and even ruined. And perpetrator had become victim.

And for what? The desire to feel superior? The need to mete out revenge?

It hit Castle probably more than the others; his daughter was only a little bit older that what was, ultimately, the first victim. Beckett could tell that he was torn, from the moment they'd made the connection. From the moment they'd found out what their supposed 'victim' had been doing. Because their victim was not a victim, not really. He was a teaser, he was a tormentor, he was a persecutor.

He was a bully.

He was fifteen.

But she was fourteen. Emily Andrews was just fourteen, and she was the target of fifteen year old Dylan Laskey. And Emily's death had saddened and devastated a family, a school, a neighborhood. She just couldn't take it anymore and thought that taking a bunch of pills and drinking a lot of alcohol in a running car in a locked garage was the only way to make the pain go away.

Some of Dylan's involvement was documented, but it seemed he always slipped out of reach. Even when there were witnesses, Dylan always had an explanation, a reason, an excuse. Blame the victim...that was what it amounted to. And poor Emily...she'd never stood a chance.

And Beckett was left wondering what good all of these anti-bullying laws and mandates and codes of conduct were good for when this pretty, blonde girl with the wide smile was dead. When she saw no relief to the pain that she was under except to take the pain away herself by any and every means at her disposal.

Her mother blamed herself for leaving her keys around and showing her how to start the car when she was ten.

Her father blamed himself for having leftover liquor from a Super Bowl Party.

Her older brother blamed himself for breaking his leg in a soccer game three days before, and for being the reason that the narcotic painkillers were in the house in the first place.

But Dylan Laskey, when being informed of the girl's death, had just shrugged his shoulders and said, "God, she could just never take a joke. What a lame-ass bitch."

In the end, they couldn't charge any one person in Dylan Laskey's death. And even though Castle felt a certain sense of wonder and even pride in the guts of the group of Emily's friends and defenders, and pleasure and relief that they couldn't charge any one person for Dylan's death, he was still shaken by the whole thing. He still had a hard time believing that one person could be so careless with the feelings and life of another to push that person to a place so bad where the more desirable alternative was death.

And part of him hoped that Dylan had seen the parallel when he was near the end of his own life.

While he had to admit that the boy didn't deserve to die, he also had to come to terms with the fact that the father in him found it reprehensible what he'd done to Emily, and that Dylan had never learned that he just couldn't treat people the way he'd treated Emily.

And Beckett, even though she had to maintain the tough cop exterior, was actually kind of glad, deep down inside of her, that she couldn't actually arrest any one person. Because they all alibied each other out. They all had cause, but they all had alibis. And there was enough conflicting data that any one of them could have done it. The DA had agreed that with that many holes in the case, there would be no way he could get a conviction.

No solve, but she couldn't help but feel anything other than relief.

But then it settled into her, like it always did eventually, that he, her partner, still didn't know the whole truth. He was still in the dark about that May day.

Emily had kept her secret too long, trying to deal with it herself. But it hadn't worked for her. She needed help, but by the time she told what was going on and asked for help, too much damage had been done. She was damaged by all she had endured, and anything that was done to remedy the situation just wasn't enough to help. She couldn't see any relief in sight.

Detective Beckett went home that night, alone. And Kate, minus the tough cop persona, sat on her couch and thought. She thought about the mess that her life had become; where she basically had, right at her fingertips, what most girls dreamed of: a wonderful, handsome man who loved her. But she never acknowledged that love. She pushed the man away. She tried to handle it herself, like Emily. And she lied to him.

Actions. They had an effect on others; nobody lived in a vacuum and it was silly to think that what we said or did had no effect on others. Yet she knew there were people in this world who only thought of themselves. They did act as if they lived in a vacuum. Or maybe they just didn't care what effect they did have on the people around them. Dylan, it seemed, was like this. And his actions had worn down a young girl so much that she saw no other way out than to try to escape from her life by ending it.

Kate's mind flashed back to her own actions since last summer. And suddenly, it became crystal clear to her, and she started to feel just a little bit sick with the thought.

She was acting as selfishly as Dylan had been. She was so hell-bent on getting everything straightened away in her own life that she ignored the fact that her shooting didn't just affect her. The guys, Lanie, Castle...they were all affected. Hell, she supposed even Martha and Alexis were too. But Rick...he was the one...

