What didn't we see in Season 2?!

This fic is planned to be a series of filler scenes - one chapter per episode for Season 2.

Sticking to the canon ... absolutely no AU ... so that means you're in for humour, angst, romance, teasing, hurt, comfort, drama, inner-torment, and probably a bunch of unspoken swearing from Beckett.

PROLOGUE

She grips her cell tightly as it presses against her ear, listening to silence on the other end of the line. Waiting for some advice, some words of commiseration… something. Anything to ease the uncomfortable churning in the pit of her stomach.

"It might not be that bad…" Lanie offers.

"Lanie, I haven't spoken to him in months!"

"It's only one day, Kate," the M.E. asserts. "You hunt murderers for a living. You can handle this."

Beckett clamps her teeth down as she presses her lips together. Hard. "Yeah…" she sighs heavily into the receiver, not entirely convinced by her own admission.

She throws her phone on to the coffee table as she flops back against the couch cushions. Tilting her head back, she buries her face within her palms, breathing extremely slowly and excruciatingly deeply.

Tomorrow.

This is so not going to be fun.

EPISODE 1 - "DEEP IN DEATH"

Bastard.

Jerk.

Ass.

There are so many more colourful terms she could use to characterize the arrogant son of a bitch. First he digs into her mother's case when she implicitly told him not to. Then she had to sit there while the half-naked stripper twins had been grinding up against him in the middle of the bullpen!

As if little Miss Cosmo hasn't been enough of an irritant - asking ridiculously vapid questions about being a muse... Castle... life as a female cop... Castle… how civilian consultants are crucial to the success of the NYPD… Castle…

And he has the gall to think she even wants him around?

Obnoxious prick.

She stares straight ahead, focused on navigating the insanity of the evening Manhattan traffic as she makes her way to the crime scene, foot increasing its pressure on the gas pedal. The persistent illumination of the brake lights from the taxi in front of her only intensifies her irritation, her hands gripping the steering wheel with even more fervor as she grits her teeth.

Montgomery might call the shots in the precinct, but out here… this is her area of expertise. She is the queen… and Castle? He's nothing. Nothing but a court jester.

She neither needs him nor wants him.

Making a sharp turn to round the corner, she pulls up alongside the police blockade, tires squealing as she slams her foot against the brakes. Exhaling heavily as she slaps the heel of her hand against the steering wheel, Beckett steels her resolve before exiting her vehicle. She might be taking out her frustrations on her cruiser, but there is no way in hell she is going to let him see her like this. This wound up.

She was serious when she told him she doesn't care. And she doesn't. About this ludicrous article. About his stupid little book. About him.

And by the end of this evening, he's going to know it.

Of that, she is certain.

She watches Esposito's cruiser ride up beside her as she slams her car door. She nonchalantly heads towards the illuminated tree, removing a pair of latex gloves from her pocket, as the exasperating jackass rushes to catch up to her.

"Hey, can we talk about this, please?"

"There's nothing to talk about," she replies flatly.

"Well, just at least let me know what I can do to make it up to you," Castle pleads.

"You could leave me alone," she hints frustratingly.

"Yes, well, I tried that, and it didn't work," he muses. "Hey, I could buy you a pony!"

Asshole.

The Morgue Mobile? What a pretentious jerk. As if his hubris isn't enough, now he's trying to impress the flighty reporter with ridiculous terminology. How anyone can find him charming is beyond her.

After finishing interviewing various building residents and the business employees, Beckett focuses on her notes as she returns to her car. Nobody seems to have noticed anything suspicious, but she makes a mental note to consult with the boys once they're back at the precinct. Maybe even get some uniforms to start a canvass.

The moment she opens her driver-side door, however, her thoughts are interrupted by a familiar ring tone.

"Hey Lanie," the detective greets her friend with a smirk, sarcasm oozing from her throat. "You killed Castle yet?"

"Just about…" the M.E. remarks, grabbing Beckett's attention. "We were attacked."

Beckett does a double take as she processes what she just heard. "What?!"

"Someone hit the van… stole the body."

"Did you say 'stole the body'?"

"Yeah… guys in masks. With assault rifles."

Beckett swallows, pausing briefly before continuing. "Are you guys-"

"We're all okay," Lanie assures her, cutting her off. "...even Castle." Beckett rolls her eyes, but she can't ignore the strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. Concern? Apprehension?

No… no way.

Not for that arrogant schmuck.

