i tried to forget

but you grew roots around my ribcage

and sprouted flowers

just below my collarbones.

all day I pluck their petals

but I have not yet ascertained

whether you love me

or not

- unknown

The way she looks at him gets under his skin sometimes. He's not an angry man, prides himself on patience, appreciating life as it happens, a willingness to wait for the things he knows are worth waiting for.

(Her.)

Even he has his limits though, and with unreciprocated deathbed confessions still dully rumbling their way around in his head, he feels the hot need to act.

.

It's any day of the week and they're in the precinct, at her desk, and she's smiling at him again in that way she does sometimes now, since she was shot, where her eyes get shiny and her cheeks get pink and he can almost feel her restraining her own limbs as not to reach out and touch him. He knows she wants to wait. That she has already expressed her vague need to solve her mother's case before she can be in "the kind of relationship she wants", whatever that means, but he just can't do this anymore.

He can't wait forever, doesn't want to wait forever, and he knows it's a mistake to let her think that they have all the time in the world. They work in a very dangerous profession, and if he's come away with anything from working with her, it's that sometimes your time is just up and you never even see it coming.

.

(In the end, all it takes is a pair of handcuffs and one tiny chink in her carefully constructed façade for him to stop waiting and push so she can push back.)

.

He thinks it's sort of appropriate that this would all play out while being kidnapped, detained, whatever. Beckett likes to do things when she can cite having no other choice, playing at deflecting blame for her actions. It wasn't her fault Montgomery made her work with him in the beginning, he won a bet to remain her partner after Gina happened, they were undercover that one time that they kissed. She feels safest, most sure of herself, when she's backed into a corner and he knows it, so it's not exactly a new train of thought for him to imagine her and a pair of handcuffs.

Handcuffs just like the ones currently clamped tightly around his left wrist. Only, last time he checked, in his imagination he wasn't usually cuffed to a pole with said detective pacing aggravatedly on the other end of his short chain, wrist bound to his with steel. His knuckles bump sorely against the metal of the pole as her pacing gets too far away to be comfortable for them both, making him wince.

"Beckett will you just stop," he bites out, yanking her toward him with their shackle. She stumbles a little at the jerk, steadying herself on the pole as she levels him with a glare that makes him wish their kidnapper had just taken the liberty of knocking them unconscious. At least then he wouldn't have to suffer through her endless cycles of self-loathing for getting them both caught.

"We have to get out of here," she hisses at him, glancing back up at the locked door above them. They're in some kind of dirty basement, cuffed to a pole in the corner of the empty room, directly opposite the rackety old staircase.

"And how exactly are we going to do that? We are handcuffed. To a pole. Unless you have some kind of crazy stripper magician skills that I don't know about, I think we're going to have to wait until they uncuff us, or Ryan and Esposito figure out that we never came back." He's really more annoyed than worried, these criminals got the drop on them only because there were more of them than anticipated (and the two that had grabbed him from behind had had guns pointed very firmly at his skull). They weren't masterminds or anything, low level thugs that just happened to get lucky, and he knows it's only a matter of time before the rest of their team notices they are decidedly not back at the precinct after a routine scouting.

It's been a long day though, and he's had a lot on his mind. Had her on his mind, and with her every move tugging at his sore wrist, he finds himself a bit at the end of his metaphorical rope for once.

"Don't you write yourself out of situations like this for a living?" she throws at him as she gives the pole another useless wiggle, trying to loosen it from the ceiling it's clearly not going to separate from. He clenches his jaw.

"Aren't you the detective that I base my novels on?"

Her eyes flash at him as she rounds the pole to pin him to the wall with her gaze. She looks like she wants to hit him, but instead falls back on her cutting wit. "This better not end up in the next Nikki Heat book," she says tightly, obviously jockeying for some control in a situation where she has none.

He decides to push her buttons. "But Chained Heat sounds so good in my head."

"Castle," she all but growls his name, and then she's looking at his lips and he's looking at hers and it takes all of three seconds before she's launching herself against his body and her mouth connects with his in a press so frenzied he's almost scared of what she'll do to him.

The groan that bubbles up out of her throat gets stuck in his as their hands clang against the pole in an effort to reach for each other's faces. Her teeth sink into his lower lip for a frustrated moment at the resistance until his mouth opens for her, encouraging her initiative with a hand on her cheek. His thumb brushes her jaw as he feels it working, opening and closing around his lips, her hot tongue sliding into his mouth with a kind of sureness he appreciates.

