Neither Castle or One Republic belong to me

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Covers 6x01 through to 6x04 and the Promo's (US and Canadian) for 6x05

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I had a dream the other night, About how we only get one life,

Woke me up right after two, Stayed awake and stared at you,

So I wouldn't lose my mind.

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His breath catches sharply in his chest, eyes snapping open, yet as they focus on the ceiling above his head, he sees nothing but black; the dark of his room descends and squeezes down on him some more.

Darkness tinged with red.

There's a thundering in his ears that escalates as he comes to, an internal thumping that sets his teeth on edge; the haze of sleep disappears abruptly as his mind shakes off the shackles of slumber, fights its way free of his nightmare.

Memories of falling to the ground– the deadly toxin pumping through his system– have combined with Kate laying upon the bright green grass, warm blood pulsating between his fingers as each beat of her heart had forced more out, and it continues to overwhelm him.

He can still see the splash of crimson as if it's painted across his ceiling; his fingers feel hot and sticky as they push against the covers, her name tumbling from his lips in vain.

Everything was in vain.

They may only have one life to live, but too often it has been the case that they've nearly lost theirs. They have nearly lost each other and this thought has him upright.

He had come close to dying, had come close to leaving her just as their life together was starting, and again, no air can make its way down to his lungs, caught in the constriction formed inside his throat. His body becomes motionless as he sits, stunned.

He knows what it is to face a life without her, the emptiness that stretches- a barren plain of despair. Would it have been the same for her? Two rings chiming as one around her neck, joined in all that she had lost? Would it have weighed her down?

Would they lie against her naked skin and remind her of all the promises that he hadn't kept? All the ways he had let her down, deserted her, left her alone without her partner in life? Would they whisper hollow words as they brushed along her chest? Declare over and over against her skin, all the ways his death had failed her?

Scrubbing a hand across his face, he turns and glances down. He's grateful that she remains caught in her own dream world, oblivious to the turmoil that has him alert– conscious at this ungodly hour.

Stretching out his arm, he reaches for his cell, activates it for a second, and looks long enough to see that the time has drifted past two. Sighing he lifts his shoulders, shrugging at the early morning wakefulness, at the slim chance of going back to sleep.

The thought of closing his eyes and allowing those images to form again results in a shudder that starts low and rises until it shatters his heart completely. If he lets the pictures take control, gives them the ability to run away with the story they are desperately trying to produce, they are going to swallow him whole. Gnaw at him from the inside; leave his psyche tattered and raw.

Forcefully shaking himself, he hears a soft grunt float up from beside him and twisting again to face her, the nightmare gradually recedes; it's chased to the corner of the room as Kate's features replace the terror that had assaulted him.

Her nose wrinkles adorably, movements induced from her own sleepy visions, and fearing the worst, he runs a finger across the soft skin of her forehead. They share so much, their brain waves often in sync, and he fears that his own horror has invaded her subconscious, and formed her own incubus.

His hand blazes a path over her skin, heat radiating from even the simplest of touches, and he coasts his fingers up until he can weave them through the silky strands that frame her face.

Sliding back down, he shifts his large frame as gently as he can, and leaning his body toward hers, he aligns himself so that her internal heat can seep its way through the clothes that separate them, can warm the chill that flickers in remembrance within his chest.

He inhales deeply; the scent of her body wash, of her, encompasses him and he sinks further into the pillow that's resting under his head; a head that's slowly becoming heavy as he watches her in sleep.

He smiles, his cheek scratching against the pillow; he could lie here all night, happily greet the morning– her presence enough to bring peace to his mind, a calmness to his soul.

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And I had the week that came from hell, And yes I know that you can tell,

But you're like the net under the ledge, But I go flying off the edge,

You go flying off as well

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She stands still; stands and contemplates the vast outlay before her; nothing but open sky, and the bright blue vision almost brings tears to her eyes.

It's either that, or the situation she has found herself in.