Beckett shakes the thought from her mind as she refocuses on the phone call. "You guys okay to return to the precinct, or do you need to go to the hospital?"

"Precinct's fine… gotta give our statements to the traffic cops first… and there's a couple of reporters here already that need to be dealt with," Lanie remarks. "I think Cosmo Girl tweeted about the accident…"

"Anything for a story, huh?" Beckett rolls her eyes, sighing indignantly. "I'll call Castle's family to let them know he's alright," she relents flatly. "But don't tell him I did that!"

"He won't hear it from me."

Beckett nods slightly, the knot in her gut tightening. "Thanks..."

"Mmhmmm…"

She takes a look at the espresso machine, hesitating momentarily, tempted by the deliciousness of the premiere brew that it creates.

But accepting his coffee would mean accepting him. Accepting what he did. And what message would that send? That she's welcoming him back with open arms?

Yeah, right!

Grabbing a regular mug from the cupboard, Beckett fills it with the sludge the precinct dares to label as coffee. It might taste like a monkey peed in battery acid, but at least it belongs to her…

Monkey peed in battery acid? Good lord… can't she even drink regular coffee without thoughts of him infiltrating her mind? She exhales quickly and heavily through her mouth as she watches the insipid female reporter head for the elevator after having spoken to Ryan… Castle still being examined by Lanie.

She smirks happily as she watches the sassy M.E. flick Castle's cheek with her slender finger. 'Thank you, Doctor Parish,' she muses with a sense of earnest gratification as Castle rubs the sting from his flesh. She takes a sip of the hot liquid, forcing herself to swallow the god-awful muck before making her way towards the group.

Getting within earshot, she realizes that Castle is just spinning more of his ridiculous and puerile theories.

"...organ harvesters, cadaver-less med students, Satanists, mad scientists looking to create their own monster."

"Or the guys who killed him might have left some evidence behind," she counters as she approaches from behind.

He considers reason for only a split-second. "Boring."

This guy is such an impertinent child.

She knows he wants to say something… the way he keeps shifting, looking over at her from the passenger seat, as if he is uncomfortable in his own skin.

'Good,' she thinks to herself. 'Body language seems to speak louder than words.'

He'd remained quiet during the entire elevator ride after leaving Sandy Allen's apartment. Who knew that simply taking two steps away from that muscular body could be so effective.

Wait… muscular?! She catches herself mid-thought, wide-eyed. She was not thinking about his body. She wasn't! She shakes her head slightly as if erasing that visual from her mind is as easy as erasing a picture from an etch-a-sketch.

She chances a quick side-glance out of the corner of her eye, sees him rake his fingers through his hair like he does when he's frustrated... his soft, silky, perfectly coiffed hair that flops ever so slightly across his forehead like-

Stop it! Beckett catches herself again.

That's it. He has to get out of the car. Away from her. Now.

"I'll drop you off at home," she mutters, eyes staring straight ahead.

"What?" he whines. "But what about-"

"It's late," she interjects flatly. "I'm tired. That's it for tonight."

Castle pauses a moment, throwing her a sideways glance before he dares to speak again.

"You'll call me before you interview Maxwell Haverstock, right?"

Beckett doesn't reply, eyes fixed, face stoic.

She pulls up to his building, hitting the brakes with unnecessary force so that his body jerks forward - not enough to give him whiplash, but enough to shake him thoroughly. She represses a satisfied smirk as he cringes a bit, stepping out of her Crown Victoria.

"Fine," she mutters just before he shuts the door.

Standing on the sidewalk, watching her car speed away, a smug grin tugs at the edge of Castle's mouth before he pivots and greets his doorman.

So… John Allen was a drug mule who was in over his head. Beckett shakes her head as she continues sifting through department records about known Russian mafia members.

A guy in over his head… like a certain mystery writer she knows.

The idiot.

She doesn't know who he thinks he knows, but if he is under the impression that he can figure out where those floating poker games are being held because he's got "connections", she's got to start investigating who he hangs out with.

She scans through the information on her computer monitor, the dim light of her desk lamp casting an ethereal glow across her face - the soft illumination a physical juxtaposition of her current emotional turmoil.

Her momentary trance is shattered by the unexpected vibrating of her cell phone. She closes her eyes and exhales slowly, bracing herself for the inevitable. Forcing one eye open, she glances at the name that is displayed across the screen.

Ughh.

"Beckett," she answers, pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes closed, wincing as she pictures his cocky face on the other end of the line.

"Guess who's got a date at a poker game?" he practically sings.

