So, hello! I want to first mention that all of my incomplete stories are totally going to be updated soon. NEVER FEAR.

Next, this SPOILERquote from wherever made my insides turn, ickily (because I don't really want to be more surprised than I've ever been by Caskett), which is where I got the idea for this little collection of awful endings that could result from where C&B are in the show right now, after "47 Seconds". I'm very excited for it to get worse, because with heartache comes great inspiration - my favourite episode to date, is 2x24.

Some of these endings are not exactly awful, just suggest awful possibilities. In fact, the first one has a somewhat optimistic conclusion. I know darker Caskett isn't exactly what the shipper world is after, right now, but I think the idea of Andrew Marlowe-esque surprises holds many interesting avenues. I hope you'll stick around to go down some, with me!

Disclaimer: Characters = ABC. Stories = mine.

/Potential/Spoiler/Alert/ "Question: Any news if Castle and Beckett will become Caskett in the season finale? —Cat

Ausiello: Funny you should ask. We ran into Castle co-star Jon Huertas (Esposito) over the weekend at the 26th annual Genesis Awards and here's what he had to say about the season-ender: "I think the audience is going to be surprised about what happens between Castle and Beckett. More surprised than they ever have been." Interesting. One might even say veddy interesting."


"Is something wrong, Castle?" It wasn't really a question – she knew something was up. He'd been…distant, especially this morning, zoning in and out. His face was obviously shades darker than usual; even his hair appeared droopy and faded compared to its typical luster.

But because she cared, because she was bothered by his appearance, she asked.

"Castle," His eyes slowly rolled towards hers, meeting them, locking on. Clinging, even. "You okay?"

His eyes sunk into his skull. "Hm? Yeah, fine." Very convincing.

"The boys were talking about stopping by the Apple store during lunch. Ryan's iPhone is glitchy." She prompted, tone even and tempting his love of gagdets. Nothing.

"…interested?" Her brows knit together, worried. He'd never been so…silent.

"I'll stay. Keep busy with paperwork." It was like he wasn't there, mentally. She resisted the urge to wave her hand in front of his face, she was probably just overreacting.

Paperwork? "Are you kidding?" Not once, in all four years that he had shadowed her-

"Alexis has had me up. Researching careers. Internships. Things." His voice was empty, and exhausted. She could see straight through his lie, no one would buy it. But she was. Because whatever had him so defeated? That Richard Castle was being beaten by something – it scared the crap out of her.

"I was thinking…" He grunted his attention, preoccupied with himself. That was all.

"…of showing you my talents involving ice cubes." She tried burning a hole through him with her eyes, as his were set on some sight far in front of him and his chair beside her desk, outside the walls of the twelfth.

"Gates is considering arming you." She nudged his forearm, still on the arm of his chair.

"You got a pen?" Her eyeballs fell out of her head. He seemed to suddenly snap back to reality, oblivious of all she'd said. She gaped, drifting her arm across her desk to grab a pen, and hand it to him. Her fingers brushed his, they were warm.

So why was he acting so cold?


She'd been called in to an interview, and then lunch had come. Castle was nowhere to be found, so she went and grabbed a water and a sandwich, picking up an extra, as well as coffee for him. Safe from the whipping winds outside of the precinct, she stepped out of the elevator with swept hair, skin flush with the last remaining kisses of winter. Her green eyes were clear and focused, honing in on her partner, moving steadily towards him, heels clicking on the floor…which usually caught his attention. She was about to lose her grip and demand he talk, when his head lifted from the pile of paperwork in front of him, eyes dim with their familiar twinkle, mouth turned upwards.

"Hey. That for anyone special?" He flicked his pen towards the extra coffee and to-go bag in her hands.

"Only you." He appeared to have worked through lunch. That also meant that he hadn't risen from the chair since he had half fallen into it when he entered her world this morning, later than usual. Hm…

She set the food and drink on her desk, Castle easily abandoning the paperwork. Whatever had gotten to him, the distraction of dull paperwork had its benefits on his mood. She shucked off her coat, draped it over the back of her chair, and resumed occupancy of it. Slow week. Slow case. But it gave her time to focus a little more on Castle than she usually would have. It earned him a lot more smiles, a lot more lingering looks, a lot more of her. They'd been out, doing something after work every night of the week. Now that she thought back on it, he had been off, a little bit, for a while. Nothing too off-putting, though. Not until today. That morning. He seemed to be recovering, now. But he had already flagged her radar.


