Author's Note: I hope this chapter lives up to expectations…

What Is Supposed To Be

Chapter 2

Kate had thought that the worst part of her day would be watching Castle and Serena flirt with each other. She'd been wrong.

No, at this point, she would almost welcome seeing Castle and Serena flirt with each other, crazy as it sounded, because this was worse. If they were here, she would at least know where they were, what was or was not going on between them; not knowing but only being able to imagine the worst was worse.

Because neither Castle nor Serena had appeared in the precinct yet at all this morning.

And it was already later than Castle usually showed up. Not that he followed a set schedule, exactly; on days where they didn't have an active case, he often sauntered in not long before lunchtime only to confirm it was a paperwork day and then usually left again. (Since he retained his allergy to doing paperwork, although at least now he had a valid excuse in that Kate was relatively sure that Gates would reject any paperwork that Castle worked on.) But on days when they did have an active case, he usually showed up before 9, which as Kate knew from the week she'd stayed at the loft after her old apartment had blown up, gave Castle time to see Alexis off for school and then stop off to pick up their coffees before heading to the precinct.

Today, Castle was late. Very late even, as it was already nearing 10.

And Serena wasn't around either.

There was, she tried to tell herself, no reason to believe that wherever Castle (or Serena) were, they were together. They could both be busy with something else.

Her rational brain knew that but it wasn't quite so easy to silence the insidious little voice of her fear—her jealousy.

Because Serena hadn't been subtle about her interest in Castle and he'd equally obviously been… smitten by Serena.

And Castle usually sent her a message to tell her if he was going to be delayed on days when they were in the middle of a case. He hadn't today.

And Serena was also incommunicado. Which she wouldn't care about—it wasn't as if she'd ever wanted Serena around—if it weren't for Castle's absence.

They could both be doing something else. (Or doing each other?) She inwardly flinched.

That was worse, this growing uneasy fear. That Castle and Serena were late because they were… together. Together and not-working.

Her unruly mind presented her with an all-too-vivid mental image of Castle and Serena kissing, Castle and Serena doing… other things.

Castle and Serena drinking coffee side by side in bed. Oddly, stupidly, that image hurt just as much as any others. Because coffee was theirs. And she had to admit that she'd fantasized at least a few times about just that, drinking her first coffee while in bed with Castle, exchanging kisses in between sips of coffee.

Her entire chest felt tight with longing and loss—because what if Castle and Serena were… together? What if she was too late? What if he'd already decided he didn't want to wait for her?

He had every right to move on; he hadn't made any promises to her. She was, still, just his partner.

But oh god, the thought of that hurt. She didn't want to be only his partner or even his friend. She wanted… him.

Did he know that?

For the first time, it occurred to her that their conversation at the swings after her return to the city had been... unspecific. She'd been… vague, shying away from what she really meant, that she wanted him to wait until she was ready to have a real relationship with him.

She had thought, assumed really, that they understood each other, their ability to communicate through subtext for once working for them, but now it occurred to her that it might not be true. That was the problem with subtext; it was too open to misinterpretation. And goodness knows she and Castle didn't have the best track record when it came to interpreting each other's words (or lack thereof).

Oh god, what if she'd already lost him?

She remembered what it had felt like watching Castle walk away from her with Gina and… she hadn't been in love with him then, not really.

What if she put in this time to try to get better, take down her wall, become stronger, the sort of person he deserved, only to find that it was for nothing, that he'd already moved on and she'd missed her chance?

It wasn't that she didn't want to get better for her own sake—of course she did—but the thought of him gave her a more specific hope, a goal, to work towards, to motivate her when it was hardest.

Ugh, she was at work, she reminded herself sternly. She couldn't just sit here and brood over Castle; she had a case. She closed up the file on the victim's background she'd been supposed to be reviewing again for anything that might leap out at her and pushed herself to her feet briskly as if she'd never thought about anything but work.

Only to stop abruptly, her composure faltering, as she saw him. Castle. He was here. Her heart leaped, a little spurt of relief and joy bubbling up inside her.

"Hey. Sorry to be late." Was it her imagination or was there something a little odd about his tone?

Her heart abruptly plummeted into the pit of her stomach, the sight of him for once feeling like a slap in the face. Or not the sight of him but the sight of his hands. His empty hands. He hadn't brought her coffee.

"Hey," she forced the greeting out, trying to sound casual. The lack of coffee didn't have to mean anything, right? She couldn't believe that. He always brought her coffee. He wouldn't bring her coffee if he'd spent the night and the morning with another woman, a voice in her mind inserted. And she found herself blurting out, not quite evenly, "I figured that you were with Serena."

"No, she had a meeting with her bosses this morning."

He knew where Serena was.