God.

She took a breath, closing her eyes as she remembered his face above her in the cemetery as he begged her to hold on. As he told her he loved her. Twice. Her gut clenched as she thought back to that look on his face, the tears running down his face, the look of fear in his eyes. For her, because of her. He loved her. She heard.

But then she lied about it. She told herself that she needed time, but she was now just realizing that her supposed needs had put her into the same class as Dylan; doing something for yourself, with no regard for how it affected others.

And she knew that it had affected him; how could it not? How could you keep your feelings like that silent for that long, to finally let them out before you thought it might be too late, to going back to keeping them a secret again? When she thought about it like that, it made her feel just that much worse. Because she should have told him. He'd proven to her, through these long months since then, that she could have told him that she heard him way back then. He'd been so patient. And somehow, for the first time, she realized what it must have cost him all of these months, to feel the way he did but still be able to keep her at arm's length, treating her no differently than he had a year ago. When she knew all along that he loved her.

She felt so low.

She knew she had issues; hell, everyone had issues. But she didn't have the right to make her issues into someone else's issues. It might have been the easiest course of action that she could have taken. But that didn't make it fair, not to him. He'd put it all out there for her, and she'd ignored him. No, she did more than ignore him. She'd lied to him, and she realized that she perpetrated that lie every day by not admitting that she had full memories of her shooting and the immediate aftermath. And that wasn't fair to him.

With new resolve, before she could change her mind, she got up off that couch, and she tried to steel herself to face what she should have faced all of those months ago.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He opened the door, his surprise at seeing her standing there at this time of night evident on his face. "Kate..." he said simply. "Uh...come on in." He stepped aside, allowing her to enter his loft, but she just looked at him with wide eyes. Wide worried eyes.

"Castle, are you busy?" God, she was already handling this badly, again, but now that she was here and was faced with the man, it wasn't as easy as she thought it would be.

"No, not really," he told her, his brow furrowing a bit. "Is there a problem with the case?"

Yes, of course he'd think there was a problem with the case, with her just showing up at his door like this. In his mind, there wouldn't be any other reason.

"No. Um..." She glanced around the loft then, and suddenly realized how intimidating it all was, being in his space, with not only him by her, but the essence and feeling of him all around her. So on impulse, she asked, "Would you go for a walk with me?"

His eyes widened. "Now?"

She looked around nervously, and he stared at her quizzically. She was acting oddly, she knew it. And he was picking up on it, because he always picked up on things like that. "Yeah, now." Then she gave a light smile. "Don't worry, Castle. I have my gun. I'll protect you."

He shrugged. "Okay. Let me grab a jacket and get some shoes on." She didn't show any inking of moving from where she was, let alone coming inside to sit down for a minute, so he just grabbed whatever pair of shoes was laying by the door and started to put them on. He grabbed the jacket and shrugged into it, and then took his phone out of his pocket as they exited the loft, apparently texting something.

"What are you doing?"

"Texting Alexis that I'm going for a walk. Just so she knows I'm not here."

She always liked seeing the caring, responsible 'Dad' side of him. "Oh. Is she at one of her friends' houses?"

"No. She's in her room working on an outline for a paper."

Kate stared at him as they caught the elevator. "You texted your daughter and she was right upstairs? You couldn't just walk up and tell her, or even yell up the stairs? Or maybe leave a note for her?" At his blank look, she finished with, "Boy, you do love your technology, don't you?"

"And my unlimited texting plan," he agreed with a grin.

They exited the front door and began walking. It was a very well-lit street, and not a crime-infested neighborhood so she didn't have to worry too much. "So did you just have some need for fresh air or did you have something specific you wanted to talk to me about?" His tone was casual, concerned Castle. Two years ago, she would have automatically thought that he was just getting fodder for one of his books. But now she knew that the concern was genuine.

She took a breath. Now that the moment was here, she found that it was more difficult than she thought it would be. Once she'd gotten the idea to come here, she didn't really think very much about the actual delivery of the message. "I...I was thinking about the case. Dylan Laskey."

He nodded. "Call me insensitive, awful or cruel, but I just can't find very much sympathy for him, not after what we found out about him and what he did to Emily Andrews. But what still floors me is how did he get away with it for so long that it got to that point, where that girl killed herself essentially because of what he did? How is it that no other kids saw, no other teachers? Why did nobody do or say anything to help that girl?"

