Freudian slip: a verbal mistake that is thought to reveal a repressed belief, thought, or emotion

Damn Schlemming...why did every case tie into a robbery all of a sudden? The man never seemed to leave, and neither did the stick that was stuck far up his rear. The challenge in his eyes when Beckett wasn't looking was enough to drive Castle mad.

How could a brilliant homicide detective like herself be so oblivious to the competition between her two suitors? The pointed, icy looks they shared behind her back couldn't be that easy to miss. In fact, Castle was pretty sure everyone but her had noticed.

She always did have a knack for seeing only the things he didn't want her to see and ignoring the rest. Selective sight, he liked to call it. Not to her face, of course. He didn't have a death wish.

But if she didn't start paying attention soon, he might get one. The tension in the air was slowly killing him. He was practically wading through it at this point.

The current case, however, had absolutely nothing to do with robbery. Castle was looking forward to a Demming-free environment for the next few days. He was even chipper when walking into the precinct, humming, some bounce in his step.

When he saw Kate and Tom (he flinched at the thought of his name) standing by the expresso machine, he nearly dropped the styrofoam cups he was carrying. He certainly did not buy that for his use.

"Morning, Beckett." With an annoyed glance to the side, he added, "Demming," receiving a brisk nod in response.

She gave him a warm smile, unaware of the annoyance quickly building between the two men in her presence. "Morning, Castle." Catching sight of the coffee in his hands, she glanced down at her own in guilt.

"Tom, I'll see you tonight?" she said by way of a dismissal. He looked in Castle's direction as he kissed Kate's cheek before walking off. Castle had to fight the urge to elbow him in the gut as he passed.

"Did he have to do that in the break room..." he muttered louder than he'd intended.

Beckett's head jerked in his direction. "Is there a problem?"

"No, I just don't think it's very sanitary to be doing that near food, is all."

Her eyebrow arched. "It's not really your business. The food is fine, don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, so I'm ridiculous for not wanting to find hairs in my expresso? Is it too much to ask that you save that stuff for the privacy of your own home?" The volume of his voice was starting to escalate in anger against his will. The irrational child in him was feeling volatile.

A part of him knew he was overreacting, but it was overpowered by the part that was sick of replaying Beckett and Demming whispering sweet nothings when they thought no one was around, or the look Kate got whenever he so much as smiled at her.

There was a third, even more powerful part of him that was pushing him to raise his voice for no apparent reason: he let it happen, he was the reason they were flirting and flaunting it in his face. It was all because he hadn't acted when he had the chance.

"Yes, you and this conversation are both ridiculous. Cool it or go home. I don't have time for this." She brushed past him with more force than was necessary, unbalancing him and the coffee. The hot liquid scorched his chest.

"Shit!" He tossed the now empty cups on the table and rushed over to the napkins, running water over them and wiping away at the stickiness. He undid the top few buttons of his shirt, revealing scalded red skin. "What was that for!" Even in the heat of a fight, she couldn't help but appreciate his chest.

Swallowing her apology and ending her short fantasy about him shirtless, she exclaimed, "It's not like I did it on purpose! What's your problem, Castle?"

"My problem is Demming. He's interfering with our work."

"Our work? How exactly is he getting in the way of our work, Castle? Please, enlighten me." She had the higher ground, and she knew it. It gave her that superior "I know I'm right" look and a tone to match.

"I've seen how distracted he makes you. How are we supposed to solve cases when you're all goo-goo eyes over him?" He was fastening his shirt back up now, nearly tearing the buttons off in anger.

"Goo-goo eyes? Real mature, Castle," she patronized.

Standing up straight, he retorted, "Really mature."

"Excuse me?" Her arms were crossed now as she stood in utter disbelief.

"Real is an adjective. You need an adverb there: really." There was no more anger detectable in his voice. He sounded like a teacher with a slow student. It drove her to the boiling point.

"Are you seriously correcting my grammar? Do you honestly think now is the time for that?" She could hardly spit it out, it was so outrageous. No way in hell were they having this conversation. It had to be a dream. She wasn't even sure what they were arguing about. Surely it wasn't over the coffee or a few talks with Demming. Castle couldn't possibly be that immature.

"There is always time for improvement, Detective." He might as well have said "nanner nanner boo boo", he sounded that childish.

"You've got to be kidding me. This is the most stupid conversation I've ever had with you, and that's saying something." Walking toward her desk, she decided she was done with this. He could go be juvenile somewhere else.

He followed behind her, either oblivious to her not-so-subtle hint or simply ignoring it. Tossing the soggy napkins on her desk, he grabbed her elbow and spun her around to face him.

"Oh, is that how you really feel?" Suddenly his went soft, his hand loosened its grasp. "What do you even see in him, Kate? Since we're being so brutally honest here, tell me that." His voice faltered, making him sound defeated and beat-down. She didn't want to hear him say her name like that.

"There are...feelings..." She was stuttering now, feeling like the villain, too weak and shocked to pull her arm away.

"Go on, what kind of feelings? Is he your one and done? Say it, Kate." He needed to hear it directly from her, needed it embedded in his mind so he could move on.

"I just, I like him...I have feelings for Castle, okay!" she shouted, finally jerking her arm out of his grasp.

They both stood motionless, silent. Castle felt his jaw drop slightly, so surprised he couldn't even appreciate the cartoonish feel of it. His hand was still in midair, but he took no notice.

"I meant Tom. I-" Her voice trailed off, the lack of noise more deafening than their yelling match from before.

"Yeah, I figured. Mistakes happen," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. Neither had any idea what to do but stand there awkwardly.

The fight, however, had drawn in a crowd. Esposito, Ryan, and Lanie all three stood off to the side, seemingly just as flabbergasted as the two caught in the act. The boys must've retrieved Lanie; there was no way she heard it all from the morgue.

"Beckett, we have a suspect in custody," Esposito informed her, quickly followed by Ryan's, "We can handle it if you're busy."

"No, I got it." She snatched a file off her desk and marched into the interrogation room with a fierce determination. They all felt sorry for the poor guy she was going to grill. She'd definitely get a confession out of him, and fast.

Ryan and Esposito gave Castle a quick, baffled look before scurrying off to their desks and acting busy. Lanie, however, remained close by.

Castle stared off into space, his features contorted in confusion. He was trying to get what just happened to register. She meant Demming; she'd said so herself. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that what had come out was exactly what she meant.

Lanie had approached his side while he was deep in thought. "That was your opening," she said matter-of-factly.

He breathed out deeply in disappointment and defeat. "Yeah, I know."

So this is going to be a series of one-shots. Castle and Beckett will be making these little slip ups in every one. Thank you to beetlebug for the amazing help and being my muse.

Review? I have an idea for the next chapter (thanks again to bug), but after that I'll need some suggestions.