Prompted by Becca, prodded by Rhiannon and edited by the awesome WRTRD. (Proof that it takes a village). The prompt is: "Imagine if Castle hadn't shown up with Jacinda and she actually went through with it, telling him right there at the crime scene" (at the start of The Limey).

The Right Time

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
― Lao Tzu

"You hunt murderers for a living, you can do this."

"Okay." She takes a deep breath. "I just have to find the right time."

"No time like the present!"

And that's when his red Ferrari pulls up to the crime scene.

He parks it in the only open space that Kate Beckett sees, which isn't really a parking space at all, just some unobstructed concrete next to the run-down motel. He's rolling up to the crime scene with all the fanfare of an arriving police chief and it rubs her the wrong way.

He's doing it again. He's acting like a jerk, as he has been more than a week.

It's as though he's back to being the Castle she first met several years ago. The cocky, obnoxious womanizer who brazenly disobeyed every rule in the book and got a rise out of her by doing it.

The thoughtful, decent human being she's gotten to know since then has all but disappeared again. It's like Jekyll and Hyde.

Beckett swallows her anger and disdain and asks herself the same questions she's asked herself at least a hundred times already.

What the hell happened?

Is it my fault?

Did I do something?

It's even worse when he steps out of his ostentatious car, wearing a shiny snakeskin-like blazer and looking like he's been up all night. And that thought morphs her anger into hurt and then back to an even fiercer anger.

"Hey there," he greets her casually, as soon as she's within earshot.

But she's no longer in the mood for pleasantries. "You look like you just got run over by a truck."

"Yeah," he quips back. She can smell the stale cigarette smoke on his blazer. "A truck delivering a shipment of awesome. I flew into Vegas over the weekend. Needed a change of scenery."

"And you what? Stayed up the entire time? You look like you haven't slept since I saw you on Friday."

"Sleep in the city that never sleeps?" He shoots her a grin but there's no joy in it. No sparkle in his eyes. "That's a sacrilege, Beckett."

She stops walking towards the crime scene.

What she really wants to do is step in front of him, get in his face and grab him by the lapels of that gaudy blazer and shake him. And then maybe wrap the long scarf she's wearing around his neck.

But all she does is turn towards him. She can't help herself. She loves this idiot and because of it she's concerned too.

"Castle." His name becomes an exclamation and a question, and she channels all her frustration into it, wishing he'd notice, the way he used to notice everything about her. But he doesn't.

"Is everything okay?"

He reacts like it's a silly question. "Never better."

And then he walks off toward the crime scene, ahead of her. Oblivious and indifferent as to whether or not she's following.

That stings too.

She's the cop. She's the one who used to walk ahead of him. Until he became her unofficial partner and they started to walk side by side.

Now she's suddenly trailing behind him. Like some lost puppy.

Beckett doesn't bother to match his pace. In fact, she slows down and that gives her the extra seconds she desperately needs to push their encounter out of her head. To walk into that motel room with one hundred percent of her focus on the dead woman. Because that's what every homicide victim deserved.

Not some frustrated, distracted cop.

She manages to do it too, until Castle makes some inappropriate quip after discovering the victim had checked in less than two hours ago. Something about this being that kind of motel.

Kate bites her tongue and doesn't say anything.

They find the woman's ID and learn that she's a British national, meaning they'll have to notify the British consulate as soon as possible.

The woman's violent death and sleazy surroundings do nothing to mar her beauty, Beckett notices. She's young and pretty and obviously took care to nurture her good looks. There are no telltale marks on her limbs and body to suggest drug use. Or a harsh life on the streets.

I wonder if there were things you left unsaid too. Not that it matters anymore.

Beckett crouches down next to Lanie, who's hovering over the body, and she theorizes that this might have been a one-night stand gone terribly wrong.

Her best friend responds by asking whether she's talking about the dead woman or Castle.

That stings too, and Beckett is already so fed up with it all that she doesn't dignify the comment with a response. What she does do is tell Esposito to contact the next of kin and canvass the local area. And then Ryan interrupts them with a business card from a Manhattan modeling agency. One that's popped up in past cases and which Beckett had always suspected was really a high-end escort service.

It would explain a lot in this case, she thinks.

