Afterwards

Disclaimer: I don't lay claim to any of it.

A/N: I have been toying with this minor idea since the second episode of this season. The show has been pretty good at showing us glimpses of the soft spots in Castle and Beckett's relationship, just as it's been good at showing us the strong, impervious spots. This idea grew out of thinking about the soft, vulnerable spots. It's a one-shot.

Castle leaned against the balustrade and watched the revelries taking place in the ballroom below. The dance floor was a raucous riot of fun and laughter, and on any other night he would have been right in the middle of the party. He would've been passing around shots and drinking to Lanie and Esposito finally tying the knot. Tonight, though, for just a few minutes, he needed some space, some time for himself. Which is why he stood in the most poorly lit corner of the upper balcony, hoping no one would look for him. Without much conscious thought, his eyes roamed the crowd below, looking for one woman in particular. Kate Beckett. He had debated not coming tonight, because he wasn't sure he could bear to see her again. He dreaded seeing her after so long, seeing her on another man's arm.

But when she'd walked into the church, wearing a purple dress that brought out her eyes, her hair swept to one side exposing the long column of her neck, he'd felt anything but dread. He'd been riveted, captivated, entranced. He'd done a marvelous job of avoiding her so far, and Lanie had done everyone the favour of seating him and Beckett at different tables. But he couldn't help her magnetism, the way his eyes kept seeking her out.

Castle sighed. He ran a hand over his face, and was grateful for the dim lighting up here, for the escape it provided him.

He had wished for many things in his life, but never had he wished so hard for anything, as he had for Kate Beckett. And yet, for all his wishing, he hadn't succeeded in keeping her.

But tonight was not for regrets, he chastised himself. Tonight was for celebrating his friends' happiness.

Castle was rallying himself to leave the relative sanctuary of the upper balcony, when he heard the swish of fabric approaching. There was nothing special about the sound, but the clench in his chest, the sudden tingling in his fingers, and the flutter in his gut told him all he needed to know.

He hazarded a glance, and saw his one great regret slowly walking towards the balustrade, not five feet from him. She was clearly deep in her own thoughts, and hadn't noticed him. If he didn't move, if stayed hidden in the corner, he was sure he and his dark suit could blend into the poor lighting.

But then he heard her sigh, and it sounded so sad that he couldn't help himself.

"Of all the gin joints," he joked, but it came out sounding flat and loud in the dark quiet of the balcony.

Kate jumped, visibly startled. "Castle!" she exclaimed, and it was that exact mix of scolding and surprised and exasperated that she'd perfected over the years. It made his heart loosen with fondness and tighten with grief, all in one disconcerting beat.

"Hey," he replied stupidly. He cleared his throat and looked away, focused on the dance floor revelries below.

She said nothing, but he could feel her eyes taking him in.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," he said. Reduced to smalltalk, he thought with no small degree of bitterness. Is this what they'd come to.

"It was," she agreed. He'd missed a lot about her over the last few years, but he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her voice.

"You look great," he said.

"You look good," she said at the same time.

He gave an awkward laugh that was abruptly engulfed by silence.

"Congratulations on the new book," she finally said in her own attempt to break the weighted atmosphere. "I really enjoyed it."

"Thanks," he said, a part of him pleased that she still read his work. But then, why wouldn't she. They had both been painfully civil about their break-up, even though she drew the line at maintaining a friendship. She said it hurt too much.

His third Nikki Heat book since their break-up, and the second he'd written without Beckett in his life had been released to mass and critical success two weeks ago. Once things had ended between him and Kate, he'd debating ending Nikki Heat. But the months of tension and fighting and distance had taken their toll on him, as they had on her. He didn't know how she'd dealt with it, but he'd sought closure through Heat and Rook. It had ended up being his bestselling book to date, but more importantly, it had been cathartic for him. His last message to Kate, even though he wasn't sure she'd understood it. In the end, he'd had as much difficulty giving up Nikki as he had Kate. Unlike Kate, though, Nikki didn't really have a say in the matter, so he kept writing her books.

At his monosyllabic reply, silence once again besieged them. He tried to find any topic but the elephant crowding the darkened balcony. Finally, he couldn't hold back his own curiosity.

"I read about Bracken," he said, then clarified: "You caught him." It was a redundant clarification, he knew. The whole country had read about Bracken's arrest following a joint NYPD and FBI operation. Investigators had uncovered decades-worth of crimes and cover-ups and corruption. The media had a field day with it. Through it all, though, the lead detective on the case, the one with a personal stake who had, once upon a time, saved Bracken's life, had refused to give interviews.

"Yeah," she nodded. There was relief in her eyes, but also a gaping disorientation, an incomprehensible loss. "I thought it would give me ... closure. Satisfaction."

