A/N: This is me taking more liberties with the timeline and order of events towards the end of season 4. Of course, I know how and when and where the "big event" happened, but if I had my way, it would have happened much, MUCH sooner. So, while the characters are not mine in way, shape, or form, this is me rebelling, and making them do what I want, when I want them to do it. So there. LOL

Also, I don't really know why I'm posting this now, because when I decided to add to it, I swore that I would finish it before I posted it. But I've been working on this on and off for months already and I'm hoping that posting this chapter and still needing to post the rest will guilt my sorry butt into finishing it and stop just thinking about it.

That being said - encouragement, prodding, shaming, yelling and all other forms of persuasion are welcomed and encouraged. Actually, who am I kidding? This is me BEGGING for feedback in the form of reviews. I know you're out there because I'm still getting the occasional favorite alert, so please speak up and leave a comment :)

Disclaimer: As I just mentioned, the characters are not mine. Everything belongs to Andrew Marlowe and ABC.

Chapter 2 – When The Morning Comes

The first thing Kate notices when she wakes up is the pounding in her head.

The second thing she notices is that she seems to be in Castle's office at the Old Haunt. She instantly recognizes the old room with its treasure trove of history and secrets leaking out from the walls.

Then she realizes she's lying on the soft brown leather couch, covered with a wool blanket, and that someone is sprawled out next to her, keeping her warm, but making it a little crowded. She vaguely remembers being drunk last night, and coming down here to confront Castle, to tell him that she was in love with him. She knows she followed him here, to his office, after he'd gotten frustrated with her inability to speak the words she'd wanted to say when he'd cornered her upstairs. And she remembers kissing him to try and make him understand, to know and believe how she felt about it him even if she couldn't say it out loud. The rest of the night is a little fuzzy. All the details are there, bouncing around in her throbbing head, blinking on and off like fireflies, waiting for her to notice them. But she's fantastically hung over and doesn't have the energy to chase the shiny little memories through her jumbled thoughts and sort them out right now.

There's only one person that could possibly be next to her, so she turns her head to see if Castle is showing any signs of waking up. But his bare chest is rising and falling with a slow, even consistency that tells her that he's definitely still sleeping, deeply.

Wait, his BARE chest?

Oh… Hell. Shit. Damn.

Double damn.

Kate closes her eyes and groans. They immediately fly open again, and her heart flutters against her ribs while she lifts the blanket to see why Castle doesn't have his damn shirt on. She's relieved to see that the reason he's not wearing it is because she is. That relief is short lived though, because she is WEARING HIS SHIRT – which is wrong side out and buttoned wrong, by the way – and the rest of their clothes are in a crumpled heap in the floor. She feels the flush creeping across her skin as she observes Castle's naked (and beautiful) form sprawled out next to hers on the couch.

One of his hands is tucked under his cheek, the other is draped across her stomach, and there's a slight smile on his lips. The look on his face is relaxed, happy even. She knows that whatever happened between them last night put that smile on his face.

WHATEVER happened last night? Come ON Kate… who are you kidding?

Again, the voice in her head berates her for her cowardice, and she swallows hard, accepting what she's done. She can't really bring herself to regret it. Because isn't that what she wanted? Maybe not last night, specifically, considering how drunk she was, but she knew it would happen eventually (translation - instantly) once she admitted how she felt about him. She knows precisely how he feels about her, and that he's waited a very long time for her to "fix herself", to tear down the walls she's kept around her heart for the past thirteen years. Truth be told, it's been a miracle the two of them hadn't already given in to the electric desire that had been sparking between them constantly over the past several years, even though they've been living the lie and calling themselves "just friends".

She would have to be blind, deaf, AND mute not to know that he'd loved her long before that day she got shot. Every person they'd ever come into contact with, that was around them for the barest amount of time, immediately guessed that they were together. And several of them so kindly, though not subtlety, pointed out that it was clear the two of them had feelings for each other.

She sighs, and slowly eases her body out from under Castle's arm, sliding off the edge of the couch a centimeter at a time. Even though she's made up her mind not to regret giving herself to him, she still needs a few minutes to collect her thoughts before facing him and the reality of what happened between them last night. She can't tell what time it is since they're in the basement, but her internal clock tells her that it's barely daylight outside.

Once she's sitting up in the floor, her head starts swimming furiously, but she forces it down, standing up and grabbing her clothes. With one last glance over her shoulder at Castle to make sure he's still asleep, she makes a beeline for the private bathroom in the office, not wanting to chance it being later than she's estimated and running into any of Castle's employees upstairs getting ready for the day.

Rick wakes to a strange feeling of loneliness, edges one eye open to see that he's on the couch in his office at the Old Haunt. He's naked and half covered by a wool blanket, and his arm is sweeping across the cushion of the couch like he's searching for something.

Or someONE.

Kate.

With a sudden, blinding burst, the recollection of what happened between him and Kate crashes into him, blurring his vision as the images take over. The scenes play out as vividly as if he were watching a movie on the big screen.

He remembers coming here to comfort her after the bartender had called him, finding her drunk and calling his name. When he'd folded her into his arms after she'd thrown herself at him, she had instantly and completely broken down, soaking his shirt with her pain while she'd been overcome by huge, shuddering sobs that wracked her entire body so hard he'd been afraid she would literally fall to pieces right before his eyes.

