73. 75: Thursday

75

She wakes early that morning; she can tell from the too-faint light that barely glows under the curtains, doesn't even reach the hardwood floors. Castle is sound asleep, breathing deeply next to her, a steady, hypnotic rhythm that somehow fails to pull her back into slumber.

Her body is awake, she realizes as she blinks slowly. She feels fresh, rested, ready. But she doesn't feel the urge to move that so often compels her to slide out of bed, start the day, and she curls onto her side, luxuriating in that slow, warm, lazy feeling.

Castle's face is wrinkled, mashed into the pillow. The one eyebrow she can see is knit, that cute little frown he wears sometimes when he dreams. Kate lifts a hand, smoothes her fingertip along the straight line, the soft hairs.

He makes a small sound and she drops her fingers, unwilling to rouse him; she will have to watch without touching, keep her hands to herself.

Not as easy as it sounds. Not with Rick Castle, anyway.

She snuggles both hands under her pillow, stretches her legs slowly, reveling in the quiet delight that has spread through her, the happiness that she cannot contain, that just leaks out.

Funny, how three days ago it was waking alone in her own bed that brought her that same feeling of peace, of contentment. Uh. Her dad is right. There really is no secret recipe, is there?

There's only being together, in the moment. And seeing what happens. Ha, and now she sounds like one of those cheap wisdom books. Wonderful.

Kate isn't sure how long she lays there, lounging in his bed, her eyes on his sleeping form; when she finally cranes her neck to glance at the alarm clock, it's already 7:30.

Time to get up, get dressed. Dr. Burke is seeing her early today, offered to squeeze her in before his first patient - it was either that, or waiting two weeks. She's so grateful for his working her in.

She carefully peels away the sheets, sits up in bed, holds her breath. Castle grunts and rolls, landing flat on his back; a blue eye peers open at her. Damn.

She'll never understand how he can sleep so soundly and yet startle awake at her lightest move, no matter the amount of precaution she takes. What is it - the shift of her weight on the mattress, his heightened awareness of her? She's got to figure it out.

"You leaving?" he slurs, his voice heavy with sleep.

But there's no accusation, no disappointment in his tone. Just a question. A simple question. She leans in and rewards him with a brush of her lips, her fingers unconsciously curling at his jaw.

"Appointment with Burke," she murmurs. "Go back to sleep, Rick."

One, two slow blinks, and he obeys, turning back onto his side with a long sigh. Fading off already, no doubt. She wonders if he'll remember this later.

Kate lets her fingers trace the curve of his shoulder, presses a kiss there, to the warm, soft skin, and moves off the bed.

Burke is doing her a favor; she's certainly not planning on being late.

"How do you feel about not being a cop anymore, Kate?"

She doesn't startle, but she does turn back to face him, her eyes leaving the window and the two birds fighting for a breadcrumb outside.

Dr. Burke has a knack for asking the question she's not expecting.

Kate opens her mouth to say that she's fine, that she doesn't miss it so much, even the precinct - but she pauses. Gives herself time to consider.

Her psychologist waits her out patiently, his head tilted, his brown eyes as warm and peaceful as always. It used to irritate her, his calm, his self-control; especially in the beginning, when she couldn't seem to find hers, when her voice broke on every sentence.

But not anymore.

"I guess," she says slowly, gathering a knee to her chest, resting her back against the comfortable chair. "Part of me misses it. I-" she hesitates, lets her fingers dance alongside her shin, struck by how true that is, how well she's kept it even from herself. "I miss the purpose, the feeling of being useful, of - doing something good. And...the challenge, too." She raises her eyes, finds Burke's. "Making sense of things, solving the enigma. I loved that."

"You don't have to use the past tense," he points out gently.

Kate lets out a dry little laugh, shakes her head. "I don't want to go back." That, at least, is clear to her. She doesn't; she won't.

"You don't want to go back," Burke repeats, his voice remarkably empty of suggestion. "You've told me about this activity you've found, reading and reviewing those manuscripts. Does that satisfy you, Kate? Give you that same sense of challenge?"

She grits her teeth, looks away at the window again. The birds are gone.

"No," she admits. "It's not - it's not the same. But I like it. I do."

"Enough to keep doing it for the rest of your life?"

Kate sighs. Deep down, she knows this. She's known. Reading and reviewing manuscripts is interesting, fun; it makes her feel like her opinion is valuable. But it's only temporary. Could only ever be temporary.

"No," she acknowledges, looking at her psychologist. "Not - I need more." Damn it, she does. She does. Why can't this job be enough? Why can't Castle be enough?

"Kate," Burke says softly, as if he can read her mind. "There's nothing wrong with needing more. As long as you admit it, and give yourself the means to go after it. You mentioned a few weeks back that a colleague of yours said something about how you might get your old job back, if you asked for it?"

"I don't want it back," she snaps, immediately annoyed at herself for that. But she needs the man to understand - she's past the 12th. Over it. She's not going back.

She almost died, and for what?

No. No. She's not going back.

She can't do that to him.

"Alright," he says, unwaveringly serene. "Then you need to look for a job that will fulfill you, the way being a detective did. It's obvious that you need that sense of accomplishment in your life, Kate. And you know it."

She parts her lips to answer, but the words ring true; she can't deny them. If she can't be a detective, if she doesn't want to work in publishing, then she needs to find something else.

Something she will love, something she will pour her soul into.

She gives a slow nod, finds her mouth curling into a smirk. "And I thought I was here to talk about my relationship with Castle," she jokes half-heartedly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ugh, that way he has of making everything a question. She presses her lips together, pushes her hair back with her free hand. She doesn't know anymore.

"Let me ask you something," Burke says. "When did you last take time away from work? And by time, I mean more than a week."

Kate stares at him, shocked that he needs to ask. Somehow, he understands what she's not saying. "The months you spent healing from that bullet wound don't count," he points out, lifting an eyebrow. "I mean before that."

Oh. Well.

"I'm not sure," she concedes reluctantly.

"And when was the last time you spent more than a week with someone else, being together 24/7? It doesn't have to be a boyfriend - can be a vacation with one of your friends, your father, any one."

She-

Uh. She and Josh didn't actually spend that much time alone together, did they? And before that... Will? Yeah, probably. Kate never takes holidays unless someone else makes her. Jeez.

Workaholic. Castle was right on that one.

"It's been a while," she answers, stunned. "It - yeah. Wow. Couple years, at least."

And when she did take a vacation, she hardly ever spent all of it with someone else. She always saved a few days for herself, or she was in a separate hotel room, or there were excursions she did alone.

"See?" Burke smiles. "You and Rick were in Belize for three weeks, Kate. I don't think you should be worried about your relationship. I think you should be thrilled that you two didn't kill each other."

A surprised laugh rolls out of her, but she can tell he's serious despite the spark in his eyes, and relief hits her, envelops her like a wave.

Oh, she needed to hear that.

"Okay," she breathes out, dizzy with gratitude. "Thank you."

Burke gets to his feet, his way to signal that their time is up, and she mirrors him, reaches for her jacket.

"I'm glad you came to me," he tells her as he walks her to the door. "But you seem to be doing well. Dealing with your own issues. I'm proud of you, Kate."

Her voice catches in her throat, like she's a silly ten-year-old being congratulated by her teacher, and she can only manage a strained smile in response.

He seems to understand, anyway.