A post-ep/AU one shot thingymabob for cops-and-robbers, co-written written by Ellie (closingdoors) and myself, for reasons I can't remember, but I'm awfully glad we did. I think the original plot for this was Kate shooting Trapper John, but then it didn't appear. Whatever, we ran with it.

The first shot, admittedly, had shaken her up. It had made her heart pound and her breath catch in her throat and she'd pressed the headset into her ear so hard Trapper John's voice was almost inaudible. She means what she says. It's a stupid idea, yeah, for all she knows he's gonna have someone on the door just waiting for her to come in, all guns blazing.

No, she has to be cleverer than that.

The second shot takes her completely by surprise. She thought – maybe – that Trapper John wouldn't do anything, that her threat actually meant something, but apparently not. And apparently now she needs to actually fulfil her threat.

It feels like somebody has taken a white hot poker and jammed it through his shoulder and then twisted it. Slowly. Pain flares through his veins, at first it's like flash paper, takes barely two seconds to reach every single cell in his body before fading, only to be replaced by a slow and steady burn. He doesn't think he's breathing properly. It feels like whatever oxygen he manages to get into his lungs is just leaking out of his body.

But it doesn't help, he feels dizzy and disorientated and there's light bulbs flashing in his eyes. Voices echo in his mind, the pitch high and then low and then damn near impossible to hear and then so loud he feels like he's sitting in front of speaker.

There's a flash of red, just a blur, and then more pain, so much pain, as something hard presses against him. Right on top of the bullet wound. He grunts, tries to push whatever it is away, but instead, strong fingers push him away. Or maybe they feel strong because he feels so incredibly weak.

"Richard, darling, don't fight them."

Oh. That's his mother. He thinks. Everything sounds so warped and terrible and he doesn't think he can bear it any more.

"I've got to go in there and get him." She's staring at the blueprints for the bank in front her, her mind working over time, and she can barely even think past the gunshot that's still ringing in her ears.

"Beckett-" Esposito has left Ryan at Agnes's apartment, joined her at the bank to see if he can be of any help, but so far he's coming up with a whole load of nothing. And she shouldn't be annoyed, she shouldn't be annoyed at him for not having an idea, it's not his fault.

"Don't Beckett me, Javi." She's pissed. She's pissed off, and she's angry and she's itching to go and get the son of a bitch and get him to pay for what he did.

"Do you realise how batshit you sound right now? He's probably waiting for you to come in so he can put a bullet in your head. And that's not going to help anybody, least of all Castle."

"I can't – he shot Castle. He needs medical help."

"That's going to mean fuck all if you get yourself shot too. Do you think he's going to live with himself watching you go through that again?"

That makes her all the more angry. She's never wanted to physically punch Esposito before. Sure, she's rolled her eyes at him, told him in no uncertain words to fuck off, and has hung up on him more times than she cares to count, but she's never once wanted to physically hurt him. Except now she does.

So she walks away.

He's lost count of how many jackets he's had wedged in between his back and the floor. But he doesn't think it helps. He feels loose and wobbly and not all there. His life is leeching out of him, slowly, sure, it's hindered by the mass of cotton and polyester and wool wadded underneath him, but it's not holding it in forever.

Trapper… John, is walking around like everything is fine, like he hasn't just shot him. Except he does keep throwing cautious looks at the doors, like he is actually concerned that Kate is going to walk in through the door and put a bullet in his head. But Kate's not that stupid. She'll come up with a plan. Her, and Ryan and Esposito, and maybe Gates if she's feeling generous will try and work something out.

"Mother-"

"Shh, Richard. Don't talk."

"I need to tell you-"

"You can tell me whatever it is after we get out of here. Katherine will get us out. She'll find a way." The look on her face says otherwise, she's just as worried as he is. It's been an hour, almost, since Kate had come in pretending to be a paramedic, half an hour since he took a bullet to the shoulder and he's concerned that he's really not going to last much longer.

"Everyone – everyone up. Now!" Trapper John is back, talking far too loudly, and he screws up the muscles in his head, relaxes them again, trying to get his ears to work properly again.

To his credit, he does try and get up, uses his left arm to try and hoist himself up, but that hurts, oh that hurts, and it feels like something has exploded behind his eyes, soft and the harsh colours that fade immediately, leaving nothing but a black canvas that sends him spinning down into a deep dark abyss.