Ten minutes later, she was standing opposite Lanie in the morgue, as she sewed up a John Doe. Homeless, hit by a bus – only after he'd been stabbed in the gut. Probably for his wallet. Petty theft.

"Might just be a cold. Book deadlines? Alexis should be hearing from colleges soon, you know. The man has a life outside of following-" Her girlfriend cut off, unthinking as she focused on the final stitches near the collar bones of Mr. Doe, but Beckett caught it.

"Outside of following me." She puffed out a breath, fingers drawing along the edge of the metal autopsy slab. "Don't be sorry." She rushed it out, before her friend could apologize. "I don't like it, how everyone side-steps around me. How no one says 'sniper', how no one talks about my mother's case, how Montgomery kept everything from me-"

"To keep you safe." Lanie interjected. "To keep you safe. Because we care-"

"Because you care? If Montgomery had cared a little less, I might have gotten to the warehouse with those files before it 'accidentally' burnt down." Her tone was awful, mood singed by the memory of the final lost lead on her mom's case. She didn't want care, if this was it.

"I'm not- I'm not going to break. I can handle the truth! I'm functional, rational, been on active for almost a year since…I was shot. By. A. Sniper." Her arms were crossed, point proven as she paced alongside the body while Lanie cut the final stitch.

"Don't be mad at us. You're mad at Castle for all the things he hasn't said that you won't even say yourself. You're mad that he might finally be moving on. You're mad at him for doing the very same thing you've been doing, for almost two years! Keepin' secrets." Beckett stopped pacing, eyes raised to Lanie's, exuding ice. "Honey, honey! When do you think was the last time he got some, huh? He's been everything to you, but a man can only wait in idle for so long-"

"So you don't think he's been down because of something at home?" Her eyes were hopeful, wishing that was the answer, after all.

"Look, I don't know the man's life. You're his muse, woman! But I do get some time with Alexis over these bodies, and that girl is exhausted when she leaves here, I make sure of that, and no way in frosty hell could she be awake all night, causing inconsiderate noise at that. You're the detective here," Lanie raised one arm, swished it around in Beckett's direction as she prepared blood sample slides for the microscope, "detect."

It was now Beckett's turn to resort to grunting noises, as her heels clicked their way out of autopsy. Castle was her business, Lanie had a point. She'd get it out of him.


"Why detective, so nice to have you rejoin the living." She laughed, had he seriously not looked in a mirror that day? "Body drop?" His voice was eager, but with pointed curiosity, versus enthusiasm. Honestly…where was her Castle?

"Nope. Not a one." She watched him carefully.

"Damn. Murder has taken its holiday. I could be out of a job, if this keeps up." She rolled her eyes as she walked around him and sat, opening up her email for sorting, deleting, and mostly, avoiding requests. She had a special folder for them, for the interviewers and brown-nosing reporters and chain mail sent around the precinct determining the amount of paperwork you would have if you didn't forward, and that folder was titled "Junk". It was very, very full, even though the folder was set to delete its contents every thirty days – she filtered through her inbox every other day if a case didn't have her by the wrists. The bold black letters next to the icon of a manila folder read 189, indicating how much unopened mail was waiting patiently for those thirty days to be up. For the most part, she was a homebody, and besides that, a very private one. She didn't need the press advertising her complicated partnership with Castle, and she didn't want to cause his name, or his publisher (as well as Sir), the trouble of gossip. Of her. It was the reason for so many things, hoping to keep her trouble to herself, and away from Castle…no matter how close she wanted to be to him.

She sighed, resting her chin in her open palm as she marked her junk mail one by one, dragging it over to the folder repeatedly. Her foot tapped absently beneath her desk, against one anchor of her chair, body relaxed, accepting, just a little bit, this slow, slow day. It filled her with a comfortable calmness, having Castle so near, so productive, right beside her. She listened to his breath, watched from the corner of her eye as he made little doodles he tried to cover from her with one hand, and simply could not be anything but content, in this moment that would bore anyone else to a whatever degree. She could touch him, if she wanted. He was that close. He was that close.

