"What took you so long?" Beckett called as I jogged towards her.

It'd been a treacherous journey; dodging ladies and prams, just about managing to juggle the two coffees and Kate's bearclaw in outstretched hands.

"Traffic. Human traffic." I panted, shooting an exaggerated grimace her way.

She narrowed her eyes, "Don't you have, I don't know, a Ferrari? Or a limo?"

"Well, yes."

Beckett lifted one perfectly arched eyebrow.

I imagined her glancing at the magazine section during her weekly shop. Among the shiny photo-shopped faces her eyes would find mine, hazy from the drink, with one arm draped around a stranger's shoulder and the other making rude gestures at someone she couldn't see. I found myself doubting her decision to let me back into her life.

"I walk Alexis to school." I explained, "I don't want the other kids to treat her differently because I'm, you know."

If Kate's expression did soften, it was only slightly; the edges of her eyes widening while her jaw remained set.

"A sucker for Disney movies? Awful at wrapping presents? A weirdly good dancer?"

I was assaulted by memories of Beckett raising her eyebrows at my DVD collection- the set of syfi box-sets that shared a shelf with an extensive collection of Disney movies. Next came the snorted laugh she'd made before opening her plastic police-badge at Christmas; and the final glimpse of dancing to the first song that came onto the radio; some cheesy pop song she'd claimed to hate (but knew all the words to).

I grinned. "All of the above."

Kate nodded slowly, a smile creeping over her tightly moulded features. She was half-turned, poised to climb the steps to the precinct doors when she grabbed her coffee from my hand.

"Thanks."

I smiled softly and nodded, reaching to open the door for her.

She took a sip of the warm liquid, the caffeine's instant effect making the gold in her eyes dance, her cold fingers brushing mine when she took the paper bag from my other hand, and it took everything not to melt into the gum-studded concrete.

I managed to compose myself enough to ask, "What've you found?" Before I followed her through the doors and into the bustling reception of the 12th.

Beckett's desk was in the far corner of the precinct' upper floor, one of many small, wooden structures, surprisingly neat in the midst of the mayhem of the twelfth. I followed her footsteps, but it was difficult to follow her unwavering gaze forward. It seemed as if every desk's occupant looked up as we passed, pausing to take in 'Beckett's shadow'. I imagined that it wasn't often that she joined in on show and tell, and, true enough; I always had been her strangest pet.

Stacks of neat files took up the space that the computer did not, but in the corner of the desk, guarding a file on public-urination, were the ornamental elephants that I recognised from the mantelpiece in Kate's childhood home. Johanna Beckett had adored those Chilean elephants, claiming that they brought good luck to the household. Kate had once, during an argument, terrorised them, (and her mother); waving the money-carrier around like a weapon. She'd claimed that her mother cared more about the ornament that her own daughter. Years later they sat dutifully protecting Beckett from the dangers of vice, and go on to sit on the larger desk of a homicide detective.

Kate slammed a thin-looking file onto the desk without preamble.

"Castle-"

"Uh I was just-" I interrupted, embarrassed to be caught snooping.

She went on as if she hadn't heard me, "Before I open this you need to understand that this is just about the case. You're only here because you're a witness. Got it?"

I nodded firmly.

"Good."

I caught her hand before she managed to peel back the first page, gripping it firmly.

"Are, uh, are we... Are we allowed to do this?"

"Legally? No, probably not. But hey I'm just a uniform taking a look through some files in my lunch break. And you're an innocent civilian who just so happened to stop by to bring me a cup of coffee."

"Got it."

Beckett took a deep breath before taking me through the file and the notes she'd made from various newspaper articles and web searches, point by point. "Jenny Sterling went to high school with Malcolm Maise and his wife, Matilda. After a few years earning a degree in business, worked with Malcom for 40 years. She's been mentioned in interviews as the brain behind the campaign. Unfortunately Jenny had battled with depression for the majority of her life before dying young. She never married."

"Sounds like a clear-cut suicide." I tried, that dark, threatening voice getting louder in my memory with every word Kate read.

"We'll see." She replied, her voice firm and steady.

And then she was gone, the sharp clicking of her heels making me look up from the elephants.

"Where're we going?"

"I've got a friend for you to meet." She called over her shoulder.

The morgue didn't smell like death. It smelt like disinfectant and swimming-pools and Kate's perfume. That day, I met one of it's few living inhabitants.

