EPILOGUE

She shouldn't be jealous.

She has no claim to him, not after she'd used his body for the purpose of physical pleasure, because she wanted to feel alive after the Scott Dunn case. Pleasure that he'd so willingly given.

She might have the right but she'd left his bed every night, many times as he slumbered beside her, and they hadn't mentioned their brief foray into friends-with-benefits territory to each other since it had ended. Hell, even when they were doing it. She just wants them to go back to normal, and he's obviously following her lead, not wanting to make things uncomfortable, if the longing in his eyes tells her anything.

So when a late night talk show host is found murdered and that second-rate actress fawns all over Castle, claiming that she needs "comfort," well, Kate has no right to be jealous.

Oh, but she is.

He must sense her displeasure when he saunters into the precinct on the second day of the investigation, because the shit-eating grin on his face disappears when he takes one look at her.

"Something wrong?" he asks, his brows furrowing in concern, and goddammit why does she feel the first tendrils of desire unfurling deep in her gut at just the sound of his voice?

Simmer down, Beckett.

She just shakes her head and grabs her empty mug, turns on her heel and heads towards the break room. "No, everything's fine," she lies over her shoulder.

"Are you sure?"

Of course he follows. The man won't leave her alone.

Much to her surprise, she actually doesn't mind.

Maybe if he'd followed her upstairs one night, their relationship would be different. Not that they'd necessarily be dating, because dear God she has enough on her plate without adding a boyfriend - no matter how much she wants him - to the mix, but maybe they'd actually acknowledge that their relationship is different.

He looks at her with a new light in his eyes, a constant smirk that she knows is because of their newfound carnal knowledge of each other. But it's more than that. His gaze is tender, especially when he thinks she isn't looking, and it's more than just I know what you taste like. It's full of longing.

And oh, she longs for him too.

She longs to go home with him, to tease him in the precinct until he's ready to burst, to drag him into the empty storage closet on the third floor and have her way with him. To steal a kiss in the break room as he refills her coffee. To curl up against his side as they watch a movie.

But she won't do it.

She can't. Can't open her heart to the idea of him only to have him break it again, like he did when he looked into her mom's case. She forgave him for that when he finally gave her the sincere apology she'd wanted, when she allowed him back into her life. But the scar is still healing.

So she ignores his question, reaches for the coffee pot, steps away from him when he tries to take her mug. He obviously spent the night with that stupid Ellie Monroe, she won't give him the pleasure of making her coffee.

She pours her mug in silence, fuming inside, at him, at Ellie Mon-fucking-roe, at herself for letting it get to her. Why the hell did he even come in today? She can feel his stare, knows he's watching her, studying her, and she tries to keep her face neutral, but after a few moments he gasps beside her and she knows she failed.

"You're jealous."

She scoffs. "Of what?"

He shifts to lean against the counter, crosses his arms across his chest. "You're jealous of Ellie," he teases, an infuriating smirk across his face.

Kate rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee - her nasty, non-Castle-made coffee - before lifting a brow. "Why would I be jealous of her?" She tries to step around him, to go back to her desk to try and solve the murder, but he stops her with a hand on her forearm. "Castle."

He studies her face, and she returns his stare, tries not to get lost in the cerulean blue of his eyes, the sparkle that she's only seen disappear when in the throes of passion. It feels like he can see into her soul, and maybe he can, because after a long moment he drops his hands to her hips. "Yeah you are," he argues, encouraging her to turn to face him with the pressure of his hands. "You think I slept with her."

Kate continues to glare at him, even as she steps into him, slides her free hand up his arm to cup his elbow. She leans forward, watches his gaze drop to her mouth, his pupils darken as she leans closer. "I don't care if you did," she insists, dropping her voice. "You can sleep with whomever you want."

He doesn't resist when she steps away from him. "I didn't," he calls out when she's at the door.

She freezes at the threshold, her grip on her mug tightening. I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. "Oh?"

She listens to him approach, and in a few moments he's at her back, his hips just lightly bumping her ass and she resists the urge to lean back into him, to tease him.

His breath is hot on her neck when he speaks, and she can't stop the shiver that runs through her. "I didn't sleep with Ellie."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want her."

Her breath hitches in her chest, and she starts to turn when she hears her phone ring. Saved by the bell. "Well, she obviously wants you," she calls over her shoulder before picking up the phone. "Beckett."

She doesn't want to like Demming. But she can't help it; he's nice, and handsome, and she knows it's nothing for her, but she finds herself smiling at him, laughing at his jokes.

Castle has been as attentive as ever, refilling her coffee before it's even empty, even quieting his crazy theories when she gives him a look. But Demming's arrival into her precinct has him falling quiet, a little withdrawn, and Kate refuses to ask him why.

Besides, she has a feeling she knows the answer.

So she accepts Demming's invitation for a date, and a second, and before she knows it he's kissing her at her apartment door. Something stops her from inviting him in, though. She refuses to acknowledge that it's the nagging thought that he's not Castle, instead tells herself it's because she doesn't want to move too fast.

But when she lies awake later that night with her hand between her legs and Castle's face behind her closed eyelids, she knows she's just lying to herself.

She doesn't know why she takes so much pleasure in taking Maddie to the precinct for questioning. Maybe it's because she doesn't like the way her former best friend was eyeing Castle. Or maybe she truly had motive for the murder.

Either way, when Maddie opens her big mouth and calls Kate out for being hot for Castle, she almost dies of mortification.

"You wanna make little Castle babies!" Maddie says, amusement written all over her features.

"Maddie!" Kate hisses, and at least the other woman has the courtesy to look embarrassed when Kate tells her Castle is watching the whole exchange.

Castle just smirks when he meets her outside of interrogation, and she turns on her heel and storms back into the bullpen.

"Kate-"

"Don't."

"But she-"

"Shut up, Castle."

She meets Maddie for coffee after the case is closed, and her old friend wastes no time bringing up the handsome author.

"So, Castle."

Kate rolls her eyes, tries to hide the flush of her cheeks with a sip of her latte. "Yes. Castle. The thorn in my side."

Maddie smirks at her. "Thorn in your side, huh? If he was a thorn I bet he'd rather poke you somewhere else."

Kate sputters, almost choking on her coffee. "Maddie!" she hisses, glancing around, making sure nobody had heard her.

"I'm just saying," she argues, lifting her hands in surrender, "even if I wanted to, I'd have no chance. The man is smitten with you." She leans in closer, hands tightening around her mug. "Have you slept with him yet?"

"No." It's weak, though, and judging by the way Maddie's smirk morphs into a knowing grin, she's less than convinced. She'd never been able to lie to Maddie, and apparently even after thirteen years, that's still the case.

"Uh huh." Maddie drops it, much to Kate's relief, and they spend the next couple of hours reconnecting. When they have to leave, Maddie leaves her with a final piece of advice.

"You like him, Kate. And he obviously likes you," she says after a hug. "You should act on it while you can."

She doesn't, though. She keeps telling herself that they wouldn't work together, that their relationship can be strictly platonic.

Until one morning when she's hunched over her bathroom sink, trying to quell the nausea that churns, trying to remember the last time she had her period. She mentally calculates, and when she realizes that she hadn't had it since before her apartment had blown up, she mutters a curse.

It's been weeks.

Since before she was staying with Castle.

Sleeping with Castle.

Oh...fuck.

A/N: Thank you for reading! The sequel to this fic is whatifellinlovewith's On The Nose, so if you want to know what happens next, go read that fabulous one shot. She was gracious enough to let me run with this prequel idea, and also looked over this epilogue to make sure it tied in. As usual, all mistakes are mine.