The UnNatural Order

She wakes alone again and slides out of his bed, walks through the room on silent feet. She doesn't open the door any more than its half-width, finds herself in eddies of darkness in his study.

He's not asleep.

"I don't want to upset the natural order of things..." Kate trails off when Castle's face remains a bleak nothing.

She shouldn't upset the natural order, but she should; someone has to say something. It shouldn't be the wicked stepmother saying it though. But who else? Everyone else in his life is against him.

"Castle?" she prods.

His face lifts, whole body rousing as if from a dream. The glass of scotch in his fingers trembles and she takes it from him, leaning over him in the chair. Perhaps this is best left for daylight.

"Bed or...?"

He watches her deposit the tumbler on a coaster on top of his desk, and she lets her movements slow down, give him something to focus on until he can pull himself back. She knows it's bad when he can't find words to speak, knows it's not good when his face tonight as she found him here barely twitched.

"Castle. It's nearly midnight. Did you want to sit and drink in your study all night, or were you going to actually come to bed?"

They made love before dinner and laughed side by side, he complained about his daughter and got excited about their buried treasure, they had chicken marsala and wine and a good time. And then she convinced him to head over to Alexis's apartment and just get the apology over with. She didn't expect this.

"I'll just sit here," he says finally. "I won't drink." He at least gives her a cautious look for that, like he's aware there are issues for her, and that's not really her concern right now.

"Look, this is enough," she mutters. She doubts she'll budge him from the chair but she wraps her hand around his bicep and tries to make it enticing. "Come to the couch. I don't want to have a conversation in which I have to straddle your lap or perch on the edge of your desk. Come on. Up, Castle. Get up."

He makes a frustrated noise but he lumbers up ungracefully from the chair, probably for effect. She doubts he's had that much to drink; Castle nurses his scotch.

He follows her to the leather couch beneath the windows and she pushes him down, sits at his side but turns to face him. She hooks her legs over high thigh and tucks her foot around his calf; a flicker lights in his face for that. She's not one to cling. He senses her mood.

She doesn't wait for him, just starts right in. "I'm going to say this just once. We'll have this conversation and then I won't say anything else about it."

"About it?"

"Alexis," she says firmly. "And... your mother might be at fault a little as well. No, wait." She holds up a hand when he stiffens. It's why she draped her legs over his in the first place; she wanted to know the moment he was offended.

"Kate."

"Listen to me. Not just her, but me too. I share in it. So you want to drink in your study and mope about it? You can do that, but you have to hear me out for just tonight. Once you do, once I know you've at least got one dissenting opinion, then you can go back to wallow and self-pity and thinking you've lost your baby forever."

He narrows his eyes at her and at least his muted indignation is better than absently staring out of the windows at nothing.

"I don't know how this happened, Castle, but I get the sense that you've shouldered the blame for a lot of... everything. Whenever something goes wrong, we look to you for culpability. And yeah, it's cute at first. I mean, we laugh about it. But. I roll my eyes at you, the boys mock you, your mother blows you off, Alexis pats you on your head..."

"This isn't a very attractive picture," he rumbles, shifting at her side.

She wraps her fingers around his hand and tries to keep from doing this badly. "No, it's not. Because yes, you're eager. And yes, you're... childlike at times. But Castle. When did we start telling you that was wrong?"

He opens his mouth but he doesn't answer; he can't possibly answer.

"I do it too," she admits. "I dismiss you for it as well. But your family - they have a tendency to make it your fault all the time. If it's making a nasty breakfast concoction, that's one thing. If it's whatever has gone wrong in your relationship with your daughter... it's not fair of them. Of us. You're not always wrong, Rick."

His eyes stay steady on her hand over his. She strokes her thumb over his wrist, the wide bone and the strength inherent in it.

"I've done things... I wish someone had called me on all of it. Done things to you." She works her throat around the words that she needs to say, finds it more difficult than she expected. "To you and to my own father. To my friends. I've been a bitch and selfish, and it took me a while to figure that out. Took, um, therapy." She laughs a little and lets her eyes drift to the window. "And you walking away from me. And nearly dying for something that... no one should die for any longer."

"Kate."

"You're supposed to just be listening," she rebukes gruffly. She has to clear her throat to keep going. "Someone should call Alexis on it too."

"What does Alexis have to do with this?"

"She's being selfish, and she's being..."

"A bitch?" he supplies, a nasty sound to the word.

"No," she answers softly. "A little bit spoiled though. You said yourself she'd never last in squalor and it got me thinking..."

"She's never been-"

"I'm not looking to denigrate your parenting choices - God knows I have no room to talk - and I'm not trying to insert myself into something that clearly she wants me to have nothing to do with."

"She didn't say it was about you."

"No. Well." Kate has her doubts about that. "It is about change. And letting go of things and gaining new things that you're not sure about. But she doesn't have to be sure of me - so long as you are."

"I am."

Kate nods, squeezing his hand. "Then this isn't a conversation we'll ever need to have again, but I think it has to be said at least once. It's not your fault, Castle. She acted immature and selfishly; you apologized and she wouldn't even let you in the door. And perhaps you hurt her feelings, and maybe an ice cream date won't fix things so easily, but you are trying. She is not."

Castle's fingers curl at her knee but he doesn't say anything. She hopes he's listening, hopes he hears it. Maybe it really is about more than Alexis, for her, maybe it's also about apologizing. About the respect he deserves.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you to get out of my life," she murmurs. "I'm sorry I wouldn't let you in the door. You were trying. I was not."

He lets out a long sigh and tilts his head back against the couch cushions. She can see the way his jaw works in the muted glow of an overcast night sky. He's a beautiful man for all his foibles, and she lifts her hand to stroke her fingers through the hair at his temple.

His eyes close.

"I won't pretend to know how to be her parent. But it has to be said at least once. I don't think you're to blame this time, and I'm sorry we so often treat you like you're the black sheep little boy who's broken all our nice things. You're more than that to me."

The silence falls as her words dry up. The steady vision of the city outside his window gives the planes of his face more depth and shadow, more hard edges to break herself, more soft pools to rest in. She measures her thumb to the arch of his eyebrow and leans in, places her kiss to his cheek.

"I love you," she adds. "You deserve better from us."

And then Kate rises from the couch and heads into his bedroom alone.