It's just one thing after another. She'd been sitting in the tech van on the phone with Ryan trying to get some form of idea of what the hell is going on. But Ryan's sentence is interrupted by the loud explosion that comes from outside. Castle had said there was C4. He'd risked his life to give her that tiny slip of paper, and where others thought he'd been lying, delusional, had made the situation worse through a vivid imagination, she knew he wouldn't do that. There was C4. And now he's probably … they're all … if not dead, seriously injured. And both Castle and Martha are in there, and Alexis is just waiting outside. If anything has happened to them, then what's she got? An absent minded mother who cares more for her career and the latest designer fashion than she does for her daughter. How is she supposed to break that news to a seventeen year old?

"Beckett!" The loud hammering on the door alerts her to Esposito's presence, and she pulls herself away from the desk, pushes her phone into her pocket and practically barges through the door.

There's not as much fire as she expected, just broken glass and smoke everywhere. She doesn't intentionally take the lead stepping through the broken doors, she didn't mean to be first, but somehow she is.

"Castle!"

The smoke has already made her voice hoarse. Or that's what she tells herself. That's what she's going to believe because if she lets herself believe that it's because she's on the verge of tears she's not going to make it through this.

"Castle!"

"Katherine?" It's faint, but it's there. Strong, and clear and somewhere in front of her. That was Martha. She'd recognise that voice anywhere, and she's still the only person she knows that calls her by her full name.

"Martha?" She swallows down the fear that it's not Castle responding, that there's something stopping him from calling out himself.

They keep walking, through torn up bills, broken glass and desks, until they reach the back of the bank. And there, in the place usually reserved for the safety boxes are the hostages. Most of them, safe and sound, except Martha's eyes are red-rimmed, tear tracks down her cheeks, lined with make-up. And there's Castle, lying on the floor. His shoulder is soaked with blood, and his eyes are closed and he looks too pale and too… too dead.

"They had to drag him." Martha mutters, hands clasped so tight together Kate marvels that there's any blood flow getting to them at all. "He tried to get up with they told us to but he just… he just went…"

Kate's never seen Martha like this. Martha is vibrant and full of life and positivity and words of encouragement (whether wanted or not) , and yet here she is, just trying to sink into a hospital bench like she wants to disappear.

"He'll … he'll be okay. Right?" she asks, almost hesitantly.

"I don't know, Martha. He lost… there was so much blood." Her hands are still covered in it. She'd practically straddled him in the ambulance, trying in vain to just keep whatever blood is left in his body actually in it.

"You – I'm sorry – you survived, right? You were shot and you're okay." And that's how she knows how desperate the situation is. How desperate Martha is for her only son to survive. She can understand that. She does.

She wouldn't call herself the definition of okay, but if that's what Martha needs to hear, then she'll go with it. "Yeah, Martha. I survived. I'm okay."

"He loves you, you know." She says, almost out of nowhere, and it shocks her a little. Not that she doesn't already know. No, she's well aware of that. "He told you. When you – you were –"

"I know." She runs a hand through her hair, forgetting completely about the blood on her hands, and then winces when she feels it in her hair and on her forehead. "I know he did. I remember."

"You – he told me…"

"I'm not ready for it yet, Martha. I'm trying to be better, to be good enough for him, to be worth everything that he's ever done for me, I'm trying, but I have to actually be better. I hate lying to him about it. I wish I didn't have to, I wish I could just jump in with both feet and damn the consequences, but I'm not in that place yet."

Martha gives her a look. She can't quite describe that look, sadness, sympathy and maybe a bit of pity all rolled into one. "Oh, Katherine, sweetheart. You're already worth it."

And that stops her heart all over again.

If he could describe this feeling, he would probably use a cloud. What a beautiful analogy. It feels like he's drifting, sometimes at hundreds of kilometres an hour, like he's caught in a gale, and then others so slowly it's like a gentle spring breeze. But he's heading somewhere, there's some kind of destination that he's slowly getting to. He can sense it. See it? Like he knows it's just over the horizon, but the horizon never seems to get any closer.

And then something sends his cloud spiralling in the opposite direction. Like a gust of wind has come from another direction and blown him off kilter. Yet, it seems the horizon is now infinitely closer and he's getting closer. He can almost reach out and touch it.

