Rick has quickly learned the importance of keeping Beckett properly caffeinated.

In spite of the fact that the precinct coffee is actually worse than anything ever, she practically mainlines it, her cup nearly always at least half full. Rick has the distinct impression it's the only thing that's kept her from punching him so far.

After interviewing the victim's employers, they head back to the precinct, and as Beckett fills out a boring-looking evidence report, he opts to duck out and get real coffee, from an actual place that makes real coffee. For humans. To drink.

It takes longer than he anticipates, and he ends up hustling back into Homicide, bobbling a cardboard tray with four cups. Beckett's not at her desk, so he heads for Ryan and Esposito, who brighten at the sight of free coffee.

"Where's Beckett?" he asks in what he hopes is a casual tone.

Esposito shoots him a glance that says Literally everyone in this building knows you're trying to get into her pants. "Why?"

"I - coffee. I got her coffee."

"Oh." Ryan nods. "Sure. I think she's in the break room."

Rick immediately shoves their cups at them and heads for the break room. Ryan's saying something like maybe she's not or a minute to herself, but he's got her coffee, and this is obviously the most important -

"Beck- oh."

She looks up, startled, and though she looks away hastily, he's already seen the glitter of tearstains on her cheeks.

"Yeah, I'll just - be a minute." Her voice is brittle, so unlike the brisk, self-assured woman who's completely enchanted him that it almost doesn't sound like her.

"You just called her parents."

It's a statement, not a question, but she nods anyway.

"Are you okay?"

She lets out a breath, wiping her eyes. "Fine."

His chest is suddenly tight, constricting like a vise, his ribs cracking with the pounding of his heart, and he doesn't know what to say because it's suddenly so loud in this silent room.

"Castle, can -"

"Yeah?" Too eager. He bites his tongue.

"Can you just give me a minute?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Of course."

Rick turns to leave, staring dumbly at the cardboard drink tray in his hands. "Oh. Um - I brought you -"

He sets the coffee down on the counter, willing her to take it, but she doesn't move, doesn't respond, just keeps her hand over her eyes.

So he leaves.

At a loss for what else to do, Rick sits beside her desk, staring at his hands.

He's well aware that he has a charmed life. He has money, fame, a beautiful daughter, a loving (if crazy) mother, and friends in every type of high place. He has everything in the world.

Sometimes, in quieter moments, he wonders when the thread's going to snap. If his perfect life is one pretty glass figurine after another, all in a pristine row, and it's just a matter of time before something shatters.

Maybe that's why he's drawn to the world of crime. Maybe he helps others, he can keep it from his own doorstep.

He thinks about getting that call. Sir. It's about Alexis. I'm so sorry.

"Castle?"

Beckett's voice snaps him out of the sudden, sharp spiral, and he looks up, grateful to be out of his own mind. "Here."

He turns to find her watching him, holding the coffee he brought her.

Castle sneaks a glance as she takes her seat. Her eyes are red, but apart from that, she's herself. Perfectly calm.

"Hey." His throat is dry. "Is the - coffee? Okay?"

"It's great," she says softly. "Thank you."

He can't deal with the fact that his ploy to impress a hot woman has led him into something this soul-searching. It's not supposed to be like this. So he backpedals. "Impressed with my outstanding caffeine-fetching skills?"

Beckett shoots him a look that says I can read subtext, Castle.

"I'm warming up to it."