I was listening to the song She by Parachute and it occured to me that this was probably how Castle was feeling towards the end of Season Two.


As I'm waiting there,

The devil on my shoulder stares

Laughing that the one thing I can't get

Is what I need

She is so unobtainable; maybe that was part of why he finds her so appealing. She's so close but so far away at the same time - giving out tastes of what it would be like to be with her then backing off, watching him stutter, flounder, drown in his enthusiasm.

He's never had difficulties with getting women. With a few exceptions, they have always been the ones to chase him. All he has to do is sit there, write a few books and look pretty, and for some reason, they come flocking. They still come flocking, but he always thinks twice about accepting their offers for drinks and dances. Even if he succumbs to the temptation, she is always there in the back of his mind, rolling her eyes, muttering a comment under her breath with that sarcastic smile that he loves.

She is too smart for him, he decides. Too smart and not shallow enough to only judge him on appearance; somehow, he knows that she sees more to him than just what's on the surface - although most of the time, she doesn't mention it - and it makes him uneasy.

Castle doesn't know when it happened, but somewhere between morning coffees and undercover gunfights, she started being everything he wants.

She is the words that I can't find

How can the only thing that's killing me make me feel so alive

And I couldn't speak

I couldn't breathe to save my life

Even though he has books written about her, pages of his feelings for her loosely disguised as fiction, a lot of the time, he has trouble finding ways to describe her. Similies, metaphors, mere adjectives; they don't cut it. Someone needs to invent new words purely for the description of Kate Beckett.

(Sometimes when he's writing, he writes "Castle" and "Beckett" instead of their fictional counterparts and has to edit it out later.)

He has reverted back to the schoolboy crush, fumbling with words, stuttering, finding it difficult to tear his gaze away from her face, even when she's doing something as ordinary as paperwork, like she is right now.

All of my chances swim like sinking ships

This time is it; I'll drown or make her mine

Does she know? She has to know how beautiful she is. It's impossible for someone to be that attractive and totally unaware of it. After all, there were men chasing after her wherever she went, and as much as he didn't want to recognize it, Castle knew he was one of many. One of many men who had fallen for Beckett.

She runs a hand through her hair, and he watches as the auburn strands catch the unnatural light of the precinct before falling back into place. He'd love to do that; god, he'd love to do that, run his fingers through her hair. It would feel like catching sunlight between his fingers.

Maybe one day. It's not like she dislikes him, and perhaps he's deluding himself, but they've been getting a lot closer lately. So maybe he has a chance? Maybe he doesn't? He'll find out.

He's going to the Hamptons in a few weeks- he could ask her? If she shoots him down, like she probably will, he can laugh, crack a joke, and they can forget about it.

My vocal chords have been fighting

My mouth likes to spite me

It never says the words that come to mind

"You okay, Castle? You seem a little- out of it?" her voice shatters his train of thought like a bullet through a pane of glass. Beckett's eyes are on him all of a sudden, that brown-gold-green colour melting into mild concern (the color of her eyes. That's another word he doesn't know.)

He opens his mouth, but what can he say? The truth is going to get him slapped.

"Fine, fine. Just tired."

She looks like she doesn't quite believe him, as if she wants to say something else, but then she presses the seam of her lips shut and turns her attention back to the last few pages scattered on the desk in front of her.

"Come out for a drink," he says, out of the blue, the words surprising him. "It's been a hard case."

He expects "No thank you" or "I'm tired" or "I'm sorry but I have somewhere else to be", possibly a polite combination of the three, but instead he gets a small smile aimed at him.

"You know what, Castle? I might just take you up on that." She might just take him up on that. He has to stop his own smile from stretching all the way across his face.

I brought a stick to a gun fight

And I'm stuck with my tongue tied

I run but I can't hide what's always there

Castle wonders, as they leave the precinct together, if she has any idea about the extent of his feelings for her. Maybe she thinks he's how he was at the beginning, when they met; only wanting to get her into bed. He doesn't only want that now. Well, he wants that, but he also wants to wake up next to her in the morning.

It occurs to him that he really has no idea what he's doing; he's playing cop, putting himself in the line of fire, for a woman. An extraordinary woman, but still a woman.

Is it for the books? Partially, but the part of it that is 'research' is steadily shrinking compared to the part of it that is 'a mostly hopeless search for romance'.

He really doesn't know what to do. He could leave? No, he couldn't. The idea of Beckett going around without him, being hit on and put in danger - not that he does much to remedy either of those factors, but he likes to think that he tries - is too horrible.

He's staying with her, even if they're not really getting anywhere.

For now, Beckett laughing at his jokes in the elevator is enough.