A.N. Disclaimers: I do not own Castle or any of the content.

I'm new to this website, so I have the ratings as 'M' for any form of violence or triggers!

I DO intend on creating later chapters and WILL! So, uh... do what you guys do here, I guess. Read, leave feed back, tell me if you like it.

He was always strong for her. Always. When she'd lose hope, he would guide her. When she wanted to give up, he'd give her strength. When she wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and just get over things, he'd bring her ice cream or a movie and wait until she was better. He promised her that he'd always have her back because that's what partners did for each other. He promised that he'd give her whatever she needed.

The least she felt she could do was return the favor as best as she could for him. She knew she wasn't the easiest person or the best person when it came to giving comfort. She knew she could be a hard ass and gave him a tough time about shadowing her. That didn't mean she didn't care about him. No. It definitely didn't mean she didn't care about him and with cases like their current case, she wondered when he'd break and just give in.

It had been over three hours of staring at the murder board, but her eyes kept flickering to the defeated look on his face. His once lively, blue eyes now a dull shade. The way the frown on his face revealed sagged lines and highlighted the dark circles under his eyes. What really got her was how he hadn't made a joke or quip, giving some theory or inappropriate comment. It was in the moments like this that she knew- she knew –he wasn't alright, and she really wished he wouldn't have stuck around.

This wasn't her first case where a child had been murdered, where they'd been too late to save them, but it was his. It had been just five minutes before they were about to clock out, too, when she received the call. No one gave too much detail over the phone. So, when they arrived, there was a lingering silence in respect for the victim. The little girl wasn't even five and what made it harder on her team was the fact she was a red-head. Her body beaten and bruised, her hair matted with blood and knots, her pale skin covered in dirt and the dress she wore ripped.

He had never thrown up at a crime scene before, but when they arrived, Kate found herself rubbing small circles on his back while he emptied his stomach contents into a set of bushes. She was insistent that he go home to be with Alexis, and for a short while, he did. The writer went home to smother his daughter with hugs and he tried his hardest to sit through a movie with her, but after about two hours, he found himself back at the precinct.

"Go home, Castle," she finally told him. Her voice was soft and she was far from sounding demanding. It was creeping closer to twelve and, while they'd both stayed a lot later, she knew how emotionally tolling their case was.

He protested quickly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. Determination flared up because he honestly didn't want to go home. "No," he huffed. "I can't go home when there's someone murdering children out there!"

"You're useless burnt out," she told him quietly.

Esposito and Ryan looked over from their spots, eyeing the two. Empathy evident on their features. They currently didn't have a case. There was no I.D. on the child, no missing persons file for the little girl, no DOB, no TOD. There was absolutely nothing. They didn't have anything to go on and they didn't have any suspects. At the time, the best they could do was go home, rest up, and prepare for the next few days ahead.

Standing up from her chair, she offered her hand to him. "C'mon, Castle," she murmured. "The case will be here in the morning and we should have more to go on by then."

He grumbled another protest, but immediately caved. He was tired emotionally and fighting with his muse wouldn't help. So, his large palm fell heavily into hers, which earned him a small tug while her fingers curled around his hand in a death grip. He stood to his feet, but his gaze dropped to the floor. He didn't even look up at her once the entire elevator ride down or on the silent drive to his loft.

He only murmured a few words when she pulled up in front of his building, throwing her car into park. "Stay." He was pleading with her, knowing damn well that the moment he was dropped off she'd run back to the precinct and do exactly what she was telling him not to do.

She was tempted to tell him no, tell him that he needed to sleep, but when his hand had found hers and he tightened his grip, she couldn't say no. If anyone would have asked her if she'd ever share a bed with Richard Castle when they started working together, she would have said no. Though, as she toed her shoes off and unclipped her gun, setting it on the night stand, she realized he wasn't really that bad of a guy. He wasn't the playboy on page six. He wasn't the nine-year-old on a sugar rush. He wasn't some inhuman force that was out to make her miserable. He was Richard Castle; a father, a human, a person who could express his emotions properly.

She gave a soft sigh, her hand running through her hair before she stretched her sore, aching muscles. Her hazel orbs glanced up as he stepped out of the bathroom, clad in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt. "I can get you something to wear," he offered. He meant it innocently, his mind too drained to find a way to make it suggestive.

If anyone had asked him what he'd expect from his first time in bed with Detective Katherine Beckett, he would have given them a wild sex story based off of page 105. Tonight, though, he was just Rick and she was just Kate. Both of them worn from the day, both of them not looking forward to the days ahead while they played cat-and-mouse with a murderer. If we even get a suspect, he reminded himself.

"I'm good." She quickly averted her gaze as she sat on the edge of the bed.

He stood, frozen in his spot for a while, a question searing his tongue, but not quite leaving his mouth to extinguish the burning sensation. It took him several minutes to even decide to move, plopping down next to her. "How do you do it?"

"What?" She asked, her hands moving to rest in her lap.

He was quiet for a moment, his teeth grazing against the inside of his cheek, chewing over the way to phrase his question. "How do you still do your job when you don't have anything?"

They had worked with much less before, but she didn't remind him of that. It was always different when it was a kid. It was different to think that a murderous sonovabitch could just walk away without proof or evidence, especially on a case like the one they were facing. "I have you," she told him honestly. It was more of a whisper. "I have your wild theories. I have a team that always does what they can to get answers. We've faced how many things? How many times have we almost died or been held at gun point? How many times have we beaten the odds? Castle, we always beat the odds. Always. So, this time it won't be any different," she assured him. "I know it looks bad right now, Rick, but we'll find them."

Shifting in the bed, she crossed her legs Indian style. Her arms moved to pull him into a hug. She wasn't sure it was a welcomed gesture at first, his lack of response unnerving. Though, after a moment, his arms wrapped around her, his face burying into her shoulder. She shifted again, changing their position. Scooting back just a little so she was propped up against the headboard, she tugged him along until he was able to lie down.

With the first shuddered breath, she had to bite her own lip to keep from crying herself. She could feel his tears as they stained her shirt, his arms tightening around her. He felt weak and he only waited for her to pull away, to bolt, to rub it in his face or use it against him to make a point that he didn't belong in her line of work. Though, her long delicate fingers just weaved through his hair, massaging scalp in an effort to calm him. Her other hand moved to rub between his shoulders.

Soft lips brushed against his temple, resting there for a moment as she spoke. "I promise, I'll catch him," she told him softly. He didn't respond. His throat swelled shut with emotion, his voice too broken and weak to make any other sound than a stifled groan.

She couldn't help how her own eyes had brimmed with tears or how a few escaped down her own cheeks, but she did her best to stay strong. She had to. He was always strong from her and now it was her turn to be strong for him. The writer had always made an effort to make her smile, to make her day brighter. Whether it would be with inappropriate work talk or just a simple coffee, he did his best. It was her turn to comfort him and cheer him up, facing the weary days ahead together.