Lanie Parish practically radiated life. There was a laid back confidence to her every breath, a cocktail of expectancy and laughter that flickered behind her eyes, and a vibrancy to her glossy hair and bright scrubs that made you forget that you were standing in a room filled with dead bodies.

I immediately decided that I liked Lanie.

"Hey girl." she greeted with her back turned, seemingly made aware of Kate's presence by her psychic best-friend powers.

"You got any idea where Royce is today? No-ones heard from him and I know you two close-" She paused when she turned, was met with Beckett's harsh glare and my equally impressive grin.

"No, Lanie, I don't know where he is." Becked replied with an air of nonchalance I didn't believe.

But her friend's mind was already elsewhere. "Who's your friend?"

"Rick Castle. I'm consulting on the case." I extended a hand to Lanie, a gesture which she accepted with a firm shake.

"Ooh the Richard Castle? Beckett, why didn't you tell me you were friends with Rick Castle?"

Beckett shrugged as she approached, taking the ballistics report out of Lanie's waving hand. Then her lithe fingers went to work, flicking carefully through the ballistics report with rapid interest.

"I'm a big fan of your books." Lanie told me, her tone light and fluid.

"I didn't know you've read his books." Beckett said without looking up.

Lanie tutted before turning back to me, "I read one. You really get the details right."

"Why thank you!" I flashed her my most charming smile, ignoring Beckett's eye-role, "It's always nice to meet a fan."

"Especially when they're hot." Beckett added.

"Aw thanks Beckett!" Lanie patted Kate's thin shoulder in appreciation, seemed not to notice when she stiffened.

"I wasn't sure if I was working it today." She explained, "I had way too much to eat this weekend... But it's nice to hear I've still got it!"

"You've definitely still got it." I assured her.

Lanie smiled, either oblivious or uninterested in the glare Beckett sent us both.

"Sorry to interrupt" Beckett bit out, with an expression that was anything but sorry, "but I'm actually here to investigate a murder."

"Suicide." I corrected.

"That's a matter of opinion."

"Oh I see." Lanie cut in, arms folded and head tilted, "I hang around dead people all day and the only living people I see want to talk about dead people. Does that seem right to you?"

I shook my head seriously. "I wouldn't take it personally. This is coming from the woman who's never seen Toy Story 2."

"I don't see how that's relevan-"

"You've never seen it?!"'I gasped so suddenly that Kate nearly dropped the file. "I was bluffing! Beckett, I can't believe you've never seen it!"

She shrugged, shot the now silent Lanie a look of desperation before adding defensively, "The first one wasn't that great."

"Are you kidding me?!"

"Lanie..." Beckett wined, turning away from me.

The expression I only then realised was amazement turned serious at Kate's heartfelt plea and she grabbed the file from Beckett's hands, "Fine, fine.." She said, flipping though the pages and humming in confirmation before she began.

"I checked out the ballistics report like you suggested and I found some irregularities, so I ran some further tests; ones you wouldn't usually run, because that's what friends do," she sent Beckett a meaningful look before going on, "and you'll be happy to hear that I think there's enough for you to put forward a pretty compelling case. It's all there in the file."

Beckett sighed, a satisfied smile creeping over her scrunched features.

"Thank you Lanie."

"Mhmm..." She folded her arms and smiled, wide and teasing. "You kids have fun now."

Beckett turned to leave without a further word, me trailing at her tail.

"But not too much fun!" She called after us.

For the rest of Beckett's lunch-break we put together the information required to put forward a case.

This consisted of calling Jenny's son (who was more than happy to help in the hope that his mother's case be re-opened) and asking him about his mother's general habits. As it turned out, having fought with depression her whole life recently Jenny had seemed happier than she'd been in years, her son claimed that it was as if she'd found something worth living for.

He'd also let us know that she was attending therapy and no longer needed to to take sleeping pills, which brought up the question: why had traces of the pills been found in her system? Along with the slight, uneven bruising pattern underneath the ligature marks from her hanging, really it was a wonder the case had been closed so easily.

"What next?" I asked on my way out of the 12th.

"This afternoon I'll share what I've found with my captain. With any luck, he'll agree to put the case forward, and then we can find out what really happened to Jenny Sterling."

"So if the case gets opened it'll be handed over to homicide?" I'd asked on my way out of the 12th.
"Not if I can help it." Beckett said firmly, the steel in her voice growing sharper with each word, "I'm going to ask Captain Montgomery if he'll let me assist with this case. I won't let them mess it up this time. Jenny, her family... they deserve justice."

