He stands before her door adjusting the weight of his backpack slung over his shoulder, wincing a little as the padded strap pinches his skin. Finally, after 2 plane changes, 4 cardboard-flavored airline meals, and 3 in-flight movies, he's made it. He crunches on the last of his mint before rapping on her door lightly, feeling the bubbles of nervousness float around his insides. 8 weeks.

It's just after 7:30. He thought about calling in advance, he knows there's a possibility that she's already left for work. Her morning routine is almost inflexible, rolling out of bed by 5:30, often before the alarm goes off. She's not a morning person, but she's just that disciplined. After a quick run or cardio workout at the gym, she showers and is out the door by 7:30 at the latest. He still wishes she hit the snooze button more often, but it became quite clear early on in their relationship that she isn't much of a cuddler in bed. He does occasionally manage to sneak in a session of steamy morning sex here and there (which takes the place of her cardio of course), but that's been a rarity and even then, he always initiates it.

Despite this, he knows that they click physically. This has never been a concern for him. And it's not that she doesn't show affection; she's very dutiful in that regard. She holds his hand when they go shopping or to the park, snuggles on the couch when they watch a movie, kisses him goodbye before she leaves for work on those mornings that they actually stay the night in one another's bed. No, it's something else that nags his brain while he watches her sleep beside him. It's the substance of their relationship, how he can't sink his teeth in just yet. Like a perfect double crust pie straight from the oven; cut in too early and you'll find the warm filling running in every direction. Be patient, let it set; otherwise it's just one big flakey mess. And so, he had been patient.

To be fair, she told him up front that sharing isn't her strong suit. And true to her word, the emotional and more personal aspects of their relationship are about 5 steps behind the physical even 6 months in. They slept together long before she finally answered his question about why she became a homicide detective, finally giving him an answer after the 6th or 7th date. "Because their families deserve to know the truth, no matter how sad or painful it may be. I find the truth." He remembers how he had admired her so much in that moment, had wanted to coax more out of her. But she had expertly derailed the conversation with a taunting grin. "…and, I always wanted my own set of cuffs." That was just before she used them on him.

This lack of emotional intimacy frustrated him those first few months, but slowly, very slowly she had opened up and he finally felt like they were making some progress. The morning before he departed, she had told him that her mother had passed away several years ago. No mention of how. But he was okay with that, especially since she had stayed with him in bed well past the alarm, cuddling in lieu of cardio.

Communication since then has been spotty at best. Mostly some emails. He could count the number of phone calls on one hand, the number of minutes that each lasted on two. Their conversations were cordial, bordering on stiff at times. He sensed the distance in her voice when they talked and while he wanted to attribute this perception to the fuzzy connection of the long distance call, unfortunately, the warning bells still rung clear every time she ended the phone call first. And she had done just that-end every phone call first.

He sensed any progress they had made on the emotional front being wiped away each day he was gone, so he wasn't too upset when his trip had been cut short by a couple of weeks due to some funding issues. He needed to get back to her.

The last conversation they shared was nearly 2 weeks ago and she had seemed especially tired that night, the hoarseness of her voice telling him more than her words. She simply said it had been 'a particularly difficult case' that day. When he asked for details, she relayed in vague terms that she had shot several men to protect the lives of her colleagues. She avoided most of the case's specifics, but somehow he sensed, even across the thousands of miles that separated them, that she was teetering on the edge, wanting to divulge something more. He had tried to search online about the shootings, but the internet overseas had been just as erratic as their emotional connection.

He knocks on the door again, this time with more force, waiting a few seconds for any response. He sighs when there is none and starts to turn away, assuming she's already gone. But he stops suddenly as he sees a shadow move from behind the painted glass of her front door. His heart surges a little. She's there. The door swings open and he smiles at the look of shock on her face. He knows she hates surprises, but he thinks she probably won't mind it so much if he is the surprise.