"Castle?"

"Mmm?"

There's a brief scurry of movement, someone gathering up his hand in theirs. Long, slim fingers. Not Martha's, they're lacking jewellery, same for his daughter. They don't dig into his knuckles or his palms. There's no intense areas of cold metal offset by the warm touch of skin. There's only one other person it could be. Hopes it could be. Kate. Definitely Kate. Who else could pull him out of a haze of… something. This.

There's a brief laugh, a strained chuckle from his mother? And something about how he was never good at waking up and he tries to open his eyes. He doesn't make it far, can barely squint, but he's in a hospital room. Hospital. Right. He was shot.

"Kate?"

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Tired. I think… I might sleep."

She laughs, though it sounds a lot like a sob to him. "Okay, Castle. You sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

And before he's pulled back under and all sense of coherence is lost to him, he swears he feels the feather light press of her lips on his forehead.

It's almost two hours later before he wakes up. Not exactly properly, because his head is still kind of fuzzy but at least his eyes are properly open and shapes and colours are not just blurry shapes. He doesn't feel much pain, which he probably has the morphine to thank. The room is empty, he thinks, but then he turns his head slowly and finds Kate in one of the armchairs. It looks a lot comfier than most hospital chairs he's seen, and wonders who exactly she's coerced into giving it to her. The second thing he notices is that she's asleep. Or looks asleep. Fist pressed into her cheek, hair falling down across her face in a curtain that he itches to just brush behind her ear. The third thing, is that she's taken her shoes off. He's really not entirely sure why that makes his legs turn to jelly, but just her toes curled up in vibrant purple (really, Kate? Really?) socks makes him smile.

"S'rude to stare, anyone ever told you that?"

"I'm injured. I'm using my I can get away with anything card."

"You've got that for a week, and after that I'm allowed to call you out on it." And then she does something he doesn't expect and sits on his bed. Actually sits on his bed. His hip is pressing into the small of her back. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was shot." He grunts, trying to tamp down the itch to hold her hand. "It hurts."

"Yeah, taking a bullet tends to do that." She does it for him, holds it in her lap, and his fingers curl around the dark material on her leg, fingertips on the inside of her thigh. She still hasn't changed out of the paramedic uniform, and she looks down at it, cogs ticking over in her mind. It's just another stark reminder of the day and he wishes she'd changed out of it.

"Kate?"

"I thought – when he shot you, I thought…"

"If it helps, so did I."

He doesn't mean to make her cry. He really doesn't, but a lone tear tracks down her cheek, followed by another, and then another until they're almost unstoppable. She doesn't even try and wipe them away, just lets them fall. He can feel them on his hand. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –"

"No, it's… okay. It's okay. I'm… glad you're okay."

There are so many things he wants to say to that, but he keeps them trapped, lets them tumble around in his mouth and make his tongue swell. He won't push, can't push. Not when Kate's cradling his hand in her lap and her tears are dripping down onto his skin and she is being so open and willing and – vulnerable, somehow. This may be all she can give. And that's okay. He understands. He does.

She shoots him a watery smile, a little splintered at the edges and it shocks him. How deeply she's hurting, how much she's revealing to him. God, he's so grateful he lived, no matter how the bullet felt like it was burning its way through his limbs – there would've been so many regrets, so many missed chances. Kate.

As his fingers twitch in her grasp at the thought, she takes a stuttered breath, glancing up at him almost shyly.

"Castle, I – "

"Daddy!"

A shock of red hair blurs through the door as Alexis rushes in, tears sparkling in her blue eyes as she stops beside his bed. Instantly, Kate slips his hand from her lap, slides from the bed. He wants to ask her to stay, but his chest is getting tight thinking about dying and leaving his daughter behind almost the same age Beckett's mom died, so he holds his arms out for his daughter even if it hurts because he just needs to hold her and breathe and holy shit he almost died.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and lifts cheek from his daughter's hair as she sobs into his chest, mature bravado dissipating in his arms. Kate's smiling at him, mouths see you later and he nods, suddenly struck still as he notices the blood in her hair. His blood.

But when he catches another glimpse of her purple socks, he can't help but smile.

