The End of Lonely Street

He awoke to a pounding head. His tongue seemed to have grown a fur coat overnight, his mouth parched and throat raw. He carefully opened one eyelid, immediately squeezing it shut again when the light stabbed his eyeball like a knitting needle, piercing all the way into his brain. He groaned, rubbed his fingers across his forehead, massaged his temples with his thumbs.

Oh, this one was gonna hurt bad. It'd been a long time since he'd been that drunk. He lay still for a few more minutes, taking inventory of all the aches in his body. But he was so thirsty, and he really needed to pee, so he slowly peeled his eyes open again. Might as well face the music.

Once his eyesight had adjusted to the bright glare of morning sunlight, he turned toward the nightstand, fumbling for the glass of water and the two aspirin placed there. Funny, he didn't remember doing that. In fact, he didn't remember much of anything. He quickly downed the pills, then gulped down the water. It sloshed unpleasantly cold in his empty stomach, but at least he didn't feel nauseated, an odd benefit of getting drunk on overly-expensive bourbon. He laid his head back on the pillow, waiting for the aspirin to take effect.

Wait. His eyes flew open again. Shit! This wasn't his home! He sat back up, his brain rattling against his skull at the sudden movement, his head pounding like someone was taking a sledgehammer to his temples.

He let his eyes roam the unfamiliar space, but he couldn't pretend even for one moment that he didn't know where he was. It came to him immediately; he recognized the leather coat flung across the chair in the corner, recognized the scent that lingered so delicately in the air. Stronger in the sheets, the pillow he'd slept on so soundly. Her sheets.

Kate.

He was in Kate's bedroom. Kate's bed.

Shit.

He checked himself, found that he was dressed. Thank god. His shoes and socks had been taken off but he was still wearing his pants and button-down. The last thing he wanted was to discover he had spent the night with Kate and didn't remember any of it.

No, no. He corrected himself. The last thing he wanted was to spend the night with Kate, period.

It hurt to even think it, the idea ripping at his heart like sharpened fingernails tearing apart his flesh. Only a few days ago he would've given anything, anything to have her. But now, everything had changed. He couldn't fathom loving her, not if she didn't love him in return. His devotion to her was too much, deep and all-consuming; he couldn't place himself in that position of unrequited love. It would break him. It was hard enough as it was, shredding him to pieces bit by bit, day after day. He'd never recover.

He slid his legs out of bed, his toes cracking on the cool floorboards. Standing up carefully, he tried to get his bearings; his head was still hammering, his body aching all over and his tongue felt like it had swollen to ten times its normal size in his mouth, but other than that, he was alright. He shuffled toward the open door on the left and the ensuite bathroom that lay just behind it.

He had to face her at some point - but not like this, not with stale hung-over morning breath and smelly armpits. It was bad enough that she had seen him black-out drunk. He felt gross all over.

He relieved himself, then washed his hands, letting his gaze wander across her space as he did; her make-up on the counter, the bottles of a skin care line, Q-tips and cotton balls in a clear glass container, her hairbrush and a large curling iron. His heart ached at the everyday normalcy of it all. He had to fight the ever-present longing for her, the need that flowed through his body like the blood in his veins, constant and everywhere at once.

There was a set of folded towels on the counter and a toothbrush still wrapped in its plastic packaging placed on top. Kate must've set those out for him, just like the water and the aspirin, just like she had taken off his shoes and let him sleep in her bed. His heart thumped viciously, painfully. She really was a good friend, he had to acknowledge that. Despite how he'd treated her lately, she'd been there for him, no questions asked. It wasn't her fault that she didn't feel the same. Yes, she should've come clean with him, should've admitted she didn't feel the same, but the truth was, she wasn't obligated to him, wasn't indebted to return his pathetic, all-consuming love just because he'd so willingly handed his heart over to her.

Castle unwrapped the toothbrush, wet it and squeezed a large dollop of toothpaste on its head. The minty flavor was stark, almost biting in his mouth and he scrubbed his teeth vigorously, scraping his tongue and gargling with large amounts of water until his mouth felt clean and fresh again.

Under the hot spray of the shower, he found himself encased by the scents of Kate that lingered so much stronger in here, the cherry and vanilla enhanced by the hazy steam, teasing his senses, and a slew of memories from last night came flooding back, disjointed and choppy. Her sudden presence next to him at the bar, as if he'd conjured her out of thin air, just from his yearning alone. Being maneuvered into and then out of the cab. Bossy orders, and lying in her bed. Her face cradled in his palms, and then nothing until he awoke this morning.

