A/N 1: This chapter nearly gave me fits in the writing of it so I hope it satisfies! Earning the T rating in this…

The Space Between Us

Chapter 15

Deciding what she needed to do wasn't the same as actually doing it.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, her nerves starting to riot, and she knew it was, at least partly, out of nervousness. And some anticipation too.

Castle had taken over putting the rest of the groceries away as it involved reaching up to the cabinets which she still couldn't comfortably do. So she'd been relegated to watching. Which was fine too. Because the view of his butt and the strip of skin visible where his t-shirt had risen as he lifted his arms was… very nice.

So it was possible (probable?) that her intentions were not as pure anymore as they'd started out as being. That was okay, right?

She wanted this. Wanted him. (Well, that had been true for a lot longer than she'd been willing to admit to herself.)

It was not exactly the way she would have imagined their first time but her imaginings, fantasies, had never included having scars.

This was what she needed to do. The last real barrier between them. And she was, she decided, so tired of being afraid, tired of shying away from him, from them.

She might be—she was—still nervous but sometimes, it was necessary to just rip off the bandage quickly rather than slowly.

"Okay, groceries all put away. What do you want to do now? Beckett?"

She'd gotten distracted. He'd finished and turned around and now was eyeing her with some concern and she wondered what he saw in her expression.

"Castle?"

Now he was looking a little nervous. "Yeah?"

"I was thinking… I want to show you something." Want was putting it a little strongly; she still didn't want him to see this but she was tired of putting it off too.

"Okay…"

She turned and retreated into her bedroom, knowing even without seeing that he would follow her.

She stopped beside her bed and turned to face him.

He'd stopped just inside the door, uncertainty and confusion flickering across his face. "What did you want to show me?"

She set her jaw. It was time. "This." She gripped the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it up, baring her stomach, the scar along her side. Her breath was coming too fast but it was time.

He made a choking sound and then shut his eyes, one hand flying up to cover his eyes for good measure. "Kate, what are you doing?"

She felt another flare of nerves. "I didn't think you'd be the one to stop me from taking my shirt off," she tried to joke.

"Kate." For once in his life, he didn't respond to humor. "I said I wasn't going to push and I'm not. I haven't. I don't—we can wait. I can wait."

Oddly, his reluctance, his obvious hesitation, eased her tension. This was Castle and she trusted him. "I know." She took advantage of his still-covered eyes to tug her shirt over her head and off, discarding it, leaving her bared to the waist except for her plain bra. She could do this. These disfiguring marks on her skin were the last thing she was hiding.

She glanced down, her gaze focusing on the small round puckered scar between her breasts. It was, at least, no longer an angry red, the color fading to pink, but she still hated it, felt the little reactive shudder go through her at the sight. She felt the phantom burning pain in her chest, her breathing becoming shallow again, her hand automatically coming up to cover it before she forced it down. It was ugly, it was so ugly, but she'd promised herself she'd show him.

She let out a shaky breath. "I… I didn't want you to see me like this," she managed to force out, again.

"I'm not. I won't," he croaked and she looked up to see that he was still covering his eyes. She felt a flicker of warmth in her chest, reassurance.

"No, Castle, I meant that I didn't want you to see me like this before but I don't want to hide from you anymore. You can look, Castle."

He made another strangled sound. "Kate, are you… sure? I'm not—you don't have to…"

"Open your eyes, Castle."

He did, letting his hand fall.

His eyes widened, his gaze avid, as he stared and she felt herself flush at the look of awe mingled in with the flare of lust he didn't try to conceal. And then she abruptly realized that he hadn't even noticed her scars at first—she didn't know how since her scars were all she could see when she looked at herself now—but he didn't, because his expression abruptly froze, his entire body seeming to tense. Now he'd seen, noticed. Now he understood what she'd meant to show him.

He looked stunned, grieved, and it suddenly occurred to her to wonder if he'd realized that she had scars from her shooting, her surgery. From the look on his face, he might not have thought about it, might not have fully realized that she would be permanently marked by what had happened. The bullet that had killed her, the surgery that had brought her back to life.

"Kate… Oh god, Kate…" he finally breathed, his voice shaking slightly.

