13. Thirteen: Friday

Thirteen

This is stupid. She is being stupid.

Kate takes a deep breath and leans back against the bathroom door, the tears trembling down her throat. Oh, damn.

No. Come on, Kate.

It's just this one, stupid little comment, and if she can just - if she can get past it, bury it somewhere, somewhere where it won't matter quite so much, where she can ignore it-

"Kate."

Shit. His voice on the other side of the door makes her come apart, separates the fragile edges that she's been trying to hold together. Go away, Castle.

She closes her eyes, tight, tilts her head back; she feels naked, so vulnerable in just her underwear.

Lovely, lovely tears, please don't fall.

"Kate, please. Open the door. I'm sorry. I'm an idiot."

That's true, her inner voice says, but that's not helping. None of it is. The tears are still fighting dirty to come out, sneaking under her eyelids, and it seems like Kate's the one losing the battle here.

She bites her lip, doesn't let up, even when she tastes metallic blood on her tongue.

If he would just go away, just leave her alone for a minute, it would all be fine. She would gather herself and bottle it all away and really, really, they don't need to talk about this.

"Kate," he pleads, voice soft and so close. She shivers, hates herself for it. "Kate. That was... stupid of me to say. But - I'm gonna do it again, you know. I have plenty of stupid in me, I'm afraid. And you can't - love, you can't just lock yourself away until you've gotten over it."

"Why not," she breathes, and amazingly enough, he hears her.

She hears him sigh and then shift, the slide of his body against the door - he must be sitting on the floor now. She fights the urge to do the same, mirror his position to feel closer to him.

This bed's seen a lot worse, Kate.

What kind of a *man* says stuff like that?

It all wells up inside her, flares to life, hot and sharp and burning. Shit. Can't he just leave her alone?

"Because you gotta tell me these things. You gotta let me know what I did wrong, Kate. I mean, yeah, so maybe today I get it, but next time? And the time after that?"

She moans, low and miserable, her body curling up at the dreadful prospect evoked by his words.

He lets out a guilty, desolate laugh. "I know. It sounds pretty bad. And I wish I could promise never to hurt you again, Kate, but the truth is. Half the time I don't even think before I speak; I'm bound to hurt you. I... I hate it, but it's how things are. I can't just change everything; I can't remake myself, not even for you. No matter how hard I might want to."

She breathes slowly through her nose, accepts it, accepts the honesty of his apology and the reality of their relationship, of what things have always been like between them.

It works both ways. It can be so good, so very, very good; and it can also - it can also hurt like this. Sting so badly that she can't keep the tears dammed up.

But she can hurt him too, she knows it. She hurts him when she fails to communicate, she hurts him when she dismisses him, shuts him out like...

Like she's doing right now.

Kate chews on her bottom lip, lets go of it with a deep sigh.

"Please, Kate," he murmurs softly, tender, hopeful. "Please let me in."

It goes against her very nature, to open the door to him, let him see her tears, let him see how much he affects her. The extent of the damage. She feels too much; she always has. Like her father.

It's a wonder her mother's death didn't kill them both.

But Castle's right, he's right; it's the only way. The only way they will ever work, the only way to keep it alive, this beautiful thing between them, the rare, precious love that fills her to the brim until she can't cut him off anymore.

She has to give them a chance.

Her fingers curl on the handle and she twists it open.

There are tracks of tears on her cheeks, glistening in the dim light; his heart stumbles in his throat, feet following awkwardly as he reaches for her, laces his arms around her waist, cradles her so close to his chest.

She sighs, a brittle, heart-breaking thing, but she does settle into his embrace, and oh, better yet, she threads her fingers through his hair, hugs him back like she's absorbing him, taking all his strength into herself.

Everything, Kate, take everything-

He kisses what he can find, the soft edges of her hair, the roundness of her ear, the angle of her jaw; he wants to soothe, to heal, to dry the tears he's caused.

He hates it, all of it. Knowing he's responsible for the shivers that shake her lithe body, the warm wetness that transfers to his neck when she presses her mouth to his collarbone - it kills him.

He's so used to her strength, so used to her fierceness. It's bad enough to have her trembling and fragile against him; but that he's made it happen-

He swallows and pushes the guilt away, as best as he can, because his guilt is not going to help her.

"Kate," he murmurs, brushes his lips to her closed eyelid.

It flutters open, a sea of scintillating green looking back at him, and she hums at the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry," he offers, voice raspy with how sincere he is, how regretful. A smile touches her lips, faint but beautiful, and her fingers find his cheek, her index caressing the corner of his eye, slowly, over and over.

"I'm sorry, too," she breathes, and she lifts on tiptoe, the whole length of her splayed against him as she kisses his mouth lightly.

Wait - no - that's not how it's supposed to-

"Kate," he tries to object, a hand curling on her hip to stay her.

But she only smiles wider, tilts her head at him, serene and so in control now. Almost teasing. He has no idea how that just happened.

"Come on, Castle. Wasn't just your fault, was it? Yeah, you made a stupid, smart-ass comment, but you're not the one who hid in the bathroom to cry about it."

How can she sound so light and self-deprecating-

"Castle," she scolds softly, must see the sorrow on his face. Her fingers stroke, his temple, his cheekbone, his mouth; he forgets what he wanted to say.

"Look." She releases a breath through her open mouth, looks at him, all brilliant eyes and long lashes. "It surprised me too, okay? I didn't expect - I didn't think I cared. I know what your life was like before me, and I..." she chews on her lower lip, so adorable, and oh - he just wants to kiss her. "I thought I was okay with it."

Kate.

"Hey, being okay with it doesn't mean you have to sit through my shitty, brainless jokes and not say anything," he points out, relishing the flash of soft amusement in her eyes. "But, Kate, for the record? I didn't mean - I didn't mean it like that."

Wariness dances across her face, and he tries not to let it affect him, because she has reasons not to trust him, reasons to believe he might hurt her. Hell, he just did.

He needs to explain.

"I was just thinking that, when Alexis was little, she used to come into the room on Sunday mornings and we'd have pillow fights - or she would trampoline all over the mattress, because apparently it was much better than hers. Or so she said."

Kate closes her eyes, ducks her head, but something of a laugh, throaty and reluctant, comes through. "Alexis, huh."

Yeahhh. "I could probably have phrased that sentence a little better. A lot better," he admits with a wince, because oh, once it was out of his mouth - he realized what it sounded like.

The bed's seen a lot worse.

Oh, man. Nice one, Castle.

"It's okay," she says, and there's relief in the smile she gives him, not just forgiveness, not just acceptance. At least she believes him.

"I'm okay," she tells him, and she proves her point with a slow, intent, inflammatory exploration of his mouth that leaves him dazed and desperate for more.

"Should I order a new bed?" he attempts to joke as she backs him slowly into his bedroom, light hands working at his belt, eyes so dark, so dark.

"No need, Castle," she whispers against his jaw, licking his adam's apple. He jerks and whimpers, opens his eyes to find her watching him, pleased and knowing, gorgeous.

"Just make sure I'm the only one in it," she says.