A/N: I do plan to update daily, I'll try to keep the timeframe for updates as constant as possible. If I won't make the update time, it will be posted early not late.

Seems ff continues to wreak havoc with new stories so I'm reposting. Sorry to those who've already read, reviewed and altered - but the link appears to have died.

Disclaimer: If I owned them, for this, I would be in strife.

1st February

She turns the packet over in her hands for a third time. Reading the elaborate font for what has to be the fifth or sixth time. She can remember every word.

It hasn't changed.

It's not going to.

She doesn't care. It's just a delay tactic. She'll admit that. It's just another opportunity for her to regard the post-it folded against the clear plastic, the soft yellow a stark contrast to the chocolate behind it. She hasn't unfolded it to read the message, not yet. She knows exactly who it's from. She'd known before she even read the label, but the contents of the packet had confirmed her assumption.

When she's even read the warnings about disposing of the packaging correctly she knows she has to open it, that turning it over in her hands to begin the process again is a bit much. It's just a bag of coffee beans, chocolate-coated coffee beans, but still just coffee beans.

If she keeps gripping the packet tightly in her hand, palm a little clammy from the thick plastic, the chocolate will begin to melt under the heat of her hand. She's certain she's thinking about this too much. It's just a gift from a friend to tell her he found something, discovered something he thought she would enjoy. He knows her well enough to know she'll enjoy them, she doesn't doubt that. She wants to call and ask, but that's not the way they work. It's never been the way they work.

She wishes it was. She wishes she could just ring her partner and ask why he's left a simple little gift, completely out of the blue, for no reason at all, on her chair at the end of the day. But she can't do that. Doing that would probably force a conversation about her being on his mind, or one of the many other equally awkward issues they don't discuss. So she won't.

She'll have to work it out on her own or not at all. She just needs the why. Sure her love of coffee is apparent to anyone who's ever met her. But that can't be the only reason. There has to be something else, Richard Castle is not a man who doesn't have a reason. Especially when it comes to her.

She is sure she's had this particular brand before, maybe she mentioned it to him at a point in time she doesn't recall and he's remembered, brought them on a whim as a silent reminder he pays attention. That is one of a million possibilities. She knows tossing around wild theories without evidence is not conducive to finding the answers she needs. Such wild theories are his domain. Her theory may not involve aliens or secret agents, but it is much the same as one he would toss out during a case. A theory she would chastise him for and point out with vigour and insistence that there is no evidence to support it. Except she has the evidence she needs to establish her theory, find her motive. She just can't bring herself to touch it let alone open it.

She really should read the note.

But she's been flicking her gaze to the grinder on her countertop, filled with safe, regular beans and to the machine she automatically clicked on when she came in the door and headed to her bedroom (an unconscious, cursory check of her apartment on the way through) to unclip her piece and secure it away. It's a habit she's fallen into, without considering that it is too late at night to be drinking coffee. But he's put it on her mind and that's where it is staying. So she either needs a cup and to forget the beans she picked up from the place she'd left them on the counter, gripping too tight with her fingers, or she needs to read that note and enjoy his gift.

At least if she opens the packet and eats one, it will sway the craving for caffeine she's had since she found them. She doesn't have to read the message to do that. Though she should, he would want her to. The message may be related or it may not be. Who knows how his mind works sometimes. It's too hard to know.

She stares at the piece of paper, folded so carefully on the bag so that at any angle you can't see it unless you remove the sticky edge from the packet and unfold it. It's got finality that she's not quite open to just yet.

Sure she'd tried the sneak peek tact originally, standing in the middle of the bullpen just after she'd found it, left there for her, waiting patiently for her return. She'd been down in the records room, filing everything away, signing off on it. She'd arrived back upstairs to find him gone for the night and the bag resting in her chair, nestled just into the side of her coat so passersby wouldn't notice it unless they were actively searching. But she'd seen it, almost as soon as she stepped off the elevator. She'd felt the vibration of her phone earlier, shaking next to her leg as she waited on the clerk to acknowledge everything was in order. She'd realised then he may have an explanation. Night, was all he'd typed out to explain his departure, not even acknowledging the bag awaiting her. She didn't bothered responding right away, too intrigued by the suspicious package on her chair to stop and respond.

