Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: I meant to post this earlier but RL got in the way. Sorry! But without further ado, here is the next chapter. I hope it's worth the wait!

Becoming Us

Chapter 3

Castle had already decided he was done for tonight, needed to leave, before Beckett even disappeared from view into his office.

He couldn't deal with this tonight, couldn't spend any more time with her right now after the shattering reminder that she had a boyfriend. A boyfriend of whom she'd just said that they had a chance.

He wanted more than anything for Beckett to be happy and if she wanted to try for that happiness with Josh, he would not stand in the way of that.

Being Beckett's partner, her friend, was enough, he told himself. At least it was for now. But not tonight. Tonight, his emotions were too close to the surface, too raw. And with the thought of Josh at the forefront of his mind, being with her any longer would hurt, abrade his spirit too much.

What was that line he'd read somewhere once, that the worst way to miss someone was to sit right next to them and know that they can never be yours?

He flinched.

No, he couldn't deal with spending any more time with Beckett tonight. As much as he normally loved spending time with Beckett—she was his best friend, his favorite person in the world aside from Alexis—tonight it hurt. And he wasn't a fan of self-torture.

He would leave now but he couldn't go without telling her goodbye, wouldn't just walk out on her like that. But once she returned, he'd excuse himself.

Anyway, he really was tired. Emotionally and physically exhausted after the tension of the last couple days so getting home would be nice.

He sensed her return—or more prosaically, heard her steps—and promptly manufactured his blandest expression before he looked up at her. "Hey, all done with your phone call?"

She gave him a faint smile as she resumed her seat. "All done, thanks."

There was a shade of something a little off in her smile but he didn't analyze it, too busy steeling himself. He pasted on the most casual smile he could muster. "It's been a long day so I think I'll call it a ni—"

"You wanna get another drink?" she blurted out, her words overlapping with his, making him break off mid-word.

He blinked. "You… uh… want another drink?" he repeated, not able to mask his surprise. He glanced down at her mug; she hadn't even finished her hot toddy, although it had probably cooled by now.

"If you're not too tired." She gave him a small, oddly tentative smile.

"I… yeah, I could do with one more drink," he found himself agreeing before he'd even consciously decided to do so. Because of course he would. When did he ever say no to Beckett? If she asked him to, he would probably agree to walk barefoot across red hot coals.

God, he was so doomed. Hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her. It was terrifying.

Now she flashed him a real, brighter smile—and yeah, that was why he could never say no to Beckett. The way she smiled when she was pleased, that beam of warmth in her eyes—every time he saw it, it was like everything in him unfurled under its influence, like a flower under the sun. (Oh, that was a real manly metaphor, Rick.)

He tried for insouciance. "So, what'll it be, Beckett? Your usual? Another hot toddy? Beer?"

"A glass of wine?" she suggested.

"Coming right up."

He headed back to the bar, glad of the excuse, the chance to try to get a hold of himself. He directed Brian to get two glasses while he made his way behind the bar and got the high-end, expensive Merlot that he kept in the Old Haunt as part of his private stash, the part he didn't make available to the general public.

Beckett had invited him to stick around for another drink. It didn't have to mean anything—and yet… Beckett didn't really extend invitations that often. She wasn't one for spontaneous suggestions.

And she'd just been on the phone with her boyfriend. He'd been half expecting her to be the one to make an excuse and leave to go be with Josh. But she hadn't, had instead suggested another drink. Choosing to spend more time with him rather than going to be with her boyfriend.

What did that mean? Did it mean anything?

No, it didn't have to, he counseled himself. Maybe Josh was busy, after all, the man was a surgeon and he did tend to be busy, as Beckett had said herself only the day before. Maybe she just didn't feel like being alone right now and he was a friend. That could be all it was.

Careful, Rick.

He grimaced at himself. He was trying to shore up his pitifully fragile defenses where Beckett was concerned. (Who was he kidding? He had no defenses where Beckett was concerned, not really.)

He picked up the two glasses, trying to school his heart into indifference (fat chance of that) and his expression into casual friendliness (with more success, he thought).

He handed one glass to her as he resumed his seat, lifting his own glass. "So, a toast? To saving the City?" he suggested.

She lifted her own glass. "To having more time," she agreed and took a sip.

She lowered her glass. "We make a good team," she said quietly.

His heart leaped and he couldn't help smiling, both at the words and at the memory of another conversation over a year ago. "Like Turner and Hooch, right?"

She huffed a soft laugh. "You do still remind me a little of Hooch."

