Instead of showing up at her door, which Rick Castle was certain would cause him to be turned away (and he could *not* handle that), he sent her flowers. He would abide by her 'no texting' policy, and her 'no visiting' policy for now. The flowers were a way to show her that he was thinking about her, hurting for her, that he wanted to make it better. He sent flowers.

Five times in five hours.

First were orchids, because they required care and were delicate and beautiful, but so strong. He put a great deal of thought into them. And then he panicked about how luxurious or rich that might appear to her, like he was already trying to take control of her life, and after that thought came the memory of some literature class about symbology, female symbology, and didn't the orchid look like a certain part of a woman's-

So he panicked and tried to cancel that order, but it had already gone out, so to make up for the orchids, he sent gerber daisies because they were just relentlessly cheerful. Bright red, all of them, in a blue pot. He'd gone to the store to pick them out himself, instead of calling in the order, even though the paparazzi had caught wind of the review board story and were following him again. They'd taken a lot of photos of him picking out flowers, which was unfortunate when he thought about it.

Understatement. It was way more than unfortunate. It was no good. The red daisies with his nose in them on page six? She'd dump those as soon as she could, get rid of the evidence. They were already sent; but he went home and googled florists in *her* neighborhood and then picked something out online. A bouquet this time, not a potted plant that needed looking after (as if he was saying that he expected her to take care of him), made up of white calla lilies in a crystal vase that cost him a little over a hundred dollars. Which seemed extraordinarily cheap for getting back on Kate Beckett's good side (if he ever really was no longer on her good side).

And since he was in no mood to write chapters of Nikki Heat tangling with bad guys when her alter ego was stuck at home, Castle did some web surfing and found really amazing ideas for things to send. First of all, he found something called Edible Arrangements, and they just looked so cool he couldn't help spending an hour clicking through their catalog. He'd already sent the calla lilies, and they were beautiful, really they were, but he was kinda sorta falling in love with the idea of sending her something she might have to eat.

She needed to eat. She tended to forget to do that. He remembered the look on her face at Dylan's, so he paid for a dozen chocolate-dipped strawberry roses, delivered in a long, red box. They would look like flowers but she could eat them. Castle hadn't seen her often go to town on a pint of ice cream (unlike himself, and alas, Alexis as well) but he couldn't imagine someone in her condition saying no to chocolate. He sat back in his chair, content, happy with this purchase at least, and then realized how syrupy, sweetly romantic that might seem to her. And then he changed his mind again and had to figure out something else to do.

He knew that four different deliveries in one day was a bit much. A lot much. He knew that. But now that he'd gone all out trying to get it right, it would be foolish and wasteful to leave it incomplete and lackluster like this.

It was nearly noon. Esposito had texted him about their fantasy baseball draft. He felt guilty for not coming down to the station to see the boys, so he ordered them huge helpings of lunch specials (3, 9, and 13) from El Mezcal around the corner. They had delivered to the precinct before; they'd be able to get in no problem. Dennis Munoz, the owner, rang up his credit card, and he promised to have his son deliver the food himself.

Thinking about lunch reminded him of Dylan's last week, and then he had a great idea. His best idea yet. Perfect. Best thing about it? It'd cost him almost nothing; and since Kate liked flashy almost as much as she liked paparazzi, this was the thing that would win her over.


It was only when the water started to get cold that Kate snapped out of it and moved from the bottom of the tub. She was shivering so hard that she had trouble keeping hold of the soap. The shampoo ran down her face when she fell forward into the spray, and the burn in her eyes felt too familiar. Rinsing her hair, her body, her teeth chattered so hard she bit her tongue.

Kate finally turned off the water and crawled out of the clawfoot tub; she had to use both hands on the side to keep from falling. She was trembling so hard that drying off with a towel was an exercise in torture, but she hobbled back towards her room for clean clothes without the comfort of the terry cloth, choosing to let the goose bumps rise on her skin and her bones creak as she moved.

Punishment. She knew the symptoms for what they were. She'd been to three years of therapy after failing to solve her mother's case the first time; she knew all of her signs. Self-punishment, no appetite, exhaustion. . .she overworked, overdid, under-cared for her body. Didn't mean she could actually stop herself from doing it, but she did at least recognize her self-destructive behavior.

Once in her room, she thought she heard a scratch at her door, but she paused and there was nothing. She let out a shaky, relieved breath and went into her closet for some clothes. She still had Alexis's tshirt from this weekend. She pulled it out of the dirty clothes hamper and clutched it against her shivering chest. Bra, underwear, jeans. And before she realized what she was doing, she was dressed in that same, girly tshirt. It smelled like Castle's place. Like Castle himself.

