a/n: Because Carrie decided to come up with this banging end of the season spec which has absolutely no basis in spoilers or anything, but we want it to happen so badly that it prompted me to write this. So think of this as an imaginary alt season 4 ending/summer between season 4 and 5. Will be six chapters (EEP MULTI CHAP FIC!)

(one)

The loud sound of a newspaper smacking down onto Beckett's desk makes Castle flinch, his shoulders slumping into himself as his eyes cautiously make their way up to the scowl darkening his partner's face. She looks livid.

"Beckett?" his voice comes out slightly strangled, mind flicking through any of the multitude of things he could have done wrong since she crawled her way out of his bed at five o'clock that morning. Since all he had done was sleep a little bit more and bring her coffee, he's not sure even he could have messed that up enough for the amount of disdain she's currently channeling in his direction.

She flips the page of the newspaper with one finger, gesturing to a pretty good sized picture on the right page, above the fold. Above the fold on page six.

Oh.

It's a picture of the two of them, of course, which is why Beckett's pissed. They're in the park, she's tucked snugly into his side, face turned up into his because they're kissing and man he cannot believe they got busted by the paparazzi and he didn't even notice. Well he can believe it a little, both of their eyes are closed in the picture, the definition of completely wrapped up in each other.

"I'm…sorry?" he starts, pretty sure that groveling isn't going to hurt his cause. He had thought they were being relatively careful, so aware of her aversion to the press.

"Castle," she hisses as she sits down in her chair, rolling it dangerously close to him so she can whisper yell in his face. "I thought you said you were having your people keep us out of the press."

"I was!" he whispers back, sliding the newspaper closer with one finger and tracing the line of her face with a soft smile. It really is a good picture of them. "I am. I told Paula that we are absolutely not commenting on it, and she's doing her best to keep it quiet, but Beckett even she can't control what comes out on page six." When he finally looks back up from the page, she's staring at him.

"Do you want me to frame that for you?" she deadpans.

His eyes glance back down to the picture again, smoothing out the creases. "Well, no, it's black and white and this copy is wrinkled…maybe I could get them to give me – " she cuts him off by snatching the paper out from under his hands, "…the original." His voice trails off as he watches her crumple the paper and shove it into the trash, thinking perhaps she was not being serious about that question.

Just as he thinks she's about to drop it, leave the crumpled paper in the trash and pretend she never even saw it, Ryan and Esposito come strolling into the precinct, walking right past her desk. She can't see them, but Castle can, and he holds his breath as the devious grins on their faces turn to words.

"Read the paper this morning guys?" Esposito says, voice dripping with barely restrained laughter.

"Real page turner," Ryan chimes in, and then Castle watches as Beckett's eyes slide closed, jaw clenched, right hand crushing the pen she's holding. Ryan must see the look on his face because he scurries off, leaving them alone again.

She opens her eyes to glare at him. "Oh come on," he says, trying to lighten her up. It's not entirely his fault, anyway. "You did let me kiss you in the park."

"I let you kiss me in the park, is that really what you're going with?"

Before he can dig himself out of that hole, Beckett's phone rings and she dismisses him with a flick of her eyes.

He slides the trash can farther under her desk with his foot as she scribbles the address of a crime scene on a sticky note and hangs up.

.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Beckett asks as he tries to slide an arm around her waist as they idle in the shadows of an alleyway waiting for a cab later that night. He pouts at her, withdrawing his hand. It was mostly an accidental gesture, but he doesn't like that he can't touch her in public without her flinching and thinking about who might be watching.

"You don't want to be New York's new reigning queen of the tabloids?" he teases, tugging on her belt loop before shoving his hand into his coat pocket. She is apparently notready to make light of the situation.

"Stop being a jackass or I'm not going to let you touch me at home either."

"Beckett, Beckett, don't make promises you can't keep." She rolls her eyes at him and moves to walk away, but he catches her elbow with three fingers and she stills, looking him in the eye. What she sees there must be enough to give her pause, because she tilts her head, examining him in that way she does.

"Castle?" she asks, all traces of her former annoyance gone from the low timbre of her voice.

"Does it really bother you that much?" he asks in a voice cut with a vulnerability he doesn't usually reveal. "That people know we're dating?" He doesn't drop his fingers from her arm.

Her face goes soft at his question and she steps closer of her own volition. " It's not about people knowing we're dating. I think half of the precinct thinks we've been dating this whole time anyway." He smiles at her attempt to lighten the moment with a joke, usually his turf. Maybe he's rubbing off on her more than he thinks. She runs a hand through her windblown hair, and he can tell she's trying to gather her thoughts.

