A/N: Happy Easter, peeps. Here's your final chapter. This has been an awesome experience and I hope to do it again soon (if you're interested...I've got a few ideas rocking around in my head). You people are lovely, plain and simple, and your Reviews, PMs, Alerts, etc. have been SO appreciated and inspiring. This Chapter is Rated M. Hope that doesn't put too many of you off. I don't think it's too vulgar, if that helps.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sad face.

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"I'm so sorry you found out that way. God, I regret that, Castle."

"We're even, then. Because I regret saying it."

He feels like a little boy pushing the girl he likes into the dirt on the playground. Take that, meanie. The remorse hits instantly, the moment he sees her take a stuttering breath and nod her head. She stands resilient in front of him, even as her eyes shine and moisture gathers on her lashes.

No.

She sniffles once and is still bobbing her head. She gives him a watery smile, so small, so fragile. "That's what I needed to hear."

"Kate—"

"No, really. Thank you for being honest." She looks sincere and that's worse. She's not brushing away the tears sliding down her cheeks and he just wants them gone, gone. He's pretty sure he's going to vomit, he can feel acid rising up his esophagus and he swallows hard, bites it back down. He's hurting her. She hurt him and this should feel good, great maybe—getting even, level the playing field. But it doesn't. He loves her, God he just loves her.

She knew there was always the possibility of him not meaning his words, that day as he hovered above her and begged her from death. This is why she didn't want to bring up his declaration; she didn't want him to feel obligated to repeat it. You can't hold someone to deathbed confessions, no matter which side of death the confessor is on. She needed to hear it again before she could fully believe it came from his heart and not from a deep-seated need to will her back to life. Her wall was real and there, but this fear, this fear was the mortar that held the bricks of unsolved murder, justice, and sorrow together. She let that wall crumble, rubble at her feet now, but she recognizes that she'll just have to build back up the reinforcements, a taller, stronger barricade around her heart.

"Kate, you don't understand," he sighs.

"I don't need to understand. You saved me that day, Castle. That was your mission, what your words were meant to do, right? I can't fault you or hate you for that."

In shock, his posture slackens enough for her to push past him, exiting the bathroom and leaving him standing alone, accompanied only by his thoughts.

Does she really think he doesn't love her? He expected her to call him on his bullshit immediately, push back, not buy right into it. Does she think he just said I love you, what, as a last ditch effort to save her life? He understands that he's cocky at times, but even he knows that no declaration could undo that bullet's place in her chest. His brain wasn't working at all in that moment, let alone enough to hatch a plan to keep her hanging on. He said the damn words because he meant them, still means them.

He wasn't lying-he does regret saying 'I love you'. Then. That day, those circumstances. Every time their lives were in jeopardy, he came close to telling her. The freezer was too cold, paralyzed him. The threat of a bomb too hot, melted the words before they reached his tongue. He almost told her he loved her in Los Angeles, but she was emotionally vulnerable because of Royce and she didn't need further burdened. He nearly told her the day they argued, bickered about their place in each other's' lives. 'I'm your partner. I'm your friend.' But, he never did. And that day in the cemetery, when it was virtually too late, his heart spilled from his chest, then his lips, not ceased by the ramparts of over-thinking. So, yes, he has regrets, regrets of agony and angst and horrible timing. But, never the act itself. Even now, pain abound, heart heaving in his chest, he doesn't regret loving her.

Even though she doesn't love him, he understands now why she needs his love, why it hurts her to think it's gone. She counts on him, like she counted on so many before him, people she cared about who let her down, left her needing. Her mother's death and father's alcoholism left her abandoned when she was most vulnerable. Then a string of men—some lovers, some friends—disappointed her, didn't get to know the true her (or left because they did). They betrayed her, or didn't fight for her when she pushed them away out of fear.

He had promised her always and she took him at his word all this time. And now she didn't. Because he gave her every reason in the world not to.

