33. ThirtyThree: Thursday

Thirty-Three

Kate looks so serious when he opens the door of his loft; she moves closer to kiss him, yes, a soft caress of her lips, the warmth of her palm against his jaw, but she won't let it last, won't let it distract her.

Not grave or solemn, just-

Focused.

Yes, that's it, focused. She has her detective face on. He hasn't seen it in a while, and he's surprised at the pleasure that licks at his heart, tingles in his chest. So he grabs his coat and follows her, no questions asked, quietly wondering what part of Kate Beckett she's going to uncover for him.

She waits for him at the bottom of the stairs, and he links their hands, presses his mouth to her cheekbone, hoping that she understands how humble, how grateful this makes him.

Her heart open and exposed for him to see, a rare, captivating flower with a new petal revealed every day.

He will never stop loving her.

O'Reilly's.

The place looks like a cop bar. It's dim and a little cramped, full of middle-aged - and aged - men who turn suspicious eyes to them as they walk in; but Kate seems to know a couple of them, though, because she gives them brief nods and they nod back, look away.

The bartender obviously knows her too, and Castle feels a stupid flare of jealousy, because the man has seen facets of Beckett that he probably hasn't, and he wants to know every-

Okay, he's being ridiculous. This is what Kate has brought him here for, isn't it? And really, he has no business being jealous of a bartender when he gets to touch her skin at night, to lick the curve of her neck and swallow her gasping breaths.

Kate orders two Scotch whiskies for them, and he tries to school his face, not let it betray any of his surprise. He's never known her to drink whisky, much less at eleven thirty in the morning. But he trusts her.

She nods towards an empty booth, and he leads the way, shedding his jacket before he sits down. Kate slides on the seat next to him; he wonders if it's because she wants the comfort of their shoulders brushing together, or because she'd rather not be looking into his eyes.

Maybe both.

A waiter stops by their table, sets their order down in front of them, walks away without a word.

Kate curls both hands around her glass, watches the swirl of amber; Castle can't tear his eyes from her long enough to give his own drink more than a fleeting glance. He's breathless with anticipation; he doesn't know what's coming but his pounding heart tells him it's going to be good. It's that very same feeling when you've reached the top of a rollercoaster, and you know you're about to tumble down the track at an exhilarating speed.

"Royce...used to love this place," she says quietly, not looking at him still. "He took me here, the night after I made my first arrest. To celebrate."

He's not moving, not breathing. To say that he's wondered about Royce would be - oh, only the biggest euphemism ever.

"It's here that I told him the story about my mom's murder, too," she adds, something like a wistful smile twisting her lips.

He remembers that phone call, almost two years ago, remembers the way her voice broke, how his heart bled for her. His hand finds her on the table, fingers lacing, and he's relieved that she doesn't push him away.

"You were in love with him," he says, and it's not a question.

She lets out a long exhale, runs a hand through her hair, pushing it back. "I - yeah. So I thought. Not a very healthy kind of love, obviously. I was...I was in a bad place, Castle, but I was trying so hard, and he was..." she shook her head, smiled, a trembling thing. "He was smart, and funny. Told the best stories. He was supportive too - never made fun of me, never dismissed me, just...taught me all I had to know. And more."

She falls silent, twirling her finger over the ridge of her glass, and Castle watches her for a moment before he finally speaks. "So... What happened?"

She bites on her lower lip, turns her eyes to him for the briefest second. "At first it was fine. I was in love with him, he was pretending he didn't know - we were fine. And then-" she sighs. "I had to shoot a guy on the job. To save Mike's life. I had never killed anyone before, but I did it, didn't even hesitate. It didn't hit me until - after. Hours later."

His heart is breaking for her, this young Beckett that he pictures shaking - crying? - all alone in her apartment, no one to call, no one to talk to. No one but her training officer.

"You went to see Royce," he says, again, not really a question.

She nods slowly. "I went to see him." She gives a sudden laugh, closing her eyes as she presses her palm to her forehead, and it helps dispel the heavy mood a little, helps him breathe easier. "Oh god, what was I thinking," she moans. "I walked to his place, Castle, and it was raining so hard - I was completely soaked when I got there. I must have looked ridiculous-"

He grins, can't help it. "Or just impossibly hot," he offers, wiggling an eyebrow.

She looks at him in surprise, lets out a single breath of laughter when she realizes what he means. "Oh. Well. I didn't think of it as-"

"A tradition of yours? Showing up drenched at the door of the men you love?" The moment the words are out of his mouth, he wants to wince, take them back in case they're too much, but Kate just tilts her head, regarding him pensively.

"It wasn't..." she shakes her head slowly. "It wasn't the same thing," she tells him, and she seems so earnest that he believe her. "Going to Mike that night - it wasn't the right thing to do, Castle, it was just... the only thing I could think of. I was young and silly; I didn't know any better."

It's not like that with you, her eyes are saying, so dark and bright, and he beams at her, lets her know that he gets it, gets the difference - and damn, it means the world to him. That she thinks they're right.

