Thank you all for your wonderful feedback! And again, thanks to Lou and Anja for the prompt and Andy for the beta :)

Chapter 2

The ringing of Kate's phone slices through the darkness and she sets aside her glass of Merlot, fumbles for the device that's fallen somewhere down in the cushions of her sofa.

"Beckett," she answers absentmindedly, her demeanor quiet and deflated.

"I ran into Writer Boy tonight," the voice on the other end of the line states without preamble.

"Lanie, can we not?" she huffs with a sigh. She really just wants to make it through one evening without dwelling on the source of her broken heart. If sitting on the sofa in the dark, drinking wine and staring blankly at the movie playing on her laptop counts as 'not dwelling on it.'

"No," her friend states abruptly. "We're doing this. Because he's as heartbroken as you are."

"I'm sure," Kate deadpans.

"I don't know the details," Lanie states bluntly. "But you need to go talk to him. Right now."

Kate sighs heavily, dropping her forehead into her free hand. "He's the one being a jackass," she mumbles.

"Because he thinks you don't care about him," the ME states flatly. She's done dancing around this, done allowing these two to make assumptions and avoid conversations when they're so blatantly in love with one another.

She nearly drops the phone as her heart rate spikes and a wave of nausea overtakes her. "What?"

"Like I said," Lanie reiterates. "Go talk to him."

Kate is already rising from the couch, tugging on her jacket as she thanks her friend and hangs up the phone. It's after ten on a Friday night, and she has no idea what kind of welcome she's going to receive, if she'll be welcomed at all.

All she knows with certainty is that she loves him. And if he's as heartbroken as Lanie says he is, then maybe that means he still loves her too. Maybe there's something salvageable amongst the crumbled wreckage of the last ten days.

She's in a cab before her brain even registers that she's left the building, foot tapping impatiently against the floor mat as they make their way to SoHo. They seem to hit every light red, and more than once she considers getting out and running the rest of the way. Instead, she forces herself to focus, but her mind is racing and her heart is fluttering nervously and the words won't coalesce, and by the time the cabbie is dropping her off she still doesn't have a clue what she's going to say.

She races into Castle's building, sparing a quick greeting for Eduardo as she dashes through the lobby and up the stairs. She doesn't care that she has to climb to the top floor, she just knows that she can't be confined in an elevator right now. She needs to be moving.

But when she finally arrives outside his door, she makes herself pause and take a deep breath, gathering her courage and every ounce of stubbornness she can muster. She's not leaving without answers, even if it means she has to sit on the floor outside his door and wait for him. He's been waiting for months. Now it's her turn.

With a trembling finger she depresses the buzzer, shoves both hands into her pockets, and holds her breath.

The silence stretches, unbearable, and she's about to sink down to the ground when she hears the faint echo of footprints growing steadily nearer. She takes a deep breath, steels herself, and then the door swings open.

"Kate," a surprised voice exclaims, though it lacks it usual exuberance and accompanying smile.

"Martha," she stammers awkwardly. She wonders if his mother knows what's happening and finds herself with the sudden urge to apologize for whatever she's done to cause this rift. "I was just…is Castle here?"

The older woman steps back, allows her in, and Kate tentatively crosses the threshold into the loft.

"He's in his office," Martha offers with a gesture in that direction. "Looking about as cheerful as you do."

Kate spares her a grateful smile, speaks in a low voice. "Thank you."

When she steps into the doorway, it's to the sight of a sullen shell of her partner slumped in his desk chair in the dark, head pressed back into the leather, eyes screwed shut, hand clutching a tumbler of scotch so hard his knuckles are white.

"Castle," she whispers.

His eyes fly open and he jerks in surprise, nearly upending the glass.

"Beckett, what are you doing here?" The words are strained, harsh.

"Lanie called," she answers. "Said you were as miserable as I am." She glances pointedly around the darkened room. "I'd have to agree."

"I highly doubt that," he counters, taking a swig of scotch and relishing the burn that's been slowly dulling the ache in his chest. Although, now that Ka – Beckett, he corrects himself – is here, it's back with a vengeance.

"Rick, what's going on?" Kate asks softly, unwilling to be deterred by the unyielding barrier he seems to have erected between them. She's spent the last few months demolishing her own wall, and she'll do it all over again with his right now if she has to.