She took a breath, steeling herself. "It's okay, Castle. I—I know it's ugly but it doesn't hurt anymore." It was mostly true. She was relatively sure that the hard knot of pain she still sometimes felt in her chest was mostly a phantom one.

He abruptly looked stricken and she winced and rushed on, trying to explain. "This is why I wanted to be better. I thought—I wanted not to be… broken. I—I didn't want you to see me like that, wanted to be better, stronger than that, for you. Didn't want you to have to… care about someone who was so damaged."

He choked and took an involuntary step toward her. "Kate, no, stop." His hand lifted as if to touch her but then it paused and then retreated. Cautious—he was still, even now, being so cautious with her, trying not to push, overstep the boundaries. She didn't want his caution, didn't want there to be any walls, any space, between them. And before she could think better of it, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her torso so the tips of his fingers covered up the scar, warming up her skin.

She had the feeling they were both distracted for a moment, staring at his hand on her, so close to her breasts. She certainly was.

But then he blinked and managed to drag his eyes up to meet hers, his expression sober. "Kate, you're not damaged, you're beautiful. And you don't have to be anything other than what you are. What you are is enough, more than enough. And if I ever made you feel like you aren't…"

"You didn't. You haven't." He just made her want to be better, made her want to be the person he already thought he was.

"You shouldn't ever feel like your scars are ugly. They're not. They're badges of honor, Kate, signs that you suffered but also that you survived, signs of all that you've overcome. So don't ever feel like they make you anything other than beautiful or that you need to hide them." He paused. "If anything, they only make me love you more."

Her breath hitched in her chest. Oh. He'd said it again. When there was no screaming, no pain. There was just him and the way he was looking at her that made her feel… beautiful.

And just the way he was looking at her provided the last impetus she needed to slide one hand around his neck and close the scant distance between them to press her lips to his. Softly, at first, but then his lips parted and the kiss exploded as he tugged her body in closer, fitting her body against his.

Her already half-naked body against his. She abruptly decided that taking off her shirt first had clearly been one of her best ideas yet as she tangled her fingers in his hair and molded herself against the hard strength of his body. His mouth was hot and wet and eager—mmm, oh god—as he swallowed the soft moan that escaped her—and proceeded to kiss her some more. Oh and there was all the passion, the restrained forcefulness, of their first kiss in a dark alley, the devastating heat and desire she'd been fantasizing about ever since.

His lips only left hers to scatter a trail of soft, damp kisses along her chin and down her neck, pausing to suck on her pulse point, making her gasp and tug on his hair to persuade him to reverse course. She wanted more, more of his drugging kisses, more of his hands on her body.

He resisted—annoying man—and had the nerve to lift his head—that was not what she wanted him to do. "Kate," he gasped, "what—are you—"

"Shut up and take me to bed, Castle."

His eyes, his expression, lit up with an odd combination of amazement, elation, and lust. "So hot when you're bossy."

Her impatient huff was cut off by his mouth as he kissed her again and then he was sliding his hands down past her butt to grip her thighs, lifting her until she automatically wrapped her legs around him, bringing her closer to where she wanted, needed to be.

And take her to bed, he did.

Mm, yeah, he really did.

And proceeded to show her with every kiss, every caress, of his lips and hands and tongue—god, yes, his tongue—that she was still beautiful, still sexy, and that he loved her.

Afterwards, Kate curled up contentedly within his encircling arms, her entire body feeling loose and languid, if a little tender in parts. Not quite sore, just… yeah, a little tender, some of those muscles hadn't needed to work quite like that in a while. Mm, added incentive to push harder at her physical recovery. Once she was really back to normal, it would allow her more freedom to get creative. He would like that.

Of course he'd already seemed to like just about everything she did. He'd liked it when she kissed his neck, let her teeth graze his Adam's apple, nuzzled a kiss into the little hollow of his clavicle. Liked it when she let her hands explore the muscles of his shoulders and his arms and his butt. Liked it when she'd tangled her fingers in his hair and urged him on, tugged him closer.