"And maybe that'll be more likely with real detectives-"

"Are you saying you don't think I can do this? Because I can, and I'm going to get this case solved, Castle, with or without your help."

"That's not what I was saying... I know you can,"

I went on when she crossed her arms expectantly, "But.. I just don't think it's safe for you to... I don't want you to get hurt." I finished, a pleading edge to my voice.

Her features flickered with confusion; her nose, her mouth, her eyes, all drawing in with hesitance, with doubt, and then a final and delayed tired compassion.

"I think what you're missing is that I already hurt." She swayed on the pavement, tiredness creeping in, "But I need this. I need to do something."

And that was the problem; she always needed to do something, doubted her own morality and toyed with the border- all or nothing.

"This isn't your fight." I reasoned.

I stood facing her on the same spot we had met earlier that day, the streets seemingly quieter, and I felt like I should whisper; like every passing stranger was a threat.

"We saw him die, Castle." Her response was equally desperate. "You can't tell me that hasn't changed you. And this? This is how I deal with that. If you want to sit there and do nothing be my guest. But I'm fighting."

I deflated, knowing that there was no way she'd give up now; that even the truth would be a shove in the wrong direction. And so the initial plan continued.

I sighed, taking in her angry-chipmunk expression, pouted lips and narrowed eyes. All of her braveness and stubbornness thrown into one glare; it was enough to leave anyone shell-shocked.

I marvelled at how she managed to tiptoed the line between action-movie hero and rom-com love-interest with one look.

I took a few slow steps into the growing crowd of passers-by, falling into the waves of strangers with ears.

I raised my voice above the sounds of the street; the honking of a taxi somewhere in the distance; voices and the chattering of footsteps on concrete.

"Then it looks like you've got yourself a partner, detective."

Alexis's pre-school ended with a scurry of tiny colourfully-dressed children pouring out of the building in a way that made you question just how many doors it had.

My daughter greeted me with her widest smile from a set of double-doors, proudly displaying her freshly painted hands as she waved. (One of which made a sizeable stain on my collar when I knelt down to hug her).

"How was your day pumpkin?"

"Good!" She replied enthusiastically, "I made a new friend today."

"Well done sweetie." I'd cooed, taking the hello-kitty backpack she offered and slinging it over one shoulder.

"How's Beckett?" She asked as we made our way out of the busy play-ground.

I'd replied with a simple but uncertain, "good."

My four year old raised an eyebrow and responded, "but?"

At which point I realised that there was something (other than the obvious) that had been playing on my mind since I'd left the precinct.

"She hasn't seen Toy Story 2." I confessed.

"Did she not like the first one?"

"No." I replied, pausing for a moment, surrounded by the sound of the bustling city and Alexis' swishing pig-tails.

"But I just think that's really sad." I went on, "Disney films are made to bring happiness. They're about hope and family and magic and I just... I want Kate to feel those things too."

Alexis followed my pause, her small hand warm and soft in mine. After a moment she squeezed, looked up at me with wonky pigtails and paint-speckled cheeks. She spoke in a tone that was as serious as I'd ever heard it, "you have to get her to watch it."

That night I found out just how bad the the food served by the restaurant underneath Beckett's apartment was.

Before attempting the trek up the three flights of stairs to Beckett's door I ordered two hamburgers from the restaurant. This was despite the fact that I had already eaten with my family, since I felt bad for walking through without ordering anything and the owner greeted me with a warm smile (and asked if I was dating Kate, which, of course, was complement enough to earn a fair tip).

Kate answered the door in damp socks and the shirt she'd worn that day, freshly wrinkled, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

"Oh, Castle... What're you doing here?" One hand rushed to scrape back the lose strands of hair out of her eyes, leaving a few to fall in whips over her creased forehead.

"Hey. So I remember you saying how you've never seen Toy Story 2, and trust me when I say it's even better than the first. But really, Becket, who doesn't love Toy Story? Alexis said you could borrow her DVD. In fact she said that you 'have to borrow it.'" I said all of this without breathing, so that when I eventually took a break her sharp reply caught me off guard.

"That couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"Uh, I suppose it could've." I replied, sheepish. "I also brought you dinner?" There was a strain to our friendship now; both of us not wanting to break whatever this arrangement was to us, even if it was nothing, and it left us strung too tight, treading or a tightrope coiled like an elastic band and waiting to snap.

"How'd it go with your captain?"

"Uh, yeah, he's going to put the case forward. He said he was impressed, actually... Look can we talk about this tomorrow?"