She tells Castle that they should go there next and then does one last walk through the crime scene just to see if anything stands out.

When she's done and steps into the hallway, she spies Castle from the corner of her eye, chatting on his cell phone, giggling and joking, and it's the last straw.

She's going to get to the bottom of this.

Even at the risk of ruining whatever's left between them.

Because this, this isn't the man she's spent the last three years falling in love with.

She steps into the hallway, next to him. "What the hell are you doing?"

He lifts his brows but doesn't move the phone away from his ear.

"We need to talk," Beckett gets right into his face. "Now."

He's not impressed by her insistence and his eye roll lets her know it, but he ends the conversation. "Listen, I'm gonna need to call you back. But hold on to that idea of the squid- ink risotto…"

After he ends the call, Castle frowns. "What's so urgent?"

"Not here," she hisses. Beckett cocks her head towards a small room a few doors down that holds an ice machine and a vending machine and the offer of a bit of privacy away from all the uniforms, detectives, and CSIs flooding the crime scene. But more important, away from the prying eyes and ears of Ryan, Esposito, and Lanie.

He folds his arms defensively after she steps inside the room, following her only halfway, one foot out the door of the small space. He's letting her know that he's not planning on having a lengthy talk. "Well?"

"There's a dead woman lying on the floor of that room and you're giggling on the phone? What the hell, Castle? This is a murder scene. Have some damn respect."

"Oh…" His lips purse into an O, making his face look as though he's bitten into something sour. "That's rich. You lecturing me on treating others with respect."

The comment puzzles her. "What does that even mean?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. What does that mean?"

It's obvious that he's pissed off about something, she sees it so clearly now. But she still doesn't know what and she's done trying to guess. She's a detective after all, and a pretty good one at that. "What the hell is going on, Castle? Was it something I did? Something that happened?"

For a second he looks like he might come clean. But then he shrugs, noncommittally. "No…it's nothing." He steps back, both feet out of the small room. "Nothing important. Look, I thought you said we're going to that modelling agency where the victim worked and…"

"Not yet," Beckett grabs a piece of fabric from that ghastly blazer, fists it in both hands and forcefully tugs him all the way into the room with the two machines. The grey, metal ice machine is behind her back and the vending machine is behind his, lit up brightly like a Christmas tree.

Beckett shuts the door closed with her legs, and now that both of them are inside the room there isn't much space left. He's standing less than half an arm's length in front of her, visibly irritated.

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Me? What is going with you?" He's angry and there's a malice in his blue eyes that she doesn't recognize. Everything about him is so different lately. The Castle she knows, the one who claimed to love her when she lay dying next to Montgomery's lowered casket, would not be annoyed to be stuck in a small space with her. That Castle would have already made a couple of remarks about how being manhandled by her was making him all hot and bothered.

The Castle she used to know was all too aware of any physical proximity between them. Just as she'd always been.

This Castle though, he looks rough. Worse than tired, he looks bone-weary exhausted, in more ways than one. The bloodshot eyes and the bags that rim them make her wonder if he's slept at all while in Vegas. And just how much he'd had to drink.

And the notion of him having been up for 48-hours sends another dagger straight to her wounded heart.

Up doing what?

So she blurts out the question that she doesn't really want an answer to. Because she's starting to feel like she has nothing left to lose. "Did you go to Vegas to have a one-night stand?"

If he had something in his mouth, he probably would have spit it out. "Excuse me?"

The ice machine makes a clanging noise behind her. Churning out little frozen cubes inside its metal hull, completely oblivious to the drama outside. Her voice breaks. "Just answer the question."

He takes a step towards her, standing impossibly close now. Close enough that the stale Las Vegas cigarette smoke that still clings to him enters her nostrils. "What if I did? What do you care?"

Fuck.

She didn't think it would hurt this much. For tears to start pooling in her eyes. "I care because I love you."

There. She said it. She's crossed the point of no return.

I care because I love you.

The words were barely audible next to the whirring noises coming from the vending machine behind him. Next to the pounding in his hungover head.

But, oh, he hears them. So loud and crystal-clear that he wouldn't have heard them any better if she'd shouted them into a microphone from a rooftop.

I care.

I love you.