Just as she'd liked what he'd done to her. The way he'd pressed his lips to the scar between her breasts and run his lips and then his tongue along the surgical scar on her side, breathing words of quiet reassurance, of love, against her skin. The way he'd been so tender and so passionate as he explored, learned every inch of her body. The way he'd traced his lips down her stomach and along the curve of her hips and then further—oh, yeah, she'd definitely liked that part.

And geez, if she'd had any idea just how talented the man could be with his hands and his mouth, she should have dragged him into her bed years ago. The thought set off a bubble of mirth in her chest, a smile curving her lips.

The solid warmth of his body stirred and shifted against her with a low groan of something like reluctance that rumbled from his chest. "Mm, what's so funny?"

"Just thinking that I might have been an idiot."

"Hey, watch it, you're talking about the woman I love."

It was such a ridiculous, cheesy line but a little giggle escaped her anyway. (Giggling, her! What had this man done to her?) And god, he said it so easily, called her the woman he loved as if he said it every day, as if it was an immutable fact of life.

His hand slid over her skin in a lazy caress, setting off little sparks of warmth humming beneath her skin, before his hand came to rest half over her incision scar. She was fairly sure he hadn't intended it but it brought the spot that had tugged and burned so often this summer back to her consciousness. Her relaxed mood dissipated, even as she acknowledged that the heat of his hand over her scar felt good, better than any heating pad could be at easing the skin and muscles that felt a little tender from the unaccustomed exercise.

"I wish you could have seen me before," she mumbled against his skin. Was it vain of her to care so much, to not want to appear damaged in his eyes?

His hand shifted to fully cover her scar in response. "Kate, no," he soothed, brushing a kiss to her temple. "I love your scars."

She couldn't help but snort a little. "You can't."

"I can and I do. Your scars are beautiful, Kate, I promise you they are. They're proof of how strong you are and that makes me love them." He paused and then added with a change of tone, "And if it makes you feel any better, I did see you before, that time your apartment exploded and you were naked."

She choked on a sound that was half a gasp and half a sputter, swatting him. "Castle! I told you not to look!"

"Ow!" He caught her hand in his. "I was trying to save your life so it wasn't like I planned to see you naked. And if it makes you feel any better, I stopped looking once you told me not to."

"Yeah, you'd better have," she muttered but couldn't muster up any real annoyance. She'd always known he must have at least caught a glimpse of her when he'd burst into her old apartment, had pushed it out of her mind because there had been more pressing issues to be concerned with at the time. And if anyone she worked with had to see her naked, she'd rather it was Castle than anyone else.

And now she never wanted anyone but Castle to see her naked ever again anyway.

Something about the thought had a bubble of amusement welling up inside her and she found herself laughing and then he was laughing too.

She lifted her head to look at his laughing face, loving the familiar brightness of his eyes, dancing with humor, completely banishing any lingering shadows from the wounds this summer had inflicted on him, on them.

He lifted the hand he still held to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, then her palm, so she curled her fingers in an automatic caress of his face. "You forgive me now?"

She pursed her lips, pretending to think about it. "Well, you did kind of save my life," she drew out slowly, "so I suppose… I'll let you make it up to me."

He pretended to growl, nipping teasingly at her hand. "Oh, I can make it up to you, Kate, just watch me."

"You think your habit of creepy staring is infectious?" she quipped.

He laughed again and tightened his arms around her, tugging gently to rearrange their bodies so she was once more half-sprawled over him. She suppressed a little grimace at the twinge in her side, her body apparently not quite liking the rather awkward way her torso had to torque before adjusting. She didn't know how but he seemed to sense it as she felt the increase of tension in his body, his amusement turning into a frown as he studied her.

"Kate, are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

She shook her head quickly, brushing her lips against his shoulder in reassurance, and then nestling there. "Did I sound like I was in pain earlier?" she asked lightly, wanting to dispel his concern. He hadn't hurt her, would never hurt her.

It worked. She could hear his smirk in his voice as he answered, "No, it sounded like you were begging for more."

She lifted her head and tried to narrow her eyes at him but judging from his expression, she failed miserably. "I was not begging."

(She might have been begging.)

"That's okay, Beckett, I know you can't get enough of me."