As soon as he hears the knock on the door, he's bouncing up from the couch energetically. The phantom pain in his shoulder is gone now, no more than a purple bruise left, and he can't help but skid on his socks to prevent himself almost running into the door.

Kate's biting her lips when he opens the door. Yeah, she totally knows he almost just went running head-first. He shrugs, stepping back to invite her in, doesn't hide how ecstatic he is. His last PT session was yesterday and she's not on call, so this will be the first time they've spent together without his mother or Alexis worriedly hanging around, without spending fractured hours together between his sessions and her work after which they are both too tired to really speak.

Plus, she's been a little more handsy, lately. Brushes her fingers across his shoulders, skates them along his hands in the few moments they've been spent together since he was shot.

"Hey," she says warmly, letting him help her take her coat off. "How're you feelin'?"

"Awesome," he says chirpily, watching as she raises her eyebrows. "Seriously. I feel normal."

Beckett hums, and soon they move over to the kitchen counter, where she slides onto a stool and watches him as he automatically begins to make her coffee. Just how she likes it. Normal.

Except – that look in her eyes. So warm. Has it always been there?

When he slides her mug along the counter, her fingers brush his a little more than necessary, making his eyes shoot to hers. She stares back brazenly, smiling a little, unashamed. He doesn't know what to do with that, so he gestures to his study, "John Woo marathon?"

"You promised popcorn."

"It's all in there," he assures her, watching her bite her lip.

"Relax, Castle," she says, laughing as she follows him into the study, where his TV and couch await them. "I'm kidding."

It'd been her idea - the John Woo marathon, popcorn, just the two of them hidden away in his study, so that they wouldn't be disturbed when his mother and Alexis returned from their spa day. Something which had taken him a lot of convincing to go on, and it hadn't been all too willing on Alexis' part.

But he needs this. He loves his mother and his daughter – but he loves Kate too, even if she's forgotten.

He'll help her remember.

Settling on the couch, he watches as she flicks through his John Woo collection before finally choosing Hard Boiled. She rests the bowl of popcorn between them on the couch and curls her feet up beneath her after kicking her boots off, revealing white socks this time. It's not until the title menu music begins playing that he reminds himself to look away from her.

Twenty minutes into the movie, she asks, "Are you sure you're okay to watch this?"

"Of course," he replies, a little unsteadily.

"I'm not saying everyone's the same, but I know that when I was shot, I didn't want to see blood for a long time after. And John Woo is pretty bloody," she points out softly.

Right. Her shooting. Three months without her –

She's here now. That's what matters. And she's concerned about him.

"I'm not going to lie, Beckett, it was – it was terrifying… Thinking about what I wouldn't get to do if I'd died – "

"Don't think like that," she says firmly. "Just. Don't, Castle. Look, we'll turn this off, watch something more lighthearted – "

"No no, if you wanna watch this, go ahead. I don't mind, I need to learn to cope with this. Right?"

Kate reaches for the remote and pauses the film, staring at him as though he's grown a second head. No. He has not screwed this up. She cannot leave. He finally thought that, well, maybe, there was a chance that maybe there's something there, something that's triggered her since the moment he was shot to be more open with him.

"Castle," she murmurs, eyes wide and dark and vulnerable. "Do you really think I wanna watch this, when you were shot just weeks ago?"

He swallows, hears it echo throughout the room, and shakes his head slowly.

"Because you'd be wrong," she rasps, "you'd be so…"

She shakes her own head, hands limp in her lap as she turns her head away from him, using her curls to hide her profile. After a moment of tense silence, he hears her sniff, and then watches as her shoulders begin to shake infinitesimally. Oh, shit. He's made her cry. Again. He really did not mean to do that.

"Kate. I'm sorry," he says softly, reaching a hand out but hesitating.

She shakes her head again, fisting her hands in her lap and finally he rests his hand on her shoulder, gives it a comforting squeeze. Her breath stutters at that and she turns back to him, all bloodshot eyes and blotchy cheeks and it breaks his heart to see her this way, especially knowing he's the root cause of this.

"Do you have any idea what it's like," she says slowly, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands, "to keep on failing the person you – you care about the most?"

The words shock him, rendering him still and she continues talking, just breaking his heart again and again.