Yeah. That exasperating, sing-songy tone?... it's getting old.

She watches in silence as the boys get him hooked up for the operation. They go over the plan one more time, but none of this sits well with her. Not at all.

"I'll be fine," the writer scoffs. "Besides, it's Chinatown. How many Russian poker players can there be?"

She cringes as he hops out of the van, carefree, like a young child playing hopscotch. Esposito tosses his coat in his face, but she can't bring herself to crack a smile. Not right now.

Because right now, she can't seem to repress the gnawing sensation swirling in the base of her gut. Sending Castle in… alone… The thought is making her more than queasy.

And the fact that he seems to think this is a game?...

She's going to kill him if he makes it out of there alive.

"Ryan?... do you mind?" she mutters, not even bothering to finish her statement.

The Irish detective silently acquiesces her request, switching spots with her to give her a better view of the video feed. Eyes locked on the button-cam images flashing on the TV monitor, she gently chews on her thumb.

Pulling her knee tightly to her chest, she can't help but voice her unease. "Anybody else have a bad feeling about this?"

She nods as the boys don't even hesitate to raise their hands. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"...I'm going to go sit at the table, see if I can find anything out."

She wasn't entirely attentive to his inane ramblings until just now. "What did he say?" Her eyes widen as she glares at the monitor. Suddenly, he's got her complete attention.

"He just said he's taking a seat…" Ryan attempts to recap before Beckett cuts him off, unimpressed.

"That's not the plan. That's not the plan, Castle!"

Yeah… she's definitely gonna kill him if he makes it out of their alive.

Her stomach continues to churn as she watches the scene play out. Castle making small talk with the mobsters, boasting about his books, practically giving away every single detail about her case.

They're laughing at him… planning to take him for everything he's got. And she knows that it doesn't end with money. Not with the Russian mafia. He's in way too deep.

And now they know that their murderer is sitting right across from him.

Esposito speaks up first. "Hey, if he thinks Castle's a threat, he's…"

She doesn't have time to panic. "We gotta get him out of there, now."

She needs to improvise… and she has an idea.

Ryan and Espo watch the video feed helplessly, staring down the barrel of a gun… a gun pointed straight at Castle's chest.

"Who are you?" a deep Russian voice echoes followed by the panicked voice of a certain author who believes himself to be James Bond. "I told you, I'm- I'm a novelist."

"Dude," Ryan whispers, eyes locked on the screen, but seeing nothing, "what the hell is taking her so long?"

"I dunno, Bro," the Latino cringes, listening to the writer protest his innocence, "but she'd better show up soon or-"

Suddenly a familiar female voice echoes in their ears. "Him, a cop? Don't make me laugh. He's barely even a man."

"God, that Russian accent is hot," Espo mutters under his breath.

"Dude!"

Esposito shoots a slightly indignant and perturbed look at his partner. "What? It is!"

Ryan simply shakes his head, continuing to watch the monitor as he listens intently to the exchange, their suspect now in full view of the camera, gun still pointed at Castle's chest.

"Okay. Boys and their guns," a Russian Beckett scoffs. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"You can't tell me you don't find that hot," Esposito continues. "I mean-"

"WHOA!" the two detectives suddenly clamor in unison as flashes of Beckett fill the monitor as she slams her fist into the Russian's face.

"Dude!" Ryan exclaims, rapt by the video feed. "She totally broke his nose!"

"So hot…" the Latino mumbles.

"You are so gonna be single the rest of your life," Ryan sighs, shooting his partner an unimpressed glare.

"Castle, could you get some backup, please?" Beckett's voice echoes in their ears.

"And that's our cue…" Ryan yanks the headset from his ear as Esposito cocks his pistol.

"Let's go," the Latino nods in all seriousness as the two detectives hastily exit the van.

Red.

Good lord, her bra was red. Blood red.

And that accent.

Oh. My. God.

Could she be any sexier?

Thoughts of her perfect ass infiltrate Castle's mind as he weaves through the crowd in the main room. He can't seem to stay focused, visions of her tantalizing form filling his brain. So delicious...right there. Right in front of him. Taunting him. Teasing him. Testing him.

He had been so tempted to grab her… push her up against the door… rip that black sweater from her body… tangle her hair - her sexy, tousled, satiny hair - in his fingers… nibble his way down her neck, across her clavicle, between her breasts. Her perfect, luscious breasts.

He passes by the bar, making his way to the door. He can't breathe. It's too hot. He needs air.

