a/n: okay, so I never had any intention of writing Caskett fanfic. I mean, they're canon, they're golden, there's no need, right? Right? Not to mention the fact that I'm several years behind and surely everything that can be said about them has been said a hundred times already.

... but then this little oneshot came along and started bouncing around in my head and refused to go away... so, my first and quite possibly last Castle/Caskett story. I hope there's someone out there who'll enjoy this unashamed bit of Rise angst...

The Lie

Kate can see his disappointment.

She's spent too much time with Richard Castle over the past few years not to be able to decipher his expressions. Especially when it comes to her, the way he looks at her, his reactions to her... even if she was unobservant and stupid, she couldn't miss the affection, the concern - the desire. His face is exceptionally mobile and expressive, and she can often read the things he's trying to hide. And when it comes to her - well, most of the time he isn't even trying to hide it any more.

So when he sees Josh there, it doesn't take a genius to see his confusion, his uncertainty, the way he just doesn't understand. She can tell he is wondering if this is her reaction, if her response to his declaration is to put her boyfriend, the man she doesn't really love (they both know it, it's only Josh who doesn't realise), in between them.

In typical fashion, he passes off the beautiful bouquet in his hands as a joke. "I heard you were opening a flower store. So I thought I'd pitch in." It's an extravagant gift, stuffed with orchids and roses, enormous. Suitable for a man visiting the woman he loves. They'll both pretend it's just a friendly gesture.

The conversation is awkward, clumsy, as if they haven't spent so long working together that they can finish each other's sentences.

It takes him a moment to catch on when she starts talking about the shooting as if it happened to someone else. She watches his face, sees the naked hope dying as she claims it's all a blank, and hates herself a little. She has to look away, afraid he will see the lie in her eyes.

"You don't remember... the gunshot?" There's a break in his voice, a pleading, he's begging her to remember.

She knows what he wants her to remember, and it terrifies her that he might ask the real question, the one that's written all over his face. The one that hovered unspoken in that painfully long pause.

"No."

It's almost a relief to get it out there. To insulate herself, tell him, tell herself, that some things are best forgotten. To put the wall back up so she can regroup. But she will never forget his expression, the way his face falls, closes up, as if someone turned the light out. He looks like he might cry. She may never forgive herself.

She presses her advantage, tacitly blaming him for Roy's death. It's easier to be combative than honest.

"Kate."

The way he speaks her name - the raw emotion in that one syllable - almost undoes her.

She has to make him leave before she changes her mind, before she gives in to the urge to take his hand, pull him close, touch his face...

It doesn't take much to shut him down - he's already hurting, already wounded, and she may be stuck in a hospital bed but she has the advantage in so many ways. She speaks softly as she tells him to go, but she can see her words slamming into him. It's fanciful, and Kate is rarely fanciful, but she would almost rather slap him, hit him, punch him. She thinks it might hurt him less.

It would definitely hurt her less.

The effort he puts into maintaining his composure when she tells him not to come back tomorrow, that she needs time... Surely he has a breaking point, and she's nearing it. A point where she will hurt him so much that he won't ever come back. He has no idea that this is breaking her too.

"How much time?"

"I'll call you, okay."

She's not sure whether he believes her. She's not certain whether she believes herself.

"Sure." He turns, leaves the room, and letting him go is one of the hardest things she's ever done.

The door clicks closed behind him, and Kate lets herself relax, lets a few slow tears run down her cheeks, lets herself grieve for all the things she couldn't say. She replays the memory of his face and his voice, begging her not to leave him, full of fear and desperate longing as she lay dying in his arms.

Kate... I love you. I love you, Kate.

She wonders if there's any chance he'll stick around long enough for her to be ready to say it back.