Set during "47 Seconds" and continued through "Headhunters". Pre-"Always".

These lines of events are vastly overdone, but here is my version anyway. Hope you enjoy. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Castle. Obviously.

Broken
Part One: Castle

There was no amnesia to hinder her memory. The traumatic event of her shooting left her broken, but it didn't take with it her account of the day. She remembered every second.

Her words tore into him, ripping their way through without abandon as they thrashed around inside him. The burning trail of their path left a hole within his chest– much like the bullet did to her those seven months ago. The only difference was that his wound was internal, a bleeding heart that no one could see, and he would make sure to keep it that way – unseen by any who would look too close.

The devastating loss was quickly overtaken by anger. A deep, boiling rage threatened to consume him, and he trembled with the effort to control it. He couldn't stay in the precinct, couldn't face her knowing what he now knew. He gave a quick excuse to Espo and left without a backward glance. Too restless for a cab, he decided to let his feet take him wherever they chose. It helped a bit to feel the slap of hard pavement underneath the rage of his march, as though he was beating out his anger through each stomp. His thoughts were a jumbled, painful mess, and the walk was a nice distraction, but his frustrations required a more vocal outlet before they devoured him whole.

He needed to talk to someone, someone who would give him the advice he needed whether he asked for it or not, someone who knew everything about his relationship with Beckett – he needed his mother.

He found her at home, and with one look in her direction she was by his side, knowing there was something wrong. He asked her to come with him somewhere, somewhere he needed to be, and he would explain everything. She commented on the morbidity of his needing to be at a bombing memorial, and he agreed, but he also reasoned that the atmosphere was similar to his mood and therefore necessary. She rolled her eyes at his dramatic behavior, telling him that Beckett wasn't dead.

No, but she might as well be. She betrayed his trust, his loyalty.

She had lied to him. But why?

At that moment he realized: She had to have been embarrassed for him, by him. By his declaration of feelings that were obviously deeper than what she could return. What a fool he had been, waiting for something that would never be and probably never had a chance in developing. He'd wasted four years pursuing a woman who only thought of him as her partner and nothing more. She could have at least given him the decency of letting him know she wasn't interested, instead of stringing him along like a lost puppy, destined to forever chase after the unattainable if not for his accidental discovery.

Why didn't he see the signs before? She pushed him away so many times, and he just kept coming right back, eager and more determined than the last – a twisted form of masochism that was always more pain than pleasure. He really thought they had something between them, or at least that something more could grow.

That day on the swings so many months ago came flashing back, bringing with it the hope and longing of beginning a real relationship with her. Was he really so infatuated that he only assumed she was talking about him? Was it only his overactive imagination that invested more into her friendly and warm behavior toward him, her effortless smiles and those lingering touches than was really there?

They cared about each other. They were partners – best friends even. And yet, perhaps that was all they were ever going to be.

Why else would she have kept his proclamation of love secret for so long?

Well, she wouldn't have to worry about guarding her secret anymore. Kate Beckett was fairly adept at putting up walls, but now it was his turn to start building his own defenses against the beguiling detective. He was going back to finish the bombing case, and he was going to prove his mother wrong – emotions could be controlled.

However, he soon discovered that his intentions to remain impartial proved more difficult than he thought. He didn't seem to have any control whatsoever over the anger that laced within his words and expressions. He caught himself glaring in her direction on several occasions and found himself struggling to contain the hardness in his voice, even within his short, clipped sentences.

Then again, perhaps by only allowing those emotions to show through, maybe no one would notice how much pain was pulsing right along with every irregular beat of his broken heart…

After the case was finally over, the three detectives and he were standing around Beckett's desk discussing their plans for the night, and Beckett had asked if they all wanted to get a drink. When the boys declined her offer, she turned to him with one of her shy smiles and he knew he couldn't survive the night with just the two of them. So he did what he didn't ever remember doing once in the entire four years of knowing the detective: He turned her offer down and then walked away.

He needed to just get out of the city. Some place where nothing reminded him of her—

Vegas.

It was exactly what he needed. Honestly he didn't remember much of his trip. There were flashes of all different types of bars, casinos and women, but the images that most often played through were the bottoms of glasses – highball glasses, martini glasses, lowball glasses, Collins glasses, any kind of glass one could name, he saw the bottoms – especially shot glasses. Lots of shot glasses.

Sooner than expected, he began to fall back into his playboy ways, finding it oddly cathartic and a much easier method in attempting to forget his deep attachment toward Beckett. He even found a new seductive friend on the flight home to help with his sexual frustrations. The blonde was fun, flirtatious and completely straightforward with what she expected a relationship with him would entail.

