AN : I just want to apologize for not updating for like half a year. I have NO excuse. I'm just horrible with deadlines.

Anyhow, please enjoy this chapter!


Si tu ne peux pas mordre dans la vie qui t'emporte
Parce que c'est la vie qui te mord chaque jour
Si tu ne peux répondre aux coups qu'elle te porte
Amène-toi chez nous, je serai dans ma cour
Je ne sais pas guérir, je ne sais pas me battre
Mais peut-être qu'à quatre nous trouverons le tour
Viens

Rough translation : If you can't grab on to the moving flow of life, come to me. I am neither a soldier, nor a healer, but together, we'll find the key.


The day, so far, has been horrible.

But then again, January 9th hasn't been a good day for the last 13 years.

She had woken up to the painful tug of her scars; the cold and the humidity making them itch and pull. She had been disappointed that she had received no morning call. She had hoped for a murder to distract her because the perspective of a full day of paperwork, giving her entirely too much time to think, was more than she could bear.

When she arrived at the precinct, she hadn't been expecting Castle. But he was there, on his chair, playing on his phone, a cup of steaming coffee resting right beside him on her desk.

"Paperwork day, you know?" she had told him.

"I know." He had sent her a smile that made her inside flutter and she had returned it, already knowing that in the darkness of the day, he would be her single bright light.

The relief Castle's coffee cup and his presence had provided hadn't lasted much longer when she learned that the heat in the precinct had broken down and the reparation would likely take a long time.

She had been so grateful that her boys wouldn't let her wallow in misery. All throughout the day, they had found ways to alleviate the mood.

"Oy, Beckett, blue really suits you. Ever thought about a Doctor Manhattan costume for Halloween?"

They hadn't even seen the glare she had thrown them, too busy high fiving each other.

She hadn't minded.

But her good mood had promptly disappeared when he announced he had an urgent errand and would be back later.

And now, four hours later, she's feeling cold, impatient and empty. The boys, who were teasing her just a few hours ago, are not so subtly exchanging looks, avoiding her gaze when she catches them do so.

She mindlessly grabs her mug, thinking a little caffeine will perhaps make things a little better. The drink is lukewarm when it goes down her throat and she swallows hard, makes a face. Yes, some good coffee is what she needs.

She starts the machine and watches the stream of delicious beverage fill her cup. She goes for the frothed milk and as always, the thing hisses and spits hot water, burning her fingers. She curses, puts the digit in her mouth and tries again.

"Need a hand?"

She turn around, eyes wide, recognizing the voice of her partner. He takes over the coffee maker, pours the milk on top of the coffee and hands it back to her.

"Sometimes I think you programmed it to only obey to you," she tells him.

Beckett hums in appreciation as she drinks a mouthful of the scalding liquid. She opens her eyes to his blue irises, a longing in them he doesn't bother to hide and that she catches more and more often these days. And she tries, desperately tries to tell him with her own eyes that she knows, has known for a long time how he feels about her, but she's not quite there yet. Please wait for me, just a little longer, I promise I'll get there, they beg.

"If I told you the secret to it, you wouldn't need me anymore."

It was said jokingly, but she sees in the way his eyes dart around, in the way his smile drops a little that even the possibility of being excluded from her life terrifies him. And it's her fault, her own damn fault, for being so closed off that he can't even tell that it terrifies her as well.

"Well, I did train you to fetch…"

He grins, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

"So what's up with the flowers?"

She points to the bouquet of flowers he had put aside on the break room table to help her with the coffee.

"These?" He goes to grab them, looking a little nervous. "They're for you." He fiddles with the plastic covering the stems and hands it to her.

"For me?"

"Yeah, I mean, if you want them." He clears his throat. "I thought, since today is… Well you would want to go to the cemetery to visit her and you could put them on her grave."

He holds out his arm, gestures for her to take it. She doesn't, just stares him, silent, overwhelmed by the kindness of his gesture. She sees his face fall with disappointment as the silence stretches.

"Look, forget what I said, you don't need to accept it if it's too much and I'm sorry if I overstepped. I just wanted to do something nice but if-"

"No I…" She grabbed the flowers, interrupts him.

"Rick, thank you," she whispers. "It's the sweetest thing anybody's ever done for me. It means a lot."

The smile slowly reappears on Castle's face. Her gaze, trained on him, grows too soft, too tender, too revealing.

"They're her favourites too. How did you know?"

He shrugs, looks a little guilty.

"Don't tell me? Called my dad."

He has the decency to look chastened. "I wanted to make it perfect."

And with that statement, unbearably sincere, she momentarily forgets every reason she has to stay away from him and impulsively hugs him, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"Thank you."

His arms hesitantly come up to hold her against his chest.

"You already thanked me," he replies.

"Yes, for giving me the flowers. But it's for more that. It's for being here today. For being you." She pulls away, mindful of the open blinds and the watchful eyes of her coworkers. "For being the best partner."

"Always," he says.

And perhaps, she thinks, as she gets lost in the love she finds in his eyes, perhaps in the future, with him, January 9th won't be such a horrible day.


So there you go, I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, don't forget to review!