He made a face at her. "Funny, Beckett. I'll have you know I just saved the city today and I have it on good authority that the Mayor actually wants to give me a medal."

"Never going to stop bragging about that, are you, Castle?" But her tease was mild, her eyes and her smile indulgent, even… affectionate?

"Well, you still won't let me carry a gun so yeah, I think a medal from the Mayor will have to do."

"It's against NYPD policy to allow children to carry guns," she drawled.

"How fortunate for me since I am not a child."

"All evidence notwithstanding," she quipped.

"Mean, Beckett," he groused but he couldn't keep up the pretense of being offended, a laugh escaping him. And somehow, he felt his mood lifting, in spite of everything. God, he loved this woman, loved her quick wit, loved the way she teased him.

Careful, Rick.

The warning of his inner voice made him mentally pull up short, the realization breaking in on him. Damn it, this was why spending more time with Beckett, especially without the buffer of work or the presence of the boys, was so dangerous. It was so… easy to fall into their usual banter and every time they did, with every smile she gave him, every time she made him laugh, he fell even deeper, his heart ensnared even further.

Shit.

He sat back, taking a long drink and making a show of looking around the Old Haunt, as if to check on how the other patrons were doing. And then he controlled his expression and his tone to ask, "How's Josh?"

The mention of Dr. Motorcyle Boy's name should do the trick, break this illusion of intimacy.

The amusement faded out of her expression, something he couldn't quite read flickering across her face. "He's… leaving to go back to Haiti."

He was what? But… "I thought he'd decided not to go."

She dropped her eyes, tracing one finger around the base of her wine glass. "He had. He did. But there's another group leaving at the end of the week and he's going to try to join them." She paused and then added, abruptly, "We broke up."

He choked on the sip of wine he'd just taken. He coughed and finally managed to say, "I'm sorry."

It wasn't untrue. He sternly tamped down on any other more unworthy emotions even if he couldn't help the flicker of hope. A break-up, no matter how amicable, was never pleasant. And if she was hurt or upset in any way…

She made a small face. "It's okay, Castle. It was… a mutual decision."

"Oh," was all he could say, lamely. Afraid to say anything more because he wasn't sure he could control his tone. The little knot of worry loosened inside his chest. If it had been mutual, she wouldn't be hurt. He hoped.

She took another sip of her wine and then paused, one finger idly tracing a whorl in the wood of the table for a moment before she looked back up at him. "I liked him but… he wasn't what I was looking for."

His heart slammed painfully against the walls of his chest. The question of what she was looking for rose to his lips but he swallowed them back. He wasn't going to pry. He wasn't. He knew Beckett too well to think that pushing her would work. And Beckett wasn't a sharer.

He didn't trust himself to speak so he kept his lips clamped shut, lowering his eyes in turn to study the table.

There was a beat of silence and he felt her gaze on him but he was, for once, afraid to look up and meet her eyes, afraid of what she might be able to read in his expression. She had only just barely broken up; now was not the time to be immediately pushing for something, he told himself.

"You're not going to ask what I'm looking for?" she broke the silence quietly.

That made his eyes jerk up to hers in surprise, not to say shock. Was Kate Beckett actually inviting further questions?

"I… uh… don't want to pry," he managed to say.

The ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. "Since when?"

"I thought I'd try something new," he offered a little lamely.

Another more definite smile curved her lips. "It's torture, not asking, though, isn't it?"

"I'll suffer through somehow," he assured absently, assuming the tone of a martyr in an automatic bid for humor.

She huffed a sound of quiet amusement that wasn't quite a laugh but she sobered quickly enough. "You can ask, Castle," she said quietly.

His breath stuttered in his chest and he had to swallow back the lump of hope and fear and love that had formed in his throat before he could find his voice. "What are you looking for, Kate?" His voice sounded unlike himself to his own ears.

She let out a breath and met his eyes. "I think… I've been looking for you."

She—he—uh—what—his thoughts stuttered, his mind floundering desperately, and he knew he'd been able to comprehend English as of a second ago but now, he—uh—oh god—really? His thoughts were gibbering, too disordered to focus. "Really?" he finally managed to croak. But even as he said it, he knew it was stupid. Kate Beckett wouldn't have said it if she didn't mean it. Oh god, she wanted him, wanted to be with him. And he finally managed to find words, at least sort of.

"Kate, you—us—it's all I want," he blurted out. Poetry, it was not, and he knew later that his writer's brain would no doubt come up with much more eloquent words but right now, he was still too surprised and possibly, a little fuzzy-headed from lack of sleep, to be that eloquent, even as he felt happiness blazing through him, any hurt he'd ever felt immediately becoming inconsequential. Everything he'd hoped for, all he'd thought he could see in her eyes, in her smile, was really coming true.