She thought for a moment, but it was a question they'd all asked themselves several times. And still, nobody had the answers. "I don't know. I don't know if we'll ever know. But I just hope that it opened everyone's eyes enough so that this type of thing doesn't happen again."

"But that's just it. You know it will." He sighed frustratedly. "I know he was your case, but I can't help but think it was her, that she was the real case and he was just..."

"A jerk?"

"A budding sociopath is more what I was thinking, to be able to torment that girl and then have the audacity to call her a bitch when she killed herself because of it." She nodded, but he was suprised when he saw her steps beside him hesitate and falter ever so slightly. It wasn't very much, but he noticed it. Like he noticed a lot about her.

"You okay?" he asked then.

Honesty. She was going for honesty, right? That's why she was here, after all. Because she didn't want to be like Dylan.

"No, not really," she admitted softly.

He didn't say anything for a moment, somewhat stunned, wondering if he'd actually just heard her admit that she was bothered by something. But, as always, he knew he needed to play it cool. "Anything I can help with?"

On impulse, pure impulse, she grabbed his hand as they were walking, not doing something so intimate as entwining their fingers, but holding his hand securely just the same. It wasn't something they normally did. Not at all. But she needed the connection right then, because she was trying to steel herself for what she knew she needed to say. And some part of her probably felt as though if she was holding his hand, he couldn't run away when she got to the parts where she finally admitted how selfish and awful she'd been to him.

"Yeah," she finally responded to his question.

In his mind, he was wondering who this person was who was walking beside of him, holding his hand. Holding his hand. She just didn't do that. Well, she did it that one time they were cuffed together, but that was just because it worked better with the cuffs. But now... He didn't know what to do. Especially not with her hand in his, holding on so securely, when it felt so good. So he just said, "What?"

He must have waited too long in the conversation volley, because she turned to him and asked, "What?"

He gave her a quizzical look to somewhat match her own. "What what?"

"Castle..." she told him, her voice indicating some level of frustration in their nonsensical exchange.

"Hey, don't get all tetchy with me," he told her quickly, defending himself, but good-naturedly and with a slight smile. "You're the one who said I could help with something and then didn't elaborate."

She let out a huff. Here she was, trying to confess, and then she acts like she was getting annoyed with him. Again. "Yes, I did say that. I'm sorry." She figured she might as well get used to saying the words, because she was going to be doing a lot of apologizing by the end of this walk.

From his end, he could see that she seemed to be in some sort of a mood. First she was voluntarily holding his hand, and then she apologized for getting annoyed? She always got annoyed with him and she never apologized. What was going on with her? He really wanted to know, but he didn't dare prompt her anymore. So he just kept his hold on her hand, and kept walking beside her, letting her set the pace of not only the walk, but also the conversation.

Finally, looking down, she said, "I started thinking about Dylan when I got home. And I know what you mean about viewing Emily as the victim and not him. When it came out about what he'd done, and then not just to her but to other kids...it just got hard to muster up any sympathy for him."

Castle nodded and made a small sound of agreement.

"But it got me thinking...wondering how long he'd thought he was above human decency. I mean, I know he was only fifteen, but in interviewing all of those people, not one person said anything good about his character. When a child dies, that's all people can usually talk about, but not with this kid. People just mentioned that he was good in sports or that he was a 'nice-looking young man'. How was it that he thought he could just do and say whatever he wanted, whatever made him feel good, without regard to anyone else's feelings? Was he always like that? Did his parents raise him with no empathy or even moderate concern for other people?"

"You met the parents, Kate. I think you know the answer to that question."

She nodded. On paper, Dylan looked to be the perfect child. Smart, athletically talented, personable and nice looking. But his parents acted like he could do no wrong. Of course, some of that was grief talking; their child was dead, and once that happened, he became perfect in their eyes. But all of the detectives suspected that his parents had had that attitude for longer than the few days since the boy's death, and as such had never held him accountable for anything. He grew up feeling that he could do anything he wanted.

And it was that whole feeling that caused her to look at how she behaved toward Rick. And then she laughed a bit; that was her impression of him when he first started shadowing her. She felt like he was shallow; like he cared only about himself, that he could do or have whatever he wanted. But how times changed! She'd known since last summer that he wanted her, but he wasn't doing anything about it. He was being patient, for her, and wasn't thinking of himself at all. But now she was the one hiding, and lying, and just trying to do whatever she wanted without regard for him.