A giant weight that he hasn't even realized he's been carrying suddenly falls off his shoulders, making him straighten his back, uncoiling a spring inside him, and he feels oddly lightheaded.

At the same time, her words ease an unbearable tightness around his chest, one that hasn't allowed him to take a deep breath in days.

But he takes one now. Finally. Desperately.

And, for the first time in days, he allows himself to look at her again. Really look at her.

That too, does a number on him, because it's not until he gives himself permission to soak in the sight of her that it hits him, how much he's missed her beautiful, expressive face. One that's full of hurt and anger right now.

"What did you say?" he ekes out the words.

He looks shell-shocked. All the casual cockiness he's thrown at her ever since arriving at the crime scene is gone.

"I love you," she says it again, unable to stop a single tear from rolling down her cheek. She raises the back of her hand to wipe it off but Castle beats her to it. Swiping it away with a single, gentle stroke of his thumb. "I know I waited too long to tell you and maybe it's too late, but I do. And maybe I have no right to feel this way, but when I think of you with someone else in Vegas…damn it, Castle, it hurts. I know I should have told you sooner but I wanted to be…" She searches for the right way to tell him and just for once she wishes she had his gift for words. "More. I wanted to be more than what I was when you told me." She winces at her woefully inadequate way of trying to explain it all, but then keeps going because now she can't stop. Now she wants him to know everything. "I remembered you telling me that you loved me when I got shot. I just wasn't ready to hear it and I stupidly thought you'd wait until I was…ready. But you don't feel that way anymore, do you? I don't blame you but-"

"I what?" He's staring at her now, his blue eyes have come alive again and much to her surprise he's grinning. A giant grin that lights up his face as though he's just won the lottery. "Are you crazy?"

"What?" She doesn't know what to say anymore.

Apparently, he doesn't either, because he doesn't say anything at all when he moves one step closer and pulls her in towards him.

"May I?"

Yes, yes.

He cups her chin, and then inches his hands along her jaw, until his fingers run into her hair and his lips are on hers. Kissing her as though he's waited a lifetime to do it.

He does it so well and it stirs something inside her. She snakes her arms around his neck and kisses him too. Because it feels so good and so natural and she's so much better at showing than telling. Maybe her lips can let him know how much she still wants this.

He doesn't let go after they stop, and she's glad for it. Because she needs him to hold on to her.

"I'm crazy about you," he whispers into her ear. "It's why I've been a jerk all week. Because I was there when you were interrogating Bobby after the Boylan Plaza bombing. I heard you tell him that you remembered everything after you got shot. Everything."

She tilts her head back to look up at him. Still not quite understanding.

"I thought you remembered me telling you that I love you but that you lied about it for an entire year, because you didn't feel the same way."

Oh no.

Beckett closes her eyes and buries her face in his chest. Full of guilt. It all makes sense now.

How could she, ace detective that she was, not have made the connection? Between his behaviour, fuelled by hurt, right after that interrogation? She's been so blind to it all. "Oh, Rick. No. No. I'm sorry…so sorry that I lied. I did it 'cause I'm a coward. 'Cause I couldn't deal with it and wasn't ready for it. Even though I wanted it."

He trails his hand down her side before he finally releases his hold on her and takes a step back. She's so warm now that she wants to reach into that metal hulk behind her and pluck out an ice cube. Then wedge it under her scarf and let it melt, let the icy water run down her spine.

"Guess that makes two of us," Castle tell her. "Instead of confronting you after what I heard. I ran off and assumed the worst. Acted like some wounded high-school kid who just got dumped. I should have known you better than that. At least you had the guts to call me out on my bullshit."

I almost chickened out, she wanted to confess. 'Cause as bad as things were, I didn't want to risk losing even that.

Beckett stares at him, goosebumps lining her arms at the next thought that runs through her head. She wants to know the answer even less now that she did a minute ago. So why do the words pour out?

"You never answered my question…about Vegas."

She sees that he's pondering the answer and it takes all her efforts to put on a poker face.

"Did I go to Vegas to have a one-night stand?" He exhales. "Yeah, I did."

She nods, digging her nails into the palm of her hand, so that one pain might outweigh the other. She has no right to be angry at him for it. They were nothing more than friends and partners before this. All they had was a vague promise made on a set of swings ages ago. One which neither of them ever dared to spell out in black and white.