He lets the bag slip off his shoulder to the ground, moving to gather her in his arms for an embrace before she even has a chance to take her hand off the door knob. He wraps his arms around her lifting her off the ground slightly and murmurs into her hair, still warm from the blow dryer. "God, I'm so glad to be back. I missed you."

"What… what are you doing here?" she questions. Her jaw hangs down in astonishment. She knows 'happy' should trump 'shock' in this situation, so she smiles even though he cannot see her face because that's what she's supposed to do. He's her boyfriend that's been gone for 2 months. That's what girlfriends do. Her nerves kick in then. Butterflies? No, more like hornets.

He takes a few steps inside her apartment, setting her down so he can see her face, still plastered with a smile, keeping his arms wrapped around her.

"We finished early. Financial stuff didn't play out." His fingers lift the ends of her hair and he swiftly moves them up until he has the back of her neck in his grasp. "You look so good. Your hair's gotten even longer," he whispers.

She knows what's coming next by the intensity of his gaze and she wonders why she's suddenly dissecting every aspect of this moment. It should be so natural; she should want to kiss him. But instead of feeling swept up with emotion, she feels almost indifferent. Indifferent when he presses his lips to her mouth, mumbling words of affection into her lips. Indifferent when he caresses the curve of her spine with his hand and starts to back her towards the bedroom.

She knows it's wrong to feel the way she does, she just can't help it. She focuses, willing her body to feel the passion that he so evidently does. She deepens the kiss thinking that the familiar zing will come, but instead she is met with the taste of his favorite green tea mints on her lips. He might as well stop right there because, though her body remains in his embrace, her mind has escaped and is running towards the memories of that night outside the warehouse, to his taste that lingers in her mind. Even though her eyes are closed, she tightens her lids trying to banish the unwanted visions of her partner's face, the knowledge of his taste, touch, smell, sounds that have haunted her dreams over the last 2 weeks.

Her efforts fail. The mind triumphs over her body and it is fooled for a few seconds by the memories of that stolen kiss that surge into her flesh. She unintentionally pulls his lip into her mouth and he moans in response, sliding his hand down her body, untucking one side of her shirt. Her stomach sucks in as his fingers slide around to her pant button, and her body awakens to the reality of what is happening and how fucked up this whole thing is. She pulls him closer to prevent him from getting any farther into her pants, but he's a surgeon. He's used to fitting his fingers in tight spaces, and he makes quick work of the button and zipper. She's really struggling now as her mind is bombarded with images of his hands, so adept at typing, and how he'd probably be just as quick, if not quicker, given the chance.

That's when she breaks away before it can go any further. She runs her hand over her hair and smoothes her shirt down, forcing a smile.

"I'm sorry, I can't right now. I need to get to work." She pulls her hair back and ties it up into a messy ponytail with the hair tie on her wrist, avoiding his eyes the whole time.

"Oh, come on. I've been gone for 2 months. Can't you call in sick or something? I really want to spend the day with you… catching up." There's a pleading tone to his voice that they both despise.

"I really can't, I'm sorry," she says apologetically. "I was just about to head out. Maybe if you had called…But look, you've gotta be jet lagged, so why don't you go home, get some sleep and call me when you wake up. We can catch up then. " She kisses him softly, caressing his neck, because she knows she should. The hope vanishes from his eyes and part of her wants to go with it, hide away from the reality of how she feels. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."

He sighs, thinking 'isn't that the understatement of the century'. He knows she's already made her mind up, so there's no use arguing.

"Yea, okay. Guess I am beat." He pulls her close and feels her tense slightly, almost imperceptibly. Something is more off than usual, he just doesn't know what.

A/N: I just couldn't help myself from writing a post-kiss fic. This is gonna be a two or three-shot only at most, cause I need to updated my other neglected stories ;) . Since we don't know Josh at all, this was kind of different and fun to write. Also felt different from my usual style, in a good way (I hope!).

Castle/Beckett next- should be up soon. Thanks for reading! -KB