Clearly, I'm crazy. Yes, I've decided to publish this story while I still have two unfinished projects sitting in my hard drive. What do I do when I get stuck? I write other things that don't get finished. It's a vicious cycle. But enough about my madness.

I've had this idea in my head for a while now. I know it's not going to happen this way on the show, but it's an approach to the Castle and Beckett relationship that I've never seen written, so of course, I couldn't resist sharing. Just in case you find it more confusing than I've anticipated, the large portions in italics are flashbacks. EDIT: I've added page breaks in between the flashbacks after finding that the italics weren't showing up on mobile . Hopefully, this makes things easier.

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Shut the front door.

She knew the secret would have its repercussions when finally coming to light, but never in her wildest dreams did she think this would be one of them. It's like the metaphorical plug had been pulled from the figurative dam. And now, she's drowning.

He'd taken the news surprisingly well. She understood why; he'd had his suspicions for a while. She had expected the initial anger, the feeling of betrayal. But then, he'd made a resolution; he was going to turn her deceitful lemons into twisted, guilt-tripping lemonade. Bastard.

The morning after her confession was supposed to be filled with uncomfortable silences and awkward glances. She was prepared for discomfort and awkwardness. What she wasn't expecting is the mug of coffee sitting on her desk, bright and early, and the note attached to its handle.

She's hesitant at first, but the steaming liquid smells so good…

Mmm, it tastes good too. The sticky note is crinkled in her hand, but she doesn't want to read it just yet. For now, she's wondering when in the world he got up in order to beat her here. It's just past six in the morning and the precinct is slow moving. The boys aren't even in yet. Maybe they finished their paperwork the night before. Maybe they have better things to do in the early hours of the day before a body drops. She doesn't allow herself to dwell on her pitiful lack of a social life.

When did he leave? The coffee is still warm. Or is he still here?

She can find out. She can read the note. Her heart says, "Don't do it. It's a trap," but her brain says, "Man up." She goes with her brain. The yellow note unfolds in her palm. His familiar scrawl brings an affectionate smile to her lips.

Kate-

Make a record of it. April 17, 2012: The Day Richard Castle Beat His Workaholic Counterpart to the Precinct. I have a few things to take care of this morning, and that's why I couldn't stick around. It's just some boring, best-selling author stuff.

She shakes her head. He'll never really change too much. The thought is as comforting as the cooling mug in her other hand. Still, she's surprised that the little letter is so genial given the recent occurrence. And she should probably be more hung up on the fact that he referred to her as her "counterpart," but she figures she owes him a little lenience after last night

It's nothing too important though, so be sure to call me if a body drops. Wouldn't want to miss out on anything Beckett-flavored.

Is that supposed to be a double entendre?Because it feels like one; but maybe she's just reading into things…or going crazy from having parted on such odd terms the eve previous. He managed to fit a lot of writing onto such a small post-it. She continues.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy your coffee. Don't work too hard. Oh, and remember that eating is not an optional part of the day.

Her breath catches in her throat, and she nearly drops her porcelain cup because the place on the note where his signature or a neatly initialed 'R.C.' normally would have been is filled up by something entirely different.

Love you.

And that was it. Fortunately, a body didn't drop, so she wasn't forced to see him and, in subsequence, strangle him. Or kiss him silly. It would have been one of the two. Unfortunately, a body didn't drop, so she was forced to stew over those three game-changing, no, life-changing words by herself for a little longer.

They get a call the next day in the early afternoon. It's a body between 3rd and Lex. Her thumb hovers over his name for thirty seconds before she chickens out and asks Esposito to give Castle a ring. He offers her a strange look in response, but doesn't ask questions. For that, she's grateful. Her boys know when not to pry.

She drives in her Crown Vic behind Esposito and Ryan down to the scene with dread in her stomach. She never thought the day would come; a day that she would actually be scared to see him. Nervous, sure. Hesitant, why not? But scared? No; she never expected such intense fear to ever be associated with the prospect of seeing him. At a crime scene, for God's sake. It was a mistake. She shouldn't have asked Espo to call. But it's too late to turn back now.

She gets out of her car, and her heart leaps into her throat. There he is, looking irresistible as always in a crisp, burgundy button down and a clean cut suit, leaning up against a squad car with that infuriating smirk on his face. Of course; he would beat them to the crime scene. Damn him.

It takes all of her efforts not to jump back in the car and get the hell out of Dodge. One step at a time, Kate. She brushes past him and goes straight to the ME who's crouching over the vic.

"What've we got, Lanie?"

"This guy," she points down at the man splattered on the pavement as she stands, "fell down from up there." Her finger gestures up to the fragmented, fifth-story window of the apartment complex. "Dead instantly. Cervical fracture. Not to mention the fact that his skull probably hit the asphalt at roughly seventy miles an hour."

"Yikes," her partner hisses, joining the conversation. "Talk about a rough landing. No chance of suicide?"

She finds her voice in sarcasm. Yes, sarcasm is safe. "He crashed through a window, Castle. What do you think?"

He gives her a skeptical look. "Hey now, let's not jump to any conclusions. We don't have any proof that rules out suicide yet."

She's surprised that he of all people, the King of Conspiracy Theories, is considering the possibility of suicide. He's right about there not being enough proof, but she's in an arguing mood, and it's all his fault anyways, so she lets him have it. "There are a lot of easier ways to commit suicide. And besides, Mr. Observant, wouldn't it be simpler just to open the window?"

He considers her words. "Touché. But that's not nearly as dramatic. Maybe he was craving attention."

