Things I told myself I wouldn't do:

1. Write a post-ep fic.
2. Write before I finished the semester.

You can blame Kaitlin and Jenny and Alex (and Olivia)

Inspired by the song Manhattan, by Sara Bareilles.

He's down on one knee in front of her and she can't feel the tips of her fingers because she's clutching the chain of the swings so hard that she can feel the chain digging into her skin. She watches as his eyes start to water. She's not sure if it's because he's getting emotional or his knee hurts or if it's because he hasn't blinked since he asked her to marry him and she needs to talk.

"I got the job," she says suddenly. The words burst past her lips and she sees him rock back on his heels slightly as if they physically hit him but his hand, his fingers, the ring he's holding in front of her never waivers. He smiles slightly, a little proud smile that has her heart jumping up towards her throat, almost like it would have been a surprise if she hadn't got the job because he thinks she's extraordinary.

She can feel her own eyes water but the words barely trip off of her tongue before they die in the air.

"… and I accepted."

His smile fades slightly but he recovers quickly.

"I'll go with you," he says, his voice strong, his lips quirking up in the corner, "I'll come with you. Whatever you want, Kate."

And she wants it. Oh, she wants that. But his daughter is here, and she heard Martha say that he didn't cut his daughter a check to go to Costa Rica for a month because he's worried about her being far away from her since Paris, and for all he complains about his mother living with him, with them, in the loft whenever she pleases she knows that they have gotten even closer since Paris as well and he would miss it so much.

Too much.

"Castle…" she whispers. He looks up at her, and she starts crying at the hopeful look in his eyes. She doesn't try to hide it. She wants him to know, she wants him to see just how much this hurts.

"… I think you should stay."

He watches her when she packs up all the stuff in their – his room and it tears her apart. He stands in the doorway his arms crossed over his chest, but he doesn't look angry. He looks disappointed and heartbroken like his entire world wasn't leaving him and she tries to tell herself that she's not. She tries to convince herself that they're going to make this work and they'll talk and this wasn't the end of their lives as they knew it but she can't. Because she can't ask him to do that for her. She can't ask him to put his life on hold for weekends in DC, late night phone calls that may or may not come depending on what she's doing.

He deserves so much more than her.

When her bag is packed, she picks it up slowly. Her back is to him and she doesn't move her head but her eyes slowly scan the bedroom, the empty space on his dresser where her watch used to sit, the missing cell phone charger on the nightstand, the side of the bed that used to be hers.

She turns around and he's still standing in the doorway, staring at her as if he can't believe that this is actually happening and she thinks it would be easier if he was angrier, if he was pissed and screaming and throwing her stuff on the floor. Part of her wishes that he'd fight her. That he'd throw all of her stuff out of her bag before throwing her on the bed and reminding her why she should stay.

She tries to tell herself that she's doing this for all the right reasons.

But it still feels like running away.

She thinks it was a bad idea letting him take her to the airport, but her dad is busy and he insisted and she also thinks that she owes him this much.

When they're standing in front of the gate, the gate that leads to a plane and eventually DC and they can't look away from each other. He reaches down into his pocket and grabs something and holds it in his fist as he gently lifts her necklace with her mother's ring on it from around her neck. It takes her a moment before she realizes that he's slipping a ring, her ring onto the chain.

She fights him on it, her fingers trembling as she tries to push the ring back towards him but he refuses, tells her softly that it's hers – he would never give it to anyone back and he couldn't take it back because from the moment he bought it it's been hers.

He slides the chain back over her head, looks her in the eyes as he whispers her promises – if she needs him, he's here. If she misses him, he's here. If she still loves him, he's here and he'll still be here if it doesn't work out, if it does.

He's here.

That's precisely the problem.

He's here.

The Lincoln Memorial is the opposite direction of the apartment the FBI leased to her until she could find her own place but she finds herself there most nights.

She sits directly at the top of the stairs with Lincoln at her back and the Washington Memorial in front of her and watches the sun go down. There are people around, snapping pictures of the sunset behind the tall monument and she thinks she's in more strangers' pictures than she's comfortable with but it's quiet. They talk in hushed whispers, laugh quietly as they hold hands and walk through the nation's capital as the day comes to an end.

It drives her insane.

The chain is still around her neck but she pulls it out from under her blouse, wraps her fingers around the rings that sit heavily on the chain. She stares at the diamonds and the way they catch the sun and its refracting rays on the reflection pool.

She clutches her phone in her hand, unlocks it and scrolls through her contacts, looking at his name before she tucks it in towards her stomach.

It kills her. The sun is setting in Manhattan at the same time. He's still in the same time zone but he feels so far away. She's surrounded by history and monuments and she hates it. It's not her history. The monuments here tell the story of the country's great leaders, the wars they've won, the tomb of the unknown soldiers who fought and died for a country that didn't even know their names.

She misses the city. Her job keeps her busy but so did her job in the city. She misses the streets and the street vendors and the New York City skyline. She misses the people and the memories and she misses the

She misses him.

She looks at her phone again, presses the appropriate buttons until she gets to where she wants and she knows it a copout. She's a coward and a masochist and she's so selfish.

She snaps a picture of the setting sun, types out a message with shaking fingers that makes her roll her eyes but she can't stop. It's been weeks since she's talked to him but she's wanted to so many times. She knows how selfish it is but tonight she can't help it. There's a couple laughing in front of her, kissing and taking a picture of themselves on their phone and they look so in love and she just misses him.

Wrong city. Wrong view. It all feels wrong without you.

She doesn't think she's going to send it but her finger taps the send button and the message shoots away from her. She closes her eyes, the regret immediately curling in her stomach as she locks her phone, her fingers wrapped tightly around it as she folds herself over it.

She brought this on herself, but she can't deal with it. She can't deal with the rejection. She did this herself but she loves him and part of her is afraid that she'll never stop but she did this to herself and she doesn't deserve him.

Her phone dings and she's afraid to look at it but she closes her eyes and swipes her finger across the screen to get to the message. She can't even be sure it's from him but she knows it is, so she takes a deep breath before she opens her eyes.

It is from him, but it's not what she expects. There's a picture and the colors look like hers – the sky is red and purple, but she can see the ocean through a set of French doors. It hits her immediately that he's in the Hamptons, not even in the city and she doesn't know for sure but she knows it's because of her and it rips her up inside. She gave him their city and he's not even there and it's so terribly wrong.

She wants to run. She wants to pack up her things and fly back to him, show up on his doorstep and beg for forgiveness, be honest with herself and put her ring on her finger where it belongs but she just stares at his words instead. Four little words that tear her apart because she broke his heart and she's not entirely sure she can fix it this time.

I know the feeling.

She doesn't even know how to start.

You can have Manhattan
'cause I can't have you.