Disclaimer: As usual, all things "Castle" belong to ABC & Co.

Author's Note: As promised, the sequel to "Thankful." You should read that first. I hope this is worth the wait!

For All That You Are

Chapter 1

Nothing had changed.

Spending Thanksgiving at the loft with Castle and his family hadn't changed anything.

Not that she'd expected it to.

He still showed up whenever she called him about a case, just like before. He still concocted crazy theories involving the CIA or aliens or shape-shifters (and one particularly ridiculous theory that somehow involved all three) and she still teased him for them, just like before. He still irritated her on a practically daily basis, just like before.

So really, nothing had changed.

Except, somehow, in a way, things had changed. Not obviously, not so anyone would really notice, but it just… felt different. At least to her.

Now, when she called him up at all hours of the day or night about a case and he showed up so willingly, she heard Alexis's voice in her head talking about how Castle was happier since he'd started shadowing her.

Now, when he expounded on one of his ridiculous theories or made some wisecrack that had her rolling her eyes, she remembered the other side of him she'd seen. Now, when she caught him eyeing her chest or her butt or when he made some innuendo, she heard his voice in her head saying, I'm thankful for you too or heard her dad saying, he cares about you, Katie…

And she couldn't feel that irritated because she knew that whatever else, he wasn't really the jackass he occasionally acted like, wasn't only out to get into her pants. Whatever else, they were friends too.

It felt as if her ability to feel annoyed with him had been… dulled a little, the sharp edges of it worn away so it was just weaker, less tinged with anger and more tinged with humor.

But still, nothing had really changed and things went on, as they had before. Mostly.

He missed out on one case that came up when he took a few days off between Christmas and New Year's to take Alexis out to California so she could spend some time with Meredith. It was, Kate realized, the first case that he hadn't been there for in months, the first since the day she'd forgiven him for looking into her mom's case. It turned out to be a rather complicated one but she and the boys worked together in their usual efficient manner, undisturbed by any distracting, outlandish theories or irrelevant jokes. They solved it in fairly short order, earning a brief word of commendation from Captain Montgomery. It should have been good. And yet… Kate was surprised by the little niggling feeling of… dissatisfaction afterwards because it just felt… less fun without Castle. Less fun without building theory with him, less fun without being able to look over at him and see that he had followed her train of thought. And she found herself thinking that after all, they might have even solved it quicker if Castle had been there, with his out-of-the-box thinking, his retentive memory for seemingly insignificant details.

She didn't really like it. But she couldn't deny it either, that he had weaseled himself into her work and her life like a discordant thread woven in too-large stitches throwing off the warp and weft of the previously neatly-ordered fabric of her life. He made her life messy—but she had to admit, although she wasn't particularly pleased by the admission—that he also made her life… colorful. As if until his advent, she'd been living in black and white and now, she was living in vivid Technicolor.

And she'd really been spending way too much time with Castle when she was starting to think in terms of such overblown metaphors.

But then he came back from California and, well, she changed her mind.

She was going to shoot him, she thought, not for the first time in the last couple days. She didn't know how she'd resisted shooting him until now but she was definitely going to shoot him. Soon.

It was like he'd left what little sense of self-restraint he had back in California. And now he was… practically wild. And more annoying than he'd ever been. He was always prone to fidgeting but now he seemed incapable of sitting still for more than a few seconds at a time. He spent one car ride out to talk to one of the victim's friends and potential person of interest playing with the radio buttons in her car until she threatened to shoot off his hand. He stopped—but only to whine volubly about how important his hands were since he needed them to write. He even appropriated a rolling chair and amused himself by spinning around in it in the middle of the bullpen!

She didn't know what the hell was wrong with him! His antics and his theories were approaching almost manic levels of ridiculousness to the point that even Ryan was openly scoffing at them.

He gave up the rolling chair when she sharply ordered him to do so and returned to his usual one.

She didn't have the time for this! Didn't have the time or the patience or the inclination to be babysitting this ridiculous annoying man-child! Damn him and damn the Mayor for making sure Castle got to shadow her! She hadn't been sleeping well and she knew there were dark circles under her eyes that her makeup couldn't quite conceal so the last thing she needed was to have to put up with Castle, who appeared to have decided to commit suicide by cop by annoying her until she shot him.