"It didn't?" he turned to watch her intently, reading her emotions on her face and in the expressive lines of her body. It was the first time in so long that he'd seen her up close. He noted the lines around her eyes and her mouth. Lines made by laughter, not age or tribulation. They only made her look more approachable, more attractive. Her hair was still beautiful, shining in the dim lighting. And her eyes...Those had always been his favourite part of her.

"To an extent, it did," she said, still leaning forward on the balcony railing, facing the room below. Not looking at him. But at least she was speaking, he told himself. These were the most words he'd gotten out of her in over two years. "It was like I could finally breathe again, after years of holding my breath. But when the one goal that has defined your adult life has finally been accomplished," she paused, searched for the right words.

"You ask yourself, 'now what?'" he supplied.

She nodded, relieved that he understood, she turned her head to look at him. "It felt like the world suddenly opened up. I got my mom her truth. I got her justice. And then I didn't know what to do with myself."

He couldn't help his bitterness. How much he had wanted to see the uninhibited, unfettered side of her. See her rise from beneath her mother's ghost.

"I'm sure Eric Vaughn helped," he said, indicating the man who was talking animatedly with Lanie and Esposito by the dessert table on the ballroom floor. It had been a blow, when he'd picked up the paper a year after their break-up and seen an article romantically linking Eric Vaughn to NYPD's hottest detective. He'd figured she would move on from him, and he'd been a regular on page six himself, finding refuge in many women once he couldn't make things work with the one wanted...but that didn't make it hurt any less.

He felt her steel herself besides him, and couldn't help but flash back to that moment, years ago, a lifetime ago, when he'd said the same thing about Josh.

"He did," she said, a hint of defiance in her voice, daring him to challenge her on it.

Castle had to look away, not let her see the anger and the regret on his face. He wished for the same answer she'd given all those years ago. That answer had been a new beginning for them. This...this one was just another ending.

And yet, he had to hear the story. The one the media was still trying to uncover, the one that explained everything. The one he didn't think anyone outside a close-knit group knew.

"How'd you do it?" he asked. "After so many years..."

She took a slow, deep breath. "Actually," she hesitated, looked apologetic, and he wondered why. "Eric was the linchpin."

It was as good as a kick in the nuts.

"Vaughn?" he said, incredulous.

"I told him about my mother's murder. About the work we'd done, about how you'd helped me."

He clasped his hands over the balustrade, tried to breathe through the sudden whirl of emotions.

"I told him about Bracken's role in it all," she continued. "At the time, Bracken was campaigning for re-election, and word of his candidacy for vice-president were reaching a fever pitch. So Eric hired people who know the political game, and he started donating and investing and fundraising for Bracken's main opponent's campaign. Beat him at his own game."

"That was a great campaign," Castle said, remembering how intently he'd followed it. He'd marveled at how a candidate unknown outside New York's political circles could pose a threat given the breadth and depth of Bracken's influence, let alone win the election. Of course, he thought, money was the answer. Money and resources.

"As Bracken started slipping in the polls, as he started losing support from lobbies and political allies, he started getting rash, acting without planning as carefully." She paused, got that ferocious, intense glint in her eye that had been the first thing to smitten him. He made himself look away.

"And we were ready for him to slip up, we were waiting for it. When he did, we caught him."

"So he," Castle nodded his chin towards Eric Vaughn, who was standing among a circle of admirers, grinning and schmoozing, "is the reason you caught Bracken."

He glanced at Beckett, and saw the affection in her eyes as she watched Vaughn. Then her glance cut to his, and he saw something deep and warm there. If he squinted, he could confuse it for the remnants of love.

"You're the reason, Castle," she said. Her tone was firm and serious and he knew she meant it.

"I would not have found my mom's killer if not for you. And you kept me above water all those times I almost drowned." She paused, hesitated, before forcing herself to continue. "But you gave me more than that," she said. "You made me want to be better than I was." Her eyes flicked to Vaughn before returning to his. "It took me awhile to realize it, but you showed me how to open my heart. Our story didn't go the way I thought it would, the way I wanted it to, but I will never regret a single thing we shared. I wouldn't be who I am, if not for you."

He looked at her in surprise. Whatever he had been expecting of his next meeting with Beckett, this was not it. From the look on her face, though, he could tell that this was something she'd been wanting to tell him for a long time.

His heart squeezed in his chest, trapped in the steely grip of regret. She made him want to be better, too. He wanted to tell her that, to give her the words, but it wouldn't mean much. It wouldn't be enough for him. He thought he was over her, he thought he'd moved on, but now, seeing her after so, so long...

"You could have called me." As he said it, he heard how silly it sounded. How meaningless.