And really, it wasn't tiredness that was making him stumble over his words; it was just her effect on him. Because somehow, this woman who inspired him more than anyone else he'd ever met, who had driven him to write millions of words about her, could also erase every coherent thought from his mind, make him lose all his vaunted skill with words, with little more than a look, a smile, the tug of her lip between her teeth.

A small, tentative smile curved her lips. "Yeah?" In anyone else, the question would have sounded shy. In her, he wouldn't call it shy, just a little tentative. As if she really hadn't been sure of him. He'd never heard the kickass Detective Beckett sound so uncertain. His heart twisted. It seemed like something against nature.

"God, yes, Kate, you know it's not about the books anymore, hasn't been about the books for a long time now. I keep coming back because of you, because I… like spending time with you, like being your partner." He bit back the rest of his confession, that he kept coming back because he was in love with her. He couldn't tell her that, wouldn't push like that yet. It would be too much, too soon.

Something he couldn't read flickered across her expression. "Castle, I—you should know that I'm not very good at this."

He blinked, confused. "What?"

She gave a rather awkward little wave of one hand. "I'm not good at relationships."

He opened his mouth to respond but before he could, she went on, not quite fluidly. "Before, when I said I wanted someone to dive into it with, I—it wasn't really Josh's fault. It was me. I was the one who kept one foot out the door. I didn't—I don't think I know how to dive into it, really. I don't… share, don't talk about what I'm thinking."

Maybe she didn't open up easily but she was trying and for now that was enough. She did care about him, wanted to be with him, and that was more than enough for now. That was everything.

"Kate, no, as long as you want this, want us, then we can figure it out. We can take it as slow as you need to. I'm not going anywhere," he promised. "Besides," he added, aiming to make her smile because he didn't like seeing the shadows in her eyes, "I like to think I'm pretty good at getting past your defenses. After all, you didn't like the idea of working with me at first either."

He was rewarded for this as she huffed a laugh, her eyes brightening.

"Yeah, you wore me down eventually."

Not for the first time, his gaze strayed to her lips. "See, we can figure it out. We'll find a way," he said without any very clear idea what he was saying, distracted as he was by the shape of her lips, the curve of her smile. "Kate?"

"Yeah?" He heard her breath hitch a little as his heart sped up.

"Can I kiss you now?"

She smiled, one of her real bright smiles, and he wanted no other answer, one of his hands lifting to cup the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, as he leaned in.

And then his lips were on hers and it was… gentle, tender even, her lips soft and warm and responsive against his and just… perfect.

Because this time, there was no danger hanging over their heads, there was no ruse to carry out. This time, there was only them. This time, it was real.

She lifted a hand to touch her fingertips to his cheek as she shifted closer and his thoughts blurred as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the line of her lips.

There was a sudden burst of sound and they both jerked apart, the spell breaking, and he looked around to see that a small group of people had entered the Old Haunt on a wave of lively conversation and laughter. Oh right, they weren't alone. He'd… forgotten or something. But Beckett had a way of doing that too, making him forget about anything and everyone except for her.

He turned back to her to see that she was biting her lip in that way that made him want to kiss her (pretty much everything she did made him want to kiss her. And well, after their kiss just now, he didn't think that was ever going to change.)

"Maybe we should go down to your office, more privacy."

"Come home with me," he blurted out, his words overlapping with hers.

She flushed (beautifully). "Castle, it's not that I don't want to…"

"Not for that," he quickly added, interrupting her, even as he felt a flare of arousal and elation that had him momentarily questioning his own resolve. "I think we're both too tired for that. I just meant, we'll be alone there since my mother and Alexis are out of town and we could talk more. And then if you wanted to, you could crash in the guest room or something. I just… after the last couple days, I'm not sure I want to let you out of my sight," he admitted candidly.

It was an admission of vulnerability he probably wouldn't make to anyone else but Beckett was different. She was his best friend, more than that, and she would understand.

She did understand, her expression softening. "All right, let's go back to the loft."

He stood up and held out his hand. Her glance flickered down to it and he remembered the last time he'd held out his hand to her, when they'd been standing in front of the bomb.

And then she smiled, one of those warm, closed-mouth smiles that he'd always thought showed that she cared about him as more than just a friend, cared maybe even almost as much as he did—and now he knew she did—and slipped her hand into his.

And hand in hand, they left the Old Haunt to go home, together.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: Just an epilogue to go…