A groan sounded from the inside and Beckett pulled at the door so hard she nearly squished herself onto the frame.

"Is this not a good time?"

"No. It's really not a good time."

"Katie..." Called a far away voice, familiar and rough and blurred at the edges, "Katie, where'd you go?"

"Is that -?"

"I've got to go, I'll see you tomorrow?" Kate rushed out.

I was part-way through asking her if everything was okay, the door halfway closed, when a large hand caught the wood sloppily, clumsily slipping down to the handle.

I remembered that hand shaking in a fist one night when Kate sped away on her Harley with me gripping at her waist, the matching voice knowing and caring and concerned.

I knew that hand and it's tightly drawn wrist-watch before I saw the owner's face.

"Mr. Beckett?"

"Rick?" Kate's father managed, tilting his head so far to the right that I was worried he would tip over.

"Uh, yeah. Hi Mr. Beckett."

We stood for a moment staring at each other. His face was made up of story-book fragments of old-age: his once gently crinkled skin was now almost completely cracked by slithers of deep wrinkles; his soft eyes hazed over with drink and sadness, and his usually upturned lips falling on a soft sag.

When I managed to tug my eyes away my gaze intertwined with Kate's. One arm instinctively supported her dad and the other gripped at the door, awaiting the opportunity to close it.

I shouldn't have come.

"Look I'd better get going, I just came to give Kate this DVD, but, uh, it was nice to see you Mr. Beckett."

"Please, Rick, just... humour me? It's nice to see an old face." He paused, his voice faded like the colour in his cheeks.

"She liked you. She'd want you to stay." His voice was loose and hanging and when he beaconed me in, hands weathered and shaking.

I sent Kate a questioning look, bewildered by this new, drunken version of her father and the empty half-sentences that posed more questions than then they answered.

"Sure. Come in Castle. This night couldn't get much worse anyway."

The first time I went to Kate's first apartment I saw everything I'd missed: snippets of her life without me captured in frames: her graduation, her 21st birthday, her first day in her uniform. And I was selfish not to notice that in every photo her lips were sealed in a taut line, perfectly straight with the effort not to slant downwards. But now I did.

Jim Beckett was asleep within a few minutes of me being there, after swallowing what I imagined was his body-weight in red wine and staring into the swirling red with wet eyes, that is.

Kate caught my gaze over her dad's slumped form and motioned for me to help carry him to her bed. The knocking of his head and feet against odd bits of furniture and the structured melody of snoring would've been funny if it wasn't for the fact that Kate hadn't made eye-contact with me since she'd grabbed under his arms and me around his ankles. Or the fact that the snoring was sloppy with the remnants of tears.

There was something eerie about watching Kate pull her soft knitted blanked over her sleeping father. The odd helplessness of someone I'd known as worldly and expectant, that'd replaced the soft happiness he'd worn with the plaid shirts and comfortable shoes.

Kate was silent when she followed me back to her sofa. She took a deep breath before she finally spoke, rushed and edgy in a whispered-shout.

"You shouldn't have come here. I told you, Castle. I told you this isn't okay. Why can't you just listen for once in your life-" her voice cracked, and she pressed her palms roughly against her eyes. And I felt like I could feel it; my brain rattling, my head pulsing: her pain and the anger at being so stupid.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know. You're always sorry, but that doesn't stop you from making the same mistakes over and over again."

"You're right." I replied softly.

"Excuse me?"

"You're right. And I know it's hard to believe but I'm trying. I'm really trying."

Kate scoffed. "Try harder."

I didn't know what to say next, eventually I tried for, "Do you want me to leave?"

She wouldn't look at me, stared straight ahead, her voice flat. "I don't care."

And I believed her.

Kate looked so small with her socked feet tucked underneath her, and it suddenly seemed as if everything that surrounded her was too big, her long hair slipping out it's confines, her clothes dripping onto the wide sofa and even the walls of her apartment seeming too far apart. I didn't want to leave her alone.

"I'd like to stay, if that's okay."

Kate shrugged.

I got up, reaching to grab Toy Story 2 from her coffee table, turned the DVD player on and put the disk into the slot all in one motion. I grabbed one of the travel-plates and took a bite of my burger before sitting down.

"What're you doing?" Kate muttered. Her head was still resting on clenched fist when I slumped back into the seat.

"Watching Toy Story 2. And eating my dinner." I took another bite, "Want some?" I nodded at the second container.

"Castle."