Now.

Desperately throwing himself at the door, he tumbles on to the steps, practically falling into the laps of Ryan and Esposito.

"Where is she?!" Espo demands, grabbing Castle by the collar to ensure his attention.

"K-Kitchen," the writer stutters, pointing behind him as he inhales the cold, night air. "Kitchen."

The two detectives barrel through the door leaving Castle alone on the balcony, breathing laboured, surrounded by the overpowering scent of peanut oil and chicken wings as he desperately tries to regain his composure. Calm his body.

He's always found her attractive, that's no secret.

Sex… Sex and nothing more. That's all he wants from her.

...isn't it?

Well… definitely a source of literary inspiration. Friendship, maybe.

But the way she breathed his name into his ear, rolled the Rs when she uttered 'Richard', wrapped her hands over his shoulders, pulled him tight against her lithe body...

It suddenly feels like more.

And he didn't expect that.

And he has no clue know how to handle it.

He hadn't even protested as he walked away. Left the precinct. Walked out of her life forever.

At least he finally figured it out.

"Sometimes we do the wrong things for the right reasons." That's what he'd said. Empty words.

What an arrogant, conceited, selfish asshole.

How can he honestly think that dragging her back into that rabbit hole is something she wants to do? She'd spent so long, worked so hard to put it behind her.

And then he goes and opens Pandora's Box.

And for what? So he can be a hero? So he can have more fodder for his novels?

What does he think she'd do? Throw him a parade? Sell her first-born child to thank him?

And then more platitudes poured from his lips. "And you won't have to do it alone. We can do it together."

Together. That's a laugh. What the hell does he know of doing anything with anyone. He just always does whatever the hell he wants without thinking of anyone other than himself.

Pompous bastard.

"It's because you're afraid, isn't it?" His voice continues to echo through her mind, as if a broken record stuck on repeat.

"...afraid...afraid...afraid...afraid…"

What the hell does he know of fear? There with his millions, airheaded bimbos and celebutants throwing themselves at him, making money by making up pulp. He has no clue what it's like to live in the real world! To have hopes and dreams and ambitions... and then watch your life crumble into nothing!

She will not let him make a mockery of her life… of her!

Her fingers whack the keyboard with such brute force that she almost breaks the Enter key.

She stops typing and leans back into her steno chair, closing her eyes, bringing her hands together to rest along her forehead - elbows extended beside her head - as she releases a long, belaboured exhale. The poor keyboard shouldn't have to bear the brunt of his unapologetic stupidity. She'd never hear the end of it from the I.T. guys.

Pencil and paper. Perhaps that would be the safest option for now. Pencils are cheaper to replace if she snaps one, and no chance of ink spilling on her clothes…

She loses herself - hides - in her paperwork, trying desperately to block out all thoughts of him. Minutes… hours tick by. Slowly, the bullpen clears out, the lights dimming, only a few uniforms working the night shift wandering the halls.

She goes over her case report for the seventh time, adding a few words, changing some phrasing, making it perfect… when her paper is suddenly cast in shadow. She doesn't even need to look up to know it's him.

Wow. He's got some nerve… coming back. Just standing there. Watching her do paper work. Not saying anything. And it's unsettling to say the least. But not quite creepy this time…

She debates looking up, torn - but after a brief moment of meditation, she steels herself. Tearing her eyes from her desk, she glances up at him, her hazel eyes cold and unfeeling - and she's slightly taken aback by what she sees.

Frailty. Honesty. Sincerity. It's written all over his face, his posture, in the depth of his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he utters, his words serious and genuine. "What I did was wrong. I violated your trust, I opened old wounds, and I did not respect your wishes. And if we're not gonna see each other again, then you deserve to know… I'm very, very sorry."

With that, Castle turns and begins to leave. She says nothing, words caught in her throat as she processes his earnest apology.

Just as he is about to exit the bullpen, she finds her voice. "Castle."

He stops in his tracks, turning around to face her, her eyes fixed on the paper on her desk.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Maybe he's not a complete bastard after all.

xxxxxxx

So, as I said, my goal is to write a chapter of filler scenes for each episode of S2...

Not sure how quick this will happen, but I never abandon a fic. )

However, if it's been done already, someone please tell me so that I don't waste my time writing what someone else has already explored (...and then send me the link so I can read it!)

xxxxxxx

Thanks to Syzygy for being my sounding board… again. :)

xxxxxxx

And, as always, I love to know your thoughts.

Judge away. :D