"When I was shot, you had the chance to at least try and save me. You had my back, just like you always do. And then I pushed you away and you didn't hear from me for three months. I go one day without hearing from you now and I have to talk myself out of rushing over here to check on you – "

"Kate."

"No, let me finish, okay? This is important," she says stubbornly, and then she does the last thing he expects. She slides their hands together, weaving their fingers through each other's and caresses his digits with tender fragility. "When you were shot, I had no chance to even attempt to save you. I wasn't there. I couldn't try. Hell, I didn't even know at first. Do you have any idea what that was like for me?"

"No," he answers softly. "I don't. But it wasn't your fault, okay? I'd never blame you."

She sets her jaw, bloodshot eyes livid now. "But I didn't have your back, Castle. I wasn't there, I was far away and holding back when all I wanted to do was dive in."

His breath hitches. "Kate… What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying – Castle, I don't want to hold back any more. I don't want these walls. I want to be a better person, I want… I want to have the kind of relationship I've always denied myself. Castle, I lied. I remember Montgomery's funeral, my shooting, what you said, all of it. And I'm so sorry I lied, Rick, I could explain to you why or how but it sounds pathetic even to my own ears. And if you can find it in your heart to forgive me…"

He's overwhelmed, dizzy with it, his palms sweaty in hers. Part of him wishes to snap them away from her touch, look away from her dazzling and pleading eyes, and tell her to leave. The betrayal stings deeply, revealing wounds in him that he didn't know existed – didn't want them to. God, how could she lie? After everything they've been through? After how much he loves her?

But she… wants him. She's ready.

They've almost died too many times for lies to matter anymore.

"Say it."

Her brows furrow in confusion. Clearly not what she'd expected him to say. "Excuse me?"

"What was it I told you when you were shot?"

The blotchiness of her cheeks is replaced with a deep crimson, an almost embarrassment, a warmth. Her fingers tighten around his and he notices the large rise and fall of her chest, the light in her eyes, the hope.

"You told me you loved me," she whispers.

"And I still do," he replies.

Her smile is so wide, so bright; he almost loses it then and there. "And you forgive me?"

"I'm… Kate, I'm angry that you lied, but near-death experiences give a little perspective to the important things in life. And if you're willing to break down those walls, why would I hesitate to jump at the chance to break them down with you?"

Kate shoves the bowl between them aside, spilling the popcorn all over the floor but he doesn't get the chance to comment on it because then her hands are on his cheeks and her lips are on his.

It makes him freeze temporarily, and then he wraps his hands around her waist, pulls her closer, soft and gentle like her kisses. A juxtaposition to their first kiss in the alley – tentative, shy, honest. It makes his limbs feel like they're melting as she builds a slow burn between them; this shy version of Kate Beckett is unlike anything he's ever known, but he gladly accepts it, accepts her, because a large part of him is still unable to accept this is actually happening.

Suddenly, her tongue swipes against his bottom lip, hot and wet as she lets out a huff of breath that should not sound nearly as sexy as it does. The invasion of her tongue is welcome; he lets her have it, especially since she slides one of her long legs across his lap until she's straddling him, fingers knotted tightly in his hair as they shift for a deeper angle.

"Kate," he grits out when they part for breath, her forehead pressing against his cheek.

Biting her lip, Kate covers his hands with hers, drags them beneath her t-shirt. Dancing across the dip of her waist, the scatter of her ribs, the lace of her bra, until she slides their joint hands beneath the clothing and he's cupping her breasts in his hands. Her mouth falls open, eyes falling shut as the feel of his hands on her skin.

"Are you sure about this?" He whispers, barely managing to get the words out.

She nods, hands leaving his to toy with the bottom of his shirt, eyes opening to meet his, sharp and certain. "More than anything," she whispers back.

He catches her lips with his again, a little rougher this time, and it's worth it. She arches into his touch, humming softly, undulating her hips in his lap. Castle groans, sliding his hands away from her breasts and revelling in her grunt of protest, smirking into their next kiss. Then his hands slide under her rear, squeezing her ass and it makes her jump, easing him as he stands up with her legs wound around his waist.

"Not doing this only the couch," he explains, moving towards the bedroom.

Kate grins, scattering kisses against his jaw. "What about the desk, stud?"

He groans. Shy Beckett's gone, then. "Another time."

