"Don't worry Castle, I'd get you out."
All he could do was stare after her as his legs suddenly went weak and his mother's words echoed through his mind, "Because that, my boy, is true love." He loved her. He had loved since the moment he had sat across from her on their first case, psychoanalyzing her reasons for becoming a cop and realizing just how fragile and strong she was at the same time. It had intrigued him then, her story. It made him want to know; so he had called the mayor and begun his excavation. What he had found astonished him. She was more remarkable then anyone he had ever known; compassionate, strong, damaged, driven, focused, intelligent and achingly beautiful. With each layer he peeled; each cliff he scaled; each piece of knowledge that he dragged, wheedled, deduced and observed from her, he fell deeper in love with her. It was beautiful agony. He was with her almost every day, working with her, seeing her, smelling her, talking with her, getting the chance to understand her a little more each day. His favorite moments were the ones where they were building theory together, a story, their own little world created as they fed off of each other to create a situation, getting closer and closer together until he could smell her shampoo and feel her breath on his lips. It was masochistic really, but it hurt oh so good; besides, he couldn't stop if he tried.
"You coming?" Always. That word ran through his mind. A parade of devotion that he found was uncontrollable. What came out of his mouth was a half assed affirmation coupled with a quick half-skip to her side as they headed towards the elevator.
She pressed the button as he stood there, still a little shell-shocked. It didn't really matter what his rational mind told him: That it was a meaningless quip in response to a hypothetical conversation with Esposito. All he was able to do was equate "I'd get you out," to "I love you." The doors opened and they stepped in. He had to know. Was it true? It couldn't be true. There was no way it was true. He knew that. But her words had opened a window of hope within him and he couldn't stamp it out. He had to know; had to ask. But before he could work up the nerve to force the words from his mouth she was gone with a quick "night" and the overly loud rhythm of her boots on the ground of the parking garage.