Rick watched her through the partition that divided the precinct. She sighed and glanced at her father's watch after flipping the last page of the document over, evidently begrudging the twenty minutes left until 6:00, the twenty minutes left until she could pack up.

He knew she packed up at 6:01 on every caseless day—knew why, knew that people trying to get one up on their boss or their company or their coworkers had always irritated her; that those were the cases that bugged her most.

He also knew that once finished packing up she would stand up, run her strong hands through her shining brown hair, tangle her fingers through till the end—oh, that hair. Rick loved her hair.

But he loved her more.

So he also knew that she would then turn and shrug into her jacket, pick up her bag in her left hand while pushing the desk chair in with her right. She'd lean over and straighten her pens, and stride across the precinct to the elevator, calling goodbyes to Ryan and Esposito as she did. She'd get to the elevator at 6:04, arrive at the bottom floor by 6:06, and appear at her car by 6:10 at the latest.

Then she'd drive home, to their loft—No. Still his loft, technically. He had to stop himself all the time from doing that lately, knew it was a sign, knew he had to get on top of things. Which was what today was for. Because it—it just sounded so good.

Their loft. With their kitchen, where she'd make him eggs or he'd make her pancakes after the ever-sensational nights spent together in their bed. Then they'd shower in their shower, or better yet forego soap and water. He liked those days, the days no one was home to see them and she'd spend all day in a tank top and his smallest boxers, found from her rummaging in their closet. They'd order in Chinese or Italian, watch a movie on their couch, and then head in to their bed. He liked those nights especially…

But no, Rick. Stay focused Rick. This was important. Because tonight she wouldn't be getting to her car by 6:10 or the elevator by 6:04—it would be much later, if he had anything to say about it.

And he hoped he did. He hoped he still got to. Because if the last six years had taught him anything, it was that Kate Beckett could always surprise him.

She had done it originally—letting him follow her, letting him stay. Even more when she let him in. She surprised him with her mother's murder and her father's disease, with her own strength. He was always surprised by her beauty, but he supposed that shouldn't still be unexpected. She surprised him when she took out Dick Coonan in order to save another life—even more surprised that it was his. She surprised him when she was shot, and she surprised him when she forgot his words, even more when she remembered. She surprised him when she loved him back, she surprised him when she agreed to go on a date.

She surprised him every day when she connected with suspects, she surprised him with her compassion. She surprised him with her intelligence and her power and her everything. She surprised him when she did girl talk with his daughter, and especially when she wouldn't tell him every detail. She surprised him when she read lines with his mother, because it was a torture even he couldn't bear while smiling. She surprised him when she grinned. Kate Beckett surprised him when she giggled, surprised him when she laughed, surprised him when she cried and surprised him all the times in between.

But then again, she also surprised him when she left him after that fight, and when she pretended to forget his words in the cemetery for four months, and when she started to build her walls back up four months into their relationship.

And that kind of surprise wasn't good. It scared him. A lot.

So he was scared, he was so scared, he was more scared than he had been for anything ever before. Because before there had always been more—there had been a fallback, a plan B, a support system, a chance.

Now? There was nothing. If he…if he did, and she…and she said no, then there it would be. His entire life laid out on the line, and her words destroying it.

Alexis was at college, would go to grad school the year after next and get a high-powered job in the city that raised her. His mother had Jason, and her acting school, and would always be, well, his mother, but would really be okay. Ryan, Esposito, Lanie, Jenny, who had been his friends and family over the last six years? They'd be gone, all gone. His career? Gone. He couldn't stop the Nikki Heat series now, but would never be able to keep writing, knowing it was Kate's words and Kate's actions that were inspiring him but knowing he would never get to hear or see them again.

He certainly couldn't keep working at the precinct if she said no, wouldn't be able to, couldn't watch her break his heart and keep on running, find another man (a better man, the one she really deserved, a small voice in his head whispered) and be successful and happy and fine. So he would lose everyone, everything, and by the very nature of losing so much, would be lost himself.

It would break him. Destroy him, demolish him, take him for everything he had. So she couldn't say no.

And he was more scared than he had been for anything in his life that she would.

But he was still Rick, he was still Castle, he was still that nine-year-old on a sugar rush she began working with so many years ago. So he had hope; strong hope, resilient hope. But she had surprised him before. She could again.

So he waited, and watched as she finished up, watched as she began to organize her things and conclude her work on the computer. It was her routine.

He wondered if tomorrow it would be different.

(…)

Kate glanced down at her father's watch again and sat up in her desk chair, hyper-aware of every movement she made. Castle was here. He was watching her; he had been for the last fifteen minutes. She would've called it creepy a few years ago, the way Castle was always so focused on her. But now…well now he was Rick more than he was Castle, and sometimes she watched him just as intently as he watched her.

They had been…whatever for two years now, longer if you asked Lanie or Martha. She still didn't know what to call them, had no idea what they were.

