Chapter 1

The storm was drowning out the murmur of the unusually cheerful music from the radio, determined to sweep her along with it. Beckett hated driving in the rain. She hated the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers and the futility that seems to accompany their movement, wiping raindrops away only for more to cascade down her screen. She hated the way her vehicle seared through floods, almost as if in pain. She hated how the speed necessary for the wipers to clear her vision made her feel short of breath, anxious, that it took so much effort for her to merely see. Perhaps cutting through the rain made her feel apprehensive, or perhaps she had imagined her feelings to extend to her surroundings, she didn't know. Almost chuckling at herself, she thought about how personifying inanimate objects was something a writer would do, and not a cop.

Staring blankly at the road ahead of her, she relished the moment where she could let her muscle memory take over, and she could shed herself of all thoughts, all emotions. Too much thinking. Too much feeling. Too much of everything. Again, it entered her mind how that probably was characteristic of a writer. Instantly, that traitor of a mind strayed to thoughts of a specific writer.

How dared he? How dared he tell her how she should think? How dared he dictate her feelings? He had no right. He was always poking his nose in places he doesn't belong. She feels riled up at the pointless repetition of these thoughts and she slams her steering wheel in frustration. He had no right to be angry, to feeling anything at all about her choices. Since when did he have a stake in her personal life?

Beckett shook her head, acknowledging to herself for a moment that this development was probably her fault. Castle did not just worm his way in; she let him in. She did not remember when this shift in their relationship took place, a shift so monumental yet imperceptible she had not noticed, and she refuses to mull over just how far and deep he has got under her skin. How did they even get to this point in the first place? Frowning, she shifted the pressures in her brain to push against the gas pedal even harder, disregarding the dangers the gloom of the weather threatened. She knew how. He was always looking over at her with that goddamned longing in his eyes, making it all she can do not to crash into him and kiss his ache away.

But how had longing turned into possession? How did pent-up want translate into the screaming matches they had had in the break room?

In a moment of haze, she came to a stoplight, suddenly realising she had no idea where she was. That after their awful quarrel she had dashed out of the precinct and straight into her car. That she had been driving for so long she does not remember when it had begun raining and she forgets the last moment it was not. She blinked, almost wanting to blink away thoughts of him. Concentrating on the beads of water trapped on parts of the windscreen and untouched by the arm of the wipers, she observed how they rolled individually to merge and form newer and bigger droplets of water, only to be washed away by the violence of the rain hitting her windscreen. It seemed like a pointless cycle and it reminded her of the endless dance she and Castle have been performing for too long. Was it really so obvious that even Josh had seen it? A pang of guilt knocked her out as she discovered that this was the first thought of Josh she entertained the whole of this insane day, and that she had been so furious with the hurried and unmitigated thoughts of Castle she had not even allowed her boyfriend to cross her mind.

The honk of the car behind her startled her out of her reverie and she glanced up to realise the light had turned green. She hurriedly floored the gas pedal, suddenly desiring the warm comforts of her bed and a nice long bath. Before she could react, she saw a dreadful flash of yellow. Her whole body tensed up in alarm and she swung her car with a force she never knew she had to avoid the vehicle that leapt out of nowhere.

She felt her body thrown towards the right and the last ghost of a thought that crossed her mind was how she would never be able to see Castle again.

Hearing the honking and shouting that usually accompanied a rainy day in New York City, he leant his forehead against the windowpane and allowed himself to melt against its cold surface. The shivers he experienced at the physical contact with the cold glass were nothing compared to the chilling sensations of seeing Beckett's expression change ever so slightly under his rain of accusing words. He was not sure if she was aware, but after watching her for so long he had become somewhat of an expert when it came to the detective's facial expressions that were imperceptible to anyone else. It was not the anger he saw concentrated in the way her jaw clenched that scared him. It was the moment he observed in the hardening of her eyes that conscious decision she made to close him off, as if a switch had been flicked somewhere to bar him of the access he had earned over the past few years, that chilled him to the bone.

Because that's it, he mused. That's it for him. He had pushed too far and now he had surrendered his exquisite view from the inside. That blessed door she had opened for him to explore her further.

But he couldn't help it. The words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could catch himself. And the fury. So much of the feelings he held in his secret heart for the detective he had shoved aside, pushed deep within had snowballed into an unfathomable mess and had poured out of him like a violent storm, so suddenly that he threw it out at her. Instead of any hope of untanglement, he only saw Kate spitting his intentions back out at him onto the floor between them, where they probably belonged.

It all began in the morning when he noticed the inordinate amount of time Kate was spending on her mobile phone, frowning at the screen. She was also uncharacteristically unfocused on the closing of a case they had been working on for the past few days. He willed the device that made his muse upset like that away, seeing from the beginning that it was not so much the device but the man at the other end of the line that needs to be willed away. Knowing better than to ask about the situation between Beckett and Josh, he encased his burning curiosity and respected her space. He even offered to buy the whole precinct lunch for the good work everyone had displayed for the case, but only as an excuse to leave her alone. He remembered her looking up at him from her desk as her curls framed her beautiful face, and he saw the gratitude in her eyes, a private emotion only for him to see, only for him to pick up. She knew he knew. Of all the time he has been spent with her, he doesn't think he will ever forget that one look that bore right into his soul.

