Rick Castle used to be a jackass. Not all the time, no. But most times, with most people. He used to be pompous, callous, narcissistic – and, okay that was enough mean introspection. But there was no denying it. He had become aware of these things.

He'd come to realize that there were a lot of things he didn't know.

Take for instance, Kate Beckett. Dissecting her life was something of a pastime for him. To be fair, he knew a good deal about her. She wasn't an easy person to get to know. You only knew as much about her as she would let on. He thought he might know more about her than a few important people in her life combined did – and that was a great thing. To him, that was a great honor. But she'd inadvertently proven him wrong in the past. Proven him wrong because every time he thought he had her down, she'd surprise him. She was a mystery. Oh, so many layers to the Beckett onion. How ever would he peel them all?

He knew her, but he also didn't. She was the best confusion of his life.

Three weeks had passed since they'd survived being locked in a freezer. They'd survived almost being blown to death. He'd never thanked his ridiculously hopeful nature more than when he recklessly stuck his hand into the circuit of a bomb and yanked all the wires. Sweet Jesus, they'd survived a bomb. He saved the city. And got a hug for it.

It wasn't surprising then that he'd been having nightmares. Like clockwork, every night since, he'd been having nightmares. The first night he woke up covered in sweat, and he wanted to call her. He really did. Instead he went to his kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water.

Alexis had seen him then, and he must've looked pale because she looked worried and tried to pry. He told her parts, but not everything. He'd like to keep her safe and cushy in her little bubble as long as he could, thank you very much. He thought he managed to assuage her concerns, but promised himself that he would try not to let it show.

He managed to fulfill that promise as far as Alexis went. Trained detectives weren't as easily fooled. Especially not his very formidable trained detective to happened to be fantastic at interrogations. The first few days, Beckett said nothing. But on the fourth day he probably had giant dark circles, and was slurring his words. He thought, when she pointed these things out, that she would be irritated. Annoyed that he was distracted at his non-work. She wasn't annoyed. It was concern. And that made him confess.

He hadn't been sleeping. Like clockwork, every night since the incident, he told her, he'd been having nightmares. They wouldn't always be the same. Sometimes he'd die in the freezer and his nightmare was just a blanket of darkness descending on him. Other times she would die in his arms and those, he told her, were the worst ones. Or it was just like what had happened – except the bomb would start beeping just after they'd hugged, and then – and then nothing. Sometimes, and he was ashamed of this one. Sometimes he'd dream about the time her apartment blew up. He'd break down the door, and he'd call out, looking for her in every room. But she wasn't there. He'd go to the bathroom, with the giant bathtub, his subconscious mind pulled there by his memories – and she would be there. Frozen amidst the flames. Cold and blue and lifeless.

If the concern had thrown him, then her reaction to his confession had completely blown him away. No pun intended. She just nodded in understanding, her eyes downcast. He wondered fleetingly whether the nightmares had been plaguing her too. Nah. Not his Beckett. Not his formidable, unshakable detective.

His? He really needed to have a good sleep soon.

When she finally met his eyes, there was such conviction then that he knew he'd be powerless if she asked him to stop shadowing her. Her face wore a sort of furious determination, her eyebrows low, her jaw clenched. Castle's cowardice had no place in her precinct. Beckett needed a hardened detective for a partner, not this whimpering writer who woke every night shaking thanks to some dreams. Kate needed someone she could count on.

He'd be powerless to deny her anything. With equal conviction lacing her voice, she managed to finagle a promise out of him. A promise to call her, even if it was the middle of the night, if he had the nightmare again.

That's how it had started.

The first time he called her, he did so reluctantly. He contemplated breaking her promise. Letting her sleep. Why share his troubles? But he called her. Just the once, he thought. It would be nice to hear her voice. Losing her seemed to be at the crux of his nightmares. He wondered if she realized that too. He called, and didn't have to wait long before she answered. Soft and beautiful, even half asleep. Half awake. Half Beckett, half Kate. Her voice was strong, but melodious in his ears, completely overpowering the whoosh of his own pulse.

Like clockwork he'd get the nightmare, he'd wake up, call her, and she would answer. Each night she seemed more awake. Each night, he thought, just the once.

Two nights ago, he didn't call her. He didn't wake up. He had managed to sleep through the night. He saw Kate's message before work. It had come around an hour after the time he would usually wake up with a nightmare. It just asked him if he was okay. He hadn't heard his phone buzz. When he saw her yesterday, she looked like she hadn't slept. But she gave him the most beautiful smile when he told her he slept through her message. She joined her hands, and held them close to her chest, as if in silent thanks to a greater being. He thought, just for a moment, that she held them close in lieu of holding him close.

Later when they were at her desk, reviewing the timeline for their latest case, he turned to her. She was staring at the white board with a look of determination. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, as she nibbled on her bottom lip. He felt himself sway just a few millimeters towards her, drawn by a force he couldn't see. Couldn't name. But he could feel it. Boy, could he feel it.

Absurdly he wanted to ask her a billion questions.

Questions that made no sense and made a helluva lot of sense. Questions like, what makes you want to smile, Kate? Or what side of the bed do you sleep on?

What's your favorite picnic spot?

What's your fondest memory growing up?

Do you know the answers to life, Kate?

Do you know what it'll be like to be married to someone you love? Someone who loves you? Do you know how to be married forever?

How do you read me? How do you see me?

How are you so good? So good, and kind, and wonderful?

Do you know what makes the sun burn? The earth turn?

Do you know how you're the axis? You have been for a while now. Did you know that, Kate?

She turned to him, then, a frown making its way onto her features. "What?" she asked looking self-conscious.

He blinked owlishly. A billion questions at the tip of his tongue disappearing into thin air. He shrugged. "More coffee?"

Her narrowed eyes scanned his face, but he must have been carefully because she just smiled, her nose twitching adorably and nodded.

He smiled in return, and twitched his nose too, making her laugh and push him off her desk.

He glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes were following him, her smile a shy little thing.

Castle had come to realize that there were a lot of things he didn't know.

He did know a few things.

He knew that he wouldn't get those nightmares again anytime soon.

He knew that he'd started seeing her as Kate. Soft, beautiful and loving Kate. Loyal and caring friend, Kate. Vulnerable, flawed, perfect imperfection Kate. Radiant, graceful, strong Kate. Careful Kate. Tender Kate.

He knew that she had more layers than even she knew about.

He knew that he'd be willing to spend an eternity trying to find out the answers to all his unasked questions.

One thing he knew beyond doubt.

Rick Castle knew that he was indubitably, irrevocably in love with Kate Beckett.

A/N: So this is obviously AU. It happens after Set up and Countdown. I've very happily done away with Josh in this universe. Not my usual dialogue-y stuff, but I guess I was in a poetic kind of mood?

Fellers kindly gave me a few prompts that probably have been completely turned on their heads.

I might continue this, but in a different style. Not sure yet. Sorry if it makes no sense :P. Oops? Thanks for reading!