She chuckles into his skin, and then he lays her on the centre of his bed. Daylight filters through the windows, setting her cream skin golden, her hair fanning around her like a halo, cheeks flushed. He's imagined her so many times here, in this bed with him, but never has he envisioned such a beautiful sight as the one before him now.

And he hasn't even gotten her clothes off yet.

Quickly, he divests her of her t-shirt, desperate to find her skin. She twines her hands in his hair as he latches his mouth to one breast, sucking against the rough lace (purple) and making her moan. The sound shocks him, arouses him, makes him glance up at her to find her watching him with dark, wide eyes. Different to anything he's ever known.

When he pulls her bra from her skin, he's struck still for a moment at the sight of the scar residing between her breasts. He leans down carefully, fingers tracing it for a moment and kissing it once, twice, three times. She's here. She's here. They're here.

She pushes his shirt from his shoulders once he's done, saying nothing, but her fingers are tender and gentle against the rough skin marking his bullet wound. He has to fight against jerking away from her touch at that, and she notices, unshed tears lurking in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Don't be," she replies, propping herself up on her elbows to kiss him. "I understand."

He sighs, pressing his forehead against the naked skin of her shoulder. She traces her fingers up and down his spine, slow and sensual, a little comforting, whispering words into his hair that he doesn't quite catch, but the sound of her voice is melodious to his ears.

Finally, she cups her hands underneath his chin, forces him to look at her.

"Touch me, Castle," she says, commanding and intimidating, eyes fierce and dominant.

His fingers ghost against the soft skin of her waist, slow and melancholy, eyes focused on her scar. He almost lost her, once. He couldn't save her.

"Touch me," she commands, pushing him away from her at the same time, a contradiction.

She shoves her jeans down her legs, peeling her socks off after, revealing tanned skin that makes his mouth dry, and then when she settles down on the mattress once again with him above her. Staring straight into his eyes, she settles her hand above his, and drag them down her abdomen. His breath catches when he realises what she's doing, and it's then that he knows that being shot wasn't the most dangerous thing that's ever happened to him – no, this single most erotic action to have ever happen in his life with Kate Beckett is going to leave him dead. He's not going to survive this.

She slides their hands over her panties, hers on top, so his palm can feel how damp the material. He groans as her breath stutters, their hands circling a few times before she dips them beneath her underwear.

She's wet, slick, hot. Everything. She moans a soft oh, tilting her head back, biting down on her swollen lips and he almost comes as all of his senses overload at once, his fingers exploring her as she leads him.

"I'm alive," she whispers. "I'm here."

He groans, dipping two fingers inside of her and revelling at the undulation of her hips, the sharp breath she draws in, her hand going slack atop his own. Then he drags her wetness up, around, circling her clit and observing the way that she likes it – small, tight little circles that cause her hips to jerk, her legs to widen in ways that seem impossible. Shit. Shit, he's so dead.

But what a great way to go.

The grip she has on his hand tightens when he dips his fingers inside of her again, pumping steadily and she lets out a soft, sensual moan that goes straight through him. He grins the heel of his palm against her clit, her moans getting louder, less ashamed, and he can't stop watching her, her face, the way her she bites her lips and the way her eyes flutter and the hand she has clutching the sheets beside her.

Her eyes open and he can tell she's close, because her breath is coming in short little pants now and her hips are jerking relentlessly under his touch, her lips swollen and red from his kisses and her bites. She reaches for him, pulls him down on top of her and letting out a cry before she comes, kissing him fiercely while she pulsates around his fingers.

Castle lets her ride it out, fingers gentle in her until she's too sensitive to bear it, pulling away from her to watch.

When she opens her eyes, she grins at him, wide and brilliant, making his heart flutter wildly. She's looking at him like that. It kills him.

"Kate, that was – "

"I know," she interrupts, and then flips him, straddling his hips with a wicked grin. "But I want more."

He gulps, closing his eyes and breathing carefully as she leans down, presses kisses as she travels down his chest. Her hands rid him of his belt in an instant, flicking the button of his jeans and sneaking beneath his pants to palm him through his boxers. He groans, can't help the way his hips buck at her touch, and she chuckles mischievously.

He lifts his hips for her when she tugs both his pants and his boxers down, leaving him naked and then she shimmies her own panties away, leaving them both naked and vulnerable for each other for the first time.