She was already in the break room when he returned with burgers and shakes from Remy's and was basically attacked by the entire precinct, except Ryan and Esposito. He joined them at a discreet corner watching her through open blinds as she paced and spoke into the cursed mobile phone. She was clearly agitated and her face was one of confusion and sorrow. That drove a knife into his heart and he knew right then and there that he could never hate any man Beckett was with as long as he brought her happiness, even if that was not him. Ostensibly though, that was not Josh either.

It was only after half an hour had passed since she hung up the phone in defeat that Castle entered the break room with her lunch in hand. "Comfort food?" He had offered lightly, extending the takeaway package. She tilted her head slightly but not enough for him to see her and she received the food, placing them in her lap but leaving them unopened. It must have been the borrowed strength from his kind gesture or her knowledge of his earlier understanding, but Beckett opened up to him in a way he had never experienced before.

"It was about you," she uttered so quietly and her lips barely moved that he wondered if he had imagined it altogether. "The fight," she continued, countering his doubts, "it was about you." A strange sensation coursed through his chest and he could not decide if it was comfort or anxiety. He was silent, waiting for her to elaborate, feeling like his heart was going to pound right through the safety of his ribcage.

"Josh – he – he said that I was limited and closed off and that I never intended," she paused here as her emotions ran over the edge and she had to choke back the tears in her voice, "never intended to be his, because I was in love with you."

Hope. It must have been hope, that crazy, crazy sensation that filled his chest, and he felt like he was touched by sunlight. "But I'm not," her words brought him back to reality and he felt flung off a tall building and rammed into the ground. "I'm not," she repeated, "how can I be? I mean, we are partners. And I – I trust you, but I'm not in love with you. And you're not in love with me. How can I be with you? How will we ever work? I – I told Josh this, and we're trying to work things out." Then, she chucked mirthlessly, a ghost of a laughter, as if the notion of them being in love was so laughable that it should be dismissed.

Oh, how could she? How could she after all this time? After they had been to hell and back? How could she not know, not see, not acknowledge what they had between them? He had been waiting months for her to see. Even if she had no feelings for him, how could she not see the amount of love and devotion he had for her, all laid out in front of him and all over his face wherever he walked? How could she question the things that have not happened yet? How could she have already decided that they were not going to work? How could she have dismissed him so entirely even when her relations with him became an issue with her boyfriend? He felt furious that she could just skip past him and move on.

And it was then that he had lashed out before he knew it or could stop himself, shouting at her to wake up, to stop hiding, to look at him, to love him. Telling her that Josh was right, that she loved him. Asking her how she thought it even slightly possible for him not to love her. Asking her if Josh could give her everything he could give.

"Break up with Josh, please" he said simply, too tired, his feelings long overdue, for any kind of romantic and heartfelt confession, a moment he had fantasised about for so long but was never going to happen now. Her eyes had widened slowly and he could see the anger causing her hands to shake. "Who are you to tell me that I should break up with Josh? How would you know what Josh can and cannot give me? How do you know that I love you? And I do not love Josh, is that what you're saying? How can you assume that?"

She was livid.

Standing up abruptly to fight for her position on the issue, her burger and shake had fallen to the ground with a sickening squelch, and Rick felt his heart fall together with them, mixed up in its terrible mess.

How could he have gone from respecting her space to argue with another man to demanding her to break up with him in just one moment?

The memory of their fight was so real and so raw it took Castle a long pause to realise he was in his home instead of the precinct. And that the bell was ringing. He crossed his living room in three big strides, swinging the door open to find exactly whom he had wanted to see.

"Oh God, Kate," He breathed, "What happened?" She looked pale and banged up, with her right forearm bandaged, a tiny red cut just below her left eye and an ugly bruise on her forehead that was entirely too large for the bandage wrapped professionally over it. She smelled of engine oil and burnt fragments, although he swore he could still whiff a hint of cherries. And she looked equally startled to find herself at his doorstep. They stood in front of each other, as if hovering in midair in radio silence for a while, before Kate stepped into the house without invitation.

"Oh Kate," he lifted his fingers to touch her bruised forehead, before he caught himself and wondered if she was still mad at him, so his hand foolishly hung in front of her face. As if sensing his dilemma, she stepped towards his hand, closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, taking in a few short breaths where he could tell it was painful.

"I, uh, I'm sorry," she mumbled with her eyes still closed, and he stared at the way tears had caught between her eyelashes. She was crying. Her eyes opened and stared right into his. Oh, those piercing emerald eyes. He began "I –", but she interrupted swiftly, shaking her head, "I had been telling myself a lie for so long that it became the truth. I started to believe all the things I told myself about you."

"About how we would never work," she continued and he could barely hear her above the pounding in his ears.

"About how you were not in love with me," her eyes flickered away as she muttered this, as if afraid that he was going to contradict her. Pounding in his goddamned lungs. In his brain.

