"I love you."

Her mouth is limp. Her tongue stale against the air. She has to swallow, will herself to close her mouth around the words she's just managed, broken, dropped.

This is a mess.

She shouldn't have...

His mouth is hanging like hers. But there is a quiver.

He wants to say something. He probably wants to yell, to rant or rave.

He doesn't look mad, but there is something more to his expression than any kind of contentment.

He is conflicted, dangerously. His mouth won't even-

"Kate."

She swallows, watches touch his tongue touch his incisors, let his lips fall gently against one another, so softly that it doesn't even look like they're touching.

Then she sees the thin line, the dart of his tongue.

He's waiting.

Again.

Damn.

She's been staring at his mouth for too long, but she can't bear to look him in the eye. She's too scared of all the things she is bound to find there, rejection, discontent, even love itself.

It's all too much, too overwhelming.

He sees her flinch, fight the urge to run. She's fighting to stay still, he doesn't move, can't. He'll spook her if he even quivers. He has to keep calm because if he makes a mess of this it will be done, over.

If she thinks he didn't hear her or understand or...

What if she thinks he doesn't...

Oh god.

"Kate..." he prompts.

She doesn't respond, fixated on what seems to be his bottom lip.

He falters, quivers under her furrowed brow, just slips his bottom lip back enough to wet it. Just as he touches his teeth to it, barely a graze he realises.

That is her job.

She's supposed to be biting her lip, not him. It's her habit. Great, another thing he's collected in his arsenal of Kate Beckett.

She hasn't moved, hasn't bit her lip, hasn't run...

He shifts his weight, testing in a fraction of a second for her reaction to his movements.

She doesn't waver, finally some degree of complete certainty.

That or she's too fixated...

He wants to speak, reassure, to keep her there, just in case.

But he can't find the right words.

He can't...

Her breath quivers as she realises he's moved closer, drawn his body into the line of her vision.

She swallows, audibly and he watches her eyes dart beneath long lashes.

Then they close as she inhales.

"I-" she starts, faltering of her own accord.

He skims a finger across coarse denim, just a knuckle, quick and simple. But it does the trick - her eyes meet his, finally.

"I'm so sorry, Castle."

His gut twists. She should be sorry. He wants her to be sorry, but more than that he would rather an explanation.

She loves him.

She didn't tell him.

She didn't try.

She let this slide.

She pushed him aside.

He needs to understand.

He needs to know.

He needs more.

She has to talk.

She watches his face bunch, a grimace.

Her fingers twitch, a reflex, an urge. She just wants to swipe the pad of her thumb against his brow, a futile attempt to sooth the worry from his body. She'd transfer it to herself in an instant, with all her effort. But she can't.

It's too late.

He told her he loved her.

She smothered it.

She was smothered by it.

She had to repair her wounds, all of them, before she was even able to stand before him.

Before she could even return to work, let alone let herself love someone, let herself be loved.

How could she have dragged him through that? He deserves better, he ought to have-

"Hey," he mutters, fingers nimble across her skin. The rasp of the pads warm against the palm of her hand, surprises her. The touch makes her tear her gaze from the worry gracing those well worn smile lines and focus.

She finds him suddenly a little lighter, less haze in his eyes.

It's false though, forced.

"It's okay." He squeezes her palm between his thumb and forefinger.

She swallows a lump, gives herself half a second.

"No," she urges. "It isn't. But... I had to and... I know it's been too long and of course I never have expected you to-"

She jumps, shivers really, at his touch, hand suddenly wide on her thigh; the warm, weight edging timidly across the denim hugging her leg.

"Kate," he says voice gruff, rigid with emotion he can't contain. He lets his eyes rove her face, begging it to tell him, to show him some kind of sign, some way to work out what he has to do next.

Then he hears it, a knock as Kate shifts. The dull thud of her socked foot against his desk drawer.

She's moving he should be too, so he eases his other hand onto her knee, skimming his thumb over the curve of her kneecap.

He's greeted with her ease. A slackness in her face, a glow of relaxation, a smile as honest as the one he saw that day in the bank – pure joy.

"Alexis." He spies his daughter over Kate's shoulder, timid, knuckles poised to give a sharp wrap on the wooden shelves framing the room.

She gives a soft smile he only catches for a second as Kate whirs her head around to his daughter, slightly startled but not uneasy.

"Hey," she greets them both, "I'm headed out for a while. I've got that study group I told you-"

He cuts her off. She doesn't need to finish. "Of course, sweetie. Have fun." He tries his best to throw her a genuine smile, show her some of the gratitude she deserves but in the short moment he has, with Kate's gaze now back upon him, he oozes as much as he can into a look.

His daughter nods, his partner offers a soft farewell and he makes a note to spend some time with her to compensate for the easy departure.

He hears his partner swallow as he blinks his way back across the room to meet her gaze. She's really her. In front of him and they've just been given a leeway, some time and space. He squeezes her knee and she raises a brow, curious and mildly concerned with the opening he's got for her – he'd be worried if she wasn't though.

"Coffee?" he mutters.

She nods, mute and unclasps his fingers from the harsh denim, replacing it with her own in a loose grip as she slips off the desk edge. "Come on then, Castle." Her voice soft as she tugs meekly against his weight, coaxing him from the comfort of the chair.

She drops his fingers and leads him into his own kitchen. He can do nothing but silently follow.

He's lost for words. Lost in her. Lost in what comes next. Lost in what has happened.

But he doesn't want to be, he wants to be certain and he wants her to as well.

He is certain. They just need to take a step…

She raises a brow as she rests her hip against the island in his kitchen. He's in a trance, standing idle beside the fridge.

"Coffee doesn't make itself, you know?" she teases.

She smiles at the soft edge of panic on his face. He was so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't hear her.