His breath catches, his hands travelling her skin as she maps his own, hunger in her eyes.

"You're beautiful," he breathes, watching the slow blush that spreads across her cheeks.

"You're not so bad yourself, Castle," she murmurs, leaning down to kiss him slow and sweet.

Snaking a hand between them, she wraps her fingers around him, pumping him slowly. His fingers tighten against her waist and he sits up, unwilling to stray too far from her skin as she lifts to position him.

"Kate, protection," he mumbles into her neck.

"On the pill. And clean," she whispers.

"Me too, but – "

"I trust you, Castle," she whispers, kissing him again, and she's making his heart flutter in so many ways that he doesn't protest again.

And then she sinks down on him, enveloping him in her heat inch by slow inch, and he's not sure which one of them is the one that groans the loudest, he just knows that he is so fucking dead right now, so in love with her, Kate Beckett, can't get enough.

Kate drapes her arms around his neck, nose nudging his and chests brushing as she rolls her hips torturously. He makes some sound – doesn't know what, can only focus on her – and she smiles, eyes light and buoyant and she moves slowly and purposefully.

His arms wrap around her waist, worshipping her skin. His lips glance against hers, the corner of her mouth, scatter kisses across her jaw, the smooth column of her neck. She presses kisses against his own jaw as she does, reverently, like collecting stardust, and he thinks that perhaps it's corny, but they could create that, the two of them, here like this.

"I'm alive," she repeats, a little short of breath, adding: "You're alive."

Her hips move faster now, a little inconsistently but it's everything, she's everything, everywhere, tight and hot and wet and so fantastic. He's going to die. His heart is going into overdrive. This is it.

Her nose nudges against his, breath mingling. "We're alive. We're okay, Castle."

He chokes on a sob against her neck, his hands cradling the angel wings of her shoulder blades. Can't stop the words flowing out of his mouth, needs her to know.

"I love you. Shit, Kate, I love you so much."

She laughs a little, but when he looks up at her moving above him she's crying. "Thank you."

He thinks it's a ridiculous thing to say, but then her hands cup his face fiercely, kissing him for all it's worth. He wriggles a hand between them, only has to circle her clit once before she lets out a strangled oh, God, beautiful and magnetic and flawless as she falls apart around him, pulling him with her.

Castle collapses on his back, out of breath as she lifts her hips, shuddering when he slips out of her and he thinks she's going to roll away, but she tangles her legs with his and rests her head on his chest, lets him cradle her against him.

"I'm really glad I didn't die."

Kate laughs, surprised, nails digging into his ribs, words soft and meaningful. "Yeah. Me too, Castle."

He takes a careful, measured breath before he speaks again. Needs to make sure he doesn't push her away.

"This – this wasn't just an I almost died thing, right? This wasn't just a one-time thing?"

Her fingers reach up to curl around his ear, and she settles her chin on his chest, watching him softly.

"I told you once that I was a one and done kind of girl, Castle. And, if you'll have me," she takes a deep breath, "I'm done."

He smiles down at her, smooths a hand along her back and his heart almost stops because she's just absolutely extraordinary, she is everything, all he's ever wanted. And she's here.

"I told you, Kate. Always."

She smiles, affectionate and adorable, and hooks her pinky finger with his.

"Yeah," she breathes.

A beat, and then:

"And by the way, I love you too."

He sweeps her up in a kiss before she can say anything more that will ruin him, smiling against her lips the whole time.

KT: There's not a lot I can say about working? Writing? Whatever-ing with Ellie other than the fact I hate her (I don't) and she should stop killing me (she won't), but honestly she is one of the most loveliest people I have ever met and she's crazy talented and everyone should appreciate her a lot. I love writing with her, it's always an educating experience, and I have never been more happy to discuss Castle and Beckett smut at a very loud volume on a train. (Sorry, if you were on that particular Chester-Manchester Piccadilly train) (Except not).

Ellie: I have wanted to write smut post-cops and robbers since I first saw the damn episode, so there are no words to explain how happy I was when KT and I concocted this little gem on a train a month or so ago, with added angst. Also writing KT is always the best. Because she's the best. But don't tell her I said that. Thank you for reading and venturing into this little one-shot with us.