He'd tried to talk to her, to find out what had sent her spiraling out of control, though he had suspected it had something to do with his recent behavior. He knew he'd been blatantly cold the past week, but he hadn't been able to help himself. He'd been trying to forget her, or at least mute his feelings for her, to push them down deep and bury them under the ashes of his heart she'd burned so completely. But the moment she'd stepped away from him, she'd reeled her feelings back in and acted like she'd regretted seeking him out.

The all-too-familiar routine of her boxing her feelings up and packing them away had set him off, and he'd snapped. The hurt he'd been holding in since he'd found out that she'd heard him that day in the cemetery had tumbled out of his mouth in a blistering flurry of angry words. When she hadn't done anything but stand and stare at him, he'd turned his back on her and told her to leave. He'd stomped away to his office and slammed the door; fully expecting to spend the rest of the night trying to drown out the image of her standing in front of him looking like there was nothing in the world that could save her.

He hadn't anticipated that she would follow him, was shocked when she'd barged into the office a few steps behind him. Then he'd been well and truly blindsided when she'd thrown herself into his arms and kissed him so desperately it had woken his heart from the stupor it had been in. He couldn't stop kissing her after she told him she wanted him, that he wasn't a conquest, that she wasn't kissing him out of pity. Because he had wanted her so, so badly for so long that he couldn't even remember when he started.

She'd sworn that she knew what she was doing, even as she admitted to being drunk. So he let her take him away to a place where it was okay to touch her, okay to love her, okay to worship her body with his. Not that he'd had half a prayer at resisting her. Even if he had been a conquest, he would have happily been that for her, especially if it made her happy in that moment. So he'd closed his eyes and given up the fight of holding her at arm's length, letting her passion wash away the all-consuming need that had been burning inside him for so long.

He should have known better. Hell, even on a good day and stone-cold sober, she couldn't face the consequences of her actions when their flirting and teasing uncovered actual feelings leaking out between the stones of the wall she kept around her heart. Diversion-creating kisses, unfinished, half-frozen whispers of admission, almost being blown into nothing more than dust, nearly drowning, and all the other things they'd survived hadn't been enough to make her admit what there was between them.

Lying there alone on the couch, he faced the fact staring him in the face. She had run away, yet again, leaving him to pick up the pieces of his heart and his pride that she'd left scattered and broken in her wake. There was no trace of her that he could see. It was almost like he'd dreamed the whole thing. He knew he hadn't, but her total disappearance made him doubt the truth. He could still taste her on the back of his throat, could still feel the friction burns their passion had imprinted on his skin.

But since laying around and brooding wasn't going to get him anywhere but embarrassed when someone came to get the day's operating cash out of the safe, he forced his slightly stiff body up off the couch. After stepping into his boxers and jeans, he folds the blanket, draping it back over the arm of the sofa. He doesn't see his shirt anywhere, but luckily he keeps a spare here just in case, and goes to retrieve it from where it's hanging on the edge of the bookshelf by the desk.

Feeling somewhat refreshed with a clean shirt on, he slips on his shoes and trudges up the stairs to face the day, turning the light off and closing the office door behind him. He can hear someone in the kitchen, probably prepping for the early lunch crowd, but he's glad no one is in the main part of the bar. He can't imagine facing anyone he knows just yet. He needs some time to soothe his wounded pride. Pulling the front door open just enough to slip out, he holds it as it closes behind him so it doesn't squeak. He feels like the door is closing on the potential of them, but there's nothing he can do about it right now, so he just pushes his hands into his pockets and heads up the ramp to street level so he can catch a cab back to his loft.

Since it's early, the street isn't crowded yet. He hails the first taxi he sees and slides in. But when the driver asks where he wants to go, he gives the address for the Twelfth instead of his apartment. Alexis left for school almost an hour ago, his mother will be on her way to the acting school, and he doesn't feel like sitting at home by himself. He decides that confronting Kate and pressuring her into talking to him is the better plan. He would normally give her "space" and not force himself on her for the fear of making things awkward, but this isn't like the other times.

She said he wasn't a conquest, that she knew what she was doing, and by God, he's going to make her prove it this time. She made the first move last night, and he's going to make the next one. He finds he's not willing to let this simmer and stew through the day, because he's afraid it will turn into days, then a week, and if he lets it slide, she may never even acknowledge the fact that they made love last night.

It's obvious to him that she regrets it, since she was gone when he woke up, but he decides she has to be held accountable for playing with his damn heart again. If she doesn't want the burden of his love, then… Well, he's not sure what the other options are at this point, but they can't go on ignoring things just because she's not ready. Because he is ready and he has been for a long time. He wouldn't have given in to her advances last night if he didn't love her, and he has begun to think she might feel the same way, whether she will admit it or not.

Taking charge of his feelings, even if it's just temporarily, gives him a modicum of confidence. So he straightens his shoulders and sits back in the seat, itching to get to the precinct and call her out. He's terrified of how this "storming the fort" approach might turn out, even that it might end their relationship in any capacity, but he's done walking on eggshells.

When the cab stops in front of the precinct, he gets out and gathers every bit of courage he can muster. After a minute of standing on the sidewalk, he takes a deep breath and strides through the front doors, desperate now to see her face, to search her eyes for any trace of the love she showed him last night.

A/N: I'm really hoping the cliffhanger nature here will initiate some reviews. I'm amazed at the amount of alerts I'm getting for this, and even months after I originally published, and before posting this chapter. As authors, we crave those comments to let us know what you think as a reader. So... please... batting eyelashes and pulling a face here... :)