Damn him anyway. Just as she'd finally admitted that he made her work more fun and started to be glad that he was around, he pulled this sort of stunt and made her never want to set eyes on him again.

His hand moved to toy with one of the elephant figurines on her desk.

It wasn't something he hadn't done before and usually she stopped him with a look or ignored him until he returned the figurine to its usual spot, which he usually did before too long. But right then, her nerves and her temper fraying after the last couple days, she snapped, snatching the figurine out from under his hand and pointedly depositing it into her drawer, since even Castle generally didn't dare rummage in her drawers. "Stop it, Castle! What is your problem lately?"

Her voice had risen to cut across the bullpen and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Espo and Ryan glance at each other and then at her, and she automatically tensed, another flare of annoyance building. She knew that look the boys had shared, recognized Espo's expression. It was their 'don't disturb the sleeping dragon' (or more accurately, don't disturb the sleeping Beckett) expression. And Ryan's look barely bothered to disguise his concern, the one he threw her all too often this week every year.

She was going to send them both dumpster-diving on the next case, possibly even sewer-diving if she could possibly arrange it, she decided. She didn't need pity, didn't need taken care of.

But then Castle, as usual, rushed in where angels feared to tread. Ignoring what she'd just said. Because of course he would since he never seemed to listen to her anyway and was incapable of following directions. "I've got it! The killer's a fixer for the CIA and he dumped the body after injecting the vic with poison to wash away any trace evidence so we'd never connect it to him!"

The boys both snorted at this piece of ludicrousness and illogic.

"Dude, what the hell are you smoking?" Espo mocked.

"Yeah, really, Castle, that makes no sense," Ryan added.

Castle huffed and bridled. "It does too make sense," he insisted and proceeded to give a rambling explanation to justify his new theory.

Kate pointedly tuned out the explanation; she really didn't have time for Castle's nonsense and didn't know what the hell he was doing wasting so much of their tim—wait. Her irritated mental grumbling skidded to a halt.

Oh. Wait. She'd just seen… something. Something she suspected she hadn't been meant to notice at all. Castle, shooting her a quick glance, his eyes soft with… concern was the only word for it, an expression that was entirely at odds with the fact that he was still spouting his nonsensical theory.

All of Kate's annoyance abruptly died, replaced with something much softer.

Oh god. Oh, Castle… She abruptly realized what he was up to, what he'd been doing these past couple days as he acted out.

The same thing he had done at Thanksgiving when her dad had tried her mom's apple pie.

He was providing a distraction. And she belatedly realized something else too, that he'd been providing coffee at even more frequent intervals than usual the last couple days. She hadn't thought, had only accepted the coffees as what he usually did. (When had she started taking his coffee for granted?) He hadn't said anything but he'd noticed, she suddenly realized. He'd noticed that she hadn't been sleeping well and, more importantly, he'd remembered why she wouldn't sleep well this week.

This was why he'd been acting out. Distracting her so she couldn't dwell on the upcoming anniversary but also distracting the boys. She remembered the look the boys had just exchanged after she'd snapped at Castle. The boys, who knew that she was taking the upcoming Saturday off, even though it should have been one of her on-duty weekends. The boys, who knew (of course) why she always took That Day off and who tended to treat her with kid gloves during this week, a veiled, cop-like solicitude that irritated her and made her want to lash out at them that she wasn't a child and didn't need to be taken care of but refrained because it was usually only apparent in their looks and their tone but never in their words and picking a fight over something so subtle just couldn't go well. They hadn't done that this week, had in fact, paid little non-casework-related attention to her at all this week because, she realized, their attention had been focused on Castle, on giving Castle a hard time for his antics.

Oh, damn.

That impulsive, crazy, thoughtful man! She didn't know what he was thinking, what kind of person deliberately set out to look ridiculous—except even as she thought it, she knew exactly what he was thinking. It was so… like him too. Misdirection and deflection—to distract her from dwelling on the last argument she'd had with her mom just a few days before her mom died, distract her from being haunted by the way she'd rolled her eyes at her mom and snapped at her mom the day before That Day. For the first time in years, she hadn't spent much time dwelling on painful memories. And it was because of him.