She cuts the corner of the bag with the pair of scissors she keeps by the phone. The strong smell of coffee fills the air and she take a second to inhale it, like she always does whenever she opens a fresh bag of beans. Except this time it's different. The smell of chocolate is just as overwhelming. The twist of the scents, the way they weave together and tangle their way through the air, finding their way to every particle she inhales, into the electrons of every atom.

She pours the beans into a plastic container designed to keep food fresh. The bag won't keep them long, even though she only cut the corner. But that's not the issue. She wouldn't bother with the container if they weren't round little balls, threatening to roll away at the slightest shift. She'd rather not have to chase them across the floor if she drops the packet. She plucks a few of the larger ones into her hand before she closes the lid, pressing down on the seal. She tosses the container onto the top shelf in her fridge, watches it slide along the cool rungs and come to rest against a take-out container from a week ago. She really needs to do some shopping on her next day off, maybe clean out the cupboards. But they're entirely different issues.

She pulls the post-it off the packet as she balls it up to toss into the trash. She really should take care of that as well. But right now she'd rather shower and scrub the day from her skin, change into something comfortable and curl in front of the television or read until she can't keep her eyes open. Maybe on her way back through she'll cross that off her list.

She walks back into her apartment, heading deeper in, toward her bedroom. She tosses an oddly shaped chocolate ball into her mouth. The bitter pop of the coffee bean as she bites down sends the familiar bitter twang through her mouth, more intense than an espresso shot but still familiar. The twang only shocks her tastebuds for a second before the chocolate joins it, soothing the rough edges created by the coffee before she swallows.

She shouldn't eat too many of these at a time. She actually shouldn't be eating them now. It's too late for coffee. It's not that it stops her sleeping. It really doesn't. But it does give her vividly weird dreams. It's like he's brought her a personalised brand of caffeine tablets. For her use only. Maybe he has.

She really should unscrunch the note from her fist, probably already melting into the chocolate coatings slightly.

It doesn't matter.

She leans against the doorjamb of her room as she opens her palm and studies the note again, now wrapped around one of the chocolates, forming a tight ball.

She takes the chocolate from the middle and pops it into her mouth, slides her tongue over it, soothing her mouth before she bites through the hard chocolate to pop the coffee bean within. She untangles the mess the note has formed as her tongue lulls from side to side over the sphere stuck up behind her top front teeth.

She bites the bean as she flattens the note against her palm, deliberately having unfolded it so it would be face down. She regards the ruffled paper as she swallows the remnants of the confection. She's created herself another obstacle, another delay tactic.

Touching her tongue to her teeth she rests her head against the wall. This should not be this hard. It should not terrify her to find out what he's said. It's just a joke gift – she's sure of it. He'll tease her about a love for coffee and for chocolate, that she can now fill both in one place. It's not untrue, but she thinks there may be an implication in the gift. What that is exactly she doesn't know, and she isn't not going to find out staring the blank side of the piece of paper down, as if it has wielded a machete and held her team hostage. It hasn't. It has certainly got her gut clenched as if it has though. Maybe it's just her hostage.

She pops another into her mouth. This time she doesn't prepare her tongue for the bitter assault of the coffee, she just bites down straight away, barely letting the chocolate coating even touch her tongue, not long enough for the taste impulses to return to her brain.

She flips the note as she does. No hesitation. If she can basically handle that bitter twang from the bean then she can certainly handle the note. She holds her breath despite herself.

She can't take it back now.

Whatever he's said can't be that bad. She doesn't absorb the words, just notes how it is just a post-it, a jotted note, not a proper message sprawled in front of her tumbling onto the floor as it reveals it's depth to her.