Oh god, what had happened? He'd told her he loved her, hadn't he? Oh, no no no. Not again. He had the worst timing. What kind of an idiot was he? Wasn't once enough? Did he have to make every mistake twice? What else had he told her in his inebriated, no-boundaries state? He knew he had a tendency to prattle on when he was drunk, spilling all of the secrets from his overly-trusting heart. It was one of the main reasons he'd stopped drinking as much.

He stayed under the shower for several long minutes, letting the hot water pound on his face, his shoulders, trying to drown out the flood of fragmented memories that came at him without a straight narrative. At last he stepped out into the steamy bathroom, scrubbing the towel vigorously through his hair and over his body until his skin stung. He scrunched his face in distaste at his pants and shirt lying wrinkled on the tiled flooring where he'd dropped them, likely less than pleasant-smelling, yet he had no choice but to wear them again.

After sipping some more cold water from the tap, he took a deep breath, told himself he could do this. He was a grown man; so what if he'd gotten drunk? He tried to summon his righteous anger, to remember how she'd lied to him, how she'd been stringing him along for months when she never wanted...she never...

But he couldn't grasp it; all he felt today was abject, hopeless sadness, burdened by his broken heart and the weight of missed opportunities, of unrequited love. No wonder he'd been drinking to excess last night; stone-cold sober, this pain was a hundred times worse.

He stepped out of the bathroom, avoided looking at her bed again as he crossed through the bedroom, and he opened the door.

Her eyes flew up to him the moment she noticed him stepping through the door. She gulped; he could see the movement in her throat, noticed the clench of her jaw, her knuckles whitening where she held on to the handle of her coffee cup.

He found himself with no words, nothing he could say that would make this any easier, that would fix anything. He'd told her he loved her, twice, when he knew better. He should've known better. It was bound to make her uncomfortable. He certainly was. Uncomfortable and embarrassed. None of this was fair, but he hadn't been fair to her either, not lately. He wasn't entitled to her love. Best to just get away from here, to leave her in her peace. Distance was the only way he might ever get over her.

"I should, uh...go. Home." He watched her eyes lower, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. The distance between them seemed to grow, even though he was standing stock-still, unable to look anywhere else but at her. "Thank you."

Her gaze rose up to him once more, her eyes wide, a myriad of emotions he couldn't untangle swirling in the hazel pools.

"For coming to help me. Sorry you had to see me like that. Not my finest hour. So, thanks, for, uh...for everything."

She blinked, nodded. "Partners, right?" Her voice sounded strained, flat, the lack of emotion obviously forced yet he heard everything she didn't say, everything she was trying so hard to hide. That pleading kind of hope for something, anything he was still willing to give, for reassurances about their friendship after the mess they'd made of the last days. He found that he couldn't even blame her. Not anymore. He was still angry, hurt so deep that it churned in his stomach, worse than his hangover, the ulcerous acid poisoning every moment spent with her.

But he remembered, too – the aspirin and the toothbrush, the way she'd brushed her hand across his shoulder in the bar, worry in her touch and on her face. The sheets and blanket drawn over him despite his rank clothing, his shoes placed orderly beside her bed. The fact that she'd picked him up, took care of him, was there for him when he needed her.

And he remembered the lost, unbearably wounded look on her face over the last few days that he'd been trying his damnedest to ignore. He just knew in this very moment that he couldn't lose her. If this is all they would ever be, he wanted it. At the very least, he wanted that.

"Partners." It was as much a concession as it was an apology; it was all he was capable of right now. He continued to stand there, his legs paralyzed on the spot. Their gazes met, held, and he could feel the blood coursing through every last capillary in his body.

"There's coffee in the kitchen. If you'd like."

"Thanks." The awkwardness was palpable presence, making him jittery, and he un-stuck his feet at last, ambling past the couch and toward her kitchen, feeling her eyes tracking his every move. His heart wouldn't stop racing, an endless loop of confounding emotions playing in his mind.

"Do you remember…anything?"

He stopped in his tracks at her question, turning toward her. He knew she was referring to last night, but his anger roared back just the same, vicious in its attack on his every thought, overtaking his senses. How could she ask this, of all the things, when she'd been the one to-

His face hardened, his eyebrows knitting together. "Do you?"