"Then why does it bother you so much to be on page six?"

"Do you know what it's like being a woman in such a male dominated field? A detective? A gooddetective?" She doesn't wait for his response. "It's taken a long time for me to build up respect at my job, to prove myself, and pictures of me kissing you popping up all over the papers does not help me come off as a serious cop. That's why I was upset."

His face falls a little at her explanation. He's glad it's not necessarily an issue with their relationship that has her so irritated, but he never wants to be the one making her life harder. At least not in any way that really counts.

"Castle," she says softly, drawing him in with the tone of her voice. He flicks his eyes from where they were trained on the brick wall behind her to the yielding planes of her face, settling there familiarly. One of her hands moves to rest against his cheek, a gesture that means more because of who could be watching, who she is aware could be watching. She doesn't really have to speak when she's looking at him the way she is, eyes shining at him the way he only ever sees when they're alone. Warmth blooms in his chest as her thumb gently traces his cheekbone, and he watches her mouth as it opens and she begins to speak. "They'll get tired of us eventually, right?" she breathes, trying to sound hopeful and dismissive, for him, he knows.

He quirks his lips at her as he moves forward a little bit, quite sure that if the tabloids had any sense they would put her on the cover of every publication ever because how anyone could not see how completely magnetic she is absolutely boggles his mind. Of course, he wants her all for himself, so he hopes they never do realize what's walking around right under their noses, someone who is making the papers because she's attached to him and not the other way around. If he were an insecure man, he might be worried. His eyes drift to her mouth as he feels the fingers still on the inside of his elbow squeeze down a little bit.

"You really want to kiss me right now, don't you?" she says lightly, mouth quirking because she knows he does, and he really does, want to kiss this woman standing in front of him, beautiful and strong and smart and his. Or at least as "his" as she would ever allow.

"Can I?"

He watches her eyes flick to the side for only a moment, checking to see if they're alone, he's pretty sure, but then she's back to looking at him and only him and the look on her face seems to project a fuck it kind of vibe which only makes him want to kiss her more and so he does, lurching forward just enough to pull a kiss from those pretty pink lips. It's soft, too soft for her liking, teasing in the way that he tugged it out of her and gave nothing in return and so she uses the grip she still has on him to pull him closer, to kiss him properly, much too thorough for a street corner in the middle of New York City but he's never been one to shy away from public displays of affection, certainly not when they are being pulled from his mouth one intoxicating tug of Kate Beckett's lips at a time. He groans lightly as she sweeps her tongue across his bottom lip like a promise and then pulls back just enough to rest her forehead against his, breathing sharply and humming softly.

Her eyes slide open to look at him, all warm and dark, unfocused and focused on only him at the same time. He loves it when she looks at him like that. Just as he's about to lean back in, capture one last kiss from her still wet lips before their cab arrives, he hears a sharp thunk and then before he realizes what is happening, Beckett's eyes completely lose focus as he feels her go limp in front of him, dropping to the ground. He's dazed, still too caught up in her nearness to process what is happening in real time as his hands shoot out to catch his slumping partner, confusion making his heart thump wildly as he struggles to stay upright with the dead weight of her. The dull thump he heard moments before echoes around in his brain as he tries to swallow his panic, his mind immediately flicking back to a grassy cemetery and the sharp sound of a bullet ripping through the flesh of her chest, her heart. Bile rises up his esophagus at just the thought of her being injured again, and his eyes move from her face to search wildly around the alley in an attempt to gain any kind of understanding at what is happening, but he doesn't have to look far. Standing right behind Beckett is the looming, shadowy shape of a man in a dark sweatshirt, holding the barrel of a gun, the butt of it clearly having just struck the back of his partner's head.

He wants to flinch back, to put himself between Beckett and this man, but he doesn't want to let her go. He opens his mouth to ask who are you but the question dies on his lips as the man steps closer, the light from the street lamp reflecting off his familiar features, a face that has haunted him for more than a year. His grip on Beckett tightens, but it's useless, the man raises the gun again, striking Castle across his temple, sending him reeling against the brick wall at his back and to the ground, hands suddenly empty as he feels the damp gravel of the asphalt against his cheek. His vision gets black around the edges as he struggles to keep conscious, as he watches the man grab Beckett by the arms, hoist her up and across the sidewalk to a waiting car, away from him. The man's face is the last thing he sees as he finally slips into the blackness, panic clawing at his stomach so sharply he feels like he would vomit if he could control any of his muscles.

That face, Jerry Tyson.

The triple killer. 3xk.

And he has Beckett.