Yet he still couldn't fill the emptiness within him.

He was broken.

And he knew the only person who could mend him was the only person who refused to acknowledge anything was wrong.

Well, okay, she did ask once or twice, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much her betrayal had hurt him. She would probably laugh in his face, anyway, and he was tired of playing her games. Especially now that he knew he was playing for nothing.

He refused to let himself feel anything when she allowed the good-looking, British Inspector onto their new case, or when Captain Gates welcomed Det. Inspector Hunt with open arms. Castle himself suggested that the Det. Inspector sit in with Beckett during the interrogation of the female rapper. Interrogations were his and Beckett's thing, but he figured that it was just another thread that needed to be removed from the intricate design he managed to weave into her life. Instead, he focused his attentions on his exuberant flight attendant, Jacinda.

He knew he was being callous, flaunting his new relationship with Jacinda in front of Beckett, but he didn't do so to make her jealous. After all, how could one be jealous of someone over whom she didn't have any real feelings? He did so because he wanted to show her that his attachment to her was no longer an issue, and that their partnership was just a business affiliation and nothing more – just as she wanted.

His plan of narrowing his focus strictly to the case was working quite well. Not only did he bottle his resentment and anger toward her, but he also bottled every other emotion besides his childish nature and the barest of civility.

And yet, as much as he wanted to forget how much she could twist his emotions, he didn't have a choice when she walked toward them in that strapless, black gown. His heart thumped madly, raising the heat in his veins and rendering him speechless. All he could do was stare with his mouth slightly open. She smiled almost shyly in his direction, and he had to catch his breath. The moment she and the Det. Inspector left, he felt himself begin to take control over his body again.

This had to stop. He must figure out a way to master his feelings toward her. She had to know how she affected him and still she exuded her feminine lures toward his powerless consciousness.

Perhaps he needed to distance himself from her even more than he had been.

After closing the case, Castle began to avoid the precinct more and more, only coming in when absolutely necessary – meaning only when another body dropped – and since Beckett and her team were immersed in pulling together evidence for a trial, Castle found his free time in abundance. Unfortunately this also meant that he became increasingly bored as the hours passed by. He couldn't even spend his days writing anymore, because Nikki seemed like a stranger to him now, just as Beckett did. Instead, he checked his facebook, then his email, tweeted, played random games on his iPhone, searched for nothing in particular with several search engines, watched random videos on youtube and Netflix, played his xbox, flew his helicopter around his office, all the while falling deeper and deeper into a dismal languor. What was he to do now that his muse no longer gave him the inspiration he required?

He supposed he could look into different ways to resurrect Derek Storm, but that seemed like an awful lot of effort. It would definitely be his back-up plan once Plan A fell through, though . . . as soon as he thought of a Plan A.

Then, by chance, he saw the headline of the newscast on the television when he was making excuses to his mother about his writing: Severed Heads Found.

What a great story that would make!

He quickly turned up the volume just in time to catch the newswoman clarifying that a Detective Slaughter was on the case and then watched as the aggressive detective threatened the cameraman. Forget the severed heads – Detective Slaughter was now his source of inspiration. A badass gang detective with his own set of rules would make for an excellent central character for a mystery novel!

His mother tried to deter him with some comment about his already having a muse, but really, what good was a muse if she wasn't doing her job?

So, after dodging an irritated look from his mother, he grabbed his jacket and made his way to the coffee shop. The thought of what bringing Beckett coffee used to mean for him brought a slight twinge in his heart, but he soon berated his body for the reaction and convinced himself that this coffee was merely a form of bribery and nothing else. If he focused on the case, he couldn't focus on how she still made him feel.

When he arrived, however, the bright smile she gave him and the light in her eyes had his pulse racing.

Severed heads, Detective Slaughter. Stay focused, Castle.

When he asked where he could find the gang detective, she seemed… disappointed. But honestly, she should have expected that this sort of story would draw him. He did always like the strange cases. What was her problem, anyway?

She gave him a clipped answer of where to find Slaughter and turned her back on him. He merely shrugged his shoulders at her behavior and left her to… whatever she was doing. He really couldn't be bothered with her weird behavior at the moment; he had a date at the morgue, after all.

Detective Slaughter was exactly the type of 'rough-and-tough' protagonist he had in mind. He wasn't thrilled that it cost him one of his favorite jackets and a favor from the mayor just to shadow him for one case, but the characterization he was forming in his mind's eye for the detective was proving to be worth it. And who knows, maybe the one case could turn into several more afterward.