He needs to find her, tell her that it'll be hard, so hard, but he wants to be in her life in any way she'll have him. He stalks out of the bathroom and into the living room. It's empty. He spins and takes in his surroundings; she's not in the kitchen either. She's gone?

No. Her keys are on the counter where she tossed them earlier. He heads back down the hallway, bypasses the bathroom and the closet he perused earlier. There's only one other door. That door is ajar and he presses his hand to the wood and pushes it open enough to peer in. She's there, on the bed, atop of a comforter, her back against the headboard and legs stretched the length of the mattress. Her head is tilted back slightly, and the features of her face are covered by her forearm.

"Hey," he greets her, quietly, in case she's asleep.

Her arm drops to her lap and she sits up straighter in the bed. She shifts uncomfortably like she want to run, but he shuts the door behind him and she settles on swinging her body around so her legs dangle off the side of the bed. "Hi."

"About earlier—"

"We don't need to do this now." She shakes her head and her hair curls into her face and she looks so unguarded, shielded yet exposed. "Can we just not do this at all, Castle? I don't want the arguing to be what I remember about us."

"You make it sound like I'm dying. Are you planning to kill me?" He smiles and he thinks he almost lures one from her.

"Too much work. You're too resilient."

"Good word. That's me." He sits next to her on the bed, thighs brushing—she stiffens. Too close, then. Too bad. He's the one with the control issues, so it'll be fine. Anyway, he's pretty sure if he moves now, he'll break the spell he's trying to weave here. He places his palms on the mattress behind him and leans back onto them, trying to convey a relaxed posture for her. He grunts a little, a twinge of discomfort from the stretch. She meets his eyes in concern and he shakes it off. "I miss you." He takes his chance, says it before she breaks eye contact.

"Don't."

"Don't miss you or don't voice it?"

"Don't say things you don't mean."

"Only say things I mean." He furrows his brow and tilts his head as if in thought. "Got it. I miss you," he repeats. She's watching him, confused and adorable. "I love you."

Her breath catches. "Rick—"

He holds up a finger to shush her. "Just let it be, Kate. It doesn't have to mean anything more than what it is. I just wanted you to know, to know that you didn't conjure up something that wasn't there, didn't count on someone who let you go. God knows I tried to let you go, but it's not possible. When I said you were extraordinary, I didn't even know the half of it then."

Her eyes are wet again, but she doesn't seem as horrified. More perplexed, with a twinge of happiness maybe. "But you took it back, said that you regretted—"

"I know. I take back my take-back." He says it simply, like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. Her expression says she might shoot him, or hug him—he's having a hard time reading this one.

"Why?" She looks like she doesn't believe him. He wants to kiss her because he's pretty sure that's an awesome way to convey everything she means to him, but he's promised himself that he can do this, can just be there for her. Partner and friend. No kissing, no complicating. His mother was right, love isn't a switch you and turn off and on, so he just needs to install a dimmer. He'll show her how much he cares every single day for the rest of his life, but he'll keep a respectable distance. Who knows, maybe someday, she could love him in return? He won't count on it because he knows how deep the stab of unexpected rejection can puncture. They've wounded each other enough.

"I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me." He shrugs with his words. It really is that simple.

"But you love me?"

"I do. I have for a long time. I'm a coward, Kate. I've never done it like this before, loved someone…just because I love them. Not forced into it because it was supposed to be the natural progression, or they had my kid, or handled my professional life like a champ. I longed for something in return, sure." He slides a knee on the bed and faces her, takes her hand because he wants her to understand. "But, what I need is to be in your life. We can just be friends—we've done that very well for years, even though I had us all smudged up with feelings through most of it then, too. We'll be fine." He's trying to convince himself right alongside her.

"Just friends?"

"And partners, of course. If you'll still have me."

"I want you."