"About how I was not in love with you," she finished, a precursor of a smile ghosting her lips, "Because I kind of am." It was all he could do not to cry, as he wandered the depths of her eyes, clear and sincere. He could no longer control himself so he threw his arms around her and held her so close they could have melded together. "What happened to you, Kate?" He whispered just above her ear, and could feel her shiver. He was unsure if it was due to the memory of what happened or his closeness.

"I, uh, I was in a car accident. Y'know, just your every day life-altering, near-death event. You're a writer, you should know a thing or two about that." She chuckled her hollow laugh, and he knew she was just trying to reassure him. But a fresh flame of panic seared through him as he parted from her and held her shoulders tightly, "excuse me?"

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about, I was in an accident, and my life flashed before my eyes, that sort of thing. Kind of made me realise you were right, that I wanted you, more than anybody." She shrugged, a small sparkle entering her eyes.

"Oh my gosh, Kate, how could you even be driving when it was pouring outside like that? Where did you hit? What did the doctor say? I can't believe you, Kate! You-"

"Castle," she stopped him, holding his eyes firmly in hers, "I'm fine. I swerved in time to avoid a cab and hit the sides of the road, that's all. Don't worry, alright?"

"That's all?" He was incredulous and refused to be calmed down by her nonchalance.

Cute, she mused, as he ranted on again about her inability to filter dangerous situations from safe ones. She felt at ease, at home, safe, because she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Even the shock of the accident did not faze her.

"What, why are you smiling?" His eyebrows seemed to disappear into his hairline.

"Oh, Castle, shut up and kiss me," she ordered.

He had no choice but to oblige.

He had never imagined sin to taste so sweet. It was heaven. He was drowning in her scent. It was heaven and he was drowning and he never wanted to come up for air. Her lips were cracked, but they were soft and he had never tasted anything so pleasurable in his life. He pushed her into the door and closed any distance left between them, wondering for a moment if he was hurting her. But she clung on to him as if she could breathe him in, and him only. He realised the pent-up want that he had accumulated over the years existed in her too. He deepened his kiss, parting his mouth, prompting her to part hers, sucking on her bottom lip, and finding a new sense of awakening as he elicited a tiny moan from her. Tangling his hands in her hair that somehow still smelled amazing even after the downpour, he left her lips and found her jawline, her neck, that little spot right behind her ear, worshipping each part of her skin as his burned with desire. She fanned that flame when she pulled his hips closer and subsequently rested her cold hands on his warm back, sliding her hands up inside his shirt until they reached his neck and ended their journey in his hair, sending shivers down his spine.

They were so impossibly close that she was him and he was her and he could not tell where he ended and where she began and whose skin was burning and whose heart was soaring and whose desire was whose. He slid her white top over her arms and threw it onto the floor, trailing his hands over her curves in the process, leaving goose bumps in their wake. For a moment, he could only take in the beauty that she was. He was reverent as he kissed down her soft cleavage and her stomach, discovering a purple bruise on her right ribcage. "Oh, Kate," he kissed her injury softly, as she trembled.

Oh, Castle felt so good. She needed him. He was warm and he was tender and he was passionate and he just was Castle, he was not anybody else, and she did not want anybody else. He felt so different from Josh, and she finally knew what was missing, what she had been looking for. Josh just was not Castle. Josh.

Josh. She broke apart from Castle abruptly, as if she was burnt. But she remained in his firm embrace and he could see that her clouded eyes took on a moment of clarity as her body stiffened. This was what Beckett does. She opens herself up, lets him in, gives him that one delicious moment of herself, and then bam, nothing, she clams up and she was gone. No, that was no longer enough for him. He had to have her.

"Kate, shhh, just –", he let his lips finish his sentence for him as they pressed against hers again and she instantly lost all resolve. Good, no more interruptions, he thought, just as her phone cut shrilly through the air and she jumped.

This time he let her go and she backed away from the door into the loft, putting a considerable amount of cold distance between them. He felt lost suddenly and instantly missed her.

"Beckett," she breathed into the phone.

"Hey Beckett," It was Ryan, "a body just dropped." He sounded gentler than usual, as if he thought his words could sting her. She sighed heavily as her chest heaved and Castle could not help but notice the rise and fall of those beautiful breasts.

"Ok, I'll be right there," Beckett said as her other hand combed her hair in frustration. Castle was instantly disappointed at the interruption, but he could see her begin to build up her professional, distant persona, and slowly the Kate he saw a few seconds ago vanished.

"Beckett," Ryan began, and she wondered why he was being so apprehensive. "It was Josh."

Her mouth fell open, and her heart caught in her throat, making her wish to throw up. It was Josh. It was Josh. It was Josh? How can it be Josh? Josh was dead? Oh God, oh God, oh God. She felt sick. Then her eyes found Castle's concerned ones, and she felt a rush of guilt at what she had almost allowed herself to do.

"It was Josh," she repeated the words to Castle as well as to herself.

She stood in the middle of his living room, her upper body covered with just her bra, a dirty reminder of what they had just done, her eyes startled and her mouth sad.