Aftermath

She's in a pair of jean shorts that haven't seen daylight in years, a grey tanktop, and a worn-thin flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Her hair is in a ponytail, strands curling against her ears and cheeks. She swipes her forearm over her forehead, leaning back against the front hall closet.

Moving sucks.

The new place is cozy and warm and almost close to the one she lost. She doesn't have enough stuff to fill the place up, to make it look like it belongs to her. She'll need to go shopping soon, get some new paintings and curtains and throw pillows.

Mostly she needs to get out of Castle's apartment.

At least the actress isn't showing up anymore. That ended when he found out the woman was sleeping with him in an attempt to get the role as Nikki Heat in the movie.

And now the looks are back, as if Ellie Monroe was barely a speed bump along the road. She leaves the break room with Tom, letting him brush a kiss over her cheek, his fingers lingering at her arm before he goes to the stairwell to head back down to Robbery, and finds Castle watching with eyes that leak jealousy and love and too much emotion.

It's so damn confusing. Tom's sweet and she doesn't need to edit her stories to make sure not to scar the civilian. But then there's Castle who is also sweet and understanding and in love with her. And she can't bring herself to leave Tom just to jump over to Castle. Even though she loves Castle.

She pushes herself up onto the kitchen island, ignoring the quick shoot of pain from her shoulder. Her flats fall onto the ground, letting her bare heels drum a rhythm against the cupboards. Her phone is next to her and she wants badly to call someone, anyone, and just talk this out.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she picks up the phone and calls him.

Ten minutes later, she opens her door, bare feet curling against the hardwood as she pushes her hair back behind her ears. "Hi."

"Nice place," he says, holding out the bottle of wine. "House warming gift."

She cradles the wine in her arm as she closes the door behind him. "Thanks, Castle. It's not quite a home yet but it'll get there." Beckett leaves the wine on the counter, going into the living room to dig into one of the cardboard boxes. "I should have a corkscrew and glasses in here somewhere," she mutters.

"Listen," he says, resting his shoulder against the wall. "I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything but why'd you call me?"

With two wine glasses in her hands, she turns. "I don't know."

"Just… I know you're with Tom and I don't want to -"

"You're not." She puts the glasses next to the wine bottle. Head bent over the counter, fingers around the edge of the cool, dark granite, she takes a deep breath. Now or never. Throw yourself into the deep end and hope someone catches you, teaches you how to swim. "If I ask you something, will you answer honestly?"

He sounds confused as he steps closer. Not touching her but still hovering at her side. "Yeah. Yes. Beckett, what's wron -"

"Do you love me?"

Silence. He's gaping at her when she looks up, blinking rapidly in shock.

"Do you? Not just as a friend but something…" More. She can't speak anymore because he's staring at her and her heart is in her throat. Her breath shudders out as she pivots away from him, going for the bathroom. "I'm sorry. This is stupid and I'm being stupid right now and I'm sorry for calling you."

He catches her as she goes past him, spinning her into his arms. His palms cup her shoulderblades even as she pushes at his side.

"I'm so stupid, Castle," she murmurs. "Pretend I didn't say anything."

"No," he says, keeping her against him. "You're not. Because I don't love stupid people. And I do love you, Kate."

She gasps against his neck, fingers twisting into his shirt. "Castle…"

His lips are at her temple, painting the three words into her skin, dripping them down along her cheekbone to her jawline. "I love you."

Beckett shakes her head. "I'm a mistake. You deserve better."

"You're not. You're beautiful and strong and I don't deserve you," he says, drawing back enough to see her.

When she glances up at him, ready to warn him off, he kisses her.

She freezes, shocked. He feels like he's going to stop, his hands slipping from around her back.

And then she melts. Her arms snake up between them, lifting herself up against his chest, moaning into his mouth. Her fingers tease the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

"Beckett," he sighs, walking her backwards until her body hits the wall gently. His leg is between hers, hands pushing under the flannel shirt to coast along her sides.

She can't think, not when his mouth is tracing its way along her features, always returning to her lips before darting away again. She realizes she's crying when his thumb sweeps under her eyes. Tears of relief or fear. Maybe both.

He's gone an instant later and her body lists forward, missing his warmth. He drags a hand through his hair, free hand trembling. "We can't do this."

Her head is spinning as she steps forward. "Why?" she asks, voice weak and rough.

"We're in your unfurnished apartment," he starts, looking out the windows onto the city, asleep below them. "You're with Demming. It's the wrong time."

"Give me a day." He turns, starts to shake his head, but she keeps going. "I mean, I can't get the apartment set up in a day but Tom and I aren't… We're not right for each other. Give me a day."

"Honest answer for a question?" he asks, reaching for her hand.

"Sure. Yeah."

His fingers smooth over her palm, knuckles brushing against the skin bared by her shorts. "Do you love me?"

The denial dies in her throat; her response is quiet, a whisper. "Yes."

"Then come with me to the Hamptons for the summer. Or just Memorial Day weekend. I've got a house on the beach and there's even furniture," he adds with a wiggle of his brow. "Then we can set up your place."

"And then…?" she asks.

He cups her cheek with his free hand, smiling softly. "We take it as it comes. Day by day. Okay?"

She pushes up on the balls of her feet, barely touching her lips to his. "Okay."