She ripped it off again and shoved it deep into her laundry, burying it. Her hands were still shaking. Adjusting her bra straps, Kate peered into a drawer of her grungy clothes and pulled out an oversized black tshirt. It was soft; the breast pocket was unraveling on one side, limp, and the sleeves flared at her shoulders. It looked sexier than she meant it to, she realized, and wondered what subconscious thoughts were still lurking in the back of her brain today.

The phone was on the coffee table.

And then she really did hear something at her door, and even though she felt a mess, she crept through the living room towards her front door, never in her life so aware of not having a weapon. Her heart raced, making her dangerously light-headed, and her palms sweat.

Then the door buzzed; she jumped a mile and landed hard on the side of her foot, a hand clapped over her mouth. She winced her way to the door and peered through the peephole before opening it to a delivery guy.

And saw that the front of her door was papered with little delivery notes: specialty places with cutesy names and curling font. The guy in front of her handed her a clipboard, which she signed sloppily, and then gave over a package and left. Kate stood in her doorway staring at the delivery notes, then ripped them off the door. Heart still trying to recover from earlier, she turned and dropped the box on the hall table, then grabbed her keys and locked up. She shuffled down to the office manager's with the notes in her hand.

Office manager Mark had to call the janitor and a maintenance worker to help carry everything back. The flowers were huge, dwarfing things that were hard to see around. She held the smallest, a long, thin box that looked like roses (she would murder him) but smelled like chocolate. Calla lillies, daisies, and vivid purple orchids that she'd have to figure out how to take care of. She knew already that she'd kill the daisies; she always had, despite loving them so much, and she would do it again no doubt. Overwater them or not enough, somehow she managed to finish them off within a week. And yet, every summer she bought a new pot from the little nursery down the corner in the hopes that she could change.

She would never change. The daisies were a bright, brilliant reminder.

She thanked Mark, thanked Andy and Jamal for their help, then closed the door after them. She locked it. She put a trembling hand to the door and pressed her forehead against her hand, weak at the knees. The box, still resting on her hall table, caught her eye.

The flowers, the chocolate, all from Castle. Of course. She didn't want to look at it all. It was overkill. It felt intrusive. But the box she had signed for was stamped with the logo of a custom weapons shop, Gunny's. It was the maker of choice for most of the guys at the 12th. And that was just downright strange. Ryan and the Captain had both gotten their extra pieces from Gunny's. And Esposito had a specialty weapon he'd had the man make, then paid for with about three years' worth of overtime. She remembered how Esposito had cradled that weapon like a baby.

She used her fingernail to slit the packing tape, causing a piece of cardboard to give her a papercut. She sucked on her stinging thumb while she used her other hand to rip back the flaps of the box. Inside that were four other boxes, one with Gunny's logo, the other two Tiffany's.

Her heart started to pound and she had to sit down. Immediately. In the floor with the box to her chest, the front door at her back.

The boxes were numbered. She started with the first one, from Gunny's, and pried it open with her shaking hands.

She burst into hysterical laughter, leaning against the door. Edible handcuffs. Oh, the absolute sheer nerve of Richard Castle. She dumped them on the floor and a card fluttered down, like a name placard for private stationary. She scooped it up and read his blocky scrawl:

Partners. Always.

And something told her that opening those boxes labelled Tiffany's wouldn't end her. She picked up number two and popped open the blue lid. Rolling her eyes, she lifted out a sheet of red candy button stick-on earrings. She plucked the third blue velvet box from the bottom and opened it without hesitation: a candy necklace, all pastel colors and sharp sweet tang. She pulled it out and stretched it around her head, feeling the weight of the little pieces of candy at her collarbones. She pulled a white one up to her mouth and crunched it off with her teeth. She had always eaten the white ones first; she liked them least.

Licking the sugar from her thumb, she then reached for the fourth box with a flickering smile on her face. The blue velvet was larger than she expected, but shaped familiarly, square with that domed top. Despite knowing that it couldn't possibly be real, couldn't possibly, her hands were still shaking as she opened it.

A Ring Pop. Nestled in the brilliant white of the ring box. She twisted the ties free and slid it on her finger, then took an experimental lick. Red cherry. There was a card folded up in the ring box's top, and she pulled it out with two fingers.

At any time, you say the word, you give me a sign, and I will make this real. Partners.

Her phone was still on the coffee table.