As she patrolled her inbox further, she thought back on her conversation with Lanie. He didn't look like he was moving on. He looked off, but not like he was moving on. She sipped her coffee, swallowed slowly. The liquid spread its warmth down her throat, her chest, pooling in her stomach. Was it time? Time to tell him, time to let the cat out of the bag. Time to jump. For him. He was worth it. He was doing paperwork for her, for goodness sake! He was impressive. He was incredible, for her.

Looking, or more exactly staring at him work, her heart lightened. He scribbled quickly over the papers under his bent posture, eyes scanning the typed words of the pages faster than even she could. His marks were experienced, quick little checkmarks or comments, scrawled in his own – his Castle scrawl. She liked his crooked, but even letters, his uppercase print. "Why is that, Kate? Why are you so fond of his handwriting?" She could ask herself, had asked herself, in hundreds of different ways. It wasn't his handwriting she was fond of, and she found herself smiling at him as she considered this. It was him, because it was his. And because…he was hers. Unless she let him get away.

He noticed. He stiffened just a little bit – shoot. "Beckett?"

"Castle."

"You're staring, you know."

"Observing, as you say. I'm bored."

"I could keep you busy." She dropped the pencil she'd been twiddling with, a hitch in her heart. He paused, looking up. God, he looked worse than before. She tried not to wince for him. "Paperwork, naughty detective. It has no end. It's going to take me alive!" He made drowning noises, reached for her in his dramatics, and her fingers twitched towards him. He was too busy embracing his inner Martha Rodgers to notice, however, and for this, she was thankful, playing it off as adjusting herself in her chair. If only he knew how often little things like that had been happening, lately. If he only knew.


After some smiles and some eye contact and some lighthearted humour they each return to working. He is relaxed against her desk, humming every now and then in low, long tones. They tickle her belly. Her left hand is practically touching his right one, pinkies nearly intersecting. She's working, too, signing off on statements and doing more clicking in her email, just so her hand can remain where it is. She imagines his warm one on top of hers, like they've done before, but knows he'd never, knows she'd never let him, here. So, pinkies almost touching is enough. Enough for now.

He makes a drowning noise, again, and without looking away from her desktop she pinches his hand so he'll knock it off. He doesn't know how to enjoy being, being close. He makes the noise again, this time his right hand whisks away from her left abruptly, and she flips her gaze to him, ready to scold her misbehaving partner for disturbing the precinct yet again, when she sees his face.

It's so white. His lips are dry. He's coughing, coughing a storm, like he's got a loose lung. He's choking- but on what? She moves her chair back, helpless-she can't shoot whatever is choking him-reaching for him as he covers his mouth. When he takes his fingers away, his palms are bright, cherry red. Blood settles on his bottom lip, such a color compared to his face, empty of it. He looks at her, and she falters, falters rising from her chair. That was it, no more games. "Ryan, tell Gates we went to the ER." Ryan and Esposito look up from their own phone calls and paperwork, alarm slipping onto their faces when they see Castle, reaching for a tissue to clean himself up. They rise. "No, you guys stay here. I'll bet you a box of doughnuts bodies start dropping like flies." Cop humour. Ryan's phone rings. He's in awe. "The holiday is over. Take care of business here; I'll take care of Castle." The look on his face when she turned back to him made her revisit her words, but she didn't care. The time for careful tiptoes was over, until they made it to the ER and he was cleared. It was just a tough cold. Some antibiotics oughtta do the trick.

This time, it was Esposito's phone that rang, and he was soon scribbling a street address down, holstering his weapon from the drawer of his desk.

"Looks like your job is saved, writer-boy." She plays a weak smile for him, snatching her keys and coat, and his wrist. He comes, the way a small child would drag along in his mother's wake. He's afraid, and she can feel it, feel the heat of him on her back. The elevator is waiting, right on their floor, and once its doors close on them and their preferred silence, she drops her hold on his wrist down to his hand, and squeezes, pressing their palms together. It would have been okay for their communication to end right there, except, he squeezed her hand back, only barely. Distanced.

TBC...