"I'll go whenever you want me to. But I promised Alexis I'd get you to watch the DVD."

"By any means necessary." I added seriously.

Kate got up without any acknowledgement of what I'd just said. I sat in a staring-contest with the opening sequence of the film, the volume turned down to listen to her almost-silent footsteps and rustling from the kitchen.

She returned with a huge bag of sweet popcorn and a tiny half-smile. And without a word, she sunk into her seat next to me, the soft cushion 'puff' the only indication that I wasn't dreaming.

She pushed her hand into the open bag and the sweet waft of toffee and corn filled the air. And I remember thinking that it was as if we'd somehow rewound time.

Kate grabbed a handful of popcorn and dropped a few pieces into her mouth, her eyes focusing a glare on Woody.

"Play the damn film."

I pressed the okay button obediently.

"You know that'll ruin your appetite-"

Beckett cut me off on an abrupt "Shh!"

I continued to eat in silence, allowing myself to get lost in the adorable animated film, Beckett's occasional smiles and the (pretty awful) taste of my burger.

Ninety-two minutes later we sat in almost silence, with the empty trays of out burgers lying abandoned on the coffee table and Jim's uneven snoring filling the air.

When the film ended neither of us had moved to turn it off, and her head had somehow ended up resting into my shoulder, the almost-empty bag of popcorn abandoned between us, baring just the final piece that nether of us wanted to claim.

"Thanks for not asking about what my dad said." Kate said quietly.

"Thanks for not laughing when I cried at the end of the film." I replied, my voice still slightly gruff with tears. I hoped she'd think of it as manly somehow. Husky man-tears.

I could feel Kate's smile crinkle my shirt.

"That's okay."

I looked down at her, the shell of her ear that peeking out behind loose curls. After a moment I said, "So your captain was impressed then?"

"Yeah. He said he thinks I have what it takes to work on homicide; even said he'd recommend me to work on the case, as part of a team of course. But it's a start."

I wasn't sure whether to be proud or horrified. I settled for an odd mixture of both.

"That's great." I smiled.

Kate grinned back before getting up to put the food containers in the bin.

"That burger sucked by the way."

I laughed, tongued my front-teeth, grimacing at the aftertaste. "Yeah, I know."

"But, as much as I hate to admit it, the film was actually pretty good."

"Success!" I grinned back. I wouldn't be grinning years later after our five-hundredth Toy Story marathon, but at the time I was pretty impressed with myself.

There was a slight pause in which Kate returned to her seat, leaning back against my chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and I tried to breathe at a natural pace.

"Okay so you don't have to answer this, in fact I'm giving you a free pass... But I need to ask..."

She took a deep breath to prepare herself.

"If you loved me, then why'd you leave? Or did you just say that to make me feel better?" She paused, seemed to sense my nervousness even with her eyes firmly glued to the TV screen. "It's okay, I can take it." She added.

"Yeah, I meant it." I said after a while.

"Then why'd you leave?" She prompted.

Her head rose and fell with my chest, the lose strains of her tumbling hair lifting with my breath.

"I was scared." I paused. "I still am. But I'm more scared of living in a world where you don't exist. Of the person I become without you. I'm scared that we won't get to chase bad guys on mobility scooters with you yelling "go left. CASTLE GO LEFT! FOR GOD'S SAKE TURN YOUR HEARING AID ON!"

When we laughed hers was muffled by the soft cloth of my shirt and mine by the real mess of it all.

In a moment of braveness I added, "I'm scared that one day I won't remember your coffee order."

Beckett's cold fingers circled the spot of paint on my collar.

"Ah, see it's not so easy for me."

I watched her seriously, her eyes glinting gold in the darkness when she looked up.

"I see yours every time I put on pants."

We shared a knowing smile, neither of us moving until the darkness swallowed it whole.

"The guy you were talking about with Lanie? Royce?"

Beckett showed no signs of having heard me.

"Is he- are you two..?"

"He's my training officer."

I stiffened with the way she said that, as if his title somehow made him deserving of her adoration.

"I don't care if he's Jesus. He should be here... He doesn't deserve the way you talk about him."

Beckett snorted out a laugh against my shirt. "It's not like it's a choice."

"No," I sighed "I guess you're right."

"I should go." I said slowly, measuring a reaction that gave me nothing. "I need to take Alexis to pre-school tomorrow and I feel like I'm going to fall asleep any minute."

Kate nodded, but she reached out to catch my sleeve when I started to move.