She felt absurd tears pricking at the back of her eyes. Oh, damn. She didn't do this sort of thing, couldn't admit in so many words how hard this week always was or what it meant to her that Castle would try to help her like this. But she had to do something.

She reached into her drawer and retrieved the elephant figurine she'd confiscated earlier, deliberately placing it back on her desk, closer to Castle than it usually was, tacit permission for him to play with it.

Her movement drew his attention, as she'd known it would, and there was a brief, almost imperceptible hitch in his flow of words as he glanced at her. She felt as if she should smile but could only manage a twitch of her lips. But he understood. She could see that he understood in the way his eyes softened.

Oh, this man! This man, who had spent the week doing what he could to make things easier. Make things easier for her, a corner of her mind corrected, the voice sounding an awful lot like her dad's. He cares about you, Katie…

They were friends. That was all. And friends did that sort of thing, looked out for each other. (She ignored the fact that neither of the boys seemed to realize that tiptoeing around her this time every year didn't really help.)

Fine, he was a perceptive friend. That was all there was to it.

But she couldn't deny that a little tendril of warmth sprouted in her chest, that a little coil of the tension she always felt during this week loosened just a little…

It wasn't much, a small moment of grace, but in the bleakest week of the year, before the hardest day of the year, the small spark of light in the darkness meant everything.

It didn't—it couldn't—of course make That Day hurt any less, not really, but the week leading up to That Day, it did help.

She never slept well the night before, her dreams restless and filled with images of her mother's body, the imagined scenarios of her mom's murder. Her mom in a hurry, on her way to meet them for dinner, maybe rummaging in her purse for something. Her mom being grabbed and dragged into the alley, being stabbed. Her mom falling to the ground, bleeding out.

Kate flinched and tried to shut out the images, tried to stop thinking about it, with limited success.

She thought about Castle, deliberately called to mind the involved, almost giddily enthusiastic explanation he'd given a few days ago to explain his belief in Bigfoot, the way he'd pontificated about how even scientists like Jane Goodall accepted the existence of a so-called "apex primate." She's snapped at him at the time, told him if he couldn't say anything useful, he should just shut up. But today, today she remembered it—and found herself smiling even before she'd realized it. Just for a moment before she realized and the smile faded but it happened and the little flare of amusement thawed the inner chill.

And it did help. The one fleeting moment of relief carried her through the morning, carried her through the way to her mom's grave.

Kate bent to brush a few dead leaves, little debris, off the top of the tombstone—and then lingered, pausing to trace her finger over the letters of her mom's name. Johanna Beckett… A watery little smile played across her lips as she suddenly remembered being a very little girl and the day she'd first realized that her parents had real names aside from "Mommy" and "Daddy." Could hear her dad's voice in her mind calling her mom's name; he had usually called her 'Jo' but he used her mom's full name to tease her sometimes (just like her mom used to drawl 'James' to tease her dad) or when he was annoyed or to make a point. She remembered overhearing a half-teasing back-and-forth exchange between her parents that had ended with her mom scoring a point and then saying, "I told you so," triumphantly, and the affectionate exasperation in her dad's voice as he'd responded, "Yes, Johanna. I get it, Johanna. Stop rubbing it in, Johanna." The deliberate repetition had made her mom laugh and ended the little spat effectively.

The thought, the memory, reminded her of another reason for her mom to say, I told you so, and she found herself saying, aloud, "Hi, Mom, guess what? Dad finally read one of Castle's books, the one supposedly based on me. He admitted that you were right and Castle actually is a good writer." She managed a small smile at the memory of her dad admitting that, the thought of how her mom would have reacted, but the smile faded a moment later. "Oh Mom, I wish… I wish you could meet Castle."

The words slipped out without thought. Wait, she did? And when had Castle become so important (to her) that she wanted her mom to meet him? He was her friend, her… colleague, of sorts, something like a partner, and she wanted her mom to meet him? She tried to tell herself it was only because he was a friend, even a good friend, but the explanation fell flat. She was friends with Lanie and the boys too and while she felt some vague, general regret that her mom had never met them, it wasn't this visceral sense of loss at the thought that her mom would never get to meet Castle. No, for Lanie and the boys, it was just part and parcel of the painful thought that her mom was no longer there, that her mom would never be there for anything that happened in Kate's life.

