Disclaimer: The only thing I own are my mistakes.

Her therapist once asked her if she was more afraid of him waiting or him not. At the time, she had waffled and met his question with the classic level of deflection that had served her well for so long. When she thinks about the question even now, so many months later, she's still reluctant to answer; still reluctant to face what she'd always known the answer to be.

She's chicken-shit scared. She knows that as well.

Tonight, though? Tonight she needs to ball up and answer the damned question. Tonight she needs to stop hiding behind her fear, her need for self preservation and protection. She needs to stop pretending that the wall she's been cowering behind is anything more than gravel at her feet. Tonight she needs to take the risk she's been too petrified to take.

Tonight? Tonight she's going all in and staking a claim on what's been hers from the beginning.

As confident as she is, however, that this is her stand, (all false bravado and liquid courage aside,) she's not entirely certain she'll walk away the victor. In fact, as much as she knows that this is her raison d'être, she's equally certain that her moment of truth has arrived too late and she's about to lose everything anyway.

Talk about self-fulfilling prophecies, she snorts into the remaining three sips of her vodka tonic.

Finishing off the remnants of the tumbler at her lips, she laments that the day had started off so well. She'd woken on her own to sunshine warming her face, moments before her alarm was set to rip her (most days, so unwillingly) from slumber. She was well rested; and opened her eyes feeling a sense of contentment that the start of a new day rarely, if ever, graced her with. Most days started with a quicksandy struggle that never seemed to abate until a certain author presented her with a certain cup of coffee and a smile. And even then, the sense of suffocation only lessened slightly. Most days, he was the only thing keeping her from sinking into the unending abyss, but only by mere threads.

Today, though? Today she was refreshed. Today there was nothing weighing her down. The previous evening, the team had solved the case that had been toying with them for days. She had slept restfully through the night (a rare occurrence nowadays, she was loathe to admit) and she had arisen to face the dawn without the normal pains that usually plagued her. This morning, she had prepared for the day with an ease that she hadn't felt in many years. And she looked damned good to top it all off.

She had arrived at the precinct early-but not depressingly so-enough to beat the boys there (and Castle, as well, but that was hardly surprising,) and settled into the after case paperwork without much thought. Half an hour later, the aroma of a grande skim latte (two pumps sugar free vanilla) brought her out of her paperwork and a smile to her face. The fact that the latte was accompanied by Richard Castle was beside the point.

"Thanks, Castle," she'd said, hiding her smile behind the rim of the takeaway coffee cup.

"My pleasure, Detective," he'd replied, fully aware of the smile she was attempting to conceal, and gave her one of his own. "So, what's on the agenda for today? A body found in the middle of a field, naked, positioned in such a way that the obvious conclusion is alien abduction? Or, ooh, ooh, even better, surrounded by a group of men in black that lends credence to a CIA cover up? Or, no, even better than that, the body is of a millionaire industrialist who was killed off by his family because he claimed he was abducted by aliens and was going public with it and the family heads couldn't bear their name being disgraced in such manner that something just had to be done about it...and the crux of it? The cherry on top of that homicidal sundae? The butler did it. How awesome would that.."

"Paperwork, Castle. Just paperwork," she'd replied, cutting off his tirade before it got even more farfetched.

"Oh. Well, that's hardly entertaining. I like my idea better," he'd sighed.

"As that may be, even if we had a body, what is the likelihood that it would fit your scenario anyway?" she'd asked, straight faced (but just barely so) with a raised eyebrow.

"Meh. Details, Beckett, details...So just paperwork?" She'd nodded to this. "Oh, the trials and tribulations of the public servant." He'd stated (and was rewarded with an eye roll) and pulled his pad of paper out of the top drawer of her desk and started scribbling.

She'd observed his actions with amusement. Curiosity had finally won out and she'd hesitantly asked, "What are you doing?"

To which he'd replied, "You have your paperwork," his hand gesturing over her desk without lifting his eyes from whatever he was doing, "I have mine."

And with that they'd contentedly settled into the morning, both absorbed in their own tasks.

The day had started so well.

Damned near perfect, in fact, before spiraling so far out of her control that she wonders, while signaling the bartender for a refill, if that was also an illusion. She'd thought she'd been in control of their story. That, while she was determined to not yet give into the question asked of her, she was equally convinced that the answer she eventually gave would be their happily ever after. She'd been sure they were on the same page, or at least getting there, waiting for her to catch up (as unfair to him as that situation may be) so that they could start their next chapter together. And, as much as she wasn't yet willing to admit that she wanted him to wait for her, that he was the one and she was almost definitely done, (for fear of what that particular revelation, and the subsequent owning of it, would mean) she was doubly certain that he felt the same.

Well, she was, at least, until just before lunch that afternoon.

AN: Okay, so here's the start of something-not quite sure what-but something nonetheless. I have a the vaguest idea of where this might be going. Mostly, though, all I have are just individual scenes floating around my head space but no real clue of how to string them together in any coherent manner. The next chapter is partially written, but updates will probably be slow, so patience is appreciated.

Cheers.