Kate had a sudden mental image of Serena leaving Castle's bed, maybe pausing to give him a last kiss as she explained that she had to go to a meeting. Kate inwardly flinched, her imagination proving all too vivid (or maybe because it was too painfully easy to simply substitute Serena in the various fantasies Kate herself had already indulged in of some future time with Castle.) Because she had pictured this too, hadn't she, of leaving a drowsy (and adorably ruffled) Castle in bed for an early morning case or to go for a run or something, and leaning over to kiss him and having him try to persuade her to come back to bed…

"Oh, so you already saw her this morning." Her voice sounded brittle to her own ears.

"No, she texted me," he answered easily—and that didn't really help because why would Serena feel it necessary to keep him posted as to her schedule unless they were… something… Kate's stomach roiled so she thought she might actually be sick but she tried to look indifferent. No need to advertise how pathetic she was.

He paused, his expression changing. "Oh. You thought that we were…"

Oh, he'd noticed. Shit. She sternly got her voice and expression under control (or tried to). "Yeah, I mean it's pretty obvious that she really likes you so…"

"It is?"

She couldn't bring herself to look at him, too afraid that she would see his familiar cocky smirk. And if she did, she might do something utterly stupid like cry. She kept her eyes averted, studying the floor as if she expected it would dissolve beneath their feet if she took her eyes off it.

She couldn't seem to force actual words past the tightness in her throat, settled for a murmur. "Mm hmm."

"So then you think I should… pursue it?"

Why oh why was he asking her this? And how could she answer? Her heart had leaped into her throat, a flutter of panic, all her usual fears at being so vulnerable to him, rising up and she found herself saying, "Well, you know, suit yourself."

She finally managed to look at him to see him give a little nod, his shoulders lowering a little in acceptance—or was that defeat? He started to turn away and her heart abruptly started thrashing around in her chest as it occurred to her that she'd just missed her cue or something, that maybe he'd been seeking some sort of sign from her after their vague conversation at the swings. And instead she'd panicked, stumbled when she should have stepped forward.

Let him go when she should have held on.

She didn't want to lose him, didn't want him to walk away.

"No," she blurted out, the word escaping her without conscious direction from her brain.

He paused and then turned back, a slight frown creasing his brow. "No what, Beckett?"

She froze, pinned by his gaze. Her turn again but she found herself blanking on words, what she wanted, needed to say. She was never the one with the words and she hadn't exactly planned this either. "I… uh… didn't mean that," she finally managed lamely.

And it was lame, so lame. And not exactly a model of clarity either. He blinked, his frown lingering. "I don't understand," he responded, drawing the words out slowly.

"I…"

Her faltering start was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing, someone laughing from somewhere, and she belatedly remembered that they were standing in the middle of the bullpen, in full view of any number of her colleagues.

"We can't talk about this here. Come with me?" It came out sounding more uncertain than she would have liked but, well, she was uncertain when it came to this sort of thing. Her usual confidence didn't extend to her personal life and she didn't like the feeling of being at a disadvantage, unsure of herself. Didn't like being vulnerable. (This was why she didn't like to talk about personal things, tended to panic and hide... in nowhere relationships with men she didn't love. Castle had been right. It was easier, safer, that way. Kept her in control if she didn't care that much.)

Oh god, was she really about to do this, actually talk to Castle about their relationship?

But then her eyes fell to Castle's empty hands as she passed him to head to the back of the bullpen by the stairwell in a bid for some makeshift privacy—and oddly, the sight seemed to inject steel into her wavering courage.

Because she never wanted to face a future where Castle didn't bring her coffee. Never wanted to face a future where Castle didn't love her.

She tried to quell her rioting nerves as she walked quickly over to the deserted corner of the hall by the stairwell, conscious with every step that he was following. As usual—or not as usual since he was usually walking beside her. She liked that better, being able to glance at him and see his face, their hands occasionally brushing.

(How pathetic and screwed up was she, to think like this, fantasize about him the way she did, and still not be able to tell him any of it?)

She turned to face him, what little words she had drying up at the sight of his face, the way he was studying her with one of his intense expressions, the one that made her feel stripped bare, as if he were trying to see right through her, all his considerable concentration focused entirely on her.

Her mouth abruptly felt like a desert and she swallowed.

"Beckett? What did you mean to say?"

"I… don't want you to pursue it. Serena," she added awkwardly.

"Why?"

That was the question, wasn't it. She didn't have the right to tell him what to do and she owed him an explanation.

She remembered Dr. Burke saying that being able to be honest with herself and the people she cared about was part of the process.

One step forward.

"Because… I don't want you to love someone else," she blurted out.

She wasn't sure how she'd expected him to react, what she'd expected him to do or say, but stiffening and jerking back a little was not it.

Confusion and something like apprehension grabbed her by the throat. Something was off, something was wrong…

"You remember." It wasn't a question, his voice low and flat in a way she'd never heard it before.

Remember—oh shit. She'd been so nervous, focused on the tacit admission of her vulnerability, her feelings, that she'd forgotten the other thing she was hiding, her other secret.