"You would know all about that."

He's supposed to be getting pissed, but instead, it seems her thinly-veiled vexation is egging him on. "Beckett, Beckett, Beckett. You're forgetting something. There are easier ways to murder people. Why would a killer want to make such a scene? Maybe this guy was just tired of thinking things through, tired of being so careful all the time. Maybe he decided it was time to stop thinking and start acting."

Really? He's going to go about it that way? "Yeah? Well, maybe the killer didn't come up to the apartment with the intention of sending our victim hurtling through glass. Let's say he comes up with a Glock 19, trying to do things the old-fashioned way, but then our vic bolts. He runs toward window, they struggle, end of story."

"Well, why wouldn't he run to the fire escape instead? Why would he make such a silly mistake? Was he trying to get himself hurt?"

What the hell? That's it! She's had enough. "Well MAYBE, he was just SCARED, Castle."

Her breaths are coming out in little, ragged pants, and he's just looking at her with a level of smugness, but his eyes are weighed with regret that maybe he pushed her to close to the edge.

"What's gotten into you two?"

Both the detective and her partner recoil, suddenly remembering that they're not alone. Her response of a furious "Nothing!" is in unison with his more noncommittal "Nothing at all." She glares daggers at him, but he doesn't flinch.

"Esposito!" her demanding bark has the ex-military detective at her side in seconds.

"Yeah, boss?"

"What have we got on ID?"

She spends the next few minutes cooling down, going over information with Ryan and Esposito. The victim's name is Henry Walborn, thirty-seven-year-old attorney for a firm specializing in real estate and bankruptcy. He's recently divorced, and she makes a mental point to start the questionings with the ex-wife.

They're heading back to the precinct, and he's right at her heels. She turns, and he holds out the coffee in his hand like a peace offering.

"I'm going to, uh, catch a ride with the boys. Ryan's been bugging me about one month wedding anniversary ideas."

He's suspiciously fidgety, but she takes the coffee with a raised brow. "Okayyy."

He runs in the direction of the other two detectives with a shout of, "I call shotgun!" answered with the sound of Ryan's whines. She can't help but chuckle as she raises the drink to her lips, but then, something catches her eye. It's a flash of red that turns out to be a little heart sharpied on the lid followed by the letter 'U.'

He's just mocking her now.

She throws the cup in the nearest trashcan she can find.

Anyone could have seen that cup in his hand, and they would have suspected…what they've already suspected since forever. But that wasn't even the worst.

The case turns out to be a quick close. One more day, and the killer is revealed as none other than the ex-wife's new boyfriend, suspicious that the divorcees had been reconciling behind his back. Once in interrogation, he folds like a deck of cards.

"Told you it wasn't suicide."

He looks at her with a gentle smile. "You were right. But either way, it's still a boring case."

She teases back. "What? A simple homicide isn't good enough for you now, Castle? There isn't always some sort of conspiracy. You'll have to start shadowing someone in the big leagues for that."

"And leave you high and dry? Never." He says it like a jest, but there's only seriousness in his eyes. She shivers at the sight.

"So…" She clears her throat. "Got any plans tonight?"

"Not unless you're offering."

Is she offering? She knows what will happen if they go home together tonight. She won't be able to fight it any more than he will. And he's not even trying anymore. No, he's not fighting. More like, embracing. Is she ready for that? She hasn't even talked to Dr. Burke since…since she told Castle the truth.

"I think I'm just going to go home and relax. I, uh, haven't really been able to sleep much lately. But maybe some other time."

"I'll hold you to that."

His eyes flash down to her lips. He tilts his head down and leans in. She begins to panic. Not here. He can't possibly kiss her right here in the middle of the precinct for the whole world to see. He won't. Will he? As he nears, her eyes fall shut and…

"You smell nice."

He brushes her hair over her shoulder, trails a fingertip down her bicep, and then backs away. That's it? That's all he was doing? Smelling her hair? It shouldn't be such an alluring action, but she feels the prickles of temptation wash over her. Maybe she wanted him to kiss her instead of leaving her "high and dry" without even leaving at all.

"See you tomorrow," Castle says with a nod, and she dumbly nods back, feeling a little lightheaded. She should sit down. But before she does…

"Oh, and, Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

There's such conviction in his eyes. Her mouth falls open in shock, but then he turns and keeps walking. He's in the elevator without looking back to catch her reaction, and then her partner is gone. She nearly falls backwards onto the corner of her desk, but reaches out to steady herself just in time.

What the hell?

Gates' door is closed, so there's no chance she overheard his proclamation, but the boys? The boys are looking just as flabbergasted as she feels, and she knows; they must have heard.

Esposito recovers before Ryan who's starting to look a little like a deer in the headlights, staring at her like she's a giant eighteen-wheeler barreling his way.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Beckett?"

Her cheeks flame up, and she has the urge to whip out her gun and shoot him where he stands. But then, Ryan would be devastated. Probably would keel over right there. Way too much paperwork.

"I'm going to kill him," is all she can manage.

And suddenly, she has to leave. The air around her is closing in. She grabs her jacket and makes a dash for the door. The elevator is too slow; she'll take the stairs. Soon, she's in the parking garage, in her car, sniffling into her cellphone.

"Lanie, you have to help me."

Originally, this was going to just be a oneshot—I was going to wrap the story up nicely before the flashbacks started getting longer and out of control—but I'm really open to writing more. I have ideas for at least another chapter or two. But since I have other projects going on, I'll leave the decision up to you guys. More? Review and let me know. :)