She can't for the life of her work out why the fruit bowl holds so much leverage over the man.

"Right, coffee." He claps, seemingly stepping forward to take charge.

Once he's set the mugs down on the granite she watches the pause again, the momentary lapse as he calculates his next move.

He opens a cupboard, a second – pulling out sugar and syrup.

She bites her bottom lip, conscious not to make a sound. But she shifts her weight, somehow, and her knee pops, giving a soft hiss as the air is released from the joint.

It's been a long few days.

But that's all it takes. The creak of her body to unsettle him again.

He's nervous.

It's sweet really. Kind of cute.

But it most certainly isn't the man she knows. This isn't her (mostly) immature, (sometimes) egotistical, (on occasion) self-centred (rarely a) jackass of a partner.

She has seen Richard Castle a lot of things, but nervous isn't exactly something she can recall.

And in regards to her, never.

She lets out a huff of breath as it dawns on her.

He's at her whim.

He's berating himself. Constantly berating himself.

This isn't a big deal. She's just his partner.

Everything is out in the open, but she's still the same person she always has been. He is still the same person he always has been.

Just… together they may not befit the same definition as they always have.

He forces himself to add the syrup to her cup, crossing his toes as well that she doesn't notice the quiver at his elbow.

He really needs to get a handle on himself, pull himself together.

He's better than this.

But then he jerks.

Jumps, really – if he's honest.

The cool weight of her hand on his forearm, the heat of her body at his back is surrounding him within an instant.

He stops breathing.

Time seems to slow.

His pulse quivers in his neck.

His skin crawls with goose bumps.

He inhales sharply, forces himself not to recoil as her touch, feather light, skims across his skin.

He swallows. "Kate," he mutters.

"Mm," she murmurs, innocent. It's as if she's standing on the other side of the room, as if she's sitting at the breakfast bar with the paper, as if she's just setting the table, as if she's –

He sets the bottle down smoothly – finally, some coordination he commends.

He feels her shoulder skim his shoulder blade as she exhales, feels her chest brush his elbow, feels the fingers of her other hand feather across his back.

Then he's certain, never been so certain about anything before.

He lets go of the bottle, whirring his arms beneath hers to find her hip and content to find hers rested on his biceps, fingers still skimming.

She smirks as he twists, pulls her close.

That's a little better.

But not quite.

"Hey," she offers, quipping a brow as she watches his eyes rove her features, soft but insistent. Her breath catches slightly but she doesn't hesitate. "You okay?"

She hopes he catches on, he ought to.

He knows her well enough to know she doesn't miss a beat. Particularly when it comes to him.

She's just not as quick to flaunt her knowledge as he is.

His certainty seems to increase, fingers splaying as his hands slide around her waist.

A little closer, that's some progress.

"I'm fine," he offers. But there's an edge, a gruff shade so subtle she doubts his own daughter would notice. But Kate does. "Are you okay?" he asks, soft.

Oh.

It hits her.

Well, she knew what was bothering him, just not the hardline of the issue.

It's her.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do – what he was supposed to do. Because it seems now she has cleared, at least some of the issue up for him.

She sighs, sinks into his hold. "Castle, I'm good. I don't know what it all means but I know I do love you." She's proud of herself; she doesn't fumble too much over those words this time. "Can we just…" she sighs again, sinks her thumbs into the muscle beneath them, "have coffee and talk? I don't want to-" She starts to rush, but he stops her.

"Kate," he warns edging closer, peering down his nose at her.

She closes her eyes and takes a breath, she just needs a second.

Okay, now she understands a little more why he was so nervous.

They haven't talked about this, what this means.

Or what this even is.

Whether it's even worth it.

Wait, who is she kidding?

Of course this is worth it.

Her bottom lip moves as she huffs out the breath. He watches the quiver as the air pushes across his neck.

When she flicks her tongue against the same lip he's captivated.

He takes a breath of his own as she opens her eyes, heavy with something he's never seen before.

He pulls her in so close, so seamlessly neither of them seems to notice his fingers creeping into the bottom of her curls as she flicks her gaze to his mouth.

He swallows, feels his own tongue dart out of its own accord.

And then he can't stop himself.

He snatches it before she can.

He steals her bottom lip, as softly as he can manage.

She does the same to his top lip, just a flutter that leaves him reeling.

He ventures further this time, darting the tip of his tongue to the edge of his mouth, just a taste is all he manages before he's met with the force of her mouth – of her impatience.

As he opens his mouth to her he smiles, feeling her own meet him in return.

He buries in her hair a second longer, skimming her scalp somewhere in the mess before he releases it, letting it fall down her back. He follows it, drawing her body closer to his own.

She pulls back with a sigh as he skims down her back, presses her cheek to his and fixes her mouth against the skin of his jaw as he gathers the same momentum, latching onto the soft skin behind her ear – always in sync.

He teeters on the edge of her top, fingers toying with the soft fabric, waiting impatiently as his knuckles graze the skin of her back. She arches into him as her arms fold around his shoulders, keeping her flush against him – the heat from her body forcing him further down her neck until he finds a pulse point.

She gasps in response, bunches his shirt in her fist. "Bedroom," she hisses, "now."

He chuckles, persists with his attentions and refrains from commenting that she's being bossy.

But when he steps forward and simultaneously angles them toward the exit, the vice tightens and he discovers her socked feet are tiptoed upon his own.

"Mmm," he murmurs, continuing forward, "so much for coffee."

She nips his collarbone in response. "Later," she decidedly muffles as he shuffles them around another corner, delighted.

fin

Now, I'd like to apologise for my absence. It has been too long, but a lot of stuff has been happening in life - so, I am sorry but most of it was unfortunately unavoidable : (

Hopefully I'll now have much more time to write.

Thanks for reading guys!