no secret anymore


He's been in meetings all afternoon. He ducked out after lunch, pressing a quick kiss to her lips after checking to make sure the bullpen was clear of onlookers before ducking out.

And damn it, she was lonely. Ryan and Esposito were off re-canvassing neighbors of their suspect to try and break his already shoddy alibi and Gates is downtown at One PP for the Police Commissioner's monthly meeting.

Her finger hovers over the call button on her phone. He'd be thankful for the interruption, more than willing to get out of the room to answer. Instead, she pulls out the legal pad from her top drawer and clicks on a pen.

It takes her the entire rest of shift to write the letter. She keeps crossing lines out, replacing words, repeating herself. The thing is filled with her circling around the real words. The ones that she knows he's been waiting to hear but patient enough to wait out. Waiting for those just like he waited for her.

Except she's not ready to vocalize them. She hasn't said them to anyone and meant it for a long time and she wants this one to be right.

So she writes them out at the very end of the letter. The same three words over and over and over and over. Her hand shakes at the end as she looks at the gradually sloppy letters.

She stuffs the paper into her pocket before she turns her computer off for the night. Her fingers run over the edges on the subway ride to his place. She needs to find somewhere to leave it for him. Somewhere he can read her words until she's ready to say them.

Once she gets into the loft, hesitation and doubt washes over her. Where's she going to leave this so that he sees it but she doesn't watch him read it in front of her? Not on his pillow because she'll be right there when he tugs her down on top of the sheets tonight. Tucking it into his desk drawer could mean that he never finds it; those drawers are a mess of random notes and toys for him to play with instead of writing. She could slide it into one of his suit jackets, the one that he always wears to book signings and he has one coming up this weekend so he'd probably see it then. But she doesn't want him reading it in front of raving fangirls and his publicist so that option is out too.

She sighs, collapsing against the bookshelves in his study as she looks around. Nothing's going to work. It was a stupid idea anyway.

The door opens and she tosses the folded paper onto the coffee table, scrambling to hide it in his copy of the DSM, right with one of his post-it notes. He's already complaining about the meetings as he snags her belt loop to pull her over for a soft kiss, juggling the pizza box in the other hand. She glances back at the book, half-listening to him as he takes down plates.

She's on edge for the rest of the week. Waiting for him to say something. Because she's seen him with the book on mental disorders open on his thigh, a notebook balanced on the other as he scribbles notes down. And the letter isn't anywhere to be found, the crumbled edges no longer peeking out from the top of the pages. But she doesn't mention it as she straddles his hips, knocking the notebook and manual onto the ground and distracting both of them for a good forty-five minutes.

It's his birthday when she finally says it. Everyone has left after the party he threw. Even Alexis is back at her dorm so it's just the two of them. She's laying out across the bed, head propped up on her forearm and he's doing a silly strip tease with the waistband of his boxers that has her half-hiding her smile behind the rumpled covers.

When the waistband snaps out of his hand and hits his hip, she can't stop the snort of laughter. "God, Castle, I love you."

He puts a knee on the bed, right next to her stomach so that she rolls toward him a little. His hand tugs lightly on her hair. "I know. I got your note."

"I needed to tell you somehow. You had to know," she insists, twisting to face him and grabbing his wrist to keep it against her cheek.

"I know. I knew." His lips are soft and gentle as they touch down on hers. "I love you, too."

She laughs, brushing her fingers through his hair. "I know. You wrote me four full-length, best selling love letters."