He leans in for a soft kiss that is hardly a kiss at all, just their lips brushing and their breaths mingling, and he feels her smile. He wants the rest of the story, though, badly enough for him to move back and simply stare, mesmerized by her, by how strong and vulnerable she looks, her face half in shadows.

"So you went to Royce's place."

She ducks her head, and wow, wow, Kate Beckett is blushing. He gets a sudden glimpse of the way she must have looked twelve years ago, a little shier, a little quieter, but just as fierce and determined - it makes him to punch Royce a little bit. Taking advantage of her when she was so brittle-

"He wasn't wearing a shirt when he opened the door," she says, voice so low that he can barely hear, and then her lips curl up in something that - that - he can't deny that it's a smile. "Didn't expect me."

Right. Okay. Maybe Royce wasn't the one taking advantage after all.

"So you slept with him," Castle says, not exactly eager to hear the details. If they can just, skip past that night, that's fine with him.

Kate levels an amused look on him, and he can tell she knows exactly what he's doing. But she humors him, and suddenly the smile falls off, and her eyes are dark. "The next morning, I woke up in his bed. Alone."

Ouch. And he's back to wanting to punch Royce.

"I went back to my apartment, showered, changed, went to the precinct. He was there." Her voice is dull now, like she's attempting to suppress all her emotions. But she can't erase the cracks. "And I found out I'd been promoted. Put in Vice, where I could make detective, because Royce thought I could be one of the best."

She says the words in a detached, even way, but there's so much hurt, so much hurt underneath. He has no doubt that these are the exact words, that the sting was so sharp that they remained etched in her memory. Oh, Kate.

He squeezes her hand, at a loss for words, wishing he could take it all away with a magic kiss. After a moment, she reaches for her glass of whisky, takes a long sip, swallowing it stoically before she looks back at him. Her face is soft, and she's his Kate again, not the wounded twenty-two-year-old who turned her back on Mike Royce.

"You forgave him, though, didn't you?" Castle asks suddenly, remembering her interaction with Mike before she'd realized he was after the treasure map like all the others. "When we ran into him..."

She smiles, looks down at her hands. "Yeah. It took me a long time. I was so mad. So mad, Castle. It took me a long time to accept that he just wasn't in love with me - that he cared for me, but couldn't return-" she chewed on her lip, closed her eyes for an instant. "I'm sure he considered that one time he gave in to me was his biggest mistake, and I just...didn't see it that way."

Is she... Is she serious?

"But yeah, looking back, I know he was doing what he thought was best for me, being - the best friend he could be, and I'm...grateful for that. That I had him at all, even if - it wasn't in the way I wanted."

"Kate."

She looks at him, shimmering green eyes, and for a second he's stunned, speechless, can't remember what he meant to say. And then he does. "You think - you think Royce wasn't in love with you?"

She presses her lips together, as if hardening herself against the blow of that admission. "I know, Castle. Why else-"

"Oh my god, Kate. Kate. Listen to me. That guy - was crazy about you. When he told me stories about you as a rookie? And, oh man, when he showed me that picture of you after you graduated of the Academy, oh Kate. You should've seen the look on his face. Completely and utterly smitten."

She stares at him, mouth agape, and then she shakes her head fiercely. "No. No, Castle, you're wrong. He liked me, he was my friend - he lusted after me enough to sleep with me - but..."

"Shut up." She glares at him and he winces, but seriously, seriously, she has to listen. "For god's sake, Kate, just. How long - how long were you his partner for?"

She gives him a long, hard look before she answers, reluctantly. "Almost two years."

Castle nods, chooses his words carefully. "Two years. Kate. Two years working with you every day, watching you grow into the amazing cop you are? There is not a chance in hell that this man wasn't completely in love with you." He gives her a little lopsided grin. "I know what I'm talking about."

She watches him for a long time, guarded, considering.

"And what he did, saying that you'd be great in Vice, that you'd make a hell of a detective? He was just being honest. Probably thought he wasn't good enough for you either, that he wasn't what you needed-"

"That's ridiculous," she objects sharply.

"Is it?" He raises his eyebrows at her. "You said it yourself, it wasn't a very healthy kind of love. Do you think Royce wouldn't have picked up on that?"

She looks shocked, and unwilling, but she also looks like she's been waiting to hear these words for years.

"Kate," he tells her, and he's not sure why it matters so much, why he needs to convince her, but he does. "Kate," he says, curling a hand around her neck, turning to face her as much as he can in the narrow booth, "Mike Royce loved you. I can promise you - he loved you, Kate, just like I do. Just like I do," he murmurs, and he's kissing her, tasting whisky on her tongue, smoky and sharp, but not nearly as intoxicating as her own, distinctive taste.

She kisses him back, tongue sliding against his, teeth rasping at his bottom lip; when she breaks away he's breathless, and she's holding his face firmly in her hands, that beautiful, stubborn look in her eyes.

"No, Castle," she tells him, unwavering. "You're wrong. You're wrong. No other man ever loved me like you do."

thanks go to JillianCasey for permission to use her story, 'Adagio', as the backstory for this memory