Too In Love to Let It Go

AN: This story follows episode 4x20, "The Limey." Title is from the song "Fix You" by Coldplay.

Warmest thanks and virtual purple candy hearts go to the wonderful writers who have helped with cheerleading and their magic beta-reading skills – TR-Fanfic, International08, and Chezchuckles. You have sprinkled this story with fairy dust – Thank you! :)

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

(Coldplay, "Fix You")

Too In Love to Let It Go

By the time she reaches the door of his loft, she is riled up enough to do this. She gathers the edges of her indignation and distress, wraps them around her shoulders like a cloak. Protection and courage. Then she knocks, loud and insistent, until the door swings open.

Castle stares at her, his surprise at seeing her evident.

"We need to talk," she orders, and waltzes right past him through the front door.

"Lanie?"

"What the hell is going on with you?" She rails on him the moment she's made sure the coast is clear. Last thing she wants is Alexis involved in any of this. The girl doesn't need to hear about her daddy behaving like a fool.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he deflects easily, but with a touch of defiance. That tells her more than anything. He knows exactly. He walks past her, toward the kitchen, but she stays on his heels.

"Blonde bimbos, really? What is this, three years ago?"

He grabs two highball glasses, slams them on the counter. "What's it to you?" But there's less venom in the words than he probably intended, more suppressed hurt and disappointment than she expected, and it drops her stomach. There's a lot more here than she's privy to, and she is determined to find out.

Lanie reaches for the whiskey he poured her, knocks it back at the same time as he drinks his. Then she reaches out, covers his hand on the counter with hers.

"What happened, Castle?"

He practically deflates, bravado façade peeling off his face like a mask. "She lied to me."

That throws her. "Kate?" What did her girl lie about?

"Yeah." He clears his throat, rolls the bottom of his glass along the tiles of the kitchen counter. Not giving her any more to go on.

"How did you find out?"

He pours another whiskey in his glass, purposely not looking at her. "Overheard a conversation."

"Overheard it." Lanie questions, barely able to conceal the cynical undertone. She narrows her eyes at him and pulls the full glass away from his grasp. That gets his attention, and he looks up.

"And what did Kate have to say?"

"I don't know," he answers insolently.

"What do you mean, you don't know? Didn't you talk to her?"

He stays silent.

She drops her head, rubs her fingers along her temples. For two such smart, highly articulate individuals, they are atrocious at communicating. She has the sudden urge to smack their heads together, hard.

"Richard Castle, you didn't even ask her?"

"What good would that do?" He lashes out, slaps his palm against the counter, disappointment and hurt slicing his voice. And then he deflates, the fight leaving him as fast as it came on. "She doesn't love me."

That hits her, hard. First the conversations with Kate, with her eyes shimmering in tears and her voice laced with heartbreak, and now this. She realizes that she didn't even know what she expected to happen, expected to accomplish by coming here. All riled up, ready to defend her friend, smack some sense into the man who behaved like a spoiled brat and broke her heart, once again.

But instead of his self-protective playboy mask, she finds a man stripped of his defenses, and just as heartbroken, lost in a dark maze of misconceptions, missed opportunities and misunderstood words. She sighs, walks around the counter and lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"For someone who prides himself on being perceptive, you really are dense sometimes." She says it softly, but the reproach is there just the same. His eyes flicker at her, eyebrows knitted together.

"You've known her for three years. Don't you see her anymore?"

His mouth opens, ready for a retort, a quick defense, but she halts him with her fingers in the air, her face strict. She isn't done.

"Castle, I've known this girl for many years and believe me, she has never, never looked at anybody the way she looks at you."

He draws in a quick breath, shocked at her words. His blue eyes are darkened, shimmering almost desperately, afraid to hope, to believe.

"I don't know how to trust it right now," he admits dejectedly. "How to trust her."

Lanie wishes she could say more, ease his mind, but she can't, not without betraying Kate's confidence.

"How about you just talk to her," she urges him instead. "Go over there, and use your words." She pads his chest encouragingly.

"You have such beautiful words, Castle."

Kate fell for his words long before she even fell for the man. But that is not Lanie's story to tell.