A couple sounded like they were on a fifties-based TV show, but boyfriend and girlfriend made it sound like they were seventeen. 'In a relationship' was too official, and lovers was a term used to describe cheating spouses. He was just…hers. Her Castle, her Rick. And she supposed she was his as well, more than she had ever been anyone else's. He liked to remind her of that when she got the call for an early-morning body drop after a long night.

Though she didn't really need to describe it, somehow didn't feel the need for labels and titles and organization the way she always had.

Kate Beckett has always liked boxes, liked rules, liked procedures and protocols. It was how she dealt with life when she felt like she didn't know how to, how she had done everything since her nineteen-year-old self returned home from that dinner with her father. She categorized and organized and compartmentalized, and then she could think logically, could do what was right, could do what needed to be done. It was a foolproof system.

Except with Castle.

With Castle she was anything but logical and organized, with Castle her life was an ever-crazy ride filled with highest highs (when they were together, when she woke up in his arms, when he fell asleep with his head on her lap) and lowest lows (when they were apart, when her walls started to build back up, when they fought); with topsy-turvy turns around every corner and a fear—always, a fear, that one of them would break it, one of them would leave.

Her, probably.

Some case or some fight or something stupid would get to her and she'd put walls up, put boundaries up, because she knew she wasn't good enough for him, knew she didn't deserve him. And then he'd be gone, he'd leave, she'd make him. He would…well he would probably be able to find someone else. 'Don't be stupid, of course he would' said a voice toward the back of her head.

For some stupid reason Richard Castle was smitten with her, loved her, was in love with her. And for very many not-so-stupid reasons, she felt the exact same way about him.

Kate Beckett couldn't imagine her life without Rick Castle, but she knew it could never be the same. This was it for her, this was her always, her one-and-done, her everything, no matter how much she tried to deny it when the boys teased her after a few drinks at the Old Haunt. But that didn't mean she couldn't mess it up, couldn't make some stupid decision and ruin everything, push away the best man she had ever known, the best man to ever come into her life.

Beckett had messed a lot of things up just like that, messed a lot of things with people up just like that. And though she knew Castle would have a stronger reaction than any of the others, would continue trying for months and months and perhaps years and years to get her to allow him back, she'd probably say no. She probably wouldn't let him. It would be the hardest thing she would ever have to do, but she would do it if it meant he would be happy. If somehow, someday, she knew that he would be happier without her, she would have to do it. Because she loved him, more than she had ever loved anyone. More than she loved herself…

The slamming of Esposito's file cabinet drawer brought her back to the present, back to the precinct, out of the horror-filled world of imagining situations without Castle. Because she knew she would never let that happen, not now at least. In the present, she knew it would physically and emotionally kill her to let him go. She also knew that he would probably never let her.

(…)

A few moments after being brought out of her reverie, she remembered Castle's presence. She assumed it was some kind of elaborate scheme on his part, some kind of crazy antic-filled plan of his for the rest of the night.

A few years ago, the thought of any of the limitless possibilities extending from one of Castle's plans would have annoyed her to no end. But now? Now she just felt some strange mix of security and anticipation, of impatience with her work, which was a roadblock between her and the plans Rick had for the evening.

But…But why wasn't he coming in? He had been acting strange lately, seemed slightly busier than usual and a little worried. The deal for the second Nikki Heat movie was coming to a close soon, she knew. Maybe it was that. Or maybe it was any of an endless expanse of other things, for Richard Castle had a constant list of plans, of ideas, of plans and proposals and possibilities.

She knew whatever it was wouldn't be bad, for they had promised each other to never conceal the bad or suspicious after that night so many months ago when she discovered the murder board. That night filled with fighting and screaming and crying and even more fighting.

So usually, she planned to pretend as if she was unaware of his scheming actions, to feign ignorance. She knew he would always tell her when the time was right, he told her everything. Though usually, she didn't even need to wait for him to tell her. Usually, she could read him like an open book. She knew Rick, knew how his brain worked, knew what he was thinking and knew which things stuck in his mind. Usually, she knew every detail of his plan as soon as he even started to hash out logistics.

Not this time though.

And he really had been acting weird lately, weirder than usual. He hadn't come by the precinct a few days in the last week or so, hadn't been as enthralled with their last case as he typically was and had seemed distracted whenever they discussed it. Whenever they discussed anything, actually, though he constantly reminded her how enchanted he was with her every movement, every word, every thought.

It wasn't that he seemed uninterested, or she suspected the presence of someone else—god no.

He more seemed…changed, seemed more captivated with her entire being than with her specific story or idea, seemed more interested in the plans of the big picture than the activities of the present. Unusual, for a man normally so filled with energy that he hated making plans even a week in advance—would rather just do whatever it was immediately. This time, it was different. Which intrigued her.

But it was Rick, and she trusted Rick. So before turning to look straight at him, forcing him to reveal his intentions, she decided to pack up her paperwork.

But he rounded the corner before she got the chance; seemingly deciding that now was the correct time to make his move, to set whatever crazy plan he had into action.

The actual proposal (and more!) to come, hopefully before tomorrow. Only my second fanfic, so any reviews or feedback would be enormously helpful and forever appreciated :)