"Good, good. We can do this, Kate. I'm sure of it." He's nodding enthusiastically. He's sure he's going to ask himself a million times over what the hell he was thinking agreeing so assuredly that he can keep his feelings in check. His body is already thrumming with the exhilaration of remaining in her life and it's walking a fine line towards being arousal, which is not going to help him prove his watch-how-reserved-I-can-be point.

"No, Castle. I want you." It's his turn to stare at her, dumfounded.

"Um. I'm pretty sure we're the most horrible conversationalists in the world because—"

"Shut up." Her mouth is on his and his brain is tripping over his tongue, and then her tongue, God, her tongue is in his mouth. And, damn. He leans up and into her kiss and palms the back of her head to angle her deeper, slanting his mouth over hers. He sucks, and she moans, and he sucks again because…holy hell she'd better know what she's doing here. He's got no clue.

"Kate," he releases her mouth, swollen lips calling him back, but he resists. "This is probably not a good idea." The tightening of denim near his belt tells him it's a very good idea and he has to close his eyes because her finger tousled hair and heavy-lidded expression scream 'You did this to me, now do it again' and his argument doesn't seem to hold much validity. "We can't. The friends-with-benefits thing isn't going to work for us. Too-," he grunts because her fingers are loosening his belt and the top button of his jeans and some of the physical tension is alleviated. And then aggravated all over again. Geez. "Too complicated."

"You're probably right." He's relieved and so very not at her statement. The torturous flash of bliss is back as his zipper lowers, tinny sound of teeth unlatching echoing in his ears. This self-control he was just bragging to himself about is keeping him from touching her, but that's pretty much a moot point when his need for her is making itself very evident, pushing into her palm as his hips buck without his permission. "Partners with benefits?"

She's teasing him and he's pretty sure this is a late April Fool's joke, and he's definitely the fool here. She moves her hand from where it was pressed at the opening of his pants and slides it up his stomach, to his chest, going from the heart of his want for her to the heart of his need, and this isn't going to end well. He's losing control quickly, head spinning. He's wondering if this is some sort of horrible (wonderful?)hallucinogenic side-effect to the pain pill he took earlier. "Kate. Kate, I'm not strong enough to stop this."

"Good. Switch places with me." She's standing up in front of him and kissing him again, gentler this time, less insistent. She nudges her knees with his to get him to scoot. He obeys. "Lay back," she commands and assists him in lifting his legs on the bed, all while eyeing the bandage on his side cautiously. "I don't want to hurt you."

"We probably shouldn't do this, then." His contradictory mouth finds her collarbone, where her shirt has dipped. He's trying to keep this light, but his chest constricts at how very much this will hurt, having her, but not having her. He's pausing to weigh the options in his brain, but his body is moving along without him. His hands grasp the backs of her thighs and jerk until she collides with the mattress and has nowhere to go but up, onto the bed, onto him. "Mm, don't hurt me, Kate."

He's speaking metaphorically, but he can tell that she's still worried about him physically. His injury doesn't even cross his mind until it crosses hers, the pain dulled into a barely-there insignificance. She's fingering the gauze on his side and his own fingers find the hem of her shirt and slip just underneath seeking flesh. She moves his tentative hands aside and pulls the shirt over her head. She's bare underneath the garment and he's pressing up into her to alleviate some of the ache she's exacerbating. Like a contortionist, she manages to get her lounge pants and panties off, gloriously nude, and he's stunned into silence as she rises up a little to slide his jeans down his hips. A few helpful shifts and kicks and he has them to the bottom of the bed.

"Are we doing this more than once?" he questions, her earlobe between his teeth. "Because it's been a long time and I promise it will be infinitely better the second time around." She laughs into his neck and rocks into him and, God, he hopes she doesn't think he's joking. "Not kidding. Don't judge and say I didn't warn you."

"First times are supposed to be awkward."

"I can do awkward." He grins at her.

"Prove it, then."

His eyes roll back when she helps rid him of the last barrier between them and then takes him in her hand, feathering her palm around in light circles.