But this, when it came to Castle… It was different. It was stronger. It was personal. She really wanted her mom to meet Castle. She wanted to know what her mom would have thought of Castle. Well, no, that wasn't strictly true; she already knew her mom would have liked Castle.

She suddenly remembered her mom defending her love of Castle's books one time after her dad had teased her about it. Her mom had said that she was sure Castle must be clever and creative to be able to write such good mysteries and that she guessed he had a good sense of humor because of the wit he displayed in his writing. Her mom, as usual, had been right, hadn't she? And yet, not… "Castle's different… more than you expected him to be from his books, Mom. He's…" He was—what? How could she possibly summarize what Castle was? "He acts like such a jackass sometimes, making wisecracks and joking around, and he drives me crazy at least half the time but then he can also be really… nice." Like playing the class clown to distract her from painful memories and keep the boys from irritating her with their well-meant but misplaced concern. Like the man she'd seen in the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving, the man she saw around Alexis.

"He just… he confuses me, Mom." And she almost resented it. Because if there was one thing Kate Beckett didn't enjoy, it was feeling confused. She was a smart, capable cop; she solved some of the city's toughest murder cases for a living. She didn't get confused or feel out of her depth. She was always in control. Except where Castle was concerned.

For a moment, she heard her mom's well-remembered laugh and her voice saying, oh, Katie-bug, sometimes the fun is in not knowing.

What had her mom said that about—oh wait, she remembered now. Her younger self had been pouting over not being able to figure out how some magic tricks worked and her grandfather had refused to explain it to her. The young Katie had not been pleased (understatement) and had declared to her mom that she didn't like magic tricks anymore. And her mom's indulgent laugh…

Oh mom…

She choked on a sob, feeling the ever-threatening tears well up and spill over, one tear rolling unromantically off the tip of her nose. "I miss you, Mom."

Because that was really it. She missed talking to her mom, the person she'd felt safest with, the person she'd first talked to about boys and everything else too. She wanted to talk to her mom about Castle, about how he got on her nerves and annoyed her more than just about anyone she knew but he also made her laugh in a way no one had in years. Wanted to talk to her mom about how he aggravated her and challenged her and had her alternately wanting to strangle him or kiss him and sometimes both at the same time.

Wait. What? The thought brought her up short. When had she started admitting that she wanted to kiss Castle at all? (You do, Kate. Admit it.)

She felt herself flush. Okay, that part she would not want to talk to her mom about.

She shut her eyes for a moment, letting the chill of the air cool her heated cheeks. But even as she felt her flush fade, the realization—the admission—remained in her mind. She did want to kiss Castle. Wanted Castle.

It felt weirdly inappropriate that she was finally admitting as much to herself when she was standing in front of her mom's grave, after weeks (months?) of denying her own attraction to Castle. But maybe in a way, it was fitting too. Because here, with her mom, with how raw and exposed her emotions invariably were, was where she was always most honest. She never lied to her mom. Not now, not ever. (And she hadn't been very good at lying to her mom in life anyway as her mom had seemed to have a sixth sense that told her when Kate was lying.)

Yes, she did want Castle. And she liked him.

But it didn't matter because nothing was going to change.

She opened her eyes again, focusing on her mom's tombstone, the fatal date carved into the stone. She touched her fingers lightly to the tombstone in something like a caress, a silent goodbye to her mom, and then she turned and made her solitary way back home.

She hadn't been home for long when there was a knock on her door. Who on earth… She felt a flare of curiosity quickly followed by something like panic. Oh god. No, it couldn't be. Surely he wouldn't… No one disturbed her today. No one. Not her dad (who was up at his cabin anyway, as he usually was today, and whom she would call later), not the boys (not that the boys were given to dropping by at all but they also knew better than to call or text), not Lanie. Not even Will, back when they'd been together.

Then again, it would hardly be the first time he barged in where he wasn't wanted and where no one else dared.

It wasn't him.

Or at least, not really.

It was a florist's delivery boy, who handed her a small pot of African violets.

There was a little card tucked in between the leaves. For you. Just because. - RC.