She squeezed his hand a little bit, just to give herself a little boost of mental strength before she took the plunge. "I just...I'm afraid I'm more like him than I want to be," she said softly.

"What?" he exclaimed. "You...like him? Like Dylan? Kate...I...wait a minute. Am I being punked? Is that why you wanted me to come outside? Okay, where are the cameras?" He began to swing his head from side to side, as if looking around for people holding hidden cameras.

She took their joined hands and swatted his chest lightly with them. "God, Castle," she told him, shaking her head. "There aren't any stupid cameras."

"Well then why in the world would you say that you're like that little teenage sociopath? You're nothing like that! I mean, when you twist my ear, you do use kind of a death grip, and you won't admit to being in my fan club-hey, I just had a thought...you're CastleFreak425, aren't you? But anyway, you do like to abuse me sometimes, but hey, I can take it. I'm tough. I've stuck around this long, right? And if you were a sociopath, then I...oh, then I actually probably would still be sticking around to watch you. You'd be even cooler than you already are." He paused a moment as he thought about what he was saying. "Oh. I'm not really proving my point about you not being a sociopath, am I?"

"Not too well, no," she answered with a slight smile.

"Well, you're not a sociopath, or a bully, or whatever other bad thing you were going to describe yourself as. You can just stop it. I know you normally don't want to listen to me, but listen to me about that."

The time had come. He'd just given her a perfect chance. And she almost wanted to let the chance slip off into the dark night around them, but she made herself grab hold of it, just like she'd grabbed Castle's hand.

"I did listen to you. You just didn't know it," she said softly, "because I lied to you about it."

She could tell that he turned his head to look at her when she'd spoken those words, but she couldn't look back at him. They still kept walking, although their steps slowed.

"You lied to me?" Somehow, the joking, 'Castle' quality was gone from his voice, and he just sounded curious...and cautious.

She took a deep breath. "Yes, I did. And I'm sorry about it. It sounds so ridiculous now, just saying I'm sorry after all of this time, but I am. I just...I didn't know what to do, before. And really, I'm not entirely sure what to do now. But before...I ran, and I lied, and I didn't tell you. And that was wrong...I know that now. I should have been honest with you from the start. But I was so wrapped up in myself and getting through my issues that I never thought about how other people were affected too. I did what I wanted, what I thought I needed, and I didn't think about how my decisions affected anyone else." She finally paused in what she was saying. But just as his mind started to use the silence to try to decipher what she was saying, she started speaking again, only more softly. "Just like Dylan did." They were walking even more slowly now, and it was good that there wasn't anyone behind them or they definitely would have been blocking the sidewalk. "I'm sorry, Rick. You didn't deserve to have me treat you the way I did."

She reached up with her free hand to swipe at the tears that were now forming in her eyes. But still, he didn't say anything, so she forged on. "I should have really realized it before, how what I did wasn't fair to you. It was just so long ago, and I was so messed up. I am still messed up, but I know that's no excuse. That's why I'm with you now."

Finally, he spoke. "Kate...when did you lie to me?"

She took another ragged breath and looked up at what she could see of the sky through the tall buildings. She still couldn't look at him. "Almost ten months ago now."

"Ten months?" His voice was deadly serious now, and his steps had slowed so much they'd stopped. She was ahead of him, and he tugged on her had so she'd finally turn around and face him when he asked the next question. She did turn around, but only at the insistance of that hand of his that she was holding. And after they'd stopped walking and she'd turned toward him, she'd finally gotten brave enough to look him in the face. And when she did, she was just a little taken aback by the intense look in his eyes, which were echoed by the ultra-serious tone of his voice as he said, "Kate, exactly what did you lie to me about ten months ago?" Somehow, in the way he asked the question, she knew that his mind was going to the exact day that hers was already at.

She took another breath, although it didn't really help. She still felt like her stomach was doing somersaults when she finally mustered up enough courage to tell him, "I remember getting shot, Rick. And I remember everything that happened after that until I passed out."

I had a bunch of different ways of doing this that I was toying around with, and this is what won. Hope you liked it. Reviews and comments are always appreciated.