He'd expected...well, the truth was, he had no clue what reaction he'd expected. A fight perhaps, or having to watch the shutters close over her eyes once more as she hid herself away from him, but not this. Not this kind of composure as she rose from the couch and turned toward him, her back held straight, her strength a tangible thing. Whatever had happened last night, whatever else he might have said, choices had been made. She was certain. Decisive.

"I remember every second." Her tone was matter-of-fact, her eyes holding his, not backing down as she admitted the truth she'd been concealing from him for so long, and his heart hurtled itself against his ribcage at her confession, the blood rushing in his ears.

"And…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Castle. For everything. I should've just said-" She paused and glanced away, teeth gnawing at her abused bottom lip and he found himself aching to soothe the sting with his tongue.

"But if you meant it…" Her eyes rose to meet his again as she took a tentative step toward him, her fingers knotted together. "If you still mean it, then I want this too."

"Want what?" His heart was leaping, his mind scrambling for answers, to understand. He was so done with their usual subtext; he needed more of her, desperately needed everything she would give. "What are you saying, Kate?"

"I'm saying…I'm saying that I love you, too. I love you, Rick. And I want-"

She didn't get any further, his mouth catching the rest of the words as he surged toward her, his fingers framing her face, tilting her head, tasting the admission on her lips instead. She moaned, a low, erotic sound in her throat as she opened for him and he delved inside, his tongue meeting hers, tasting coffee and her, Kate, oh Kate.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lithe body fitted to his, and her breasts pressed so tightly to his chest that he felt her raised, pebbled nipples through his shirt, and the taut coil of desire unraveled in his midsection, rushing through his body. Her hips slotted to his, a leg crawling up his calf, hooking over his thigh, and he ran an arm around her waist, dragging her even closer. He needed to feel her more than he needed air. He lay worship to her mouth, sipping at her lips, the fingers of his other hand drawing along the line of her jaw, trailing down the graceful length of her neck, traversing her collarbones, finding their way to her sternum and resting there.

"How's your heart?" he murmured, circling his index finger around the space between her breasts where he remembered too vividly the ooze of thick, hot blood.

"Healing, now that you're here," she whispered, laying a hand over his on her chest, her fingers sliding in the spaces between his, tangled together.

He kissed her again, slowly this time, purposely, laying claim to her mended heart, her soul, pouring his love into her mouth.

"How's your head?" She ran her fingers through his hair, caressed a thumb over his temple in slow circles.

He still felt the dull roaring at the back of his skull, but he'd forgotten all about it; it didn't matter. Nothing hurt when he she was in his arms.

"Never better." He smiled and she kissed the edges of his mouth, ran her tongue along his bottom lip, teasing him, setting his body on fire with just her touch.

"Wanna get back in my bed now?" She grinned against his lips, insistent as she pushed him toward her bedroom with her hips. "Since that is where you'd always wanted to be?"

He groaned out a laugh, rubbed his fingers over his eyes. "Oh god, did I really say that?"

She nodded.

"I'm afraid to ask what else I might've said."

"Just…" She stood still, curling her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, her eyes serious. "Just that you love me."

"I do." He tugged her closer against his body, his fingers playing along the dip of her spine, dancing over each vertebra. It made her back arch and her eyelids flutter alluringly, her hips sealed to his. He felt fortified, elated to get to finally say the words the right way, at the right time, when they'd both remember them, no questions asked.

"I love you. I've loved you for a long time, Kate. And I don't intend to stop, ever."

She smiled, a melting, adorable thing, so very happy, and then she kissed him, humming against his lips. "Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah." She nodded, those teeth digging into her bottom lip again, an erotic, inviting play, her look sly and seductive. "Hey Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"Take me to bed. Now."

Oh, how he liked it when she was bossy. It was hot.

So he did.

END

a/n: Written based on a prompt by Her Royal Majesty, The Evil Prompt Overlord, InkyCoffee: 'Kate gets called away from drinks with Colin Hunt to come pick up a very drunk, very honest, very alone Castle from the Old Haunt.' Thank you for sharing this great prompt with me, Lou; it rocked! :) Many thanks to the wonderful Meg for excellent beta services rendered; you rock, girl!

Title credit, and the lyrics Castle slurs, are credited to 'Heartbreak Hotel' by Elvis Presley.

Thank you all so much for reading; I hope you've enjoyed this piece. I appreciate all your thoughts!