Author's note: I wrote this to fill my own Pompt at the Rewriting History Prompt-athon on Livejournal. My prompt was: "They slept together years before he starts followig her." I'm no writer as I've said before, but I wanted to know what would have happened and this is what I came up with. Thanks to damon_s_86 for the beta!
They don't talk about it, don't mention, and never - under any circumstances - acknowledge it.
He won't because if he does, then maybe she wouldn't fall for it again and he pretty much wants her in his bed again. Later on, it's not just about getting her in his bed, he wants… He needs more. And reminding her of something she most certainly regrets, is not the way to go, that, he knows.
She doesn't because she's not that girl anymore, that's not the person she wants him to think she is. And maybe, just maybe, because she's a little afraid he won't remember.
They don't because those people don't exist anymore. Back then, when he extended his hand asking silently for a name, she met his with hers and said, 'Katherine - Katie'. And later, when they were both at the breaking point, it was Richard the name coming out of her mouth.
Katie doesn't exist anymore; she died along with her mom.
He calls her Beckett. Detective, maybe, if he's trying to be funny. She's heard him call her Kate sometimes, when he wants to get to her, when he's too worried to care about boundaries.
But not Katherine.
And never Katie.
She calls him Castle. She might get to consider Rick some day, it suits him. It's childish and as much as she complains about it, she loves that about him. She even told him as much after shooting down her mother's assassin. She said, "I've gotten used to you pulling my pigtails", and meant it. He makes her feel like a kid being pocked by the cute boy at school.
But never Richard.
That's the famous author she had a crush on, a wild creation her imagination painted with all the little pieces she got from the press she never read, the gossips she never heard and that night after the book signing. She's learned that that someone doesn't have anything to do with him, Caslte, the partner she's come to depend on, the man she has become to trust with all she has.
So Katie died and Richard doesn't exist.
That doesn't mean that now, while his hands are busy with her t-shirt, his mouth on her neck, she can't remember how it felt to have his hand traveling down her body. It doesn't mean she can't remember how good, and exiting, and amazing, and exiting it was to be with him. It was a dream come true; sleeping with The Writer.
It doesn't mean that he can't remember the scar on her left hip he's been dying to see and kiss, again. The same scar that it's finally under his devouring tongue. It doesn't mean he can't remember how being inside her felt like.
But this time, when she's right there, she screams 'Castle' and though it's a surname it sounds more personal than that first time.
And this time there's no awkward goodbye, but a soft 'I like Kate better' whispered against her neck while a smile draws on her face.