"Wait. Um, it was my mum. He was talking about my mum."

I sunk back into the sofa-cushion, turning slightly to catch her look down at the carpet, the dark spot where her dad had spilt his wine.

Something clicked. Oh, god.

I pictured Johanna; her knowing looks: the sweeping test of her eyes and her unwavering kindness. That tilted smile she'd given Kate and the strong firmness of her small stance; floral blouses and shiny suitcases. She wasn't so much a contradiction as a human being. Somehow, it had never occurred to me that she was mortal.

"We were supposed to go to dinner together, my mum, my dad, and I, and she was going to meet us at the restaurant, but she never showed. Two hours later we went home... and there was a detective waiting for us, Detective... Raglin."

Kate took a deep shuddering breath, shakily treading the crumbling edges of the truth. "They found her body. She'd been stabbed." After a moment she added, "My dad took her death pretty hard."

In my mind I focused on snapshots of Lawyer Kate, smart and beautiful the way I'd known her, the way I pictured her. Waiting for her life to begin when everything she knew was destroyed; the hope, the trust in the integrity of justice- everything; stolen the way an illness drains out life; drop by drop.

"Oh Kate... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry I wasn't there... If I could go back..."

"But you can't." I watched as her nails cut crescent moons into her palms, and she blinked away the starry glaze of tears. "I just thought you should know."

I took a deep breath, watching her softened features harden.

Her pain wasn't beautiful or masterful the way they make it out to be in the books; the romantic trickle of blood or the smooth flow of pain. The careful manufacture of adjectives only disguises the fact that blood gushes and pain pulses- it doesn't change it. I found myself realising tang there's nothing noble about tragedy, it's not handed out to heroes like a badge of honour. It simply is.

In that moment there was just the sadness. And I found myself understanding things I'd only ever wrote about.

I didn't know what else to say other than, "Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me... I don't deserve that. "

Her eyes flicked back to mine.

"It's not like I'm proposing, Castle."

I let out a surprised laugh, and a the thin line of a slashing white smile cut between her cheeks. And I remember thinking that wow; she was incredible.

"Not yet, anyway..."

Kate snorted, bumping her shoulder with mine.

A loud snore had me jumping to the other end of the sofa. She smiled for a moment, and I felt like she was remembering the time her father chased me down the street after catching us making out in the living room, my deer-caught-in-head-lights expression the same as it was back then.

I followed her gaze to her sleeping father, passed out on her bed with the knitted blanked tucked around him and one arm hanging off the bed. The pink petals of her upturned lips seemed to wilt.

"I'm okay," she said as I opened my mouth to ask.

And I remember thinking that 'okay' sucked; 'okay' sucked like bad coffee and the stringy bits on bananas; it sucked like 'almost' and 'nearly' and 'not quite.'

But I took it. Because 'okay' was all Kate had and who was I to tell her it wasn't enough?

"Hey, Freud?" Beckett teased, the husky edge of her voice impossible to hide.

I met her gaze; the swirling storm of green and gold a fierce contradiction to languid blue of mine. And I knew she was waiting for the best-selling author she read about on page 6. I knew that was what she needed.

"You want Freud, Beckett?" I smirked, my eyes skating to her mouth, where one sharp incisor was nipping at the plump flesh of her bottom-lip. "How about we discuss your stunning oral fixation?"

Beckett's eyes widened at my bluntness, narrowed again just as quickly, and her voice came out dark and dangerous, and damn it she was going to shoot me, "what about it, Castle?"

I grinned childishly, nudged her knee with mine. "It's sexy."

Beckett's lip slipped from it's confides, her mouth falling open on a laugh, a sound like wind chimes or the declaration of a toast, surrounding us all at once.

I tried to ignore the missing beats of the sound.

There was a quiet moment after when our diluted smiles meet, her eyes wide and uninhibited in the quiet early-morning silence.

Out of nowhere my phone buzzed sharply in my pocket, and I nearly yelped in shock.

It was my mother, of course; wondering if I has been "kidnapped and tortured or are simply in the midst of seducing some tragic girl, in which case apologies, call back when you're finished."

I sighed dramatically, looked up to find Kate watching me with an expression I couldn't quite name.

"I should-"

"Yeah, you should."

I sighed, both of us staring into the faint light of the TV screen.

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

A/N: Hope you've enjoyed reading! Next chapter Esposito and Ryan will be introduced, and Royce will be making an appearance. As always your thoughts, comments and suggestions are really important to me!