Her hand came up to grip his jacket, to keep him from leaving or as a gesture of… something, she didn't even know what. She just wanted to keep him close.

"I… yes," she admitted, reluctantly, and then winced as he briefly shut his eyes as if the sight of her was painful to him. "I'm sorry," she rushed on. "It was wrong and… selfish of me. But it wasn't that I didn't… want to hear it or… anything. I just wasn't ready. I needed more time… to deal with it, everything that had happened. I just wanted more time to… get better first."

He didn't respond immediately and a brief silence fell in which she found herself counting out her too rapid heartbeats.

And then he gave a brief nod. "Okay."

She blinked. Okay what? "Okay? What does that mean?" She was peripherally aware that she sounded inane but she didn't care and she knew Castle of all people wouldn't think that of her.

"It means, I understand."

He did? That was good, right? But how could he? He said he understood—but she didn't and she didn't like not understanding something. "But I… lied to you," she faltered, her voice dropping into a shamed whisper. Because that was the stark, ugly truth. She, who spent her life ferreting out other people's dishonesty, had lied to this man, who... loved her in a way no other man ever had (or ever would). "How can you not be angry at me?"

"Part of me is angry at you," he admitted slowly and she tried not to flinch at this confirmation of her fears. "But Beckett, if I've learned anything, it's that if you… care about someone enough, you stay and work it out even when you're angry."

She didn't think he'd meant it like that, to guilt her, but she was shamed all over again by his words, struck, not for the first time, by the depths of his empathy and, yes, his love. If the situation had been reversed, she wasn't sure she could ever have been so understanding. She didn't deserve him but oh, she wanted to try, wanted so badly to be good enough for him.

"Castle, I—"

Whatever she'd been about to say—and even she wasn't entirely sure what it was—died on her lips, cut off by another voice. "Yo, Beckett."

She had to fight not to start and felt Castle jerk almost imperceptibly in his own surprise as they both turned to see Espo.

His eyes flickered to her hand grasping Castle's jacket and he quirked his eyebrows slightly but didn't comment, only went on, "We found the getaway van the thief used. It was dumped in an alley in Queens."

She blinked and had to cudgel her brain back into Detective Beckett mode to make sense of Espo's words. "Oh. Uh—any prints?" she asked, trying to sound brisk.

"No. Wiped clean. Very professional."

"Right. Okay. Uh, give us a second, Espo."

"Sure thing. Oh and Ryan has some surveillance video you're going to want to see," he added, the business-like words slightly belied by the faintly teasing quirk of his eyebrow, the smirk tugging at one corner of his lips.

Yeah, she was definitely going to be hearing more about this from Espo (and Ryan, since she had no doubt that Espo's first stop would be to tell Ryan about this. Gossiping mother hens that they often were.)

"We'll be there in a second," she repeated.

Esposito left after a last pointed glance at her hand still holding onto Castle's jacket.

Left alone (sort of), her eyes met Castle's.

"Sorry," she started, her words overlapping with his, "We'd better go," and they both broke off, exchanging rueful smiles.

She felt her spirits lift, irrationally, something like hope bubbling up inside her. They could do this, were still them. This was Castle, her best friend (with due apologies to Lanie), the man she knew, the man she trusted more than anyone else except her dad.

"We'd better go…"

"Back to work," he finished. "I know. I get it, Beckett."

"We have a case," she said apologetically and entirely unnecessarily, since she knew he, of all people, really did understand. She was suddenly reminded of that time more than a year ago, of the way she and Castle had ducked out of their respective dates at Drago to go to that pet shop. "But when this case is over, we can talk some more?"

It came out as sounding like more of a question than she meant it to but it worked, his eyes, his expression, lighting up with his smile, infusing her with hope.

"Yes, of course, yes."

She smiled and gave his jacket a light tug before finally releasing it. "Come on, Castle. We have a case to solve."

"Hey, Beckett?"

She paused mid-step, turning back to him. "Yeah?"

"I won't."

He wouldn't what? Something in his expression, the almost shy, hopeful, loving expression caught at her. He was… looking at her much as he had that day in the hospital… before she'd sent him away. And somehow the reminder of that day provided the clue she needed to understand him.

What she'd told him at the start of this conversation—that she didn't want him to love someone else.

Oh. Oh god, Castle… She forgot how to breathe, forgot how to move, could only stare and almost will him closer to her.

"Beckett, the case?"

Right, they had a case. Dratted man. He told her something like that now when they really couldn't talk about this more, had already been interrupted once?

Case. A murder to solve, she reminded herself. She was a homicide detective, damn it.

She turned and this time, he fell into step beside her, his hand brushing hers, and she gave into a moment's impulse and allowed her fingers to briefly tangle with his. It wasn't quite holding hands but wasn't quite not.

Rather like the talk they'd just had, it was a start.

~To be continued…~

A/N 2: More talking to come, I promise!