He doesn't go over there. Not that night. He feels too raw; split wide open, exposed to the core.

But the next morning, he shows up at the precinct, with one coffee for himself, and one for Kate.

She looks up when he arrives by her desk, and he offers it to her. Surprise flickers fleetingly across her face, but she schools her expression quickly, lets it melt into a smile while she reaches for the cup and their fingers graze just for a second.

Yet it isn't the broad smile he has come to expect from her; this is a tentative expression, barely stretching across her face, a smile that is a little hopeful and a lot unsure.

It hurts, all over again. Still. Hurts that it has come to this. Hurts that he misses her so much, misses how in tune they were, the smiles they shared, their ease with each other. He sighs, feels dented and banged up. But he sits down in his chair, by her side. And watches her.

He spends all day watching her.

Following Lanie's advice, he is looking, truly looking. He observes. Analyzes her movements, her expressions, the things she says and how she says them. Her interactions with everybody, and with him. Watches and compares, present and past.

And he doesn't like what he sees.

Her skin is paler than usual; she wears more blush to cover it, but even the concealer underneath her eyes can't quite hide the dark smudges of too little sleep. She drinks more coffee, eats less.

He is still angry; it simmers under his skin, the hurt of being lied to, of being so callously disregarded, the bone-deep ache of unrequited love. It clogs his throat and takes his breath every time he looks at her.

And yet-

Everything he sees today seems to tell a different story than he thought it to be. So he represses the barbs that dance along his tongue, pushes down the comments that rush to be let out. Spiteful, hurtful sometimes if he is truly honest with himself, and that leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

He observes instead.

She is tentative around him now, cautious. She consults him, builds theory with him just the same, but every smile is dimmed, her laughs half-hearted. She avoids touching him. A dark shimmer of sadness has taken residence in her eyes that he can barely handle. It makes him feel too much, nags at his conscience.

He catches her looking at him a few times, when she thinks he doesn't notice, and the expression on her face is so wistful and sad that it tears at him, claws into his heart.

When the case is wrapped up and it's time for him to leave, he hangs his coat over his arm, wishes her a good night, and heads toward the elevator, like every night of the past week. But when he stands in the elevator, he turns, watches her while the doors close.

She sits in her chair, her back to him. Then she slumps forward, and buries her face in her hands.

At the last moment he slams his hand between the closing doors of the elevator, until they jump open again. He strides back to her desk where she is still sitting, immobile and hiding.

"Kate." His voice is hoarser than he intended; he almost chokes on her given name that he intentionally hasn't used in days. Slowly she lifts her head, looks up at him. Surprise registers on her face; her eyes are weary and suspiciously shimmery.

"Come on," he says softly, holds out his hand to her. "Let's go somewhere to talk."

She hesitates for a moment, judging his intentions. She doesn't seem trust him as much now, and he has to admit that he can't blame her. But then she nods, an almost imperceptive move of her head, and folds her slim hand into his.

"I went out with him," she admits as they sit on a park bench, coffees cradled in their palms, while the world around them slowly dips into dusk. "Hunt." He tenses next to her and she wants to yank back those words, feels the urge to drop her head onto her knees. Shit, what possessed her to start with that?

She turns to look at him but he's staring straight ahead, his face a mask of strained indifference.

"For a drink."

"Did you," he croaks, clears his throat, "have a good time?"

She runs her fingers along the plastic rim of her cup, flips the edges with her nails so they emit low clicking sounds.

"I hated it," she admits quietly.

"You sleep with him?" A low dark thread of anger is wrapped around his words and she whirls her head around, glares at him. That's a level of personal they usually don't cross.

None of your business, the words dance dangerously on the tip of her tongue but then she bites them back, caves in on herself. She knows that it's no longer true. She wants it to be his business.

"No." She tries to inject strength into her words, leave no doubts, but he's still not looking at her, his fingers clenched around his cup in a vice grip, and she can't stop the swell of bitterness rising in her. Who is he to talk?

"What about you and Ms. 'Uncomplicated and Fun'?"

He sighs. "No," he admits quietly. She sees the flitters of regret in his eyes, and it clenches her stomach.

"Why?" She whispers.