She swallows the third bean, relieved.

For when I'm not around, to save the boys.
I've heard about your withdrawals.
I know you still don't use that machine.

She throws a fourth bean into her mouth, this time taking the time to suck on the chocolate, soothe her tongue. She reads it again, the words didn't change.

She doesn't have withdrawals, does she?

She wouldn't know.

Neither would Castle.

He is always passing her a coffee. There is never enough space between them for her to crave more, for her mind to realise it has been caffeine deprived.

It's his fault, even if she is having withdrawals when she doesn't get a caffeine fix it is his fault. If she's not nursing a cup of coffee it means Castle isn't around. She's pretty sure he started it to keep himself busy, out of her way a little, a small compensation for all the skills he was lacking. Except now he's been hovering in the precinct for so long, part of her team for years, that when he isn't around she neglects to fill the gap he leaves, coffee included. Even when he is there he always arrives at odd times, so it is unpredictable and she can't rely on a steady fix. But she never refills her own cup anymore, she doesn't bother. She's been shown how much more efficient it is when it falls into someone else's hands. So she barely notices on days when he's too busy that she waits for him to come waltzing through the door and pass her a cup. She avoids the precinct sludge and hasn't quite worked out the coffee machine yet. She'd been too proud to begin with and now it's too late to ask. She should look it up online and fend for herself the next time he's out. It would surprise them all. Pigs will fly before she gets a chance to work it out. But that's okay, generally the boys notice her empty cup and add it to their rotation, so it's not like she goes without for very long. At least she used to assume they noticed the emptiness, maybe they had noticed the withdrawals. She feels a little guilty.

She sighs and leans off the doorjamb, popping the last two beans into her mouth, biting through one and sucking the other for a second before biting it as well. Letting the tastes overwhelm her and distract her from her doubts. If the guys minded they would have said something, so she shouldn't dwell on it. She'll just have to make an attempt to buy them a cup when she goes down to get her own, put in some effort, show some extra gratitude.

She puts the note on the bed and proceeds to undress for her shower, covering the paper in her clothes. His words will play on her mind if she doesn't distract herself from them. She hopes she'll forget about it, for now, and just admire the fact he'd thought to give her something so simple, something he knew she'd like. She still can't remember if she's ever mentioned chocolate coffee to him before. It can't be ruled out. He does know of her intense love for coffee and her stereotypical love for chocolate, so even if she didn't share the leap isn't unrealistic. It's not. It's just he shouldn't be giving her gifts, not for no reason.

It's not her birthday.

On her birthday he hadn't given her a gift. He'd only given her a coffee and a bear claw. Granted, he had written 'Happy Birthday' around the circumference of the mug, adorning it with balloons and streamers. Given, the fact it was large enough that the others would see if they so much as glanced at the mug in her hands (she'd downed that coffee in record time). She'd gotten a rendition of Happy Birthday from a few of them and a few jibs. He'd just smiled smugly at her when she glared at him through the day, whenever it came up. If it wasn't for him she'd have gotten away with a few quiet greetings from her closest colleagues.

But he hadn't actually given her a gift. Sure it was a gesture, an effort. But it wasn't a material possession. This felt like it had a weight to it. She supposes it does, he's showing her he's looking out for her even when he's not around.

At her birthday she'd suspected he thought grievous bodily harm would result from a gift, an unspoken threat carried forward from the years before. She knew she'd meant it then, but she's not sure that she'd follow through this year in particular. The statement just didn't hold the same weight anymore. It seemed he realised that too. Maybe he was just making up for a missed opportunity.

She doesn't know what he expects. But she'll heed his unwritten advice and take some of the beans to work with her to provide herself with a burst of caffeine to curb any withdrawals. She won't stop herself carrying out that threat though if he feels the need to discuss withdrawals with her.

She decides as she ducks her head beneath the torrent of water that she'll just take it at face value and take it for what it is: a simple gift from her partner.

A/N: If only she knew my plan. Thoughts? Feedback?