On her first appointment, she'd hated this place. She'd hated this man, and what he symbolised; a weakness within her. Something that needed therapy, something that needed fixed. She'd hated that he just sat there and said nothing, watched her and analysed her, and asked her questions that he already knew the answers to.
It struck her now, however, of how much she'd found comfort here. In this room, with this man. He'd made her open up about secrets she'd never told anyone, and when she was here, all that pressure, the burden of too much information and secrets - it was gone. There was nothing but blissful silence ringing in her ears. And she liked that.
"You've made good progress over these last few months, Kate."
She crossed her legs at the knee and leant back against the comfortingly cool leather of the chair. "I know. I think I've finally dealt with my shooting, which is a relief."
Dr Burke nodded slowly, before glancing down at the paper he held in his hand. "Our only issues here are your mother's shooting, and Castle."
That's another thing she used to hate. The fact that he always referred to her problems as 'ours' as though they were his too. He'd never had his mother killed, had to deal with the pain of that, had to witness his father go in and out of alcoholism. He'd never experienced that same drive of revenge that she had previously fought down day after day.
Now, though, she took comfort in his use of the word 'ours'. It was as though he were willing to fight her battles with her, back her up and talk things over. It was nice.
"I don't think Castle is really an issue. He's been ignoring me for weeks." Which was true. Lanie was sticking to her theory that she'd left him waiting too long. But if that were the case, surely his seperation from her would've been gradual, and less sudden?
"And this bothers you." It wasn't a question, so she didn't reply. It obviously bothered her. He was her partner. A little bit of communication wouldn't go amiss.
"I just wish he'd tell me what I've done."
"You said before that you think it was because you've left him waiting for too long."
"That's what Lanie said, and the idea seems plausible." Even she heard the 'but'. "But something about that doesn't feel right. Castle's impatient, but you ... you should've heard him that day ... when he told me he -" She broke off, cleared her throat, and started again. "He knew I needed time."
Dr Burke furrowed his brow, as though he was waiting for her to work something out. He done that quite regularly. Regularly enough that she was beginning to doubt her own abilities to see the obvious.
"If he got tired of waiting, then how would you know?" he prompted.
"That's not what I meant. He isn't aware that you remember what he told you. But what was he waiting for? He was waiting for you to make the first move?"
"It wouldn't be the first move though. He told me he loved me first."
"But he thinks you don't remember that."
She stared at her therapist for a second, and then slowly, the realisation began to dawn. "He knows." The two words felt thick in her throat, and once she'd spat them out, she felt nauseous. He couldn't know. He couldn't. Could he? "Oh my ... he knows! He knows I remember." And then, like an old picture flickering through her mind, she remembered the moment she'd spilt everything.
"I got shot in the chest, and I remember every second of it."
"Was Castle here?"
"Yeah, earlier. But he said he had to go, there was somewhere he needed to be."
Suddenly, the air in the room was cold, and she felt dizzy. This had never been her intention. She'd never wanted to keep this a secret from him, and how he'd found out in the worst way possible. It explained everything. The bitter attitude he'd suddenly developed, the bimbos.
She stood up, fighting the way her legs wouldn't stay steady, and turned to her doctor. He almost smiled, she thought.
"I have to fix this." And in a second, she was gone.