He turns, finally he turns his head, looks at her, and his eyes are dark, bottomless pits of pain. Her heart hurts, as if an excruciating fist is clenching it, squeezing out her life.

"She isn't you, Kate." He sounds raw, disheartened.

And she doesn't understand; what happened, what did she do that hurt him so? They'd been so close and now she feels as if she no longer knows this man at all.

"Why are we doing this?" She hates the wobble in her voice but she can't suppress it, can't rein in the hurt and pain and hopelessness that stabs her like a thousand needles.

"What happened to you Rick?"

"To me?" His anger is back, strikes her full force and she almost recoils from the pain shattering his words. "You lied to me!"

He is seething, all his thoughts, the emotions that have weighed him down for a week, that he has suppressed all day, are bubbling to the surface again like hot lava, scorching his skin.

But then he notices the glimmer of a single tear that tracks down her cheek as it is momentarily illuminated by a ray of the setting sun. A trail of gold, painfully beautiful and untouchable, and Lanie's voice reverberates in his head, don't you see her anymore?

So he takes a deep breath, shoves down hard on his emotions, and then he looks at her face. Sees her.

And there's his girl, the woman he's loved for years, admired for even longer, with her hands shaking and biting her lip so hard that he almost expects to see blood. Her eyes are like gold too, shimmer with suppressed tears in the gilded light of sunset. She looks lost and confused and she's crying, crying because of him.

He drops his head, runs a hand through his hair. "I heard you tell that guy in interrogation that you remembered getting shot." Looking up, he finds her eyes. "You told me you don't."

She inhales, harsh like a hiccup, glances out her fingers toward his, as if to touch his hand. But at the last moment, she pulls away, turns. Leaning her back against the park bench, she stares out toward the row of trees across from them, the dark crowns with their leaves dancing in the evening breeze.

"I wish you had asked me," she says quietly.

He's starting to wish so too. Turning, he mirrors her position, sits next to her with his vision focused on the darkness ahead.

"I'm asking now."

She turns her head at his words, expectant but wary. He can see how she is bracing for a fresh onset of pain, and suddenly he knows with clarity that he doesn't ever want to cause her pain again. Even if it hurts him.

"Why did you lie about it Kate?" He tries to keep his voice level but the wound is still so oozing that it clogs his throat with viscous agony. "Were you embarrassed to tell me?"

"Embarrassed?" She sounds surprised; confused.

"Kate, if you don't feel the same way, you need to tell me." He rambles on, can't stop the flood of words pouring forth. "We can move past this; I promise you we'll stay friends, but I can't go on like this, waiting for you if-"

Her fingers on his mouth silence him. "Stop."

His heart leaps at her unexpected touch, her whispered words. She's close now, all enticing scent and shimmering hair and stunning eyes, and he just wants to fall against her, into her. Who was he kidding when he tried to convince himself he could get over her? There's no getting over her.

She is everything.

She regards him with her luminous eyes, long and intense, and for an infinitesimal moment, he is convinced that she is going to kiss him. But then her look gets stormy, eyebrows knitted and tense mouth; she pulls away, sits back against the wooden back of the bench. Her coffee cup is somehow gone and her fingers are clenched together, her knuckles turning white as if they are the only thing keeping her in place.

Silence wraps around them like a band, while the night air flitters with the cadenced humming of cicadas and the cheerful yakking of bird clusters, roosting for the night. Too happy, too normal.

Her thoughts are rolling in her head, falling over each other in their haste. Finally, she attains some coherence, finds the words she needs. Her voice is low, weighed down with disappointment in him.

"So instead you make assumptions, and parade women in front of me as if I'm no longer worth waiting for? Too complicated, not enough fun for you?"

He hangs his head in shame. She feels a strange satisfaction in that. At least something.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he sighs.

"Are you, really? Because newsflash, Castle, I am complicated!" She's on a roll now, a seething reel of unraveling words; all the heartache and hurt she has accumulated and suppressed these past days unleashes onto him full force.

"I make mistakes, sometimes big mistakes. I have issues, and I keep things close to my chest. I don't share with just anybody, and I don't have an easy time with trust, or with giving my heart away, but I did with you!" Angrily, she wipes at the tears that have started falling.