Egotistical ass.

"But that works out because I'm never going to be able to get enough of you either. I'm all yours," he added. (Damn it, how was she supposed to stay irritated with him when he said things like that?) "You're my muse and a writer can never have too much inspiration."

His muse. It wasn't the first time he'd called her that this summer but somehow, this time, it caught at her again, her mood abruptly shifting, sobering. His muse.

"Even if I can't be a cop again?" the words escaped her before she'd thought, making her freeze. Can't be a cop—shit. It was the lurking, lingering fear she hadn't really allowed herself to put into so many words and she abruptly understood, too, just why she was still so bothered by her scars. Because she was still a little bothered, in spite of all his words of reassurance.

It was because Detective Beckett didn't have scars. Hadn't had scars. Not visible ones, at least.

She did. It wasn't about the scars, per se, not just vanity over the marks on her body that bothered her, was it? It was everything the scars represented to her. The visible, permanent reminder of what had happened to her, that she wasn't the same person she had been before. She wasn't… Detective Beckett anymore, didn't feel like the tough, competent homicide detective she had made herself become. All those years of toughening herself up, strengthening herself, not just physically but mentally, emotionally, to allow her to survive in the testosterone-laden environment of law enforcement, fending off sexist remarks from suspects and fellow cops, the armor she'd built up over the years to allow her to do her job. She had worked so hard, honed her body and her mind so she was always in control of any situation to the extent possible.

She had lost all of that from the moment she'd woken up in the hospital, her hard-won carapace of invulnerability gone, leaving only a pitiful invalid with a hole in her chest. Her control over her own life had been stripped away. And even now that she'd recovered physically, at least mostly, she still didn't feel like Detective Beckett. She might be regaining the control she'd had over her body but she was very far from having the control she was used to having, and she certainly couldn't control her nightmares, couldn't control the panic attacks or the flashbacks. And the scars were a part of that. The physical manifestation of the way she still startled and panicked at loud noises, how she couldn't even go to the grocery store in small town upstate New York without falling apart. And how was she ever supposed to go back to work, be a cop again, when she couldn't even handle a grocery run?

He reared up in surprise, dislodging her head from his shoulder, as he turned to stare at her. "Wait, what? Why on earth would you say you can't be a cop again?"

She had to fight not to squirm, try to at least seem stoic. She really didn't like this, exposing her vulnerabilities, her insecurities, like this, to him, of all people. She never wanted to seem less than extraordinary in his eyes.

But, she reminded herself, he'd already seen her at her worst, had comforted her after a nightmare, had seen her have a panic attack and soothed her. He'd seen her scars, both visible and not—and he still loved her. Still wanted her.

But even so, when she answered, she kept her eyes trained on his chest rather than his eyes (made easier by the fact that his bare chest was well worth looking at). "You know why, Castle. I couldn't even manage to go grocery shopping without falling apart. I can't be a cop if I'm freaking out at every loud noise or flash of light. I don't even know how I'll manage to go back to the city."

He sighed and then touched his fingers to the underside of her chin, gently nudging her face up so she perforce had to meet his eyes. She was expecting him to say something reassuring but instead all he did was lean down to kiss her, softly, lingeringly.

Mm, this was so much better than talking…

He broke off the kiss with an abruptness that startled her, lifting his head.

"Not frowning anymore, good."

What? She blinked and mentally shook off the lingering haze brought on by his kiss, focusing on his expression, the warmth in his eyes.

"Beckett, remember what I said earlier in the parking lot?"

Which one? She remembered every word he'd said, thought she always would.

"You're still healing, Beckett, that's all, and that's okay. It's a process; it'll take time and effort. But you will get better, I know you will. Because you don't give up, you don't back down, remember? You're… Invictus."

"Because my head is bloody, but unbowed?" she managed after a moment's thought.

And was rewarded by the approving smile he gave her. "Exactly, you have an unconquerable soul. And your ability to match literary allusions is so hot," he added and she couldn't quite help her faint smile. Leave it to Castle to be so impressed by a literary reference.