It has been a crushing week; the elation she had felt as she'd tightly clutched the newly created key to her chest had splinted before her, and lay shattered in a million pieces across the distance between McCord and herself.

It's more than just the despair of losing her job; the opportunities that had appeared so shiny and new when she had originally walked through those hallowed doors on her first day.

She is now without direction, without focus and it's eating her up inside. What is she without the badge? Without her gun? Without the power to help?

Clenching her fists, nails biting into the tender flesh of her palm, she reminds herself to pay attention; this is hardly the time or place to get lost in her own thoughts. To be bogged down in the hell that had been her life since she'd shown up at her former place of employment.

She had been forced to keep secrets from the people she considers her family, forced to go against rules and regulations that had governed her job– her former job– just to get justice. She had knowingly jeopardized everything to protect the victim's loved one, and a wave of panic crashes over her. She had known, hadn't she? Had known what she was risking when she had made that call.

Fingers lightly ghost along her wrist and they pull her from her thoughts and their wicked downward spiral. Castle stands at her side, skin touching skin as he anchors her to the present, pulls her from the past.

He has been nothing but a steady rock, reading her like an open book, like she is his open book and a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

He can tell exactly where she is at; knows her thoughts have drifted from where they need to be and she allows her mouth to curve in a smile, teeth flashing white as she takes him in. She wants to give back to him what she has received, from having him stand by her side, from having him in her life. A constant touchstone.

"So, while there is no safety net, the cord will catch you." The instructor's words break through their bubble and she turns to focus on the last of their briefing. "There's a moment of free falling, where the cord is slack, but it will stretch and catch you. I promise."

Castle chuckles beside her, it's more nervous than funny, and she waits for it, knows him well enough to know that it's coming. "Well if it doesn't, expect my ghost to write one hell of an angry complaint letter!"

She smirks at his words, is grateful that he has the ability to loosen the tightness that had begun creeping across her chest. She speculates for a second, ponders over the fact that they have completely gone insane; can't grasp why they are about to do what they are about to do!

"That's Apparition-American, Castle." Her voice may be tight, squeezed out through the narrowest of openings, but the laugh that explodes from her fiancé is worth it.

He stares at her, eyes locking, and she realizes that while he may be throwing all his humor in to the situation, he's just as terrified as she is to be standing here. Sweat pools at the base of his throat, beads across his forehead, and she lifts a hand, sweeps it to one side.

"Castle, if my cord snaps, be my net. Jump and catch me."

Her words make him brave, his chest expanding as it puffs in caveman-like pride, head nodding as he takes the responsibility seriously; his job to protect her in all the ways that she lets him.

"I've got your back, Beckett!"

Inching forward, she listens to the last minute instructions, eyes forward as she breathes it in. The feeling of panic. Being out of control. Letting life happen to her, rather than her normal approach of being the one to dictate the hows of it all.

Her feet can feel the edge of the ledge, the open space that lies before her, lies underneath and she takes another deep breath; the male voice to her right sounds distant as he encourages her to go when she is ready. To simply step off into nothing.

Castle's fingers trace along her ear, his lips pressing hard against her cheek, as if he could push his love into her, and her back straightens with the knowledge he's right beside her. Always.

"You've got this, Beckett."

As he steps back, and she steps forward- because she has this- she puts aside the fact that there are going to be moments when her situation will become too much; the weight of the world will no doubt creep up on her and push her down.

Because here in this moment, she has this, has him ready to jump off a ledge just to follow her down, and she hits nothing but air as she steps forward.

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A.N: So this happened because as much as I have loved writing So much more to lose, I truly miss writing The distance between two. And while I have probably shot myself in the foot by having written this *two shot* now, hopefully by the hiatus I can come up with a new idea! (Someone remind me that if Kate is pregnant by the end of the season to name the next 'missing moment' fic- The distance between three ;)

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Big thanks to honeyandvodka for making me make sense with all things spelling and grammar

and to Caskett1 for reading and spotting my goofs!

Also to louisemcdoogle for her help with bungee jumping!

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You comments-reviews are valued!