"It's going to get even more awkward if you keep doing that," he bites his lip hard when he opens his eyes and watches what she's doing. So not helping.

Without warning, she shifts her hips and he's pressing inside her and this is the best and worst idea in the world. She's whimpering against his cheek and sighs when their bodies are tightly joined, finally no space between them.

"God, Castle."

"Uh huh. Don't move for a second." His fingers are gripping her thighs, probably too too tightly, but she needs to hold still just until he can wrap his mind around this and get his body on the same page. Yeah, yeah, like this. He dips himself into the mattress, pulling from her a bit, then back in. Her eyes are closed tightly, mouth open on a gasp and he takes the opportunity to take it with his own. He kisses her with everything he's feeling, so good. She's only half-participating in the kiss, his bottom lip catching between hers intermittently as she pants, moving over him now.

He rests back into the headboard to watch her as she makes love to him, takes his love from him. It's worth it, he decides. His fingers find the knotted skin between her breasts and, for the first time since last summer, he sees her shooting as life-affirming. He meets her eyes and is surprised to find them open, watching him as they sway together. "This okay?" He spreads his fingers, covering the scar, her heart, with his whole hand.

She takes his hand and presses it more firmly to her chest. "Yes," she whispers, face contorting for a moment as he rocks more deeply into her. "It's yours. My heart is yours." Her palms find purchase on his shoulders, her pace quickens and he can't keep the rhythm and is forced to just observe her as she takes him. A moment later, she clutches him fiercely and stills over him. "Love you."

Her climax is fast and hard, but it's not the intense pulses that send him over the edge with her, but her words, mirroring his own. "God, I love you," she repeats, kissing him, sated and aware, not hiding from her words like he did. He slicks his hands down her back and pulls her to him in an embrace.

He's never letting her go.

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The ting of an incoming text message pulls her from her half-sleep state. It's still dark outside, and Castle is draped across her back, warm, heavy, sleepy and naked, and she never fathomed being wrapped up in someone could feel this free. Claustrophobia was usually the panic that skittered into her mind when waking up with a man, though she very rarely made it that far. But, even now, as she leans down to grab her phone, still in the pocket of his denim heaped at the foot of the bed, the slight distance between them feels like too too far.

'You need to talk?' She smiles. Lanie.

'No clue what you're referring to.'

'Right. Did you kill your boy? Javi said it was coming. Need a shovel?'

Kate laughs. Then groans. His teeth are sinking into her arm near her bicep, immediately soothed by tongue and lips afterwards. She thought he was asleep, but she's so glad he's not.

"Traitors. I can't believe they're plotting my demise," he grumbles, mock offended as he reads over her shoulder, moving his not-so-punishing bites to there, her neck next, then ear.

She types into the phone, even as his hand moves over her hip and across her belly, stirring arousal in its wake. 'We're good Lanie. Will be just fine.'

"Better than good, I think. Should I be offended?"

"Yeah, well, if I tell her that, she'll know exactly what we're doing." She curves her hips back into his and he pulls her closer in response.

"Can we do this thing we're doing…again? Right now?" He rolls her to her back and hovers over her.

"Careful," she breathes, holding him up a bit, so he doesn't pull his injury climbing on top of her. But, damn if he isn't sexy on top of her. Yeah, she wants to do it this way. "Hmm, what exactly is it that we're doing, again?" She smiles into his kiss before he deepens it, pressing through her lips to meet her own tongue. Her phone chimes again and he lifts his head, glares a grin at her, then picks it up.

'You're quiet. What are you doing?' Oh, Lanie, if you only knew…

He shows Lanie's text to her, then props himself on his elbows and begins typing one-handed, her distracting mouth forcing him to keep his response short.

'We're mending.'

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A/N: Well, that's it. :-) I hope you found it entertaining, and if so, please Review. Heck, if you didn't find it entertaining or want me to do something different or better next time, constructive criticism is just fine, too. Thanks again so much for the support.