He shuts the door behind them, brushes past her to sit on the edge of his desk, hands clasped in his lap, whole body tense. Defensive. She crosses her arms, pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth. She really doesn't even know where to begin.

"Beckett-" he starts impatiently, but she needs him to stop talking, stop assuming he knows what's going on.

"I'm sorry," she rushes out, eyes meeting his. He's barely three feet away, but- it feels like a greater void than just that. "Your mother told me that you heard me- that you know I remember."

"Good to know even my own mother isn't on my side," he mutters. She doesn't think she was supposed to hear that.

"Castle, there are no sides here. We're all on the same-"

"You lied to me for a year, Kate. You don't get to tell me that you're on my side. If you're just here to apologize and make me feel better, you can go home. I don't need a pity party."

"That's not-" She huffs, holding her hands up, palms facing outwards, calming herself. She wants to snap at him, but he's already wounded enough and she has to remind herself that she's the reason for that. He's staring at her with hopeless eyes - completely empty - and she just wants to fix it. "I just need you to listen to me," she tells him collectedly, almost pleading, but not quite.

His shoulders slump and he looks away. Giving up on fighting with her, she tells herself, refuses to believe he's done fighting for her. For them.

"I'm not here to pity you. I'm not here because I just want to say I'm sorry and forget this ever happened. I'm here to tell you that you're wrong, Rick," she gets out around the sudden lump in her throat, surprised by the sudden onslaught of emotions. "I never would have lied to you because I don't feel the same. Don't you remember what I told you on the swings?"

"Of course," he replies, briefly meeting her eyes, no hesitation.

"What relationship would I have been talking about?" she asks him gently, pushes forward, needs to get this all out now, so tired of the miscommunication. "I've been going to therapy."

That surprises him. To any stranger, they wouldn't see it, but she catches the way his body tenses just the slightest, and she thinks they might be getting somewhere. Slowly but surely.

"I first went back because I felt like I wasn't enough," Kate admits. His eyes snap to hers, defiant. There's her partner, ready to fight for her again, she hopes.

"Enough for what?" he nearly demands, exasperated. "For me? Kate- I loved you. I forgave you for leaving those three months and completely shutting me out. I accepted that, I accepted your faults, because I loved you as you were. I didn't need anything more. What I needed was honesty. I didn't need any of this."

He waves his hands at her, a permanent scowl on his face.

"Loved?" she quizzes pathetically.

"What?"

"You just- past tense," she explains dumbly. She wants to believe that it's not past tense - that he still does - but he's a writer, and words are his specialty.

He lets out a sigh, drops his head. "I wish it was."

Kate almost takes a step back at that. He wishes he didn't love her. "I don't," she asserts.

His eyes find hers. He looks torn. She doesn't want that. She wants him to be sure of her and where they stand.

"I don't want that to be past tense," she repeats, takes a step towards him, "Because I love you. Present tense."

The air is sucked out of his lungs. He stands, scrubs a hand down his face, body still hunched in defense. She doesn't know what more she can say, but she will try. If he needs her words, she'll try.

"I don't think I could have handled any of this worse than I have," she admits. He chokes out a laugh, lips quirked up, so she continues, because he's opening back up to her, she can see that. "And I'm sorry, Rick. You didn't deserve it. And if I could go back- I would change so many things. Hurting you like this was the last thing I wanted. But I do love you. I'm here now, and if you're willing, I think we should start over."

"We can't start over, Kate," he points out, kind of dryly, and a little bit hopeless.

She nods stupidly, feels it like a punch in the gut, what he isn't saying. I can't forget how much you've hurt me. "Right," she rasps.

Rick doesn't say anything more, just stands before her and she wonders if this is all they're ever going to be. Stuck in a tailspin. He loves her, but he doesn't want to be with her, someone so complicated, someone who hurt him so many times. The thought nearly suffocates her.

"I can go," she tells him, meeting his gaze. She takes a step back, ready to leave-

"Wait," he gets out. "I think there's something I need to show you."

His eyes- they're full of apologies. For what, she has no idea. But the grief speckled there tells her that she's not going to like whatever it is.

"I think you should sit down," he advises.

Her brow furrows. "Castle?"

"Kate," he pleads.

"Okay," she concedes, drops down into the sofa cushions. He reaches for the remote to his smart board, hits the power button and the device comes to life. Her photo is glaring at them from the middle of the screen. She glances between it and her partner.

"Why am I on there?" she asks slowly.

He goes to the screen, taps her face with his index finger. And then she's staring at all of the evidence she has stored on her own murder board at home.

She says his name on a whisper, needs him to explain what the hell she's doing on his own fake murder board.