And also characteristically, he returned to the point, sobering. "You might still be wounded but you can do this, Beckett. Even today, you might have had a false start but you did manage to go grocery shopping afterwards, even if you did buy some disgustingly healthy items that have no place in any sane person's grocery cart," he digressed and she huffed a little, making a point of rolling her eyes for his benefit. "You'll manage, Beckett, and you won't have to do any of this alone. We can work on it together, one step at a time. If you want, we can go into town for coffee or something every day until you get more used to the sights and sounds of traffic and other noise and if and when you feel ready for it, we can drive out to Syracuse or Albany, get more of the big city feel to help you adjust."

A little smile curved her lips, her heart fluttering a little inside her, his return to solid practicalities moving her more than even his more flattering but also rather glib reassurances had. Not because she doubted his sincerity but after all, Castle was the man who believed in aliens and ghosts. But now, here, he was being realistic, had really put some thought into this, and she found it more comforting than even his earlier words. It wasn't just Castle's innate optimism having him look at her and her situation through rose-colored glasses but Castle, really believing in her, recognizing the work she would need to put in to get better and willing to stand beside her as she did.

And this, she thought rather fuzzily, was why she loved him. When she doubted, he believed—and she believed in him.

"What about the new Captain? Lanie told me she kicked you out."

He bridled a little in mock offense. "I only let the new Captain kick me out because you were gone. I'm still friends with the Mayor, remember, and if I need to, I'll even call up the Governor."

"Even though the Governor's never heard of you?" she teased, remembering what Agent Fallon had said.

She knew he remembered it too as he made a face at her. "Oh, funny, Beckett, you think I can't get the Governor on the phone if I want to? I'm pretty sure a generous donation to his campaign funds would go a long way towards persuading him that I'm an indispensable asset to the work of the NYPD," he pontificated. (Amazing, how lofty he could sound even while lying stark naked in bed. Ooh, now that was a nice reminder...)

"Oh, you have assets, all right, but I'm not sure I'd call them indispensable," she drawled, deliberately twisting his words. He may not indispensable to the NYPD but to her, yeah, he kind of was. Not that she was going to tell him that. She traced idle patterns on his bare shoulder with her fingers, lines and squiggles and looping curlicues.

He gave a loud, entirely fake, scandalized gasp. "Katherine Beckett, I never!"

She snorted. "No, you always. You're the one who's spent the last three years trying to turn almost everything into an innuendo."

"That is so not true," he huffed. "I'll have you know I've been trying to make innuendos for a lot longer than just three years."

She laughed. "Oh, of course, my mistake."

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "And just say the word, Beckett, and I'll prove that my assets are indispensable to you. I—and my assets—are at your service."

Tempting, very tempting. She deliberately schooled her expression into sobriety. His ego didn't need any feeding. (She'd just take him up on that offer later.)

He relapsed to seriousness. "Anyway, I already told you, Beckett, I'm not going anywhere. Once you're ready to go back to work, I'll be right there with you. Partners, remember?"

He sounded—he really was—so confident, so certain. He didn't have any doubts about anything, either their continued partnership at work or their relationship outside of work. Whereas she found herself wishing, for one irrational moment, that they could just stay here in the cabin forever. It was so much easier, simpler—and safer—here. This little bubble of space and time where it was just the two of them. Without any of the complications of the real world, of having to deal with other people or her return to work or anything.

Of course it wasn't possible. Even she knew that after awhile, she would probably go stir-crazy with boredom and lack of purpose. And he had a life of his own to return to, a family.

"What about us? How will this work back in the city?" she found herself asking.

He blinked at her. "What about us?" he repeated. "We'll go back to working together in the precinct and then afterwards, I'll go back to your apartment with you or you can come to the loft and we'll spend time together outside of work too." He paused. "If that's what you want too."

"I want it," she assured him quickly, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. "I want this, Castle."

His expression eased into a faint smile as he turned his head to kiss her palm.

"What about Alexis? Will she be okay with me at the loft? I don't want to bother her or make it seem like I'm trying to come between you two."