She blinked back the ridiculous tears pricking at the back of her eyes, gently fingering the lush, deep purple of the petals. Was it only coincidence or had he somehow guessed that purple was her favorite color? Knowing him, she would put her money on the latter. She didn't know how he did it, wasn't even sure she liked how transparent she appeared to be to him, but she could hardly deny his perspicacity. He observed her, he noticed things, and then extrapolated from them. And as much as she didn't really like to admit it, he was often right.

A memory flickered across her mind, his voice saying, That tells me something happened… It was someone you cared about, someone you loved. And you probably could have lived with that but the person responsible was never caught…

She blinked back the sudden tears pricking at the back of her eyes. Even back then, from the beginning, he'd noticed things and been right.

But this time, he hadn't intruded. Had only sent flowers, a silent gesture of support. And his note hadn't contained any of the more eloquent turns of phrase that she knew he was capable of. (He was a writer, after all, and tended towards drama and hyperbole.) Instead, the note had been almost terse in its brevity, the simple sincerity of it hitting her even harder than any more elaborate words would have.

She sent him a quick text message. Thank you for the flowers.

His response came so quickly she knew he must have been playing with his phone, the mental image forming in her mind from so many days in the precinct and she felt a small flare of amusement and something softer flicker in her chest. You're welcome.

For once, he wasn't joking, wasn't deflecting. He was being… himself, the real Rick Castle, more like the man she'd seen on Thanksgiving.

He was—she was—it was just… oh damn. He made it so hard to resist him sometimes. Resist the swell of warmth in her chest, the tug of emotion, that got tangled up with the tug of physical attraction, that near-gravitational pull exerted by his presence and his broad shoulders and his strong arms and his eyes and his smile and… (No. Stop. Not helping, Kate.)

Because she had to resist.

Attracted or not (definitely attracted—shut up!), she still wasn't going to fall into bed with him.

Never mind that she was sure sex with Castle will be fantastic. Will be—wait. What? When had it become a foregone conclusion in her own mind that she and Castle would fall into bed together?

It wasn't going to happen.

Because no matter how much she wanted him (a lot—shut up, not helping!), she still couldn't see it turning out well. The sex wasn't the problem; the problem was that she couldn't imagine anything more than sex. Not really.

So it would be—what? Friends with benefits? A brief fling? A short-lived, dead-end affair that would be over when he lost interest and moved on, returning to his comfortable multimillionaire life?

She didn't do one-night stands or brief flings, certainly not with anyone she worked with on a daily basis. Hard enough to be a female cop (a young and attractive female cop at that; vanity aside, Kate had been the subject of too many come-ons and ogling glances not to be aware of her own looks) without throwing in the added complication of casual sex with co-workers. She was too realistic not to be aware of the damage it would do to her professional reputation and the respect she'd earned among other cops.

And she couldn't imagine a real relationship with Castle. Because he was Richard Castle and she was just a cop and, well, if there was one thing she knew about him, it was that when it came to women and relationships, he wasn't interested in real.

His ex-wives—Meredith, the over-the-top diva actress, whose every expression and every gesture and every word seemed to have been practiced in front of a mirror; Gina, the ever-poised businesswoman who looked as if she rolled out of bed with her face perfectly made-up and her hair perfectly coiffed. And she remembered the various women she'd seen Castle paired with over the years in Page Six and the occasional celebrity magazine, actresses, models, starlets, and celebutantes.

He might want her now but what if it was the thrill of the chase, the allure of what-he-didn't-have, a consequence of the way she'd turned him down on his offer to "debrief" after their first case and steadfastly shot down or ignored his other come-ons since then? What if the attraction between them was just physical, the kind that flared hot and bright and then died out once it had been consummated?

No, she couldn't imagine a real relationship with Castle. Or for that matter, imagine that he would be interested in one either.

Which left them right where they had always been, really.

Co-workers of a sort and friends.

He cares about you, Katie.

She looked at the violets he'd sent her, the card with his familiar handwriting.

And she liked him too. As more than just a friend, maybe, sort of, possibly. (Get a grip, Kate. Was it possible to hear the voice in her head roll its eyes?)

Never mind. It didn't matter. Because he didn't do real.

And she couldn't take the risk.

And then she met Kyra Blaine.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Now you see my plan for this sequel to "Thankful,"—a chance to play with "A Rose For Everafter" and, yes, "Sucker Punch." So, here we go… I hope it satisfies!

As always, many, many thanks for reading and reviewing!