The streets had a tougher and more dangerous feel to them than Beckett's homicides. Even breaking the news of a loved one was different, more blunt and with a lack of emotion. He was actually reprimanded by the father of the victim for showing sympathy for his loss. What drew him to Beckett was her concern for the victims, giving them a voice when they no longer had one. He soon found that Slaughter's attitude toward the victims was that they only posed as an excuse to rough-up potential and/or convicted criminals to give him information, no matter the cost.

The first time Slaughter risked Castle's life, Castle felt empowered to be included in the take-down rather than having to stand back and let Beckett and her team lead. They did all they could to keep him out of danger, but Slaughter kept him in the action, not really caring whether he was injured in the process. The 'run-and-gun' police work definitely carried a more exciting appeal. And he could definitely take care of himself. Beckett's concern was unwarranted.

The second time, however, shook him up a lot more than he cared to admit. Well, out loud, anyway. He was ever grateful for Ryan and Esposito having his back when he didn't really deserve it. Perhaps shadowing Slaughter wasn't such a great idea after all, especially after his comment about his intentional advances towards Castle's daughter. Hopefully the punch Castle delivered to his face was enough of a warning to deter him. He'd have to warn Alexis about the detective when he got the chance.

Slaughter also had a very unconventional way of interrogating suspects. Almost crushing one in the back of a garbage truck and roughly spinning one around in the trunk of his vehicle was not the kind of character Castle wanted to write. No wonder he perked up at the mention of Castle having ties with the mayor. He needed someone with impressive credentials to inform the review board that his "excessive force complaints" were exaggerations. His friend was definitely not going to like blatantly lying in front of a board of people who were probably still watching him closely after his arrest for murder, even if he was falsely accused.

But the final part that demolished the already crumbling characterization of Castle's newest protagonist was Slaughter's help in falsifying an interrogation. Castle wasn't going to stand for that. Beckett's team and he always put justice for the victims as first priority, but all Slaughter seemed to care about was putting as many criminals as he could behind bars – whether they did the crime or not. Yes, this Vales guy was dangerous and Castle would feel safer with him behind bars, but Vales was also innocent for Glitch's murder. The real killer would get away, and then because of probable cause, Vales would walk, too. It was a no-win situation.

He needed Beckett. She would put this mess right.

It took a bit of pleading and blatant manipulation to persuade her to help him, but he soon realized that she was looking out for him the entire time. His heart swelled as her shy smile let him know that she was still his partner, even if he wasn't acting like one lately.

Once Beckett joined the case, it was easier to realize exactly what had happened that night under the overpass, and the real killer, the victim's own father, was convicted. Slaughter was extremely sore about having to let go of Vales, but Castle could tell that he was satisfied for claiming justice for his case. Perhaps he wasn't such a bad guy, after all – until his brick of a fist found a place in Castle's gut. He'd definitely feel that for a couple days.

He learned his lesson, though. Not only did this entire escapade cost him his jacket and a favor from Mayor Weldon; front row Knicks tickets for Espo; his Ferrari for a weekend for Ryan and a blind date with one of Jenny's friends; another rift in his already unstable relationship with Beckett; but he was also forbidden by Slaughter to write anyone even remotely resembling the gang detective within his novels. It was all a complete bust.

Well, maybe not completely.

Perhaps he had imagined that Beckett's feelings for him were stronger than in reality, but she did prove that she had his back, even when he didn't expect it, or deserve it. He didn't blame her irritation for his thanking her, either. Of course she was pissed. He would have been, too, if their roles were reversed.

But the fact was that his feelings for her were just too much for him to bear seeing and working with her every day. His heart couldn't take much more of her constant dismissal for his affections. They had a great partnership, but he wanted more.

His words from the conversation he had with Alexis echoed back to him as he lay in the darkness of his bedroom. He knew the gravity of his feelings for Beckett, and they were strong enough to finally push past the hurt he felt from her omission of the truth, but were they too strong to allow him to properly focus on cases without being a nuisance? After all, it was justice for the victims and their families that was always first priority. For the last four years, it was exactly what he did, but he had thought that at some point those feelings would be returned, and now that he knew they weren't (and possibly were never going to be), was it worth staying?

No. No, it wasn't.

His conclusion left an empty hole in his chest, but really it was the best decision for him. And her.

So when she called about a body drop a few days later, he readied himself for his very last case with Detective Kate Beckett.

Thanks for reading! I'm in the process of writing Kate's version of these episodes if any of you are interested, but as there are already so many of those stories posted, I wasn't actually planning on adding it unless specifically asked. I really only wanted to write Castle's point of view, since I felt there weren't enough of them. I only hope I did him justice. I do actually feel closer to Kate, so Castle is a bit tricky for me.

Anyway, reviews would be nice. :)