Arousal pumps through his veins as she flattens her breasts against his chest, pulling him closer by the fabric of his shirt as she kisses him again and again and again until she's suddenly moving backward and shoving him away from her and into the wall. His shoulder blades bump off the rough concrete acutely as he struggles to regain his breath and open his eyes.

"Oh god Castle, we have to get out of here," she groans as she rubs her hand over her face and flattens her back against the wall on the other side of the pole, creating a barrier between them with him left panting on the other side. He knows her first instinct is to run away, to shove as much physical space as is possible between them, but with her hand cuffed to his, she has no such luxury.

Instead of allowing her an easy retreat, Castle breaches the pole line and presses her back against her side of the wall, using the few inches of height he has on her to his maximum advantage. He feels her tug on their restraint absently, but there is no escape for her here. His blood pumps hotly with the heady realization of what he is doing, making him brave.

"Stop running away from me," he whispers to her, staring her right in the eyes. Surprisingly she holds his gaze, eyes widening as she looks at him, really looks at him. He can see the things she tries to hide lurking there behind the jade green of her irises, that openness she's been flirting with since she the summer ended.

She starts to say his name as she raises a hand to his neck, fingers skimming across his bare skin, curling into his collar, but then there's a loud bang on the door behind his back and Castle launches himself back to the other side of their pole. As the door shakes on its hinges, Castle feels Beckett's pinky wrap around his against the wall, grasping for him in the most inconspicuous way possible.

They both stare wide eyed and poised for action when the door finally swings inward, bouncing off the basement wall as Ryan and Esposito muscle their way down the stairs with a tactical team steps behind them. They're yelling Castle and Beckett's names until they spot them in the corner, shoulders slumping with relief. Castle shoots Beckett a sideways grin, happy to be proved right, despite the interruption, and she rolls her eyes at him, raising their linked hands into view.

Esposito catches sight of the handcuffs first, lifting one eyebrow suggestively. "Are we interrupting something?" he asks with barely contained mirth.

"Ha ha ha you're hilarious, now uncuff us." All three boys try to hide smiles at Beckett's obvious discomfort at being handcuffed to a pole (and to Castle) in front of an entire team of cops, but mostly fail as they pass the key around to Esposito to slide into the lock. She pointedly looks all of them in the eyes as they free the two of them, and Castle shakes his head a little bit at how stubbornly strong she is, even while being rescued.

As the two of them trail along behind the other officers on their way back up the stairs and out of the musty basement, rubbing their wrists absently, Castle catches her arm and ducks underneath the steps and away from prying eyes for a moment, pulling her with him.

"What are you – " she starts, but stops when he leans down to pass a feather light kiss over her partially open mouth. They both keep their eyes open as he does it, raking over the other's expression at the barely there gesture.

"We aren't done having this conversation," he says as he releases her elbow, and backs out of her personal space and into the open area of the room. Her head tilts to the side at him, her expression just on the soft side of unreadable. He lets himself smile at her once before he takes the steps two at a time, bumping elbows with Ryan and Esposito as he hears her slowly ascend the steps behind him.

.

Three days pass.

She's been cagey at work, avoiding being alone with him in any capacity. He doesn't think he's ever been on so many canvasses with Ryan and Esposito in the entire three years he's been shadowing her at the precinct. She seems distracted though, like she's really thinking about things and his stomach starts to make elaborate homes for a hoard of butterflies that tickle his diaphragm with hope, so he lets her have a little space.

(He thinks he should change his job description to: Richard Castle, Professional Waiter. And not the food industry kind.

.

On the fourth day, he's in the break room making them both sorely needed cups of coffee when she's suddenly pressed against his back, reaching around him for her steaming hot cup. It's the first time she's touched him since that night, since she kissed him, and it makes him freeze where he stands.

"Thanks Castle," she breathes into his ear as she grabs a spoon and moves to walk away from him. His hand reaches out to stop her before he even registers what he's doing, and as his fingers wrap around her wrist she raises her eyebrow at him.

"You forgot milk," he says, benign words spilling from his lips just to keep her where he can see her. The way she's carrying herself screams make me stay.

"Oh, thanks." She smiles at him with a grateful shrug that has nothing to do with dairy products. When she reaches for the milk, she steals a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She looks nervous.

He feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room.

She finishes pouring the milk but doesn't leave, instead staring out the window at the dark, empty bull pen, thinking. She sets her coffee down untouched after a moment, speaking softly without turning to look at him. "I'm sorry I kissed you…" she starts, picking at an imaginary imperfection on the side of the coffee maker just to have something to do with her hands.

He lets the admission soak into the room, dispersing into every corner as he feels her thinking about what she truly wants to say. His eyes rake over the familiar things there, the coffee maker he bought her, their cups, her. They've spent so much time here over the years, he feels like he should have always known this conversation would happen amongst these things because where else would it happen?

Gathering her courage, she finally turns and looks at him, hands twisting together against her stomach. He knows she can see the question he wants to ask written all over his face. Are you really?

She sighs, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Or maybe I'm sorry that I'm not sorry and I really should be, because I asked you to wait and you don't deserve this." It all comes spilling out of her mouth like she's been holding it in for a really long time and it stings his ears to hear her sound so guilty, but she's not wrong. Neither of them deserves any of this. He just wants her to be happy.

"Did you hear what I said to you, when you got shot?" he asks simply, directly. Her eyes widen at his bluntness, but she doesn't look away from him.

"Yes," she breathes.

He already knew the answer, but he can't help feeling both a bit hurt that she lied and a kind of hot hope that she isn't anymore. This is a conversation they need to have, but for the moment he's content to know that she isn't running anymore.

"Will you go to Ryan's wedding with me?" she blurts out suddenly, catching him off guard.

"As your Cinderella pumpkin coach driver?" Her mouth quirks a little at his jibe.

"Castle, will you be my date to Ryan's wedding?" She's being perfectly clear on purpose, making up for all of her evasiveness in one sweeping gesture he hopes means what he thinks it means. It feels like an apology and an invitation all wrapped up in a little white bow.

Her eyes are shining at him when he reaches for her hand, gently playing with the tips of her fingers as he softly smiles at her. "I would love to."

She grins at his acceptance, as if she really believed he might say no, relief written into the lines of her body.

"Just one thing though…" he says softly as he takes a step into her personal space. He feels her straighten beside him, thinks he can feel her skin flushing at his proximity, intoxicated at the thought that he could probably touch her if he wanted to and she wouldn't stop him. "If you want to kiss me again?" he punctuates each word with a puff of hot air into her ear, close enough for their cheeks to be brushing. "All you have to do is ask."

He breezes out of the room without looking at her face, without even actually needing to because he's fairly certain he could write an entire novel about the way her expression is blooming across her eyes and he likes leaving her speechless more than almost anything.

His coffee goes down his throat warm and comforting as he plops down in his seat next to her desk to wait her out, following her body with his eyes when she finally emerges from the break room. She sits down in her chair without a word, but her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright, and she's humming with the same kind of inevitability as he is.

He breaks the ice, settling back into their routine, setting his coffee mug down on her desk. "I do have one question for you, Detective," he starts, making her flick her eyes curiously to his face. "What color is your dress, because I really need to go tie shopping."

She rolls her eyes at his abrupt change in subject, but he can see the affection in the crinkles at their corners. "Maybe you could help me pick it out," she says with a wink as she straightens a stack of papers in front of her and drops them down in front of him. "Now help me finish this paperwork so we can leave."

He takes the stack with a put on air of inconvenience, and pulls the cap off of one of her pens with his mouth. "If I am expected to do real work, I'm going to need some dinner after this." He lets his invitation float across to her with a raised eyebrow, curious as to their new status quo. He's okay going slowly for her, but he can't help but feel out their new dynamic a little bit.

Her pen stops moving mid sentence, and he can see her chewing on the inside of her cheek to stop from smiling. "Don't push it Castle." Her stomach rumbles loudly before he can even retort, doing his work for him. She rolls her eyes. "Oh alright, finish that stack of papers and I'll take you wherever you want."

"Wherever I want?" the innuendo is dripping from his lips.

She looks him straight in the eye. "Wherever you want."

.

(He thinks maybe their new dynamic is just their old dynamic without all the police caution tape.)

(PS - I might be contemplating a shopping/wedding sequel to this, so maybe possibly be on the lookout for that. I'm writing this on the bottom so that I feel less responsible for it in case I flake out, just so you guys know. That is all.)