"No," she said quietly. "No, I couldn't."

He remembered the hurt in her, when they'd reached that impasse in their relationship. When she'd realized that she wanted more, and he'd realized that he really didn't want a third marriage because marriage, in his experience, was not a guarantee of commitment. When he'd realized that she'd given him her full heart, and she'd realized that he couldn't do the same because he'd been burned too much in the past, because he didn't trust her to stick around when she saw all those parts of him he'd taken such care to hide.

"I wish..." he started saying, but didn't know how to finish the thought. He wished lots of things. He wished he had been strong enough to be the man she thought he was. He wished she'd been strong enough to be more patient with him, more understanding. He wished she hadn't given up on him. He wished he'd worked harder to not give her reason to. He wished, he wished.

"This wasn't the story I saw for us," he finally settled for saying.

For one, he wouldn't have written an ending. And in his version, the ring glinting on her finger would be his. The affection in her eyes would be directed at him. Her mother's justice would be their victory, and theirs alone.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

At first, she didn't say anything. He waited as she mulled over the question, and her answer.

"For a long time," she finally confessed, "I wasn't. For a long time, I didn't think I could be." She shrugged, and he could see hurt and regret in the lift of her shoulders. "I hadn't really contemplated a life without you, after you."

"And now?" he prompted, though he wasn't sure he was ready for her answer.

He saw the smile in her eyes, but her expression remained bittersweet. "It's not like it was with you," she admitted. "It's different. But it feels like happiness."

He couldn't help but smile at her answer, but there was no joy to it. You were my first choice too, Kate, he wanted to say. The love of my life.

"Are you happy?" she asked, her head tilted to indicate the dance floor, where Audrey was dancing to some pop song with a sergeant from the 54th.

He thought of his new girlfriend, of the emotional high, the rush, that he felt with her. He thought of the same high, the same rush he felt with each new girlfriend he'd had since he and Kate had parted ways. He thought of the unmatchable rush he'd felt when he and Kate had finally, finally, started dating. That rush had faded with Kate, as all rushes do, though it did have a longer half life than any previous relationship's. But once they'd come down from the high ... Everything had felt so ... normal, so settled. He'd loved her, and she'd loved him, but he hadn't really known what to do next.

After he and Kate had parted ways, it had taken a lot of scotch and introspection to recognize where his shortcomings lay, and where her's did. He'd married young and rashly, when it came to Meredith. It had been impetuous and thoughtless, and he'd waited for the fairy tale ending that never came. He'd married Gina because she'd wanted it, because she'd expected it. He let himself be led in both cases, and even with Kyra he'd taken her lead and hadn't followed her just because she'd told him not to. He had wanted things to be different with Kate, but he hadn't known how to communicate that to her, had feared she wouldn't like what she saw in his past failures ... So he'd said nothing, deflected and figured that what they had was enough for her, too. And, still, here he was, exactly where he didn't want to be.

And Kate...she'd kept waiting for him to disappoint her, to revert to the man he'd been when they'd first met. She'd waited for him to lose interest, to get bored. She hadn't fully accepted that he loved her for her. He didn't love her for the hidden mysteries waiting to be explored, but the true her underneath all those layers and those walls. He didn't want mystery, he wanted extraordinary, and she was extraordinary even when she wasn't trying, even when he wasn't paying attention.

He was going to be pithy, maybe witty in his reply, but then he figured he had nothing to lose. She wasn't his anymore, anyways.

"I haven't been happy since you, Kate." He was brave enough to turn and face her, to look into her eyes. "I wish we could have another chance. We should've been better at talking to each other, at saying what we wanted, what we needed-"

"Castle," she interrupted him, held up a hand. He noticed the sudden moisture in her eyes, the hitch in her voice.

"I know you think the horse is dead," he continued, ignoring her warning to stop. "But I still wish that things had been different for us." There were so many people around, and although they were mostly hidden up here on the balcony, and although he knew that eyes were quick to pry and rumours quick to fly, he couldn't help himself. He brushed her hair away from her face, tucked the strands behind her ear. "I will always love you, Kate."

She didn't move away from him. One or two tears escaped from her lashes, and he watched her neck and jaw as she worked to control her emotions. He knew what it meant: she still loved him, too. He wanted to hug her, to hold her, but he didn't think he would survive having to let her go again. So he put his hands in his pockets.

"I should go," she said, her voice choked. "Goodbye, Rick."

"Until we meet again, Kate."

She faltered for a moment, but then was quick to turn and walk away. He watched her go, the determined stride, the sway of her hair. He remembered the first time she'd walked away from him.

It should have been great, he thought. And in many ways, in the most important ways, it had been.