"I trusted you." She drops her head, leached of all her furor as quickly as it came on.

Suddenly his hand covers hers, warm and heavy; he untangles her hands, then laces his fingers through hers. "Did you, really?"

She turns back to him, a sharp retort on her tongue, but he squeezes her hand, and she finds no malice or distrust in his eyes, only the bewilderment of a newfound revelation.

"We trust each other with our lives, but not with our hearts, Kate. Neither one of us."

The truth stings.

"We need to work on that." He winks; a slight gesture that is not a smile yet but a calming touch of levity. He tugs on her hand to bring her closer to him on the bench.

She comes willingly; bereft of all fight and strength, she flitters toward his warmth as if on tenterhooks, hanging on to the tender traces of hope that are emerging within her. She rests against his side and he folds his arm around her shoulders, tucking her securely against him.

"I was so overwhelmed, when I first woke up; I just couldn't face it," she admits. She rests her palm on top of his heart, finding strength in its regular beat.

"Couldn't acknowledge what had happened. But when we talked, back in the fall, I thought you understood that I meant you. That I wanted you."

She feels the hitch of his breath in his chest, his heartbeat speeding up underneath her palm.

He trails his fingers over her forehead, along her cheeks, soft like butterfly wings against her skin, and then he cradles her chin, tilts up her face toward his. The familiar spark is back in his eyes, that enticing swirl of warmth and heart and admiration, sending tingles through her veins and oh, how she missed it. Missed him.

"I'm going to therapy," she confesses on a whoosh of breath. She has to get this out now, wants him to know. "I have to, to get past this wall, and to heal, to live. I needed to get better, I wanted to be better, for you, Castle. I wanted to be better for you."

Her confession is like a knife to his heart, a gory wound that oozes with the venomous truth of his misconceptions. Assaulted with images, he sees her smiles, can almost feel her small touches. Acknowledges how she supported him, and his family over the past months, even years. How hard she had worked to put herself back together.

And he had been a regular ass to her. He had been angry and self-righteous, and if he is truly honest, he had been trying to punish her, too. He doesn't like the person he is seeing now, with the clarity of self-analysis; it's not the kind of guy he is, this isn't him, isn't who he should be. He sighs, runs his fingers through her hair. He had felt so hurt, embarrassed and heartbroken that he couldn't see straight. And with Kate, everything is magnified, his feelings, the strength of his love for her, and the pervasive and overwhelming sorrow of heartbreak.

"I'm sorry I lied to you Castle," she whispers raggedly, "I'm so sorry."

And the thing is, it does help. Like a healing balm, the words soothe the ragged edges of his existence.

There's still heartache left to deal with, remnants of hurt in his heart, and there is trust to build, but he realizes now that they both made mistakes.

"I'm sorry too, Kate." He pulls her closer, kisses her forehead tenderly. "I could've handled it better, I'm sorry I hurt you. So sorry."

She nods, closes her eyes and wraps her arms tighter around his torso. Quiet acknowledgment, acceptance.

He holds her for a long time, silent in the darkness of the park, until the chill of the spring evening gets too pervasive and she shivers against his body.

"Kate," he nudges her, and she turns her face toward his, her eyes luminous and trusting in the dark. She's so beautiful, so extraordinary, and he knows with a bright, blinding clarity that he can't ever let her go again.

"Come home with me."

Her breath hitches in surprise, stutters against his neck in small bursts of warmth.

"Not like that," he corrects quickly, stumbles hard on the flash of heat and desire that ignites him when she looks at him like that, all sparkling eyes and rosy glistening lips. But no, not yet; trust first.

"Just to…be. I want to just be with you."

"Okay," she whispers, and then a smile breaks over her face, striking and luminescent, showering him with flares of warmth. "Okay."

He can almost taste the relief against his tongue, the frothy sweet lightness to his heart. It is on him now, to share his secret once they reach his home. But somehow he feels, knows deep within that it is going to be okay now. They will figure it all out.

She unfolds from his side; he gets up and then, in a gesture reminiscent of only a couple of hours earlier, he holds out his hand to her in invitation.

She smiles warmly, and folds her slim hand into his.

End

And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth.

(Coldplay, "Fix You")