"I went to Vegas with this intention of getting you out of my system…"

She bites her lip, wishing he'd stop. Why did she have to ask?

He's still standing close enough that he can lean his forehead against hers, so he does. "Doesn't mean I was able to do it. I can't sleep with someone when I'm still in love with someone else. Being hurt and angry and going to Vegas…none of it was enough to make me fall out of love with you."

She widens her eyes, and lets him see the relief in them. It's terrifying, letting him see how vulnerable he's made her. But she's finally willing to take the risk.

"So I drank too much instead. Also, please don't ask how much I lost at high-stakes poker, 'kay?"

A rueful grin spreads across her face and she plants a kiss on his cheek. Feels the growing stubble prick the soft skin of her lips. "Deal."

There's more she wants to say. More she wants to ask.

Mostly, she wants to kiss him again.

But there's a dead body down the hall and a murderer she needs to find and put behind bars. And they need to get out of this room before Esposito and Ryan organize a search party.

She tells Castle as much.

"You said we need to check out the modelling agency."

"Why don't you go home, have a shower and a nap and I'll go on my own."

It's the last thing he wants. After days of forcing himself to put some distance between them, he wants nothing more than to be by her side again. Where he belongs. Partner-in more-than-crime. "I'm fine, Kate…when Alexis was a baby, I once powered through three days on ninety minutes of sleep."

She smiles and he still can't stop soaking her in. He never thought he could be this happy to be wrong. How wrong he was to think that she didn't love him.

"Not doubting you can. But I was kinda selfishly hoping that if you got some sleep and freshened up, you might be up for grabbing a drink later tonight. "

She keeps pouring hope into his heart. "Why, Beckett, are you asking me on a date?"

She hesitates, only for a split second, but he notices because he allows himself to observe her again, the way he used to. "I don't know if…I'm there yet. To do something so normal, like…dating." Her eyes darken, the way they sometimes do when she gets emotional. "I'm sorry…it's stupid. Telling you I love you but not knowing if I can do this."

"Whoah, hang on," He grabs one of her hands and wraps it in both of his and kisses that soft flesh between her thumb and index finger. "Telling me you love me is never stupid. Never ever. And tonight, it's a yes. You can call it whatever you want and we can do or not do whatever you want, okay?"

He keeps reminding her why she loves him. "Okay." She smiles, an excitement flooding through her with the knowledge that tonight won't end at whichever bar they choose to meet up. No matter how late this case keeps her on her feet tonight, unless the world ends before then, their date will end up at her place.

She's certain of it. Because she hasn't wanted anything this badly in a long time.

He pulls her hand up to his lips and kisses it one more time. "I'll go home. Get rid of this nasty jacket."

She grins. "Yes, please."

Then he steps out of the room before she does, and it gives her a few seconds to compose herself. To reach into the ice machine, grab a cube and pop it into her mouth.

Meanwhile, further down the hall, Castle passes Ryan and Esposito standing inside the adjacent room from where the woman was murdered.

"Guys, Beckett says she doesn't need me on this one. Gonna head home and do some writing instead."

They both look skeptical.

"Since when does Beckett not needing you ever stop you?" Ryan questions.

"Maybe get some sleep first," Esposito chimes in. "You look like shit, bro."

Castle grins and ignores them both and keeps walking. Maybe he looks like shit but he hasn't felt this good in ages.

Once he's back in his car, he grabs his cell phone and calls Jacinda, the bubbly, blonde flight attendant who came on to him hard and fast during that four-and-a-half hour red-eye from Vegas. In the end, he gave her his number and she was the one who called him at the crime scene, trying to sweet talk him into dinner at Nobu and he played right along, pretending to be as excited about it as she was.

If it were up to her, she would have followed him off the plane and tagged along to the crime scene.

Thank goodness, he dodged that bullet. He shudders to think of the conversation that might never have taken place if Jacinda had been here today.

So he calls Jacinda and tells her that Nobu is off. It won't happen today, or any other day.

He tries to be kind when he tells her, because letting down anyone never gives him any pleasure.

But it's hard to hide his joy. Even on the phone.

After all, he's going to spend the evening with the woman he loves.

The one who just so happens to love him back.