So I just marathoned again through the four and a bit seasons of Castle in a couple of days, and it was...awesome. I haven't written anything in ages, and this is my first time moving away from my Mass Effect work, but I just had to give this a go. A oneshot set during 4x23, "Always". Reviews, as ever, are my addiction of choice so please leave me one :)

She doesn't really feel the rain drumming down on her, nor the slickness of her hair and cold droplets running down her back. The park is deserted in the night, the children's swing set hours abandoned, the chill of the breeze blowing through the rain- she doesn't see it and doesn't feel it. Instead she runs the thumbs of her hand over her fingertips, still slightly abraded from the rough stone of the rooftop she had clung to just hours ago. Another brush with death. She was too familiar with those now. Freezing to death in a locked cold store. The murky water filling up her car as she was trapped in her seat. The bomb ripping through her apartment. Another bomb in the back of a van. Not to mention…her right hand traced out the scar between the swell of her breasts, her eternal reminder. But all of those had something in common. Someone in common.

She blinks out the tears in her eyes. She can't pinpoint when he became this important to her. When he was all she could think about, moments from death. When the worst thing about a near-death experience wasn't the near-death, but the fact that he wasn't there. That she hadn't been in his arms or holding his hand. Instead he'd asked her to choose. To choose life over death. To choose love over revenge. And she hadn't done it, and he'd walked away, and the rage and anger that had shot through her back at the apartment had faded into a faint shadow of themselves now, overwhelmed by her need for him. For his warmth, for his smile, for his steadfastness at her side. Intertwined with that was her fear that they- no she- she'd screwed it up once again. That this was the last chance the universe had given them and she hadn't been brave enough to take it…again. Instead she'd chosen the familiar cocoon of her mother's murder, an excuse to hide from her life. She'd even confessed that once, to her therapist, in answer to his gentle yet pointed questions, and told him she wanted to move on it from it. To want more from her life. And yet when she'd had her chance, she'd gone running back to it without a moment's thought.

Her fingertips run over the rough links of the chain of the swing. This is where they had sat, almost a year ago, when she'd come back to work, come back to him. When she'd asked him to wait, implied that she was going to get there, that it wouldn't be in vain. She's so tired of being…broken. Being half-alive. Of wanting what he was offering, but not being able to reach out and take it, to grab hold of it and never let go, and return it in kind. She knew that the others thought of him as the man-child, as the immature one, as class joker to her valedictorian. The truth is the opposite. He's the adult. He's the one with a grip on his emotions, the one who is strong enough to face what has grown between them over the last few years. She's always been hiding in- in these nothing relationships, as he'd once pointed out- and now confronting her own emotions, she's petrified.

But Kate Beckett has always only had one way of dealing with her fears. To go blazing recklessly into the fight anyway, and if she's capable of doing it against those who killed her mother, and the men they kept sending, then she's capable of doing it for her own sake. She stands, shrugs her shoulders to shake off the water, and starts stalking towards the exit of the park and his house. He'll be at home alone, after Alexis' speech. It seemed a lifetime ago, but they'd even scheduled a date for tonight. A double-bill of John Woo. She doesn't know what he'll do or say, but she's not going to let him walk away without a fight. He deserves more. She deserves more. They deserve more.

The rain has slowed now to a light shower, and she decides against taking a cab. The walk is part of her penance. To herself. She's walked away from her badge, from her gun, from her job. From her calling. She doesn't know if it was the right thing to do, but that's all the walking away she's doing for today. Now she's walking towards something, something that matters, because she needs in him in her life, no matter what, whether it's bringing her coffee or concocting a theory involving Mob hits on CIA agents or…she lets her mind drift back, like she does late at night sometimes, to that kiss. Their kiss. Once she'd confined Josh to the dustbin of history, she's relived that more and more. Allowed herself to relive it. It's what she wants. He's what she wants.

Before she knows it, she's at the door to his building. His doorman knows her, looks at her soaking state and lets her in without a word, nodding at the elevator. She hasn't practised a speech, or even allowed for the thought he might have…company. An ex-wife. A blonde stewardess. The jealousy that shoots through her is something that she squashes. He means the world to her, but he doesn't know it yet. Still, she calls him. Better to be waived off if Alexis and Martha were home. He doesn't pick up. He doesn't want to talk to her. She's not surprised, but her heart clenches nonetheless. The elevator ride seems to take an eternity, longer than the walk. She leans back against the cool metal wall, fingers tapping. She feels giddy, drunk almost. Four years they've been building up to this moment, whatever may come. The elevator door pings open, and her knuckles rap against his door. He opens it, stony-faced and cool-eyed.

"Beckett. What do you want?"

"You."