He snorts derisively, takes another drink. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously," she persists, crossing her arms over her chest and resting her right shoulder against the doorframe. "I clearly did something to upset you, and…"

"Why do you even care?" he interrupts indignantly, slamming the glass onto the desktop in time with his angry words.

"Because I want my partner back," she confesses, the words tumbling out in supplication, but she doesn't care. She'll beg, plead, do whatever she has to in order to get through to him. He opens his mouth, probably to dispute her statement, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Because I've spent the last eight months in therapy so I could heal and knock down my wall and be ready, and now I am and you…" she trails off, lips pressing together into a tight line and eyes squeezing shut to force back the onslaught of tears.

"I what?" he prompts, voice less livid now, more unsure.

She drops her chin to her chest, shakes her head with a heavy sigh. "I thought you were waiting for me."

"I was," Castle admits.

The first tear escapes at his use of past tense. "Why did you stop?"

"What was I waiting for to begin with?" he challenges.

Kate swipes at her damp cheeks, seeks his eyes in the darkness and finds their cerulean depths swirling with pain. "Me," she answers, as though it was obvious. She thought it had been, but maybe that's where they went wrong. "Us."

Castle leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk, head falling into his hands. It's late and he's exhausted and confused and he's on his fourth glass of scotch and he's just so damn sick of pretending his heart isn't in a thousand tiny fragments in his chest.

"Then why did you lie?" he asks after an uncomfortable stretch of silence.

She furrows her brow in confusion. "What are you…?"

Oh.

Kate trails off as it dawns on her, because there's really only one lie he could possibly be talking about.

"How did you find out?" she asks softly, and it's not the right thing to say, not at all, but she needs to know. Needs to understand the chain of events that caused everything to unravel.

"The bombing case," he answers, forehead still cradled within his palms. "I heard you in the interrogation room."

Kate sighs heavily, drops her chin to her chest. Suddenly everything makes sense. Why he left her coffee and disappeared that day, why he suddenly didn't want to talk to her, didn't want to go out for a drink with her when the case was over. Why he's been acting as though merely being in her presence makes him nauseous.

"I'm sorry," she offers finally, but he doesn't meet her apologetic gaze. "I never meant for you to find out like that."

Castle scoffs, lifts his head and fixes her with a glare. "You mean, you never meant for me to find out at all," he amends. "So I could just go on pretending there was actually something worth waiting for."

"Rick," she implores, "that's not…" Kate shakes her head, tries again. "I lied because I had a hole in my chest and a man who wanted me dead and a boyfriend and I couldn't deal with any of it, so I tried to forget. But I never wanted to forget forever."

Castle's features soften slightly and she can see the intrigue color his eyes as her words pique his interest, so she continues. "After the bombing case, when I asked you for a drink? I was gonna tell you that night."

"Tell me what, exactly?" he inquires, because he thinks he might understand through the haze of scotch and heartbreak, but if he's learned anything from the past four hours it's that they need to be absolutely clear in their communication from here on out.

"That I remember," she states confidently now that she has his full attention. "That your words were the only thing that got me through the most painful parts of my recovery. I just kept reminding myself that you loved me and that everything I was doing was so I'd be mentally and emotionally strong enough to be honest with you."

"And are you?" he queries, hope and fear mingling in his expression as he raises an eyebrow and parts his lips.

"Yes," Kate confesses. She pushes off the door frame and he watches her approach with wary eyes, twisting in his chair until she's squatting down in front of him and resting gentle hands on his knees. His muscles tense beneath her tender touch, slowly relax as he takes a deep breath and forces himself to exhale steadily.

Her gaze is fixed on her hands, on the warmth of his skin and the way the bony curves of his patellae fit so nicely into her palms. Her left thumb moves of its own accord, brushing gently across the inside of the joint as she lifts her eyes to his. Castle is still watching her cautiously, eyes guarded.

Kate offers him a soft smile, feels it widen as she sets free the second truth she's been hiding for far too long.

"Castle, I'm in love with you."

END

#CaskettTFLN: I guess I can check "drink alone in the dark" off my bucket list

Prompt: takes place during the 47 seconds arc, Castle & Beckett separately talking to Lanie