So he tells her everything, from the first phone call, the meetings, getting her to stop investigating her mother's murder. When he's finished, she buries her face in her hands. He can't do this. She can't lose him to this too. She hasn't investigated in months, and she's safe because of that. He made it clear that she is, that this Smith guy is helping hold up their end of the deal, but if he's investigating- then what the hell is the point?

"Say something," he begs quietly.

"You can't do this," she tells him, a growl in her voice. "You can't investigate this, Castle."

Her voice is shaking, but she has no control over that right now.

"Neither can you," he snaps. She studies him standing over by his desk, body completely deflated. They are so off kilter right now that it's almost making her dizzy, fills her eyes up with tears.

"I'm not. You made sure I wasn't," she retorts. "But they will kill you, Rick. If I'm not, you're not."

"I- what?"

"What was confusing about that? If I'm not investigating, then you have to promise me that you won't either."

"No, no. I know. But you're not… mad?" he inquires hesitantly. She stands, takes the remote from him and shuts the murder board down, setting the device back on his desk.

"I am mad," she states. "But more than that, I can't lose you to this. They've killed people I love before, Rick, and I don't- I can't go through that with you."

"You still want this? Us?" He flinches when he asks, as if he's afraid to remind her of what he's done, why he thinks she will change her mind.

"Do you?" she challenges. Because after everything she's said tonight, she still doesn't know what he wants.

"I never stopped," he admits honestly, giving her the same look he did when he saw her for the first time after she was shot, unbridled joy and love for her.

A slow smile creeps across her face, and she has to duck her head, her hair a curtain and hiding her joy. But his hand comes up to cradle her jaw as he steps closer, slowly raising her face back up to his. He hesitates when their eyes lock, as if waiting for her to back out, but she holds his gaze, lets him read her like she knows he does so well.

He must find affirmation written somewhere in her soul, because he leans in, brushes his lips against hers gently, testing the waters. Her fingers find the fabric of his button-up, pulling him nearer, meeting his kiss firmly. Strong, like they are together.

He breaks it all too soon. Probably for the best, since his mother and daughter are in the next room. As if reminding them of the dinner that is awaiting, her stomach growls.

She giggles - giggles - and buries her face in his neck, arms winding around his waist. He returns the hug, holds her tightly, completely sure of her, of them, for the first time in two weeks.

She remembers that he could have died today, and she unconsciously tightens her grip on him, if that's even possible, sinking further into his embrace.

"I love you," he rasps, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of her head.

She lets out a breath of relief that she didn't realize she was holding. He loves her.

She leans back slightly, just enough to see his eyes, lets him see her happiness when she returns the phrase with an openness she hasn't possessed since before her mother died.

He kisses her once more before nudging her back towards his family. Her fingers find his, the digits intertwining effortlessly.

His mother and daughter are painfully obvious when they notice the couple migrating towards the kitchen, both pairs of eyes lingering just a second too long on their locked hands.

It's Martha who breaks the silence first, rounding the counter to pull them both into a hug.

"I'm so happy for you. Both of you," she says with an exuberance that only Martha can possess.

Kate feels a blush crawling up her neck, glances at Rick only to find him already beaming at her. Alexis comes to stand beside her grandmother, eyeing Kate warily. The detective holds her breath. Alexis snapped at her today, rightfully - and painfully - so, and Kate realizes that her disapproval will ruin what they have before it's really even given a chance to begin.

"Alexis," Rick says her name softly, almost a plea. The teen smiles, pulling Kate into a hug, both an apology for taking her pain out on the detective and forgiveness for causing her father heartbreak.

"Well," Martha declares, "The table is set and dinner is ready. Who's hungry?"

Dinner goes smoothly. His family is always easy to have conversation with, but now, with she and Rick taking their relationship to the next level, it's better. She feels like she's gained complete acceptance into their family, and she's so grateful. She's always loved how fiercely protective they are of one another, but now she truly feels like she's part of that.

After dinner, she helps clear the table and clean dishes, finds herself oddly content with the domesticity of it all. His family retires upstairs not long after and they're alone once again.

He offers her another glass of wine, must not want her to leave, which is okay. Perfect, even. She doesn't want to go. After these rocky past couple of weeks, she finds herself reluctant to leave him. Not now that she has him back.

Their conversation has lulled, and their wine glasses are empty. Now they're just stalling, pathetically so. He takes her glass from her hand, sets it in the sink and flicks the kitchen lights off, leaving the space lit in a soft glow from the light above the oven. She opens her mouth to thank him for dinner, make her exit, but his large hand envelops her own.

"Stay," he says gently. Not a command, but not really a question either, as if he sees her internal debate on whether or not she should leave. She gives him a soft smile, gives his hand a squeeze.

"I'll stay."

I was seriously blown away by the alerts I received for this story. Thank you all so, so much.

And thanks to Alex for reading it over. You're the best.

I hope you all enjoyed this second part. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.