Passion

-noun

1. Ardent love.

2. Strong desire.

3. An instance or experience of strong love or sexual desire.

"Can we go yet?" Castle whined for the fifth time that night.

"Castle," the detective warned, "if you don't stop nagging me, we won't be going at all."

Rick stared at her for a few minutes. Watching all the little things she did. Like how she taps the end of her pen on her lip while she thinks. Or how she pushes loose strands of hair out of her beautiful green eyes, only to have it fall straight back down.

"Are you ready yet?" he questioned again.

"No!" Beckett declared as she picked up another folder and started reciting the events of the case.

Castle continued to stare. "I wonder if you're as passionate in bed as you about your work," the writer voices his thoughts in true Castle style.

"I wonder if you're as passionate in bed as you are about annoying me," Beckett retorted.

Castle waggled his eyebrows and put on his best 'do me' smile and said, "You wanna find out my dear detective?"

"In your dreams, Castle," Beckett said as she set down yet another file.

"And in yours," Castle replied, like the twelve year old he is.

"Oh you have no idea," she mumbled under her breath.

"What was that, my dear detective?" Rick asked, knowing full well what she had said.

Beckett just continued to work quietly, a small smile gracing her features. And Castle just continued to stare, his crystal eyes sparkling under the white lights of the precinct.

"Hey Castle?" Kate looked up from her paper work to find her monkey fiddling with his Babushka dolls.

"Yeah?"

"Can you be passionate about leaving?"

Castle stood from his chair, a playful smirk spreading across his face. Before her brain could catch up, Castle was in the elevator…with her desk chair…with her in it. "What…the…hell?"

"See I'm not just passionate about annoying you. I can be passionate about going to Remy's for lunch," he stated mater-of-fact-ly. And that was that.