She didn't know what Alexis thought about her right now. She knew that Alexis had joined forces with Martha earlier this summer to try to keep Castle from moping over his phone and she admitted that back then, at least, Alexis hadn't had any reason to think well of her. Castle tended to retreat outside or to his bedroom for his nightly phone calls to Alexis and Kate had been fine with giving him privacy to talk to his daughter but it meant she really didn't know what Alexis's opinion of all this would be. And if a relationship between her and Castle was going to work, Alexis needed to accept her.

Castle sighed a little and it was his turn to cup her cheek in his hand. "Kate, you and Alexis are the most important people in my life. Alexis knows that and she knows that it's been true for a long time now. And it's not like she doesn't know that I'm here with you now and she doesn't have a problem with it. Alexis will be fine with you coming over, I promise. We're going to be great."

She turned her smile into his hand, feeling some of her lingering uncertainties dissolve. He'd promised always and she trusted him. She knew him. This man, who was strong enough to hold her up when she needed it, not just out here in this small town, in her dad's cabin, but in the city too. This man, who could and would stand beside her in the battle. Who already had stayed beside her through multiple shootings, through explosions, through freezers and serial killers. She met his eyes, the steadfast, blue eyes she'd fallen in love with long before she'd been willing to admit it to herself, and felt a rush of confidence, of certainty, not only that their relationship could survive going back to the real world but also that she could be a cop again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but sometime soon, she could and would be Detective Beckett again. And she'd have Castle beside her.

"Great, huh?" she teased. "You're so modest."

"Fine, to put it another way, I'll be there for you and you'll be there for me and we'll just dive into it together."

She let out a small laugh at the familiar words. "Did you just quote me at me?" (And hadn't part of her thought, even then, that Castle was the one she wanted to dive in with?)

Because she did want to dive into it with him. Maybe she wasn't fixed, wasn't in the best state to be starting a relationship but looking at him now, with his arms around her, she couldn't even imagine trying to do this without him. He made things better, easier, and somehow, amazingly, he seemed to feel the same way about her so maybe, whatever healing they each still needed to do, they could do it together.

"You want a writer's credit?"

"Maybe. You can pay me royalties in kisses."

He pulled an exaggerated face. "That's an exorbitant price to charge. I'll have to think about it."

Oh, sure. Ridiculous man.

She poked his chest, trying (and failing) to scowl at his beleaguered tone, and he laughed, leaning down until she parted her lips in expectation of his kiss only for him to veer at the last moment to peck the tip of her nose instead.

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Stop teasing and just kiss me, Castle."

He did but it was barely more than a brush of his lips before he lifted his head to smirk at her. "There, how's that?"

She really wished she could frown at him for that but damn it, he was kind of adorable when he smirked like this, his hair flopping over his forehead, his eyes dancing with mischief. He just looked so… happy right now that it made her heart stutter and then feel buoyant with reflecting joy. She had hurt him this summer but right now, she was making it up to him for all the hurt she'd ever caused him and she made a silent promise that she would keep on making it up to him, would try to make him smile like this every day.

"I love you."

Had she said that aloud? Oh, she had, the words just spilling from her lips without thought. And for all the waiting, the words came surprisingly easily. Whatever her flickering uncertainties, she didn't doubt this, the way she felt about him. And if she'd thought he looked happy before, it was nothing compared to the way his eyes and his expression lit up now. His smile could have illuminated the entire world.

Then he was kissing her, kissing her for real, long and deep and thoroughly, as he kissed her as if it was the last time and the first time all rolled into one.

It wasn't until later, much later, that he finally responded in words. Later, after he'd pressed her into the bed (again), after she'd rolled her hips against his, making him gasp her name against the skin of her throat, after he'd rolled over, beached, on the bed and she lay curled up over him, sated and deliciously exhausted.

His fingers traced idle, caressing patterns up along her spine. "I love you, Kate," he breathed against her ear.

The same words he'd said at the start of this terrible, wonderful summer, the words that had haunted her through all the weeks they were apart. But now, this time, she could hear them without panicking. This time, she only smiled against his skin and said the words back. "I love you too, Castle."

~The End~

A/N 2: Thank you, everyone, who's read, reviewed, followed, or added this fic to their favorites. Every single one is appreciated more than I can say.